The Canadian Queen of Song
I have been meditating over a letter recently received from the principal of one of the institutes of music, wherein it was said, “There is no musical topic—not even counterpoint—upon which there is more difference of opinion than voice training. Literally dozens of theories of voice production are to be found, each theorist claiming of course to have discovered the only true system of teaching; and when doctors—professional men like Lennox Browne and Sir Morell Mackenzie—disagree as to the functions of various parts of the larynx, it is not surprising that teachers of singing should fail to be of one mind.”
Recollections of recent journalistic discussions, in which I myself had not been altogether guiltless of participation, had also floated through my mind; and I had been wondering, seeing how fond irresponsible outsiders are of laying down the law, why great singers—who know more about real singing than all the rest of us put together—always seem to stay in the background and maintain a discreet silence. And that was why I had asked and obtained permission to talk over a few technical matters with the Canadian queen of song at her residence in one of those secluded London streets where “street cries and barrel organs are strictly forbidden.”
“Well, of course you know,” said the diva, “that my teachings are those of Lamperti, the Milanese maestro. He was the accompanist of Rubini and Pasta, great singers whom we have never heard, who inherited all the old Italian traditions of the bel canto. His fundamental maxim was that ‘the art of singing was the art of breathing.’ This is known to have been also inculcated by the ancient school.”
Emma Albani (1847-1930), student of Francesco Lamperti.
“Now-a-days,” I said, “we have various theories of breathing. some vaunt the ‘abdominal,’ some the ‘lateral,’ and our latest aesthetic physicist, Dr. Aiken, pins his faith to ‘central’ breathing, which is said to be a combination of the other two.
Madam Albani shook her head. “I do not know anything about all those learned terms!” My way is just quiet natural breathing,—as I breathe when asleep. See, I will take one long deep inspiration and then let the air go in a long gradual perfectly controlled expiration…..You notice that there is no sound, no perceptible motion; and all the time during expiration I should be singing, singing,….in broad sustained phrases. All my pupils have to do this breathing exercise several times a day. Often, after hearing me perform in an opera, Signor Lamperti would come up to me and say, ‘My child, you have breathed well this evening.’ He did not say ‘You have sung well,’ but ‘You have breathed well.’”
“How about those mysterious registers, Madame! How many are there?”—”Oh, the registers [with an air of complete indifference]. There are, of course, three. The maestro never spoke of them,—and he did not allow us to think of them. I hear them in other voices, but in the rightly produced voice they soon disappear. When I was young there was not a ‘break’ of any kind, but a slight weakness about the treble E or F at the junction of the ‘chest’ and ‘medium,’ but I have never felt anything of it since then. And from the ‘medium,’ to the ‘head’ notes the transition is quite smooth and imperceptible.”
“But you do feel that at a certain point, say for instance about D or E, the notes seem to pass backwards and up into the head?”—”Oh, yes: but there is no alteration in position of the palate, tongue or mouth; no adjustment required, you understand. The breath must always be perfectly controlled, — there must not be a particle passing over to waste; and then the notes take their correct position without effort.”
“How high should ‘chest’ notes be sung?”—”I sing B flat, C and D from the chest, but never E. Perhaps occasionally E flat, but only in performance, for a special effect. I do not permit my soprano pupils to sing a chest E. Contralto [chest] voices may sometimes go as high as the treble G: but that is very high and that is the extreme limit.”
“There is one passage in Sir Morell Mackenzie’s ‘Hygiene of the Vocal Organs,’” I said, “which has always struck me with absolute amazement. He says: ‘The chest voice is generally used by pure sopranos.’ He maintains that they use that production throughout their whole compass, and he gives as instances your own voice and those of Madame Nilsson and of Mme. Valleria. You have yourself just told me that you do not take your chest notes above E. Do you remember the production of the other two voices named?” — “I have heard Madame Valleria sing, but do not recall details. Madame Christine Nilsson had some fine chest notes.”
“But she did not sing chest throughout her compass?” — “Most assuredly not: it would be impossible. Sir Morell must mean something quite different from what singers mean by ‘chest.’ It conveys no idea to me at all.”
