He was already on stage as a child. And even as a teenager, he knew he wanted to be a singer. Initially, Michael Spyres thought he was a baritone. The switch to tenor took years, but he managed it almost single-handedly. Learning by doing - this has remained the maxim of the generalist from Missouri, who refuses to be pigeonholed. A conversation about wanderlust, Enrico Caruso, Mozart, Rossini, Wagner, Meyerbeer and the basics of bel canto singing.
Mr. Spyres, you used to be a member of the Deutsche Oper Berlin ensemble. After a year, you fled. Was it that bad?
No. When I signed the contract, I had already sung more than 40 different roles. And then suddenly I was supposed to do a kind of repertoire service, taking on everything that suited my voice type, with two or three days' notice. Being permanently employed at a large opera house is a bit like working in a factory. Many people choose it because they have a family, appreciate the security and don't want to travel all the time. But it's not for me. I constantly need new challenges, I have to be able to push myself to the limit. Otherwise I wither away.
You see yourself as a generalist and don't want to be pigeonholed as a Mozart, bel canto or any other kind of singer. Your first role in Berlin was the Steuermann in Wagner's "Holländer". Doesn't that make you a classical ensemble tenor?
Basically, yes. The Steuermann was great fun, by the way. I think my wanderlust also plays a role: I just can't stay in one place for too long (laughs). I hardly left my home region in Missouri for the first 20 years of my life. That's probably why I have this travel fever. And the desire to try out all kinds of things has a lot to do with Nicolai Gedda, one of my great role models. Not only was he a fantastically versatile opera singer, he also appeared on TV shows. It's very familiar to me: I enjoy singing jazz or pop or country just as much as operetta or Mozart, Rossini, Meyerbeer and Wagner. The famous Polish tenor Jean de Reszke, who was celebrated from Paris to London and New York at the end of the 19th century, sang Tristan, the Count in Rossini's "Barbiere", Roméo in Gounod's "Roméo et Juliette" and then Tristan again in the space of a week. Almost nobody does that nowadays. Why? Because nobody dares to explore the voice in all directions. Yet this is perfectly possible if you proceed carefully, with a sense of style and the right technique.
Wasn't this range the norm in the past?
Absolutely. Everyone sang Mozart, Rossini and whatever else suited them. That's the best thing for the voice! Back in the 1920s to 1940s, it was a matter of course that Verdi's Otello, Canio or Beppo in Leoncavallo's "Pagliacci" and the Count of "Barbiere" were all sung by the same singer. Today, casting offices would never even think of combining these roles. It was precisely because of this healthy vocal flexibility that there were such great careers back then. If you always have to adapt your technique, style and expression to the respective genre, your voice stays fresh. If you only work in one particular area, it quickly leads to bad habits.
The working conditions in the opera industry in the 19th century cannot be compared with those of today. The acceleration and mobility of the music business has reached unprecedented proportions. Phases of relaxation, of natural regeneration of the musical material, are becoming increasingly scarce. Is the tendency, if not the pressure, to specialize possibly a consequence of this development?
Ultimately, this is an individual decision. I've also done crazy things, for example singing Arnold in Rossini's "Guillaume Tell" in Brussels and Wichita, Kansas, at the same time - I flew back and forth for weeks on end. Of course, you can't do that forever. But I wanted to show what I could do everywhere. When I started auditioning in Europe twelve years ago, everyone knew exactly what I should do. I should concentrate on Mozart, they said, I should switch from Rossini to the more difficult repertoire and so on. I was told something different in every house and in every country. Then I took matters into my own hands. And in the meantime I sang almost everything I felt confident enough to sing and wanted to sing. The French bel canto repertoire, for example, I worked my way through of my own free will. And now, at 38, I can seriously think about more difficult roles - and hopefully sing them with a clear, clean voice.
Nevertheless, alongside eight Mozart roles, the Italian bel canto repertoire with Rossini (13 roles), Donizetti (seven) and Bellini (five) remains the basis?
