Cancellations are known to test the devoted operagoer. While some see the promise of hearing a cherished artist dashed before them, others hope to witness the birth of a new star. In the case of Atlanta Opera’s opening night of Verdi’s Il trovatore in 2009, it proved a more complex scenario for yours truly, as the artist taking over the role of Azucena from an ailing Ewa Podleś was none other than Marianne Cornetti.
Thirteen years before, Cornetti had been my first Azucena in a rather well cast run of performances of Il trovatore with the same company. An unknown artist to me then, she made an incredible impression upon that 19-year-old kid who came to the theater, his ear biased with the sounds of Ebe Stignani, Fedora Barbieri, Giulietta Simionato, and the legendary Giuseppina Zinetti. To my surprise, the young Cornetti did not disappoint, unleashing an honest-to-goodness dramatic mezzo that remained in my ear well into my second hearing more than a decade later. In the interim, she had become an esteemed artist of international caliber, portraying the most demanding dramatic mezzo-soprano roles on the stages of the Metropolitan Opera, La Scala, the Arena di Verona Festival, and Covent Garden, among others.
The heavy schedule notwithstanding, as her last-minute replacement in the 2009 Trovatore would prove, the miraculous voice has not diminished. If anything, it has added to an already deep musical and histrionic interpretation, and her achievement inspired me to arrange the exchange that follows.
I want to take you back to those Trovatore performances in Atlanta from 1996. I remember that in the third act, you were thrown onto the stage so severely that you rolled on the floor three times!
Yes I was! I am a firm believer in real theatre, and I believe that is the way it’s supposed to be approached. You need to feel and suffer along with the character, and if at the end of Il trovatore you aren’t crying for Azucena, I have not done my job. The director of that production was Ken Cazan, who believes so much in developing real relationships between the characters onstage. It was he who made me realize that Azucena is a human being with feelings, and even though she is totally whacky (and she has reason to be), we must see the human side of her.
During the performances, I was sliced and cut with knives during the capture scene—and, as you recall, I was literally flung across the stage with both hands and feet shackled while I was singing. Obviously it worked, because people were literally on the edge of their seats. I loved it! I will never forget that Trovatore. I still use the motivations that Ken Cazan gave to me to this day.
Was that production your debut in the role as Azucena?
Yes. Not only was it my debut as Azucena, but it was also my first principal role. Up to that point, I was singing comprimario roles throughout the United States and at the Metropolitan Opera, which was the path that I had been following up to that point.
You’d never know that by listening to you sing now. How did that come about?
It all started in 1989 when I was an apprentice with Pittsburgh Opera. Tito Capobianco was the general manager of the company, and they had a Young Artist Program in the summer for six weeks. I got to watch the artists work, attended masterclasses and, at most, I expected to have a voice lesson or coaching. I was studying Rosina’s aria from Rossini’s The Barber of Seville.
One day Tito asked me, unexpectedly, to get up and sing “Una voce poco fa” in front of the class. Tito Capobianco was, to me, a very intimidating man, who was very strict about you knowing your characters inside and out. I was so nervous to be asked to sing that when he asked me what city Rosina lived in, I completely drew a blank. That is how green I was at that moment in my career.
But that was the wonderful thing about Tito—he allowed me to fall and make mistakes because he knew that I would grow from them. He eventually gave me one of the best pieces of advice of my career, which then became my mantra. “Marianne,” he said, “know that there are no formulas in this business. You create your own path. Put your blinders on and don’t look left or right to see what any other singer is doing, because your path will take on its own life.”
I have always kept my blinders on and followed my own path, which turned out to be the old-school way. I started out with the smaller parts and built up to the major roles, just like the Simionatos and the Cossottos. That opera center was absolutely vital to my early career, and it was Tito Capobianco who gave me that first opportunity as a singer.
Did he give you your first roles?
Yes. I made my debut in 1989 at Pittsburgh Opera as the Erste Magd in Strauss’ Elektra. That role was the first of a countless run of small roles assigned to me in many theaters around the United States.
I followed this path for the next nine years, five of which I was a planned artist at the Metropolitan Opera. It was these years that groomed and trained me for the career that was ahead of me.
What were some of the changes you had to make as you made the transition to a big repertory house like the Metropolitan?
