José van Dam on obstinacy and idealism, the French vocal school, collaboration with Karajan and problems with young singers.
Mr. van Dam, in 2010 you will say goodbye to the opera stage after half a century. Did you ever really want to become anything other than a singer?
Never, for me this path was always natural. That certainly has to do with the fact that I was already performing as a child - I was always a soloist. A friend of my parents took me to a church choir, and there I sang pieces like Schubert's "Ave Maria," César Franck's "Panis Angelicus" and Christmas carols, at the age of eleven! I always say: I didn't choose my profession, the profession chose me.
And although I was the first musician in the family - my father was a carpenter - my parents never put obstacles in my way. On the contrary, my father helped me because he saw that this was my path. Unfortunately, he died when I was 18 and didn't see what I became.
You made your operatic debut at the age of 20, not in Brussels but at the Paris Opera.
I was somewhat resented for that in Brussels. My debut in Brussels did not come until 17 years later: in 1976 as Don Giovanni. Brussels simply reacted too late. I had already auditioned there, but then won a radio competition in Paris in 1960. As a result, I was hired directly by the Paris Opera. I was in the ensemble there for four years. When I declared in Brussels that I was going to Paris, it naturally made an impression. But the reality was more complicated. When I started in Paris, there was an ensemble of about 120 singers distributed between the Opéra and the Opéra Comique. As a foreigner, I was only the fourth, fifth cast member there. In those days, there were still strict regulations: Only five percent foreigners were allowed in the ensemble, moreover only French-speakers from Canada, Belgium or Switzerland, and only for first roles. In my early twenties, I was not yet ready for these and rejected them: the Mephisto in Gounod's Faust, for example, or La Roche in Capriccio, which I was to sing with Elisabeth Schwarzkopf. The big aria was simply too high for me - and also too low. The small roles I then got were too boring. I wanted to sing at least something like Angelotti in Tosca.
Isn't that a basic problem of young basses - the roles are either too big or boring?
The same is true for tenors. What should a young tenor sing? When he starts at twenty, he can't be Faust and Siegfried right away. My teacher Frédéric Anspach always told me, "Go slowly!" That's what I did.
Was it a mistake to start in Paris?
No. Belgium is a small country: I know singers who had beautiful voices and only had a Belgian career because they stayed there. And what is a Belgian career? But soon the time came to leave Paris. I had 1000 francs a month, after four years I was on 1300. The fee classification went from A to D, and I was A. The big roles were D, that's where you got 6000 francs. But they didn't offer me that until it was clear that I was leaving.
At that time, you were still able to experience the great singers of the French school. Did that influence you stylistically - for example in the case of Pelléas?
Sure, for French opera there were still great performers back then - of the 120 singers at the Opéra de Paris, 30 to 40 sang at a level that you find today at most with three or four singers in the whole of France. As for Pelléas : of course I have seen singers like Jacques Jansen, Denise Duval. However, it was of little use to me, because at that time I was not yet able to sing this opera myself. In any case, I hardly felt that I needed much stylistic coaching for my Golaud - the tempo of Debussy's music corresponds to the natural speaking tempo of French, and that is, after all, my mother tongue. For me, Mozart, Verdi and Wagner are the great pillars.
And the Geneva Opera then enticed you with the roles you were not allowed to sing in Paris?
Above all, I was interested in working in a real ensemble. At that time I had just won the Geneva competition. There, the painter Oskar Kokoschka heard me and recommended me to Herbert Graf, the designated director of Geneva. Graf wanted to build an ensemble, as he had done in Zurich with singers. We quickly agreed on a contract for two years. Curiously, the city then suddenly no longer wanted an ensemble for reasons of cost, but there I was, the only singer in the ensemble! When I once gave a guest performance in Marseille, a journalist wrote: The Geneva ensemble is going to Marseille. The Geneva period was very important for me, especially the work with Lotfi Mansouri, who came there as director and stage manager. With him, for example, I did Masetto, an apprentice in Wozzeck, the father in Werther and, as my last role, Fiesco in "Simone Boccanegra". He worked intensively with me and said, "Come on, you have to get out!" I was still very shy back then.
Was this theater work with singers new at that time? It obviously didn't take place in Paris.