No question. And that will not change. It's easy to forget that Berlioz, Wagner and Puccini had bel canto singing in mind when they composed their masterpieces. And not just the voices, but also the instruments, the playing techniques and the dynamic spectrum of the orchestras of the time. All of this has developed rapidly since then: The volume of sound is much greater today, there are huge houses, so music is played louder and louder. When Wagner lived in Paris, he studied Donizetti intensively and Meyerbeer was a major influence. He wrote for bel canto voices. The architecture of the Bayreuth Festspielhaus with its covered pit is a consequence of this appreciation: Wagner wanted to create the perfect space for his vision of dramatic singing trained on Donizetti, Bellini and Rossini. And that did not mean singing as loudly as possible, but rather exploiting the full potential of easily responsive, flexible voices. Verdi also composed for this type of voice. This is evident when you look at how detailed he differentiates the spectrum between pianissimo and fortissimo. Such nuances are all too often lost in large houses. I find that unforgivable. For me, Riccardo Muti is one of the few conductors who understand Verdi in terms of bel canto and only cast "great" voices who have mastered the technique and style of bel canto. This was not just an episode in music history. Then as now, the question is how we can intensify and expand the expressive possibilities of singing without overtaxing the voice. The most important thing is technique, technique and more technique.
The American music historian, conductor and singing teacher Will Crutchfield claims that the decline of bel canto singing began with Enrico Caruso ...
Crutchfield really knows his stuff, I admire him greatly and understand what he means. But I disagree with him on this point. It is of course true that Caruso did not adhere to the ornamentation practice of the early 19th century. But his recordings prove that he was stylistically and technically oriented towards the tradition of bel canto singing. However, he had a very special voice - no wonder for someone who smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. This naturally made his voice fatter and darker, tempting him to take those puffs (imitating the Caruso sound). This was then copied many times. Lauritz Melchior comes to mind in this context. For me, he is not only one of the great Wagner interpreters, but one of the greatest tenors ever. When I heard live recordings with Melchior for the first time, I thought: Oh, how light it all sounds. I wasn't even aware of the dimensions, the volume of this voice. Why? Because Melchior sings with bel canto technique, always legato and always on the line. He doesn't have to lift a note, doesn't have to pump anything up artificially (sings a disembodied ooohhh), everything seems to flow naturally. His singing voice is something like an extension of his speaking voice. He sings absolutely efficiently. That is no longer a matter of course today. Also because speaking and singing are often no longer organically connected. One example: Last year, I sang the Enée in Berlioz' "Troyens" for a new recording under John Nelson in Strasbourg and, of course, I also studied the famous Colin Davis recording with Jon Vickers during the preparation. What Vickers does there is sometimes interesting, but he rarely sticks to the musical intentions, ignoring dynamic instructions. Where it should sound delicate, he blurts out the notes. This tendency towards loudness gets me down.
If there is one dramatic tenor role in Berlioz, then it is Enée. Do you have the confidence to perform the role on the opera stage?
Of course! Berlioz never propagated an aesthetic of high drama, he was a bel canto specialist of the purest kind. This is often forgotten. The Rossini and Meyerbeer tenor Adolphe Nourrit was one of his closest friends. Nourrit was his benchmark when it came to singing, as was Gilbert Duprez for a time, until he darkened his voice and turned it up. I would even say that even Wagner's Tristan is anything but a killer role when sung with bel canto technique. Ludwig Schnorr von Carolsfeld, the first Tristan, had a powerful voice, but he sang in accordance with the principles of bel canto singing. This also applies to an Italian "heroic tenor" such as Francesco Tamagno, Verdi's first Otello. The common idea that only heavy, even massive voices are suitable for dramatic repertoire is absurd.
Why is it that a tenor of the century like Luciano Pavarotti sang Verdi's Otello in the studio but never on stage?
I think because Pavarotti felt that his voice had reached its limits in this role. I am sure that it could have been part of his permanent repertoire. But the prerequisite would have been an adaptation to its technical characteristics. And that was perhaps not his thing. He had this incredible musical intuition. But in terms of technique, he never really left the paths he was familiar with. The main problem I have with many Otello interpreters today is their inability to really sing mezza voce, really on the line. With larger voices you often hear a false, narrow, thin piano, especially in the high register - bad conditions for building up a natural crescendo from there. This can only be achieved with strength. I know this because I've made these mistakes myself. I've gone through pretty much every vocal problem you can imagine. I started out as a baritone and sang the first tenor parts like a baritone. Until I realized that I had to change my technique.
