n
a warm summer afternoon, Ruth Ann Swenson and her husband, baritone
David Bernakus, have stopped for an interview with OPERA NEWS,
midway between their Napa Valley vineyards home and a dinner
date in San Francisco. Dressed in a crisp white pants suit, with
a peppermint-ice-cream-colored blouse, the voluptuous soprano
presents the picture of a modern diva -- smart, healthy
and happy. Last season's Met L'Elisir d'Amore, with an
ailing Luciano Pavarotti, produced a classic Swenson a
necdote that provides
a clue to her no-nonsense character: when the tenor tottered
suddenly in the wings during one performance, he found the sturdy
soprano holding his arm. "Lean on me, Luciano," she
told him soothingly. "Ruth Ann is here."Jerry Hadley,
one of her favorite tenor partners for nearly a decade, calls
her "profoundly sane." Possibly this is why I never
found Swenson's characterizations of opera's tragic heroines
-- Gilda, Lucia, Juliette -- as convincing as her
take on such happier ladies as Despina, Adina and Nannetta. (Impresarios
and audiences don't agree.) Swenson is in demand for tragic roles
and is currently starring in Nicolas Joël's new staging
of Lucia di Lammermoor at the Metropolitan Opera.) Despite
the fact that she possesses a major instrument, steered by superb
technique, was Swenson too "sane," her voice too suffused
with sunshine, to be a complete artist?
That nagging doubt -- one that applies to many all-American
singers who radiate health and confidence but little of the spiritual
mystery that transforms ordinary singers into divas --
was answered resoundingly in the negative by Swenson's most recent
new role, Massenet's Manon. She tried it out in Detroit, had
a triumph with it in Paris and sang it in San Francisco in October,
opposite Hadley's Des Grieux. There was never any doubt that
Swenson could conquer the role's myriad vocal demands, from the
glittering coloratura of the Cours la Reine to the tender heartbreak
of "Adieu, notre petite table." But would she be able
to master the character of Manon, a pleasure-seeking sixteen-year-old
whose "standard of comfort" (as Hadley delicately puts
it) interferes with her genuine affection for Des Grieux?
Swenson managed the feat in San Francisco -- dramatically
and vocally -- even while suffering from the flu. Many
found Swenson to be the finest Manon since Beverly Sills. Looking
fetching in candy-colored costumes from the early '70
s, when it was fashionable
to put pink, red and tangerine in the same scene, Swenson traced
the progression from innocent country girl through pensive young
lover and brilliant (but not hard) demi-mondaine to an
erotic St. Sulpice seduction, where her middle voice suddenly
took on a languorous, womanly character I'd never heard from
her before.
"It isn't possible to be anything but yourself onstage,"
says Hadley of that seduction scene, "so acting is actually
revealing. I learned more about Ruth Ann from her Manon.
In real life, she's a good girl, but nothing she did in the St.
Sulpice scene was false. When she sang, 'N'est-ce plus ma main,'
all Ruth Ann's endearing qualities were taken to the max. There
is no way any man could resist her. She's an amazing artist because
she's so self-possessed -- but not self-absorbed, if you
understand the difference. In this business, which is increasingly
about equivocation and lack of values, Ruth Ann is remarkable
for her honesty."
The soprano, who is much more introspective than her placid
exterior suggests, says, "If a singer is a superficial person,
even if she has a great vocal technique, that superficiality
will come across. I believe that whoever you are in real life
comes out onstage. You can't cover emptiness with dazzling coloratura."
Swenson considers Manon her most difficult but rewarding role
to date, suggesting that the hardest part is not the music but
"the emotional progression, as she gets darker. Your voice
has to seem to mature as the character grows and changes. This
aspect of playing a part is less difficult for me now than when
I was twenty-one. That's one of the reasons I waited so long
to learn Violetta, which I'm working on now." Swenson will
sing her first La Traviata, for Lyric Opera of Chicago,
in February.
Swenson's buttery soprano obviously hasn't stopped growing
or changing yet, but her Manon fixed certain vocal characteristics
in the listener's ear. First, there is the effortless top voice,
from the saucy acuti in the Cours la Reine to the full-voiced
high D-natural that caps the Transylvanie ensemble. Yet, unlike
many lyric coloraturas, Swenson's middle and bottom voices project
thrillingly through the orchestra with no sense of strain. She
sings without audible breaks up and down her entire range and
is able to color and shade dynamically while maintaining a pure,
unruffled legato line. Her diction is superb, even on high notes,
her sense of rhythm is sharp and best of all, her voice now has
a distinctive tint, rich enough with expressive coloration to
take her firmly and permanently out of the soubrette category.
Lucia di Lammermoor, Swenson's broadcast role this month,
is a less complex dramatic challenge than Violetta 
or Manon but matches them
in vocal difficulty. The classic victim, Lucia is raised above
insipidity by her one act of violence, and by the flood of inspired
music that follows her derangement. Swenson has sung Lucia six
times, in companies ranging from Washington, D.C., to San Francisco.
Her Metropolitan Opera mainstage debut in the role took place
in December in a new production. When we spoke, she hadn't yet
seen the sets, but had heard that "they were painted in
Italy and are supposed to be traditional and quite beautiful.
Of course, I won't know anything about the director's ideas until
we start rehearsals."
Carlo Rizzi, who conducts the new Met Lucia, had previously
worked with Swenson on Il Barbiere di Siviglia and Rigoletto.
"He's a real bel canto conductor, and I'm looking forward
to making beautiful music," says the soprano. "The
rubati, the cadenzas, the business with the flute are all worked
out in advance, in the practice room. I have my own ideas about
Lucia's cadenzas. I've listened to all the famous Lucias and
taken a bit from here and from there. I try not to sing Lucia
like any other singer. I worked out the cadenzas on my own --
with David, naturally." (Husband Bernakus is an excellent
pianist as well as a singer, and Swenson considers him "a
true collaborator. It's important to have another pair of ears
that you trust, and he's on my side. We're in this together.")
The lyric coloratura Fach currently seems to be the most congenial
for Swenson's voice and personality. A foray into Zerbinetta
at the Met a few seasons ago probably will not be repeated. "I
loved singing it, but I have more dimensional roles on my plate
now. She's pretty much just a coloratura part that not only lies
high but stays there. Everybody sits around waiting for the big
aria. It's a vocal challenge, but she is just not meaty enough
for me at this point in my career.
"I imagine that La Traviata will be my most difficult
opera," she predicts. "It's similar to Manon in the
dark progression of the character and all the different voices
you need to sing that variety of music. Vocally, I could have
sung Violetta years ago, but you need to grow up for some parts."
This grown-up quality has been more and more evident in Swenson's
work in San Francisco, where she has sung almost her entire repertory.
After training in the Merola Program in the early '80s and singing
with SFO Opera Center's touring company, Western Opera Theater,
she was hired for such tiny parts as Echo in Ariadne auf Naxos
(1983), Giannetta in L'Elisir d'Amore and the Confidante
in Elektra (1984). In 1985, her charming Dorinda in Handel's
Orlando was a breakthrough into starring roles; it was
followed by Nannetta in Falstaff (1985), Juliette (1987),
Gilda (1990), Pamina (1991), Adina (1992), Lucia (1994) and Ophélie
in Thomas' Hamlet (1996).
The last revealed a deeper, more mature artist, not so bland
or generic as before. (The 1987 Juliette, for instance, found
Swenson singing her death scene with the same sunny tone she
used in the balcony and bedroom scenes.) The staging of Ophélie's
death scene, with the soprano seeming to sink into a deep pool
as her voice faded away, was the most spine-tingling moment of
the season. And Swenson's repeat of Gilda in 1997 presented a
completely different character from her chirpy 1990 assumption.
"Tutte le feste al tempio" had gained the erotic undertone
that makes Gilda's confession of first love so heartbreaking.
Swenson's heroic resolve in the last-act trio soared into the
house with a visceral impact all the more amazing in the face
of the bone-crunching accompaniment of an insensitive conductor.
That Rigoletto production had caused a minor scandal
when the originally scheduled tenor was dismissed, and SFO confirmed
to the Chronicle that Swenson herself had wielded the
hatchet. The soprano gasps indignantly at this charge. "That
is so untrue and unfair. As if," she adds, in her
best Alicia Silverstone imitation, "I had the power to fire
tenors." Bernakus, for whom this is obviously a sore point,
chimes in, "Ruth Ann is a professional who goes to her job
fully prepared. She attends every rehearsal. She is not a frivolous
prima donna, she is an artist." When the story is repeated
to Hadley, he first makes a joke about "punching anyone
who says bad things about Ruth Ann," then seriously points
out that the soprano is the last artist to come unglued when
things are going wrong. "What I adore about her as a colleague
is her inner calm. Singing with her is like being at the eye
of a hurricane; the only other soprano I've ever experienced
that with was Joan Sutherland."
