Amor, amor, amor!
So the lovers sing as they exit the garret, sometimes in sweet harmony, sometimes in blaring unison, and sometimes down a half step! But always a perfect moment in a perfect opera. Short, sweet—and bitter as well. A romantic comedy with a tragic twist.
I first fell in love with La Boheme when I was a kid, maybe 10 years old. The Toscanini broadcast. 2 RCA LPs. That grey monaural sound, which conjured up the freezing Parisian Christmas Eve. I have never heard another version that sounds so cold. Licia Albanese, whose papery voice suited the consumptive Mimi so perfectly. And Jan Peerce, vibrato throbbing with masculine energy, most magically at “Talor,” which he took without the usual portamento. Undoubtedly at the command of the maestro. After all, Toscanini had conducted the world premiere! Excellent supporting cast. I assume Cehanovsky and Moscona owned their roles.
And Boheme was my first live opera. At the Philadelphia Grand Opera Company. Back then there were two competing companies in town, both of which threw together productions with visiting stars. The things I missed were legendary but I saw a few. Richard Tucker and Lucine Amara—and their Act 1 scene from that night is on YouTube for me to relive! The snow in Act 3 fell like a curtain of confetti downstage. But the singing! And the elemental drama!
I worked at various record stores and sold many recordings—and heard many people’s preferences. Beecham/de los Angeles/Björling lovely but too relaxed for me. Callas too calculated. Caballé too self-indulgent. And so on. You never forget your first! And my first imprinted on me so completely.
I didn’t see the opera again for many years, then it was the stellar, almost infamous, Zeffirelli production at the Met, with the astonishing line-up of Carlos Kleiber, Freni, and Pavarotti. Gorgeous to see, even from the Family Circle. But still, too lush, not the shivering Bohemians in black and white of my imagination.
Then I got my chance—two chances—to do the opera myself. First at the Amato. A wonderful experience. A lively cast. I hurled myself into the role. And I soaked up all the traditional stuff that Tony imparted, that ur-Italian feeling that I had first felt from those old LPs. A year later I got a call—could I come rescue a production out in the Hamptons on practically no notice? Sure! The combination of Tony Amato’s training and my own thorough learning put me in the perfect place to step into a dress rehearsal the next day and a performance right after that. Under a tent at a winery. There was a magical moment during my aria when I picked up a piece of paper—my poetry—and floated it into the air…. It flew right into Mimi’s hands!
My second Rodolfo was alas my last. By then I was moving away from opera into a concert music focused career. And also into teaching and conducting.
La Boheme reappeared in my life during Covid. My wife was stricken with cancer right when the pandemic began. After we got her home from the hospital we kept her occupied with various diversions and amusements (in addition to all the therapeutic stuff). The Metropolitan Opera had daily videos available and we watched many. And so we found ourselves on the sofa watching I don’t even remember which cast, still in the Zeffirelli version. The first two acts delighted us. Then came the scene at the gates of Paris, where Mimi overhears Rodolfo telling Marcello his fear that Mimi will die. TURN IT OFF Cindy cried. And I did.
She had a brain tumor, and the surgery made some things worse. How much she comprehended I never knew. But in that moment she was aware of impending death, like an electric shock. And that was it for La Boheme for the two of us.
But not for me. Sirius Xm’s Met Opera channel periodically presented various classic broadcasts. The first two acts still delighted me. The last two could instantly arouse paroxysms of sobbing at inopportune moments on major highways. But I discovered Renata Tebaldi’s Mimi, which I had not listened to previously. The most gorgeous tone, the finest spontaneous connection to text and meaning, and—at her final Mimi performance—the longest senza rancor ever! The ovation that followed was an outpouring of love for a great and truly lovable artist.
I followed Tebaldi back to her first Decca recording. Authentic old-school Italian style—Italian singers enunciating and thinking in their own language. Obvious signs of careless production: some messy playing and a notable lapse by Rodolfo in Act 3 (he gets lost in the trio and never sings some of the most important words in the whole opera: Per richiamarla in vita non basta amor/love is not enough to call her back to life). But overall a performance that felt like an idealized Amato Opera production. Not glamorous—true to life.
Listening to acts 3 and 4 still guts me.
On the night before she went into hospice Cindy and I had a moment like Mimi and Rodolfo in act 4, honoring the past and saying what we needed to say. And when the time came several weeks later she slipped away imperceptibly while we bustled around her.
E spirata.
Like Rodolfo I was the last to know.
I’m surprised that Tony Amato never cast her as Musetta. She had the vivacity. She also had the delicacy to be a fine Mimi in the Sayao/Albanese tradition.
But I want to end this back where I started, at that act 1 duet. Love and beauty.
La Boheme was taken up by Nellie Melba as she reconfigured her career after her disastrous Siegfried Brunnhilde. It became her warhorse and she championed it at major opera houses. Puccini was grateful! And the high C that Melba sang at end of act 1 was legendary. Mary Garden described it: “The note came floating over the auditorium of Covent Garden; it left Melba's throat, it left Melba's body, it left everything, and came over like a star and passed us in our box, and went out into the infinite. I have never heard anything like it in my life, not from any other singer, ever. My God, how beautiful it was! That note of Melba's was just like a ball of light.”
Fortunately it was recorded (not live but at a studio in Camden, but still!). Here are Melba and Caruso: