Of the many wonderful singers who have blessed the 20th Century, none has left a legacy of glamour—both vocal and visual—that tops the legend of Anna Moffo. Her lustrous voice captivated all who heard it, while her physical beauty mesmerized audiences around the world. She triumphed in roles like Violetta, Lucia, Butterfly and Mimi, and she continues to be the quintessential goddess of opera, causing a stir of excitement whenever she enters Carnegie Hall or the Met. Spending an hour with Anna Moffo in her Manhattan penthouse one afternoon, I came to see that this wasn’t just a beautiful face and voice, but also a bright, no-nonsense woman, one who approached her career in a practical way. But despite her practicality, one need only listen to one of her recordings to understand her passion—for music, for learning and for helping young singers.
How do you balance work and family while pursuing a career? Is it possible to have both?
I suppose it is. I didn’t have a family, but I was married just after my debut. I would say in the beginning it’s more difficult than later on when a career is established, because of the demands of going here and there, competitions, rehearsing, whatever you have to do. It’s wonderful to think that you can do everything, but one thing will inevitably suffer, probably family. I was married to Robert Sarnoff for 26 years; it was a second marriage for both of us.
Was your career the reason your first marriage didn’t work?
No. My first marriage didn’t work because it was a bad marriage!
How did you make that balance work in your marriage with Robert?
When I married Robert he was established and so was I. We were two established people who made time for each other, which was great. Timing is everything.
What effect did timing have on your career?
Timing has great value, either because it means that you are ready, or that somebody is ill and you have an opportunity to go on at a moment’s notice. That is why I like to stress how important it is to be prepared. You can never be too prepared. You can never know enough. To this day I don’t think I know enough and I know a lot! So I always say, be sure you know who you are and what you will need. I know a lot of singers don’t know this, or don’t think it’s necessary. Maybe that’s because it’s not on the Internet!
There are lots of websites but they don’t go into things like preparation. And many times I have gotten an opportunity to fill in for people. Sometimes I’ve taken it; sometimes I could have but I didn’t, such as my first Traviata. I could have substituted when Maestro Serafin called me. It was Eleanor Steber who was sick and he asked if I would go in. I said no; I didn’t think I knew enough about fans and about Marguerite Gautier. In fact, I knew an awful lot, probably more than most people singing Violetta. But I told him that I wanted to graduate to the role. I waited two years. It wasn’t really a vocal decision, it had more to do with my understanding of the character.
It must have been hard to say no to Serafin.
No, it wasn’t, because Serafin was very smart. He knew that I would deliver something, but he admired me afterwards for saying no. I worked with him a lot.
No maestro will ever be angry with you for not going helter skelter into something that you are not ready for, or if you are over-prepared. The first time I met Serafin I was doing Nannetta in Falstaff. And he said, “My dear, who did you study this score with?” I said Luigi Ricci, and he said, “I can tell; it is perfect.”
A good coach is also important. Now, not every singer understands what a great coach is. For openers, a great coach is somebody who will say, “I don’t think this is for you.” Or else they will just say, “Pay me,” and that’s the end of it. A young singer is faced with many decisions, not only career decisions, guidance decisions.
What is the best “next step” for young singers after they have finished with college?
The person who goes for formal education is already thinking that they might have to teach instead of performing. You really shouldn’t ask, “Am I the best voice?” That’s really not important. It’s wonderful to have a great voice, but in the end success comes to the people who can act, can look well, and the people who are prepared musically and have a background on the role. When I do masterclasses and somebody is singing Traviata, I ask them if they have read La Dame aux Camélias. Often, they have never heard of Dumas! Or I’ll find a Tosca has never heard of Sardou. And these are people with doctorates in education or in music! But after a formal education, you’d be surprised how many people do not further their basic studies. How can they learn Italian when they don’t even have a command of English grammar? Did you know that the biggest drop-out rate in every college, bar none, occurs in freshman English? People don’t think they have to learn grammar; they think they know it. Unless you really can associate English, or in my case, Latin, and know the exact syntax, how can you approach a foreign language? You can sort of learn it by rote but you’ll never be able to really know.
You must have a full command of another language. It’s hard to explain this to Americans because they think they have full command of English and they really don’t. And when they have to sing something that is real poetry put to music, they have difficulty. It is very important not to just be able to pronounce but to know what you are saying. I’m talking about nuance. In opera it’s a scholastic treatment of the language, it’s not how people necessarily talk in Italy or France or Germany today.
How does one choose one’s repertoire and when do you know when it’s a good time to move on to new repertoire?
First of all, you don’t always get a choice. People see you, listen to you and say, “I want you to do Pagliacci,” for instance. You think that people want to help you and give you a break. But you have to think, “they need me; do I need them?” which is hard. And sometimes you say, well I’ll just do it this once and never again. Well, if it goes well, pretty soon you are doing Lulu all over the world—and you didn’t want to sing it in the first place! No matter how a role feels at first, can you do ten performances? If you can’t, you shouldn’t be doing it at all!
Sure we should overextend ourselves, because we can surprise ourselves. But you must never overextend yourself to the point where you are so tired that you can’t talk after a performance. I never had that—I was emotionally tired because I gave a lot but I was never without voice. I was never even hoarse or vocally tired. I always caution singers to look for that. If you are working on something—even with your teachers and coaches—and you get tired, I would invite you to review whether you really want to do this. Maybe it’s too high, too low. If you can’t work it out, no one is going to fix it for you. If you can’t fix it, even as a young singer, chances are it isn’t for you at this time.
