ate last year, Frederica von Stade returned home to northern California from Dallas Opera's season premiere -- a new production of La Clemenza di Tito, in which her portrayal of Sesto brought her the usual rave reviews. "An excellent, strong and convincing performance," proclaimed the music critic of the Dallas Morning News. She was about to resume the year's recital schedule, which had already taken her to Bourges, Milan, Buenos Aires, Washington, Philadelphia, Seattle and Chicago. Amid all this activity, plus a multitude of other commitments, the mezzo agreed to take time for a daylong interview. She even volunteered to drive to the airport to meet her guest, and to provide lunch at her home.
In the spacious, sun-drenched kitchen of the house von Stade shares with her husband, businessman Michael Gorman, a friend
ly golden retriever and an imperturbable cat padded in to welcome us, then curled up under the table while we tucked into homemade chicken salad. Sitting with her in the angular autumn daylight, one is astonished by von Stade's attentive, limpid blue eyes, her radiant smile, elegant carriage, youthful figure -- and of course that voice. More than an instrument, it's an extension of her character. One is struck particularly by her genuine warmth, her lack of affectation, her keen observations and the scope of her interests.
During the past three decades, Frederica von Stade has gathered legions of admirers worldwide. They're a fiercely loyal company, and it's easy to understand why. Her stage performances and recitals combine superior artistry with emotional directness, clarity of tone with crystalline diction, natural elegance with unpretentious passion. But she is no diva; the word connotes not only stardo
m but a certain self-important hauteur -- an attitude worn like a costume. Nor does Flicka (her nickname since childhood) fit the stereotype of the traditional mezzo-soprano. Her repertoire regularly expands to include new classical roles and songs in the contralto and soprano ranges, the melodies of popular tunesmiths and the work of a new generation of serious composers.
Critics ransack their vocabularies to characterize the depth of her sensibility and the invariable rightness of her musical and dramatic choices, whether as opera character or recitalist. A short list of some of her major portraits includes Rosina and Octavian, Cherubino and Hänsel, Mélisande and Idamante. She's also a primary exponent of Kern, Rodgers, Rorem, Thomson, Bolcom, Ives, Hoiby and Musto, and some of the finest composers of our time have written operas for her: Thomas Pasatieri (The Seagull), Dominick Argento (The Aspern Papers), Conrad Susa (Dangerous Liaisons) and Jake Heggie (Dead Man Walking, based on the book by Sister Helen Préjean, scheduled for its world premiere later this year at San Francisco Opera).
Three easily obtained recorded examples make the case for her astonishing range. Von Stade's Cherubino (London 1981, Solti), a signature role performed all over Europe and America, i
s limned with a perfect melding of ardor and vacillation. Each syllable is comprehensible, every note a specific element in an integrated characterization.
Just so with Kern and Hammerstein: her contribution to the EMI Show Boat disc offers an almost visible depiction of Magnolia that breaks every cliché. By turns wistful, adamant, yearning and vulnerable, she gives the music and lyrics back to us like restored pictures. Note the vague but deliberately modulated tremor beneath the sunniness of "Gallivantin' Around."
In our own time, Heggie has set to music some of von Stade's playful and poignant poems -- a cycle she calls "Paper Wings," which includes tributes to her own childhood and that of her daughters. "Flicka has become a marvelous poet," says Heggie. "She has a simple, honest way of expressing herself that results in startling, original lyrics." A recent collaborative album (which also features Renée Fleming, Sylvia McNair, Jennifer Larmore, Carol Vaness and others) is called The Faces of Love.
"I don't know any other musician who, at this advanced stage of her career and with her fame, is so committed to new projects and new music," adds Heggie. "She is remarkably encouraging with young singers, conductors, composers and instrumentalists. Really, Flicka is amazing -- she's such a positive person, nurturing and inspiring and infusing energy into people."
Von Stade herself, turning the spotlight elsewhere, sees this as "a golden age for American composers. People like Heggie, Previn and others are working in a distinctive American idiom, enabling us to celebrate who we are and can be. The only trouble is that too often their works are performed only once, or a few times. This is a pity, because every new opera needs a chance to work itself out. We ought to have at least two venues with, say, half a year in between performances, so that an aria can be added here or there, or removed, and so that things may be adjusted. Until a work is up and running, it's hard to see where you need more melody, or how a scene plays."
She is equally concerned for younger singers, for whom she has provided an important model of style and innovation. "I offered her the leading role in Dead Man Walking," says Heggie, "but she said, 'No, Jake -- you want a younger woman, a fresh and gifted young mezzo.' That showed volumes about the kind of person she is. Eventually, I suggested Susan Graham for the leading role, and Flicka at once became her great champion." As it turns out, von Stade will assume the role of the condemned man's mother -- "a role [the librettist] Terrence McNally and I have greatly exp
anded. Now the character is a kind of fulcrum, for she humanizes the man on death row."