I didn’t make any changes per say, only that it was a huge honor to be in the roster of a company like the Metropolitan. One of the greatest gifts of coming to New York was that I was able to find my voice teacher. Her name was Dodi Protero. I worked with her for about 10 years, and she taught me each of the three major Verdi girls in my repertoire: Azucena, Amneris, and Eboli. She was the one who essentially taught me my technique.
But at that time you weren’t pursuing those roles yet. Did you not have an inkling that inside the comprimario lived a principal voice?
Back when I was a young artist I participated in my share of the major competitions. I remember singing “O don fatale” from Verdi’s Don Carlo at one of them, and afterwards one of the judges warned me that, though I would more than likely have the voice for Eboli one day, it would be best to put it away for about seven or eight years.
He was right. The heavier repertoire would have been too much for me at 26. In fact I was 33 when I sang my first Azucena and 40 when I sang my first Eboli. It’s not just singing the role that’s the problem; it’s also all of the rehearsing that goes along with it that can be difficult.
The experience of knowing how to mark these roles and not tire yourself during rehearsals is essential. I have seen many singers sing all the rehearsals, and by the time they get to the performance, they are exhausted. They think that because they can sing one or two of the arias that they are then capable of singing an entire role. They don’t take into consideration the drama, the size of the orchestra, and the adrenaline that comes with performing.
Did you ever fall prey to this yourself?
I remember when I was singing Azucena for the first time. I got so wrapped up in the drama of the character that I started to tense up, rendering my voice less free. I felt this and immediately flew to my teacher in New York, who told me that I was allowing the drama to enter my throat and touch my voice. You need time to develop and understand these things. Otherwise the next thing you know is you are cracking a note, your breath is too high, or your larynx is clear up to your eyeballs.
So what made you take the plunge to sing the production of Il trovatore in Atlanta?
The artistic director of the Atlanta Opera Company came to New York looking for singers for their up-and-coming production of Verdi’s Nabucco. They engaged me to sing the role of Fenena, but three months later I got a phone call from my manager with the news that Atlanta wanted to postpone Nabucco until the following year. Instead, they wanted to know if I would be interested in singing Azucena. My knees were shaking, because I had never sung a major Verdi role before. I asked for the weekend to think it over and immediately flew to New York to sing thru the role with Dodi. To my surprise, it fit like a glove. “Marianne,” said Dodi, “you need to jump. This is your opportunity!” And it was. That Azucena in Atlanta was a major success.
The general director from Hawaii Opera Theatre attended the performances, and he engaged me to sing Amneris for their production of Aida in 1997. That too was a huge success. I realized then that my voice was becoming more dramatic and suited for the Verdi repertoire.
And from this point on, were you engaged solely in principal roles?
Not completely. I started to get recognition that I could sing the major roles, and in 1998 I sang my last Mamma Lucia in Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana at the Metropolitan. It took me four years and two auditions before I returned to that theater in 2002, but this time as Amneris in Aida.
That evening . . . will be forever the most magical moment of my career. I will never forget it. I had graduated from singing the small roles at the Metropolitan to now singing a major role. It was so satisfying and rewarding!
From there you made your big break in Europe. How did that come about?
I had the great fortune to meet my managers who are with me today, Bruce Zemsky and Alan Green, who added me to their roster in 2000. I had just sung Il trovatore at La Scala and Bruce asked me if I could stay in Italy and sing five auditions in five different cities in one week. “Bring it on!” I said. From those auditions I got five contracts, and that was the beginning of my career in Europe. From there I met Daniel Oren who then contracted me for Verona and so many of the Italian theatres. He helped establish my career as a dramatic mezzo-soprano in Italy. Other countries then followed, but it was Italy that really embraced my voice.
How important are good managers?
Vital! I have maintained a very honest and direct relationship with my managers, and I speak to them about everything in my career. There isn’t one contract that I’d accept without consulting with them.
Good managers should not only understand your voice but you as a person as well, and they should be totally up front with the artist. If a theater says something negative or positive about an artist, it’s better if that information comes from the managers and not from someone else. It was they who challenged me with different repertoire, like Lady Macbeth and Gioconda, and they can do that because they have the knowledge of my voice and personality. This season at the Metropolitan I sang the role of Abigaille in Nabucco as a mezzo-soprano. No one had ever accomplished that before.