Do you get advice from colleagues or singing teachers?
I had a teacher for two years. Then, in my early twenties, I did everything myself. I've been self-taught ever since. Learning by doing. I'm constantly trying out new things. But of course I've also worked through the relevant textbooks. Manuel Patricio Rodríguez García, for example - a fascinating personality. Another baritone who became a tenor. I made the switch when I was 21, but I didn't feel completely comfortable as a tenor until much later. I had to painstakingly learn not to sing baritone. It took me five or six years to understand the passaggio. There were many scary moments. I always had a tape recorder with me, recorded every note and listened to the problematic things until I realized what was going wrong. I always asked myself how I was producing the tones and sounds, paying attention to the breathing, the air currents, the position of the tongue, the opening of the mouth, and so on. García was not only a role model, but also an incentive. It's unbelievable what a horizon he had. He sang the Barbiere, but he was famous for his high tenor roles. At the same time, he sang Don Giovanni - his greatest success in Paris.
Speaking of which: are Mozart and Rossini on the same level for you?
Absolutely. If I had to name composers who set the course for singing and the treatment of the orchestra in opera as we know it today, then for me it would be Mozart, Rossini and Berlioz. To sing and play Rossini properly is one of the hardest things of all. With him, everything is skeletal. If this music doesn't get to the point at every moment, it flies apart and just sounds like a hollow form. Rossini had this innate, very Italian sense for flourishing melodies. For me, there is no other composer who understood the human voice better. If you go through the "Gorgheggi e solfeggi", his manifesto for the singing voice, you can't help but be amazed at how many elementary aspects are incorporated there. For example, he invented an exercise that deliberately overrides the normal use of the larynx (demonstrates a bit of vocal acrobatics). If you can master such extremes without effort, you can also do the simpler things much better. Rossini knew exactly what problems the singers in his operas were struggling with. He was a master at adapting his style to the vocal circumstances. Right down to an aria from "Ciro in Babilonia", in which a single note is repeated ad nauseam - an ironic gift for a singer who is obviously hopelessly overwhelmed.
You speak remarkably little of Bellini and Donizetti ...
I appreciate them very much. Bellini perhaps wrote the most beautiful lines for the voice. But the orchestral writing? That's not exactly top notch. Not nearly as interesting as Rossini. And for me, Donizetti already points in the direction of Berlioz. He was a case apart, catering to every wish. In the end, he had composed 72 operas. All of them are perfectly calculated, like the calculations of Alan Turing. But as a singer I find that a bit oppressive, I always have the feeling that I can't develop myself in these corsets that fit like a glove.
And Giacomo Meyerbeer? You recently made your debut in Frankfurt as Vasco da Gama ...
Very interesting music. But there's hardly a melody worth mentioning in Meyerbeer's music. Do you have a single one in your ear? Even when I think of the beautiful duet from "Les Huguenots" (sings) "Tu l'as dit, oui, tu m'aimes", that's nothing original. He was a great copyist. His early Italian pieces sound like Rossini. "Vasco da Gama" meanders along, it's never quite clear what Meyerbeer was actually getting at. Most of it seems a bit top-heavy to me. I miss the emotional energy and the dramatic substance a little. Maybe that will change, I'd be pleased (laughs).
When you think back to your youth in Missouri - did you already realize then that you wanted to become a singer?
I come from a very musical family, my mother, my two siblings and I were a kind of hillbilly version of the Trapp Family. Even as a child, I performed in public, sometimes only in front of three or four people. In plays or musicals that my mother had written. We performed them in churches or retirement homes. My sister Erica now sings in Broadway musicals. I run a small opera company with my brother, the Springfield Regional Opera. He often directs and sometimes steps in as a tenor. For example, as Tamino in "The Magic Flute". I was responsible for producing the English version and the staging, my wife was the Queen of the Night, my mother made the costumes and my father helped with the set construction. The purest family business (laughs)! We do it for the local people. We recently performed Verdi's "Otello" with singers from the region, a 120-piece orchestra and a children's choir. It was pure madness. Somehow, singing has kept me busy for as long as I can remember.