Von Stade understands the dynamics of gifted young singers. "Some of them are often preoccupied with mastering technique, and that is, of course, a crucial part of the process. But then comes that blessed, blessed moment -- usually sometime in your forties -- when you realize that yes, my voice is doing all these nice tricks for me, but that's not why I'm here. I have a song to sing, a story to tell, a character to represent. And then -- surprise! -- all the technical refinements that have eluded you begin to fall into place. You don't think about them so much, but you find a greater perspective when you're more concerned with the larger context."
But what, precisely, is that context, that perspective? Is it found in a desire for perfection? Perfection is a word that arises often in praise of von Stade's artistry, but she shrugs off the compliment. "I really don't think music or performing is about the achievement of perfection. It's about humility and about process -- and more than that, it's about humanity."
on Stade, born in suburban New Jersey, never knew her father, who was killed in action at the end of World War II, just weeks before her birth. "I was so fortunate, so blessed in my early life," she says. "My mother adored me and my brother, and she showed us a lot of the world when we were young -- we lived in Greece for a time, then in Italy. And equally important for my education were the nuns who taught me in school." At the Convent of the Sacred Heart, near Washington, D.C., she says, "We girls were so beloved, and we felt very privileged. Many people have no idea how wonderfully intelligent and benevolently influential these women are!"
After subsequent study in Paris, von Stade enrolled at the Mannes School, after which, to her great surprise, Rudolf Bing invited her to join the Metropolitan Opera company. "I've heard all the scary stories about him," she says, anticipating a question, "but I just adored him. He was very dear to his young artists. I know he had a severe exterior, but he was really a magical person to me, and the Met functioned brilliantly with him. There I was, in my early twenties, dazzled by it all, sitting in rehearsals with Nilsson, Sutherland, Tebaldi...." She trails off, smiling at the recollection.
Von Stade made her Met debut thirty years ago, on January 10, 1970, as a Genie in Die Zauberflöte. A long list of larger roles followed, as her mentor and then-husband, Peter Elkus, guided her through the thickets of an expanding repertory and a demanding worldwide schedule. Elkus is the father of von Stade's two daughters, Jenny, now a college senior, and Lisa, an aspiring dancer. After more than a dozen years, the marriage was dissolved, and in 1990, von Stade married Gorman, who avidly endorses her career but maintains his own business interests as well.
Von Stade's primary concern nowadays is a passionate advocacy for music education in public schools -- particularly among the poor and disenfranchised. "I want to draw attention to this issue," she says, "because I want people to see how much the young can learn and achieve. That's why I invited members of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music [where there is a chair in her honor] to join me in a program of chamber music with young musicians. This kind of thing can only happen with private and corporate support -- otherwise students won't be accustomed to ongoing recitals and music study. It's a difficult task, I know, because teachers have a fierce curriculum they have to enforce, and they're under a lot of pressure -- as are the students. But if we don't do this, we're going to be in even more trouble in our society. After all, you rarely see a gang member carrying a violin case!"
"She is absolutely amazing in this cause," declares Heggie. "Flicka got the Oakland East Bay Symphony to perform in Alameda, and she singlehandedly
arranged a four-concert series for young people to have the chance to hear an orchestra. Then she worked hard on every aspect of the gala. She flew back from rehearsals in Dallas, put on her jeans and T-shirt -- and there she was, refurbishing a derelict old theater, painting bathrooms a week before the concert. We arrived to find her vacuuming, dusting, cleaning windows, putting letters on the marquee. That's the kind of commitment she has."
Von Stade's sense of commitment is rooted in a profound inner life. "When you come right down to it, it's a very simple matter," she says. "We are all from God. And since we are from God, there must be nothing bad in the way -- no obstacle, really, between Him and us. I keep thinking that I have to put away anything that stands in the way of my real vocation, which is singing and sharing music. I truly believe it's the art form closest to prayer, and therefore to the journey toward God -- precisely because it comes from a very deep point inside. Singing -- both what we sing and how we sing it -- shows all the flaws, all the neediness of our humanity. And it can reveal all our best possibilities, too.
"These days, we hear a lot about people putting money aside for their security, for their retirement. But there's not a lot of talk about planning our spiritual retirement, planning for our spiritual needs. What will our resources be as we grow older? Putting beautiful words and music and images in our ears -- that's what takes us into our seniority with grace and serenity! That's what I'm trying for."