That’s a nasty part.
You know it. But you know what? It’s the most gratifying when you can do it. I did it in Palermo, Brussels, and Greece, and now here at the Metropolitan.
Are you working toward switching Fach to soprano?
Not at all. The soprano roles that I am starting to take on have all been done before by former mezzos who turned sopranos at one point.
I was concerned that people would think that I am switching to soprano, which I am not. I happen to be a mezzo who has a top that is very expandable, yet I am still very much capable of singing a role like Azucena, which is on the low side. My managers are billing me as a singer who has no limits.
The Verdi dramatic mezzo really should be able to sing all the same notes as the Verdi soprano. The problem is the tessitura and the fact that you have to hang up there all the time. A role like Gioconda doesn’t require only a high tessitura, but also a lot of middle and low singing. I am looking at Kundry, and that role is very high, but it’s also very dramatic in the middle. Abigaille is very high, but low singing is still essential for that role. Just think of her entrance, “Prode guerrier!” which is very difficult for that reason—but for me, it’s comfortable.
As you know, once you start singing those roles they will ask you for others. Which roles would you stay away from?
I had been offered Odabella in Verdi’s Attila, and I said, “Never.” The first aria is certainly within my realm, but the second one is so lyrical, I would choke. So there are those that you pick and choose, and thank goodness that I am capable of doing that. It makes life interesting.
I’d imagine that adding these roles would test any instrument. How have you maintained your vocal health over your long and busy career?
For me it’s simple: I study all the time and I am constantly with my current teacher, Nelly Miricioiu. Every time I sign a new contract, I fly to London to work on the score with Nelly. Studying is a necessary part of being in this career. Our voices and bodies are changing every 10 years, and so we need to continue to adjust to that. Not to mention all of the roles and the different tessituras.
For instance, l sang Abigaille from Nabucco at the Metropolitan in November 2012. My next contract was Amneris at La Scala. Even though I have sung Amneris more than 300 times, I had to take a month and rework it with Nelly in order to get the middle voice back to where the dramatic mezzo lies. I do this for every contract. Now that I am preparing La gioconda, the middle voice needs to be adjusted. The middle voice in Amneris is much heavier and weightier, whereas Gioconda has a lot of middle voice, but it can’t be as heavy or weighty as Amneris, or the top will be sacrificed and then the style is completely wrong.
Again, I couldn’t do this without the guidance of Nelly. She has guided me through all of the mezzo-soprano roles in my repertoire. Lady Macbeth is one that we worked on so much. She taught me how to approach the high D-flat and how to negotiate the first act aria, which is a beast. Without her intelligence as an artist, singer, and teacher, it would have been very difficult for me to correctly sing these roles. So I never stop studying, ever. I know it is the healthiest way for me to maintain my stamina and good technique.
How did your association with Miricioiu come about?
I met Nelly in 2002 when we were singing in Cilea’s Adriana Lecouvreur in Rome together. I was singing my first Principessa de Bouillon and, because I had never portrayed a French character of noble blood before (and because she is a consummate singing actress), I asked her if she could help me with the character’s movements, which she graciously did for hours.
Then, when I was singing the aria during a rehearsal, she was present in the hall and I asked her what she thought of my performance. To my surprise, she told me that there had been some details that she did not care for in my singing. I got up and stormed out, because it was not what I wanted to hear. When she finally caught up with me, she apologized. “Marianne, I’m sorry. I should have never stepped over the line.” And I said: “You know what, Nelly, I asked the question and you told me what you thought. Now, show me!” From that moment on she’s taken over the technical side of my voice and has taught me new ways of handling this big repertoire, which is priceless considering that I am sometimes singing 50 to 60 shows a year.
Would you veer off the wrong path if left unchecked?
Well, we all can get into all sorts of bad habits. Hence, I am a firm believer that you have to re-oil the wheel. The minute you get onstage and you’re being thrown around, the technique may get a little askew and your singing suffers. That is why I like to rehearse as much as I do. I use rehearsals to put the voice back into the role. And I can do that because I am constantly working on my technique with Nelly and various coaches around the world—people who listen and give you pointers. You need that and you have to be open to that. Now, some people may think it’s not necessary to study anymore and it’s OK to let the voice go. Not me. I don’t feel that I am great enough or “star” enough to not have the feedback of those whom I trust.