In addition to problems with the tenor and conductor, that
Rigoletto suffered from an awkward staging. Asked whether
a production or conductor changes the way she approaches a role,
Swenson repeats what seems to be her mantra. "I always try
first to sing well. Sometimes it's difficult, if the conditions
around you are not happy, or you're put in a physical position
that makes singing well impossible. Sometimes you have to 'protect'
yourself. You have to know how much you can do, and when you're
asked to do something you can't, you have to take a stand."
She shifts into an exaggeratedly polite drawl. "Excuse me,
but I am not going to stand on my head over in that corner
and try to sing high E-flat."
Bernakus recalls watching his wife sing Gilda "in a very
odd production in Europe. Everything onstage was blue, except
this giant red ball suspended from a rope in the middle of the
stage. It was there for the whole opera. The director wanted
her to embrace the red ball during 'Caro nome.'" ("It
was so huge I couldn't get my arms around it," Swenson laughs.)
Bernakus goes on, "As she embraced it, her breath caused
it to sway. You could see the audience watching the ball sway
while she was trying to sing this difficult aria. And nobody
was listening, because they were fascinated by the swaying red
ball. That's why I can't abide these so-called directorial concepts;
they are often so unmusical."
As soon as Swenson's career began to take off internationally,
EMI signed her to a recording contract and released her first
album of coloratura arias, Positively Golden, which was
greeted with some skepticism because of the marketing campaign
featuring Swenson's golden mane. One critic quipped, "Is
this album about bel canto or belli capelli?" The soprano
seems resigned to the sniping. "I'm not responsible for
the marketing, but I wanted a pretty picture. My hair is a kind
of trademark, after all. And I was so excited to be signed to
a recording contract."
Her next disc, a song recital called I Carry Your Heart,
accompanied by Warren Jones, mixed the expected Bellini, Rossini
and Verdi with a powerful group of lesser-known songs by John
Duke. Swenson's beauty of tone, smooth legato and crystalline
diction proved that she was much more than a mere coloratura
canary; she had a personal, direct way with intimate music as
well. "We had fun with that disc; Warren and I picked out
songs together, music that was congenial and compatible with
my voice and temperament." Her latest solo album is Endless
Pleasure, a series of Mozart and Handel arias conducted by
Charles Mackerras (reviewed on page 75).
Swenson went
to high school on Long Island -- which she pronounces
in classic New Yawkese, "LonGUYland" -- then
studied at the Academy of Vocal Arts in Philadelphia before landing
in SFO's Merola Program. There she began studying with vocal
pedagogue Dickson Titus, who has been her teacher ever since.
"Dickson is the one who believes I am a lyric coloratura
in the Italian style. Too many singers stop studying once they
have an international career, but I'm not so egotistical that
I think there is nothing about my voice that needs to be fixed.
As soon as I get back in town, I take as many lessons from Dickson
as I can. He stresses flexibility, ease, the Italian school,
Vaccai, Marchesi. I'm lucky that coloratura came easy to me,
but anybody can be taught. That's what studying singing used
to be about -- years of exercises and technical preparation
before you sang even a simple Italian song. Now everybody wants
to start with the big arias."
Seeing herself as a light lyric soprano -- "You
know, the famous 'inas': Adina, Pamina, Despina" --
Swenson was initially uncertain about her top notes. "I
was on the road with Western Opera Theater, sharing Gilda with
two other singers, when I began to explore the extension on top
of my voice. That tour is where I met my husband. He was singing
Marullo."
Bernakus, currently on leave from the SFO chorus, takes up
the story. "We were in Birmingham, and Walter MacNeil had
a Magic Flute score. He was working on Tamino at the piano
in a Holiday Inn. I was playing the Queen of the Night's music,
just for a lark, and Ruth Ann started singing. All I could think
was 'Heavens, why are you afraid of high notes?' At that
time, she wasn't even singing the high extensions in Gilda. So
I said, 'Why not give it a try?'"
"It was a dare, really. I did it in performance, and
that's where the conductor fainted," jokes Swenson. "From
that point, I convinced myself that those notes were not only
solidly there but could be exploited. Dickson agreed, though
I don't think he thought I should be camping out up there. I
still thought of myself as Pamina."