That's right. It simply wasn't as widespread. In Paris it was like in Berlin: if "Faust" was scheduled for Friday, the rehearsal took place on Thursday. That was normality, as long as it wasn't for a premiere and you could work with the director. Geneva, on the other hand, was a stagione system, there were completely different working conditions. A normal working day could look like this: musical rehearsal from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., then staged rehearsal from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m., and another staged rehearsal from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. That's how you learn! When a theater schedules five rehearsal weeks, it still amazes me! Two weeks are enough; the rest of the time the director just knocks everything over again. When we rehearsed the "Dutchman" at the Met with Jean-Pierre Ponnelle, everything was ready after two weeks - Ponnelle was a professional. But when I'm told: five weeks, then I'm really there for five weeks - not like some tenors who only float in for the last week. I'm not a star, but see myself as part of a puzzle: only when all the pieces fit do you have a good result.
Can charisma be learned?
I don't think so. It's all about concentration on stage. When you're concentrated, charisma comes automatically. I often say to young singers, "If you don't know what to do, don't do anything." When I was working on Leporello with Rudolf Noelte in Berlin, he once told me, "You know, van Dam, if you sing in the register aria and scratch your nose, nobody sees it; if you do it while you're not singing, everybody sees it." The concentration on the gesture has to be there. That's where charisma comes from. You shouldn't just sing a role, you should live it.
Isn't total identification also a danger? A role like Golaud is not so easy to cope with emotionally under these circumstances.
You have to retain your self-control: I was always split into two personalities on stage. One was Golaud, the other stood next to him and said: Careful, here comes a difficult passage.
Did you already have the feeling that you had found your voice in Geneva? At that time, you were still known as a bass and not as a bass-baritone.
That didn't interest me at all. I followed my voice. What else could you do? I can't say: I'm a bass and I'll stay a bass. Either you become more bass than you were at the beginning, or the voice goes up a bit, as it did with me.
In view of the importance that the time in Geneva had for you, it is surprising that you only stayed there for two years.
That had to do with the fact that I had already established a contact with Berlin in Paris. At that time I had auditioned for Lorin Maazel, who was looking for a cast for his recording of Ravel's "L'Heure espagnole". I got the role of Inigo, and Maazel asked me if I wouldn't like to go with him to Berlin, where he was starting as chief conductor at the Deutsche Oper.
When you went to Berlin in 1967, did German music also play a role?
German music for me was Wagner - Holländer, Amfortas in Parsifal and Hans Sachs in Die Meistersinger. I had sung Kothner in Geneva, and Herbert Graf said to me: "Whoever sings Kothner often sings Sachs later. Even when I sang the apprentice in Berg's "Wozzeck," Wozzeck was my long-term goal. But in Berlin there was everything: German, French, Russian, Italian. The Deutsche Oper at that time was the greatest thing for a singer. The ensemble with Pilar Lorengar, Ingvar Wixell and Giacomo Aragall was extraordinaire! But my big chance in Berlin next to Maazel was Hertha Klust. She was a coach and once heard me and loved me. She studied Leporello, Alfonso, Figaro and the Golaud with me, even when she was already retired. I came to her house, she could play everything without a score and always said: this is how Kempe did it, this is how Furtwängler did it. Lorin Maazel, on the other hand, was just beginning to learn opera at that time, he was young, not even forty. He was ten years older than me, I was 27. Who is perfect? Of course, there were things like the Fidelio premiere, which was a disaster. Or the premiere of Don Giovanni : he was booed after the first act, and when he came back out for the second act, he turned to the audience and said, "I have to tell you that the second act won't be any better than the first." And anyone who didn't like it could leave. That's when people cheered. But take Karajan: I loved him, but he wasn't perfect either. Neither was I.
Was Maazel's work different from what you had known until then?
Certainly it was different from the tradition I knew from Paris. But Maazel was and is a very good conductor of French music - our recording of "L'Heure espagnole," for example, has stood the test of time well. Of course, there were always differences, as in any opera house. But Maazel accepted it when people disagreed. Once he called me into the office and said, "Next season I'm doing Tosca. Do you want to sing Scarpia?" Me: "Maestro, I'm 29, so what am I going to sing at 40? That's too early." He replied, "But I wanted you in Tosca." "Then I'll sing Angelotti," I offered him. And he agreed. I sang my first Scarpia when I was 50. It wasn't a role I wanted to sing at all costs, unlike Sachs, Holländer or Don Quichotte or Boris. Maazel accepted my decisions, as did Karajan later, who wanted me as Pizarro and Telramund. I explained to him, "My voice is simply too beautiful for Pizarro." He continued to work with me anyway. They always say you couldn't contradict Karajan - you could.