I’ve watched young singers who have been talked into things. Someone wants to do Forza; I don’t think any young singers are ready to start with the big Verdi roles.
Suppose you are a singer with things to offer, but are still solving problems as an artist. When is it a good time to start to pursue a career, even though you know there are things to work out? Is there such a thing as being a work in progress while you begin working?
Yes, if you have the right direction. I believe strongly in competitions, because you get an idea of what other people are doing, how they are presenting themselves. When I auditioned for my Fulbright, which changed my life because I went to Europe, I got there very early and ten sopranos before me all sang Butterfly. I thought to myself that no matter how well I sang this part, everyone else in my estimation had just sung it better. So I posed all the problems and had been studying Nedda’s aria, which I really didn’t know, for opera class. I thought,
“well, it’s a hard aria and not many people do it for an audition so I’ll do it.” I was convinced I wasn’t going to be picked anyway. This is what wowed everybody. I was right not to sing Butterfly. You have to really pay attention as a young singer. You don’t have to say that you are smarter than anybody else, but you have to think of things like that. Everybody is wearing a red dress; I’d better wear blue! You want to do something that is interesting, that sets you apart.
What are the most important qualities a singer should have in today’s music world? Name them in order of importance.
Your voice is your calling card. Your repertoire is important. How do you look? How do you present yourself in an audition? You must be convinced of what you are going to do—that’s your best foot. Put your best foot forward in interpretation.
That is one of my big beefs. Young singers think that using sobbing, declamatory notes is acting. It isn’t! Acting is done with the voice but not with the abuse of the voice. It’s your intention, your phrasing, and your musicality. And know whether this is Mozart, this is Bellini, Verdi, Hindemith. You know, people think I have done the bel canto all my life, but I haven’t. I’ve done Mathis der Mahler and a lot of other modern things. I’ve done verismo. But this has all made me realize the more that I am a bel canto singer and I love it! Also, I’m a little different than most singers because I was a pianist and a violinist and I played in an orchestra. I later moved into viola… it makes an enormous difference. You don’t look at the piece as Mimi, but as part of an ensemble. Sometimes the singers are so busy emerging for themselves that they come out of the context of the opera and that doesn’t work.
The music world is sometimes crazy and unfair. How did you keep yourself on an even keel?
I’m not sure I did! [Laughter] I think you have to have an inner respect for what you think. When people around you are acting crazy, you don’t argue with it. You may go along with it, but in your heart you know that this behavior is not going to work in the long haul. People who throw tantrums and walk off stage and break things are wasting so much energy! I want to use all my energy to perform. To be a performer is to be irritated all the time because the plane is late, because they lost your bag, the hotel isn’t right, whatever. People don’t think of this, they think it is all glory. It isn’t! It’s a tough life.
I gave a masterclass once at NYU and a girl got up and said, “It must have been wonderful for you when you made your debut at the Metropolitan Opera and you knew that you would never have to practice again!” I said, “That’s when I really started to practice!” I don’t think the young singer really looks realistically at what a career is. Every night is a test and it never gets any easier and the more famous you get, the more you have to deliver. That is the strain, not just to get there, but then to stay there!
What habits do you have to keep you in vocal and physical shape?
I have always been in training because I was first in ballet school and then I was playing sports in school. I was a jock and still am. I don’t play sports anymore but every day I work out. I think it’s the duty of every performer to stay strong and mentally alert. Your voice will be better because your breathing and your whole being are in good shape. It gives you poise. I was a model for a while so I know. Your voice is your most important asset, as I said, but you have to surround it with all the rest. You have to work. I went to the Actor’s Studio. I did all kinds of things to better my interpretation as an actress and singer. I used to go to performances a lot and hear other people. My first teachers were not in favor of listening to records and I think it is a good thing because you pick up other singers’ bad habits and mistakes. It’s better to learn it yourself, and then listen to records if you want to hear what somebody else is doing.
If you were in front of a group of singers right now and wanted to give a piece of advice that you wish you’d had as a young singer, what would it be?
Be true to yourself, be kind to your instrument, and be prepared for whatever may come. Know what you’re doing! I’ve had tenors leave me on stage for various reasons, twice, in big love duets. I’ve had people faint in my arms. Once I walked out on stage in a Faust and they had not closed the trap door of Mephisto and I fell right in because I was concentrating on getting that spinning wheel started! I climbed out and kept singing! Unforeseen things like that are the reasons you have to know something so well that nothing stops you. You just keep going!
Singers need to be very honest with themselves, and I’m not sure that they always are. There are those who say, “I just don’t have it,” and those who say, “I’m the best!” Neither attitude is good. That’s why if you think you can do something, you study—and don’t expect to just do it the first time. We have to have some love of our voices and of singing or we wouldn’t put up with all this! Sometimes you think that you can’t keep doing this. I had those feelings all the time!
I always remember Callas, who was always very kind to me. She liked me very much, probably because I posed no threat to her whatsoever. I was the only soprano that she let come to her dressing room whenever I wanted! Once at Covent Garden I was singing Gilda and she was singing Tosca. I went in to her room and she looked so gorgeous! She grabbed my hand and squeezed it so hard and she said, “I can’t do what they are expecting from me. Every night I try to be better but I can’t do this anymore!” She was always scared. A good artist is always scared; that doesn’t go away. An artist goes out on the stage convinced of what they can do. If you didn’t believe that you could do something you couldn’t walk out on that stage. You know because you’ve done it a thousand times before and a hundred times in the dressing room!