Many of Swenson's admirers think her Mozart is incomparable
and regret that she seldom sings Pamina or Susanna anymore. SFO
director Lotfi Mansouri hired her for his Canadian Opera Company
to sing Ilia in Idomeneo in 1987. "It was to die
for -- the freshness, the lyricism," he says in his
extravagant manner. "She was a gorgeous Mozart singer, and
I hired her to sing Pamina next. And yes, she's one of the best
Paminas I've ever heard." So why isn't she still singing
Mozart?
"I still do some, and I still want to. I'm doing Constanze
now, and I'll sing Susanna whenever it's offered, but it seldom
is. I think [impresarios] figure that other women can sing those
Mozart roles, but not everybody can sing Lucia and Gilda. They
just don't think of me anymore as a Pamina or Susanna."
Mansouri tried to talk her into Donna Anna a few seasons ago
but ran into scheduling conflicts. He, too, feels that Swenson
has grown enormously as a dramatic artist. "It's possible
that when Ruth Ann was younger, she may have been too careful,
too concerned with making sure the vocalism was perfect before
she tried anything else. But now she is taking artistic risks.
She's no longer just a voice but is interested in creating characters.
I think of her as moving toward more mature roles, even some
of Sutherland's and Sills' repertory. Wouldn't you love to hear
Ruth Ann in a revival of Massenet's Esclarmonde? I've
hired her to do Ballad of Baby Doe in a few years, and
I'd like her to explore more Handel, and of course French opera,
in which she is -- and she hates me to use this word --
absolutely delicious!" One role Swenson has ruled
out is Norma. "I'm not approaching it at all. That heroic
flavor is not something I'm up to."
Bernakus recalls Alfredo Kraus (Swenson's Roméo in
San Francisco and her first Edgardo, in a Met-in-the-Parks Lucia)
saying, "Your Juliette was very good, but Lucia is where
your voice lies." The Met parks series, in which she sang
Lucia, Gilda, Rosina and Adina before performing a note onstage
at the Metropolitan Opera House, was "a way of proving myself,
of paying my dues. We had no orchestra rehearsals. You just go
out there and do it. I had a great time, because I didn't realize
how insane it was to sing in those circumstances."
It's Swenson's combination of healthy self-worth and marveling
naïveté that convinces both Mansouri and Hadley that
her career will stretch far into the future. "Ruth Ann is
a consummate vocal technician, highly disciplined, who never
loses sight of fundamentals," says Hadley. "In twenty-five
years, when these other Roman candles have burned out, she'll
still be singing well and giving pleasure. We've only seen the
tip of the Ruth Ann iceberg."
STEPHANIE VON BUCHAU is OPERA NEWS' longtime San
Francisco correspondent.
PORTRAIT: JOHN-FRANCIS BOURKE
MAKEUP AND HAIR: HERVE FOR FREDERIC FEKKAI BEAUTE
BACKDROP: SANDRO LA FERLA
photo credits: © John-Francis Bourke 1998 (portrait); ©
Erika Davidson 1998 (Adina), © Marty Sohl/StageImage 1998
(Manon); © Ron Scherl/StageImage 1998 (with Horne); ©
Erika Davidson 1998 (Gilda, Zerlina), © Beth Bergman 1998
(Zerbinetta)
OPERA NEWS, January 1999 Copyright
© 1999 The Metropolitan Opera Guild, Inc.
Ruth Ann Rising
Once a technically polished
but bland "ina" singer,
Ruth Ann Swenson is growing
into a new artistic maturity.
Now she takes on the Met's
new
Lucia di Lammermoor.
How will she compare to the
role's
great interpreters of the past?
by Stephanie von BuchauSWENSON'S ADINA (ABOVE) HAS WARMED
THREE MET REVIVALS OF ELISIR; MASSENET'S MANON
(RIGHT) PROVIDED SWENSON WITH A SAN FRANCISCO OPERA TRIUMPH LAST
FALL
SWENSON'S BREAKTHROUGH
ROLE CAME IN 1985, WHEN SHE PLAYED DORINDA TO MARILYN HORNE'S
ORLANDO IN SAN FRANCISCO'S PRODUCTION OF THE HANDEL OPERA
"I'm not so
egotistical that I think there is nothing about my voice that
needs to be fixed."
A GALLERY OF SWENSON HEROINES
AT THE METROPOLITAN, FROM LEFT: GILDA IN RIGOLETTO; ZERLINA
TO FERRUCCIO FURLANETTO'S DON GIOVANNI; ZERBINETTA IN ARIADNE
AUF NAXOS