RENATA TEBALDI

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RENATA TEBALDI
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Renata Tebaldi(d.1 Şubat 1922 - ö.19 Aralık 2004) 1940'lı yılların sonunda popüleritesini artıran ünlü İtalyan opera sanatçısı.

Renata Tebaldi, 1922'de Pesaro'da doğmuştur. 1944 yılından itibaren müzik kariyerine başlamıştır. 1946'da Toscanini ile Scala Di Milano'nun açılışını yaptıktan sonra, ününü iyice artırmış ve 1949'da uluslararası anlamda tanınan bir sanatçı olarak başarılı bir sanat hayatına atılmıştır. Ses renginin güzelliği ile döneminin en önemli sopranolarından biri olarak, devrin bir diğer önemli sopranosu Maria Callas ile rekabet eden sanatçı, Verismo olarak adlandırılan gerçekçi operanın kahramanlarına, rakibesi Maria Callas'ın bile beğenisini ifade ettiği sesi ile hayat vermiştir. 2004'te San Marino'da yaşamını yitiren Tebaldi Madam Butterfly, Tosca, Manon Lescaut, Otello operalarına kattığı yorumuyla bilinir.

*****

Remembering Renata Tebaldi

By Manuela Hoelterhoff
Published: THURSDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2004

Thinking about Renata Tebaldi, who died last week at the age of 82, takes me back to the winter of 1999 when I visited the Italian diva at her apartment in Milan. I walked very slowly, encumbered by a lemon tree I had carted off from a flower shop near La Scala, the fabled opera house, where her most devoted fans once threw vegetables at María Callas (the rival!).

The greatest singer in the world is expecting me, I kept repeating to myself as I fell off curbs and bumped into walls. I couldn't see very well. A bouquet would have been more practical as an offering. Yet a visit to Tebaldi seemed to require something special. Once upon a time, in the mid-1960s, the opera deity had saved my life.

In the outskirts of New York City, where I grew up, I first heard her name from a high school friend's mother, Mrs. Kubovsky, who worshiped Ayn Rand and made me read "The Fountainhead" for its inspirational story of a master architect who refused to be bound by the rules of little people. Mrs. K, who came from the Old Country and was possibly even more eccentric than my Latvian mother, also knew a lot about classical music. One day, she told me about a singer at the Metropolitan Opera who built empires out of sound. Her name was Renata Tebaldi.

Mrs. K showed me album covers of a tall, elegant, blue-eyed, red-haired person who was definitely not the portly woman I assumed all opera singers to be. My mother, already horrified that I was reading libertarian propaganda reminiscent of the übermensch theories she had barely survived, only slowly came around to taking me to the Met, until finally, one Saturday, we made it to "Tosca."

Carrying a decorative walking stick, Tebaldi swept into view looking for her painter boyfriend. "Mario! Mario!" she sang, though she might as well have addressed me up there in the family circle, a mile away. Mrs. K had been right. As Puccini's lush music swirled up from the darkly glistening immensity of the stage, I was swept off into a world of mystery and poetry that was so different from my everyday existence in blue-collar suburbia that I never wanted to leave. And I suppose I never did.



Today in Culture
Rare antiquities show remarkable success at New York sales.Book reviews: 'The Thin Blue Line' and 'The Responsibility to Protect 'Bellini, the Venetian master and a father of the Renaissancebecame a standee at the Met, where she was the most popular soprano of the 1950s and '60s. In addition to "Tosca," I saw her in "Otello," "La Fanciulla del West," "Manon Lescaut," "Andrea Chénier," "Adriana Lecouvreur," "Falstaff," "La Gioconda" and "La Bohème."

On occasion, Tebaldi would put me and my high school buddies on her guest list after a show. I think composing ardent fan mail constituted my first attempts at the craft of journalism. Hearing the same things sung over and over again by Tebaldi, and the lesser beings who followed in her steps, probably also stirred the elemental critical faculties slumbering between my ears.

Tebaldi weeping into Mimi's muff or tossing her cards into the air as Minnie (a name much later bequeathed to one of my beloved beagles) - these are memories I call up as if they happened yesterday, though, in fact, Tebaldi retired early. Submitting to a last strangulation as Desdemona in "Otello," Tebaldi left the Met in 1973, where she had made her debut in the same role in 1955.

A Carnegie Hall concert constituted her unofficial farewell to a city in which she had spent much of her career. By then, her top notes were insecure, though such was the affection she inspired in the audience that some of us would start yelling bravo early if she seemed poised to miss a climactic high B or C.

Even now, I sometimes wonder how such a highly stylized art form can inspire such passion on both sides of the stage and seem so powerfully real. But the feelings of love, hate, fear, jealousy, rage or ambition animating the characters of Mozart, Verdi, Wagner or Puccini transcend their time because they are so very human. You don't need a course in Italian or musicology to understand the abysmal betrayal of Madame Butterfly or the anguish of Mimi.

What made Tebaldi different? There was the beautiful limpid tone with that heartbreak coloring, of course, and her offstage elegance and charm. She seemed at once approachable and unknowable. She must have had a private life, but we, her devoted audience, always seemed central to her. Tebaldi would spend hours signing autographs, swathed in furs, the requisite white poodle yapping at her feet. The public life of Callas was not hers by choice, though Tebaldi was hardly a hermit, even when she was afflicted by diabetes in her final years .

That winter afternoon in Milan, the door was opened by her longtime companion, Tina, who relieved me of my lemon tree. The foyer led to a formal living room with a grand piano covered with photographs of the soprano in the company of potentates, movie stars and colleagues.

There was a short wait, then Tebaldi emerged slowly from the dimly lit corridor. Even then, an entrance! Rudolf Bing, the general manager of the Met during Tebaldi's heyday - whom she cajoled into letting her sing an opera he loathed, Cilea's "Adriana" - said she had "iron dimples." I was pleased to see the decades had left them unchanged.

We sat down. My Italian was anxious, her English halting. Between us was a small French table with a photograph of the pope. I was reminded of my conversion so long ago to the beauty of opera and a life beyond the malls.

"Madame Tebaldi," I said, "you made me love music and changed my life."

"Thank you very much," she smiled, and poured the tea.

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Jussi Bjorling chante la Bohème de G Puccini - 1er acte "che gelida manina" (que votre main est froide) - mimi est Renata Tebaldi

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Titre : Aïda - Acte IV, scène 2
Interprètes : Renata Tebaldi, Giulietta Simionato, Carlo Bergonzi
Maestro : Herbert von Karajan [1908-1989]
Orchestre : Philharmonique de Vienne