August 2021 marks the 100th anniversary of the death of Enrico Caruso. I cannot let this month pass without paying tribute to a man who is such an important cornerstone of opera and recorded vocal art. This tribute is going to be a challenge, however. Obviously, I never had the opportunity to hear him in the flesh (an entire generation separates his death and my birth), and consequently my relationship with the great tenor is via the phonograph. Although I could simply honor Caruso through a retrospective of his recordings, a life and career such as this cannot be glossed over. A comment I sometimes hear from young tenors (and one that greatly irritates me) is, “Caruso? He wasn’t so great.” The comment that pains me even more is, “Caruso? Who is THAT?”. In hopes of educating those unfamiliar with Caruso, my tribute will contain analyses of his recordings as well as a retrospective of his fascinating life and career. YouTube’s space limits compel me to feature this retrospective in four parts over the course of four weeks.

Here is part one.

He was born Errico (the Neapolitan cognate of “Harry”) Caruso in Naples on February 25, 1873, the 3rd of 7 children (NOT the 18th of 21, as he was fond of telling reporters in later years). His mother recognized her son’s vocal talent from an early age and scraped together the tuition to send him to Father Bronzetti’s school, where he learned the fundaments of music and singing. During his youth, Caruso became known as one of the finest boy altos in southern Italy, his fame spreading as far as the Amalfi coast. His mother’s death, as well as a cracking adolescent voice, brought his singing career to a halt when he was 15. Honoring his father’s wishes, he worked as a mechanic and draftsman (his gift for drawing was later showcased in his whimsical caricatures) for a local company. By 18, he had abandoned mechanics and was working as a church soloist and café singer. Caruso tried to pursue further studies, but teacher after teacher turned him away, one giving the opinion that his reedy tenor was like “gold at the bottom of the Tiber…hardly worth digging for”. Persistence won out, however, and the teenage tenor began working with Guglielmo Vergine and later Vincenzo Lombardi.

After four years of study, Caruso made his debut on March 15, 1895 in a local production of the now forgotten L’Amico Francesco. Shortly thereafter, he made his debut in the standard repertoire as Gounod’s Faust at Caserta’s Teatro Cimarosa. The rest of the spring and summer were spent in the southern Italian provinces, and he made his international debut that fall with a series of performances in Cairo and Alexandria. Although he still needed work to perfect his technique, Caruso’s reputation spread rapidly throughout Europe. He was invited to create the role of Federico in the world premiere of Cilea’s L’Arlesiana at Milan’s Teatro Lirico in the fall of 1897 and the role of Loris in Giordano’s Fedora a year later. Caruso commented that, following Fedora’s premiere, “the contracts descended on me like a big rainstorm”, marking a turning point in his career.

The next five years saw Caruso’s career burgeoning. There were important debuts in Rome, Milan, St. Petersburg, Moscow, Buenos Aires, Monte Carlo, Lisbon, Nice and London. Another important debut was with the recording horn. The question “Did Caruso make the phonograph, or did the phonograph make Caruso?” can accurately be answered with a simple “yes”. Following the premiere of Franchetti’s opera Germania at La Scala in March of 1902, Fred Gaisberg of The Gramophone & Typewriter Company, approached the tenor with a recording contract. Caruso agreed, asking for a fee of £100. When Gaisberg cabled the London office, they sent the now famous reply, “Fee exorbitant. Forbid you to record”. Defying his bosses, Gaisberg set up a session in a makeshift studio at Milan’s Grand Hotel on April 11. This move paid off in a very big way for the company. The 10 discs produced that afternoon hit London record shops just in time for Caruso’s Covent Garden debut. Not only did these records help to cement the tenor’s reputation, they helped elevate the phonograph past its earlier novelty status. These records have never left the market and are STILL best sellers nearly 120 years later. Of course, G&T recorded Caruso again in November and December…for a much higher fee!

The G&T discs are remarkable documents of Caruso’s early years. Despite the occasional musical mishap (particularly in the first session, which seemed to be rather rushed), the rich, baritonal instrument recorded well, and the legato and innate musicality are evident from the start. Here, Caruso sings “Celeste Aïda” from Verdi’s Aïda. Of the six versions he recorded during his career, this is probably my favorite. Even with the faulty phrasing (“forma…divina”, “del…mio pensiero”) and the final falsetto Bb, the relaxed tempo and nuanced singing make this record very worthwhile.

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