I want to go back to that business of being thrown about onstage, because even though you are a very physical actress, you are also very nuanced and seemingly willing to sacrifice a lot for your character. For instance, your Azucena is not only unique, but your connection to the character always feels incredibly personal—certainly one of the most complete portrayals I have seen in the past 20 years. How do you do it?
As an artist, I find it absolutely necessary to use real emotions to portray my characters. While at Pittsburgh Opera, I studied the Stanislavski method of acting with Kay Walker Castaldo, who is a marvelous stage director. She would hold up cards with emotions, and we would have to immediately pull up one of our own emotions to match what was on the card. She always said that if you sense memory and emotion, you can recall it at any time.
For example, I have no idea what it is to throw a baby into a fire as Azucena does in Trovatore, but the emotion would be one of despair and horror. The only moment of true horror that I’ve ever experienced was hearing that my mother was killed in a car accident. Hearing that news brought me to my knees, and I can pull that horrifying moment up instantly.
One day, when I was rehearsing Azucena, the thought came to me that I should use that emotion in order to make her plight more realistic. I took it to Dodi in New York and told her what I wanted to do. She warned that it would be very difficult and she was very right. It was an awful couple of weeks, but it became part of my interpretation. I still use that horrifying experience in the aria “Condotta ell’era in ceppi.” And because it’s an emotion that comes from me, it comes across as that, not as acting.
How do you deal with the demands of traveling and being alone in the career?
My body has become so used to crossing the Atlantic that it is rare that I get jet lag any longer. Asia is still very difficult, though. The short-term advantage of air travel is that today we can sing at La Scala and tomorrow in Vienna, but I truly believe the body and the voice suffer from it. A teacher once told me that for however long you are in an airplane, that’s how long you should be prone when you arrive at your destination. That’s simply not possible in today’s world.
You just have to know your body and understand how much it can take. I only did this once: I flew overnight from Amsterdam to Pittsburgh to cover a last-minute performance of Amneris. I had a business class seat and I slept almost the entire way. I arrived at three in the afternoon, went straight to the theater to do all of the necessary things to be prepared for the show that evening. The show went great, but it was probably adrenaline that really carried me through. I never stopped until about four in the morning . . . . I wouldn’t recommend that all the time.
Is there any thing you would like to do when you finish singing?
I have always wanted to be an artistic director of an opera company. I always said I wanted to parallel Beverly Sills’ career and run a company. I think the satisfaction of putting together all the pieces of that puzzle—like the singers, production, orchestra, ballet, and chorus—and have it be a success, would be comparable to the gratification of singing a great performance. I hope it happens!
What do you tell young singers today about having a career?
First of all, it is a privilege to be an opera singer. Not everyone has the opportunity to have a career and make a living on top of it. Having said that, it is a journey that is very difficult. You must have patience beyond words. You cannot rush your body or your voice into maturing faster than it is ready to. Sing with your own voice, not the one someone else wants for you. You can really do yourself harm by singing the wrong repertoire too soon or that is not suited for you.
Find a great teacher, establish a good technique early on, and never stop studying. Trust your teacher and coach as they are the closest people we have in our careers. Know that there are no formulas. Also know that this is a never-ending journey. It can be very frustrating at times. But it’s like any profession, it comes with the positives and the negatives. Our work is never finished, and the rewards are so great!
I have one last question for you. Has your experience in opera lived up to the dream of it that you originally had?
It’s been an unbelievable ride. It all goes back to the 6th grade when the chorus teacher asked me if I would like to sing a solo, and I sang “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing.” And believe me, that is what Marianne Cornetti has been about all these years. As a young girl, I remember my mom telling me, “If you can see your dream and you believe in your dream, you will achieve it.”
This has been a beacon of light through my entire career. I can remember closing my eyes and dreaming about singing on the stages of the Metropolitan, La Scala, and Vienna, just to name a few, and hearing the cheers for a great performance. I kept that in front of me all the time.
My dreams have been realized through the hand of God, my willingness to never give up, hard work, all the fabulous people who have helped me along the way, and a lot of luck. You know, that’s pretty amazing when you think about it happening to this little kid that came from Cabot, Pennsylvania. It has been a privilege to share with the world my God-given gift.