Her recital accompanist, the eminent pianist Martin Katz, puts the matter succinctly: "Flicka makes the world a better place." She does so not only by her gifts, her commitment and accessibility; she is also a woman with an acute, graceful wit, a style and discernment entirely her own. She embraces life, then communicates the sheer joy of it.
wo weeks after our long interview, and five hundred miles to the south -- at the California Center for the Arts in Escondido -- von Stade gives another memorable recital. Where many artists prefer to begin a program with less demanding exercises, she opens with a set of devilishly difficult old French folk songs, then follows with a set of Duparc and Chausson: "L'Invitation au voyage" and "Phidylé" are almost sensual experiences. A trio of Richard Strauss lieder brings the first half to a stunning conclusion. One woman in the audience can scarcely contain herself during intermission and is overheard asking anyone who will listen, "Where does she get the energy? I mean -- eleven songs, each different! The breath control -- the beauty -- such feeling!"
The remainder of the program proves to be just as demanding and rewarding. Songs by ten American composers are delivered with meditative serenity (Bernstein's "Greeting" from Arias and Barcarolles), ironic humor (Ives's "Memories") and a delicious sense of understated parody (Bolcom's "Amor"). Von Stade concludes with five technically faultless performances of Argentine songs by Ginastera. The voice is sure in the upper register, never thin or pinched, silvery but not cold even to high D, and she descends to low F with mahogany richness. Backstage, she embraces friends and welcomes fans, never hesitating to pose for a candid snapshot or sign a program. She seems as interested in others as they are in her.
"I'm so grateful for the new production of The Merry Widow," von Stade says of the anniversary production -- a Met premiere -- being staged this season in her honor. "At last I'm singing someone my own age! I have a special affection for The Merry Widow because I've been ice skating to it all my life. When I was a little girl in New Jersey, the fire trucks sprayed water on the ponds to make them smoother for ice skaters. Then the waltz from The Merry Widow was played over loudspeakers, and I skated around in pure bliss. I've loved it ever since."
But she had in fact never seen the piece performed before she took on the leading role in a Paris production last year. "We sang it in German, and we had the most wonderful Swiss conductor, Armin Jordan. There was a superb whipped-up can-can at the finale that was so much fun!"
As for the work itself, Von Stade is enthusiastic. "It has some of the most genuine, emotionally honest music ever composed, and some of the orchestrations just break your heart. It's sweet, but it's also real, with an adorable story that can be by turns funny, tender and harsh. In its own realm, it is really great music." Von Stade doesn't have a patronizing attitude toward operetta. "I believe in many so-called lighthearted pieces by Offenbach, Thomas, Lehár and others. Of course, you can't put them next to Mozart, but in their genre they are just as great. The only way to present them successfully is to believe in them and to put great singers like Plácido Domingo in the production."
She is also delighted to be singing The Merry Widow in an English translation that is "very close to the original German libretto -- in fact, it's almost a word-for-word rendering." The spoken passages, she adds, "will probably have to be miked, as they were in Paris. I'm not against miking for dialogue -- how else can the words be understood in vast houses like the Met?" Von Stade adds that she is "thrilled to be out there still, part of it all, and I'm so grateful for my voice and thankful to those who still ask me to sing."
This coming spring and summer, she will be preparing for the premiere of Dead Man Walking. The production, scheduled to open at San Francisco Opera on October 7, will be directed by Joe Mantello and conducted by Patrick Summers. "This is one of the critical matters of our time," says von Stade, who is zealously opposed to capital punishment. "And what better way to fight the death penalty than through music and drama? Capital punishment is an extreme form of state-sponsored vengeance that only demeans and dehumanizes everyone -- and does nothing for the victims' survivors, nothing for society. We're all losers when someone is executed."
Her work on behalf of music education in schools continues apace. "She is devoted to people from poor or tragic backgrounds who never had a chance -- those against whom everyone and everything has conspired," says Heggie. "This cause, just like the opera we're rehearsing, really concerns the power of love to transform people."
As she says of music, so Frederica von Stade declares of those matters significant to her: "It isn't about achieving some standard of perfection. It's about humanity."
DONALD SPOTO is the author of nineteen published books, among them internationally best-selling biographies of Alfred Hitchcock, Tennessee Williams, Lotte Lenya, Laurence Olivier, Ingrid Bergman and, this month, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis: A Life (St. Martin's Press).
Photo credits: © Rosa Lau 2000, ruby silk shantung gown by Oscar de la Renta Pink Label; 28: © Erika Davidson 2000; 30: © Erika Davidson 2000;
OPERA NEWS, March 2000 Copyright © 2000 The Metropolitan Opera Guild, Inc.
PHOTO: ROSA LAU
GOWN: OSCAR DE LA RENTA PINK LABEL
NECKPIECE: SHIRLEY SUTHERLAND, DESIGNERS' CHOICE / ALAMEDA
The voice is more than an instrument --
it's an extension of her character.
"I'm so grateful for The Merry Widow!
At last I'm singing someone my own age!" Letter perfect: Rossini's Rosina at the Metropolitan