Few myths surrounding opera singers grate my cheese more than the persistent nonsense written about Mario Del Monaco. According to many critics, he is an unsubtle shouter and bellower who blasts through otherwise beautiful music while displaying no artistry. That's perhaps the strongest version of the myth, but you can find it in CD reviews especially. Even his defenders say that he was simply incapable of singing softly by nature, so we can't really fault him (attributing this idea to him without quoting, so it's hard to know if he really said it).
Of course, this is completely false. Even if he said it himself, he was being overly modest. Del Monaco not only could sing softly, he did so frequently and beautifully. For example, this is taken from his recording of Fanciulla with Tebaldi. The crucial section "No Minnie non piangete" beginning at 3:28 is sung with contrasting dynamics throughout, and beautiful phrasing to boot. It is far more dynamic than Domingo's rendition with Neblett, which is fairly uniform in volume and is sung in Domingo's blandest mode. Yet Del Monaco was called a shouter, and Domingo a sensitive interpreter.
Next, here's a recording of Ernani which del Monaco ends by singing beautiful pianissimi in an extremely expressive manner. (Starting at 1:56:56) Again, we hear his natural gift for phrasing.
Here is his soft and expressive rendition of the opening lines of Un di all'azzurro spazio.
Throughout this performance of Otello (which was not conducted by Karajan, who "reined" del Monaco in according to critics), Del Monaco sings with wonderful dynamics, employing lovely pianissimi at 4:46.
What's more, when he was in heroic mode, Del Monaco did not just sing loudly. He poured passion and emotion into his singing to a degree few other singers can match. Listen to this performance of Ch'ella mi creda.
His interpolated sob at 3:53 is wrenching. Today it would be considered vulgar. But that kind of total commitment to a role and the ability to express that commitment vocally was what moved and thrilled audiences back then, and the absence of it is why so many of us are left cold by today's performers. It wasn't just a "big" voice, it was a communicative voice, one capable of stirring the desperate passion that opera requires to work as an art form. If only there were a Mario del Monaco today! Del Monaco had a sophisticated technique that it took him ten years to master, and he used it to deliver some of the most intense, and yes, beautiful and subtle, operatic performances on record.
Of course, this is completely false. Even if he said it himself, he was being overly modest. Del Monaco not only could sing softly, he did so frequently and beautifully. For example, this is taken from his recording of Fanciulla with Tebaldi. The crucial section "No Minnie non piangete" beginning at 3:28 is sung with contrasting dynamics throughout, and beautiful phrasing to boot. It is far more dynamic than Domingo's rendition with Neblett, which is fairly uniform in volume and is sung in Domingo's blandest mode. Yet Del Monaco was called a shouter, and Domingo a sensitive interpreter.
Next, here's a recording of Ernani which del Monaco ends by singing beautiful pianissimi in an extremely expressive manner. (Starting at 1:56:56) Again, we hear his natural gift for phrasing.
Here is his soft and expressive rendition of the opening lines of Un di all'azzurro spazio.
Throughout this performance of Otello (which was not conducted by Karajan, who "reined" del Monaco in according to critics), Del Monaco sings with wonderful dynamics, employing lovely pianissimi at 4:46.
What's more, when he was in heroic mode, Del Monaco did not just sing loudly. He poured passion and emotion into his singing to a degree few other singers can match. Listen to this performance of Ch'ella mi creda.
His interpolated sob at 3:53 is wrenching. Today it would be considered vulgar. But that kind of total commitment to a role and the ability to express that commitment vocally was what moved and thrilled audiences back then, and the absence of it is why so many of us are left cold by today's performers. It wasn't just a "big" voice, it was a communicative voice, one capable of stirring the desperate passion that opera requires to work as an art form. If only there were a Mario del Monaco today! Del Monaco had a sophisticated technique that it took him ten years to master, and he used it to deliver some of the most intense, and yes, beautiful and subtle, operatic performances on record.