“Then as to falsetto. I know that you do not undertake the training of male voices, but can you tell me whether falsetto in men is a good production?” — “I never like it myself. There is one popular British tenor who uses it, but I believe that he has recently been studying under a new master with a view to remedying the defect. Some English and French tenors resort to it occasionally, but Italians never. I think that it is due to some deficiency of power in the throat or to a lack of support from the breath.”
“As to the coup de glotte, which was introduced and prescribed by the late Senor Garcia: an explosive method of attacking a note by sharply liberating confined air. Do you consider this of any value in training the voice?” — “For women’s voices it cannot be a good:” any such action must be harmful to them. As to men’s voices, I cannot tell.”
“I was once told by an English tenor that speaking is bad for singers. Do you think so?” — “In so far as it tends to tire the voice, it must be wrong before one is going to sing; but it can have no other injurious effect, provided that the speaking voice is properly produced. This is by no means always the case, except with trained elocutionists or actors.”
“What should be the time limit of daily vocal practice?” — “I prescribe three practices of twenty minutes each, always with adequate intervals of rest between. As the pupil gains proficiency, there may be three practices daily of half an hour each. No more.”
“At what would you estimate the amount of a prima donna’s singing during the performance of a whole opera, if it were continuous?” — “About three quarters of an hour. But of course one is on the stage much longer than that.”
“How long does a properly trained voice last?” I asked, thinking of the frequent cases of premature loss of voice that one hears reported.—”As long as one can breathe!” said Madame Albani, smiling. “Of course old age must make a difference. The top notes gradually go, the power over delicate gradations lessens and there is a falling off in vital energy. But there is never any cause for the ‘breaking down’ of the voice if it be always properly used. Remember that instances of misuse of the vocal organs must occur in all schools of singing,—even among the old Italians!’”
“What do you think are the present prospects for British singers in opera?” —”Has not Mr. Beecham demonstrated them to be very hopeful? The sine qua non is that singers must work hard and make the most of their gifts. There are many good, but not yet great, singers among them.”
“This brings me to another point that I have in mind: the evident lack of training in the rank and file of our native vocalists as compared with foreign singers of a similar status. Can you in any way account for this?” — “Apart from a certain tendency not to aim at a sufficiently high standard, I think that lack of means has a great deal to do with it. They are in too great a hurry to take engagements before they have the requisite equipment. Then, having once made a premature start, they are unable to retrace their steps; and many a promising career is marred through the aspirant not being willing to bide her time and bring her talents to maturity.”
“Your own pupils, by the way, have been rather distinguishing themselves lately, have they not?” — “I think I may say, without partiality, that some of them will do me credit. Miss Marie Houghton, who is only twenty-three, has just been giving ‘Rejoice greatly’ and ‘My Redeemer and my Lord’ at Canterbury and her voice filled the immense cathedral in quite a wonderful way. She has a lovely soprano voice, though not a very high one, and she sings ‘Bel Raggio’ like an angel!”
—”Madame Albani at Home,” Musical Opinion and Music Trade Review, November 1911, p 85.
A Few Thoughts
Emma Albani was in her mid-50s when she recorded the gramophone selections on this page. What do we hear? A strange and wonderful voice from another age. We also hear an overly generous use of portamento and breathing in the middle of phrases—both unacceptable today. [See the Virtual Gramophone, Library and Archives Canada for more listening.] The breathing in the middle of phrases? That may be her age talking. We hear, however, that her voice is intact.
Albani alludes to a major teaching of the Lampertis in speaking about registers: the perception of the voice as being placed in the middle of the head, which G. B. Lamperti (Francesco Lamperti’s son) calls “The Spot” in Willam Earl Brown’s Vocal Wisdom: Maxims of Giovanni Battista Lamperti (1931). You can also find this teaching in my posts on Medini and Girard. As such, Lamperti intended to give the singer a singular locus of control. I should note that the Garcias—as represented in the teaching of Anna Eugénie Schoen-René—taught this same principle. It is attained through, among other things, a knowledge of breathing, tonal formation, and the canny use of Italianate tonal values.