How often did you sing at the Deutsche Oper?
Certainly twice a week, when I wasn't giving guest performances away from home. That increased rapidly during that time - between 35 and 50 evenings a year. I was in Berlin for eight years.
Did Karajan become aware of you there?
No, it came through Emil Juncker, who still knew me from Geneva and who later became Karajan's agent. He gave him the tip. Karajan invited me to the Philharmonie in 1970. I sang Leporello for him, and afterwards he wanted to hear the aria from the Verdi Requiem. Halfway through, he suddenly broke off and said, "Thank you, that's enough." Then a year later he recorded Fidelio with me. By the way, there is a strange story about this: 15 years ago I was engaged for "La Damnation de Faust" with Seiji Ozawa at La Scala, as a double cast with Ruggiero Raimondi. He told me that he had auditioned with Karajan at the same time as I did. Karajan had told him at that time: Raimondi, I will make you the new Shalyapin. Raimondi was pleased - and then heard nothing more from Karajan. Later, he learned that I had auditioned in the meantime. Karajan didn't make you the new Schaljapin, but he did send you up to baritone heights. It just happened to be a good thing that he suggested the roles I wanted to sing: Holländer and Amfortas. Unfortunately, I never did the Sachs with him.
You already knew then that your voice was developing upwards?
The voice is like a rubber. If you pull on one end, you lose on the other. You have to keep a good middle. I think I always had the rubber stretched out well on both sides. I concentrated a little more on the higher roles overall during that time. When Karajan approached me about Pizarro and I said no, he offered me Rocco. After two performances, I realized that it wasn't for me. In this role, you want a real German bass like Kurt Moll. But I sensed early on that the voice had potential in the high register. After all, I had already sung Escamillo in Paris - there it goes up to the f. Then I worked my way up: a good f, then f-sharp, then g. Without an audience, it even went up to g-sharp, but on stage only to the g that you need for Falstaff or Paolo in "Simone Boccanegra." That was the limit. There always has to be some clearance up and down. I realized during that time that I am a bass baritone, not a real baritone. Rigoletto or Luna are beyond my reach.
Did Karajan actually work with the voices?
He said little and worked only with singers he loved - with me for twenty years. Perhaps he is best characterized as a conductor by a story Jon Vickers once told me. A few days before the Otello premiere in Salzburg, Vickers had broken several ribs in a car accident and was in the hospital. He, of course, cancelled the premiere for Karajan, but Karajan replied, "Jon, sing, I have no one else. I'll help you." And Vickers has reported that Karajan helped him so much that he actually made it. That would not have been possible with any other conductor. You didn't have to work much with Karajan to know what he wanted.
Did he help you by guiding you through roles that were actually pushing critical boundaries for you - Sarastro, for example?
I recorded Sarastro for him. Then he wanted me for the Strehler production in Salzburg. But I turned that down and told him, "A low f in front of the microphone, that's fine, but on stage it's something else." He replied, "People want a Sarastro with a beer mug in his hand, but I want your nobility." He didn't change my mind - but he didn't hold it against me there either.
Karajan offered many singers roles that were not at all to their advantage...Of course, some singers sang roles for him that perhaps they would have preferred not to sing - but that was their own fault. The problem with Karajan was that he wanted to cast the singers he loved - Freni, Carreras, Ghiaurov, and me - for all the roles. Of course, many then did what he asked of them. Carreras once said, "If Karajan wants me to sing Micaëla, I'll do that too".
Did Karajan influence your Wagner style?
Artistically, we were completely on the same page. For example, when I sang the beginning of the duet with Senta in the Dutchman, people often said, "You sing it so softly, it's fantastic" - but it's written that way, it begins in triple piano. And Karajan was extreme: in his piani, but also in the forte.
What was it that particularly appealed to you about Amfortas and Holländer?
I'm not an intellectual singer, but the humanity of these roles appeals to me. In contrast, I never wanted to sing Wotan because I didn't really understand the role. The "Abschied", in concert, yes, but the whole cycle never. And: either all Wotans or none. I have no connection to Valhalla, even though many passages of the part are of course great to sing. Wotan doesn't have that humanity, the suffering that I find in Amfortas and Holländer, or the love and humor of Hans Sachs.
Were you actually aware from the outset that you would only be singing Amfortas and Holländer for a certain amount of time?
That applies to all the roles. I did Figaro 400 times. The last time was in Brussels in 1991, when I said: enough. I was then asked if I wanted to sing the Count, but I declined because the Count is younger than Figaro - you already know that from the "Barber".
Which did you sing more often: Figaro or Leporello?
Probably Leporello, because I started with that earlier. But on the other hand, I've always made sure that there's a balance between my performances as Giovanni and Leporello. I even started as Masetto - now the only part I'm missing is Commendatore.
After your Leporello in Joseph Losey's film adaptation, weren't you committed to this role?
That didn't have much of an impact. The film was made in 1976, the year I started Giovanni. Then I sang Giovanni at La Scala and actually wanted to sing Leporello one performance there and Giovanni the next. I would love to switch act by act - that might be crazy, but it would be interesting. Just imagine the scene of confusion with Elvira in the second act!
Do these roles influence each other?
I've always thought that Giovanni and Leporello are basically the same person: One says: I'm swimming to this island, the other says: But it's dangerous.
Is this kind of psychologization also important to you when it comes to directors?
I would have ideas for operas like "Pelléas" and "La Damnation de Faust," even if I don't want to direct them myself. I like to discuss things with directors - but if it's no use, I'll do what they want.
Which directors have had a particular influence on you?
Jean-Pierre Ponnelle and Giorgio Strehler, of course. Rudolf Noelte, too - all three worked with the singers. Strehler, for example, made it clear to me, "Don't forget the dramatic side of Figaro!" That was good, because back in Berlin people criticized me for not being funny enough as Figaro. Just consider : the man finds out after three minutes that his boss wants to sleep with his wife. Is that funny? Boleslaw Barlog and Filippo Sanjust were also good directors, though certainly not scandalous. Today there are nine scandals for every ten productions. I was asked to sing Filippo in Barcelona in Peter Konwitschny's production. I then said I wouldn't do it: Filippo is eating a pizza with Eboli and Elisabetta. That doesn't convince me - and also that he sings his beautiful aria while lying in bed with Eboli. I'm old-fashioned in that respect.
Why did you actually leave Berlin in 1975?
At that time I was already traveling a lot internationally. In 1971 I made my debut at Covent Garden, in 1973 at La Scala, and in 1975 at the Met. But I continued to sing a lot in Berlin until Götz Friedrich asked me if I wanted to sing Wotan in his new "Ring". I refused, and then he was probably a bit angry with me and didn't engage me anymore. It's a pity, I really liked being in Berlin. I liked the Deutsche Oper and also the Berlin audience.
Given your stylistic versatility, it is striking that you were hardly present in the Russian repertoire.
That's because I don't like singing roles whose language I don't speak. Boris Godunov has remained the exception. Although the Russian songs are also fantastic. I learned Boris, after all, the role is not long: three scenes - and he's dead. But when you sing a role like that in a language you don't know, you also have to understand what the other characters are saying. That's twice the work.
Is that a luxury: to have sung all the great roles once?
That's more a sense of tradition. Some roles you simply have to have sung as a bass - like Sachs. For me, "Die Meistersinger" is the most beautiful Wagner opera - even if it is almost as long as Messiaen's "Saint François d'Assise".
Did Messiaen explicitly want you for the title role?
Actually, it was an idea of Rolf Liebermann. At first a French singer was asked, but he didn't want to do it. Then it was my turn and I met with Messiaen two or three times two years before the premiere. I asked him why he wanted a bass-baritone. I myself would have imagined St. Francis more as a light baritone or a tenor. But he wanted a Boris and Amfortas. So he was right with me. Then he asked how high and how low he could go, and that was it.
What surprised me about the music is that while it is enormously complicated for the orchestra - there are 125 men in the pit - the vocal lines are very French: a bit of Saint-Saëns, "Pelléas" and a lot of Fauré. Very melodic. When it gets serious, the orchestra comes in. Only the text was hard to learn. In the bird scene, there are about 30 different kinds of birds in 45 minutes. And there was no prompter!
What kind of relationship have you developed with this role and its spiritual content?
I am a believer, even though I don't go to church. And you have to believe in something to sing this role well. Messiaen originally wanted us all to go to Assisi beforehand. That wasn't possible, but I read a lot about St. Francis. Julien Green wrote a very nice book about him. When I was rehearsing Filippo, I read Schiller. You really understand some things from there. For example, why Filippo warns Posa three times about the Inquisitor. That helps you to slip into the skin of the character.
You sang a lot of rare repertoire, but mostly only on record.
That was a request from Alain Lanceron, the head of the French EMI. Among other things, he had chosen me for a production of Georges Enescu's "Oedipe". The music is great, and after the recording I got offers to sing the role on stage. But I didn't want that, because this opera needs a fantastic direction - and I hardly saw that anywhere. By the way, there's an aria in there that sounds wrong the first time you hear it, because it's notated in quarter tones. I have made many records, but few with which I am satisfied. "Oedipe" is one of them. I also recorded pieces like "Le Fou" by Marcel Landowski, the composer was there to help me. But as with many other pieces, like Reynaldo Hahn's "Ciboulette," I never felt the need to sing them on stage.
In contrast, Doctor Schön from "Lulu" is missing, for example.
I wanted to sing this role, but unfortunately no one asked me. Wozzeck, on the other hand, did come up - first at the Met. I also read Georg Büchner and saw the film with Klaus Kinski. I felt the same way about "Wozzeck" as I did about "Pelléas". The plays are very interesting, but the greatness comes only through the music. However, I always found it a pity that Debussy did not compose Golaud's suicide attempt, which he undertakes in Maeterlinck's work following the fratricide. That would have given the figure more humanity.
So the beautiful soul is important to you here too?
In Golaud and also in Wozzeck! But I didn't want to sing Wozzeck too often. Brussels, London, Met - but it couldn't become a repertory piece. That gets you too carried away on stage.
And after the performances?
Fortunately, I could always switch off. Even after five weeks of rehearsals for "Wozzeck," I was never a Wozzeck at home. I was always able to keep that apart very well. But still, Wozzeck was the hardest role I ever learned.
How would you evaluate the state of French singing at the moment? Is there a French school, can it be revived?
I teach at the Chapelle Musicale de la Reine Elisabeth in Brussels. There I have people from all over the world - and the hardest thing for them is French. While seventy percent can sing fluently in German - and all of them in Italian - at most thirty percent know French. This, of course, reflects the importance of the repertoire. Today there are no more great singing teachers in France. At that time, I didn't want to make a career, I wanted to sing. If you sing to make a career, you can forget it. I sing because I love to do it, and I will continue to do so even after I leave the opera stage. In April, we had an entrance exam, and out of 47 candidates, two were accepted with difficulty. People came...
What is missing?
Material is there, but no technique. There was a 32-year-old bass without any technique - too late. Or a Romanian, a mezzo, who sang Eboli, catastrophically. She will never make a career. But what should someone like that, who is over thirty, do then?
Does vocal material matter much at all?
Of course, anyone can learn to sing, but if you don't have an interesting voice, technique won't make it more interesting. You either have the voice or you don't. Technique is important, but it's also not a big secret. The singing sits on the support. For example, I listened to a record of mine when I was eleven, which I found in my mother's estate. By then I had everything: support, line, a real talent. Others need time for that, and that is often no longer there today. In the past, singing students often had to practice almost only vocalises for the first three years. My teacher Frédéric Anspach also forbade me to sing any pieces at all during the first two years. Only vocalises, breath, support, technique - no aria. You need patience if you don't have all that naturally, like Roberto Alagna, Mirella Freni or Piero Cappuccilli. He just patted his stomach when you asked him about technique and said "qui, qui!".
You chose Don Quichotte for your opera farewell. Does that have symbolic meaning?
The role is, of course, a myth for singers. I have always enjoyed singing it. Actually, I had thought of Pelléas, Boris or Dammnation - but these pieces were just being performed in Brussels. That's how the decision came about. But maybe it fits quite well: Quichotte is an idealist and a dreamer. I like that. Every artist is naive when he tries to enchant two thousand people in the auditorium. Without idealism, one should not become a singer.