Roberto Alagna Articles & Interviews: August

Le ténor français Roberto Alagna tiendra mardi à l'opéra de Marseille le rôle de Marius dans la création lyrique composée par Vladimir Cosma "Marius et Fanny", un personnage à la recherche "d'un ailleurs" et qui l'a "fait rêver" dans sa jeunesse.

Réponse: "J'en avais entendu parler par mon frère. Il m'a dit: +il y a un Marius qui est en train de se monter, je pense que ce serait bien avec toi+. J'ai appelé Mme Auphan (directrice de l'opéra de Marseille, ndlr) et lui ai dit que j'étais intéressé par le projet. Ce qui m'intéressait c'était le personnage car il m'avait fait rêver et qu'il fait partie de notre culture et de notre patrimoine français. Pagnol, ce sont des histoires d'une simplicité confondante mais en même temps touchante car justement, elles peuvent arriver à tout le monde et partout. Ce qui me touche dans le personnage de Marius, c'est qu'il a envie d'un ailleurs, et moi, j'ai eu envie de cela quand j'étais gamin, la preuve, c'est que je suis devenu un artiste. C'était ça mon ailleurs, lui, c'est la mer, le voyage. Moi, mon voyage, c'était l'opéra, la musique, cette fameuse grande musique, aller dans ce monde de rêve et en même temps complètement hostile à ma condition.

R: La seule différence, c'est qu'on n'a pas de points de repère. D'habitude, quand on fait un opéra, on peut toujours se plonger dans les enregistrements qui vont déjà donner une clé, la clé de l'énigme que représente chaque opéra. Il faut adapter sa voix, trouver la clé pour pouvoir interpréter et tenir du début à la fin, c'est ça la difficulté. Avec une création, ce qui est intéressant, c'est que le projet naît de vous-même. C'est nous qui allons être la référence, on ouvre la voie et ensuite, chacun adaptera à sa façon. J'aime assez même si honnêtement, c'est très fatiguant, très éprouvant.

R: Je suis ravi. Pendant longtemps, on a cru que j'étais de Marseille, je ne sais pas pourquoi, peut-être en raison de mon tempérament. Maintenant, j'y suis. Je me sens bien ici. D'ailleurs, j'ai l'impression que les gens me connaissent depuis longtemps ici alors que je ne suis jamais venu. En plus, faire cette oeuvre, ici à Marseille, c'est formidable et assez symbolique.

Regard droit, chemise rouge, enjoué. Dans les couloirs de l'opéra, Roberto Alagna donne de la voix. Depuis plusieurs jours, il répète le rôle de Marius aux côtés de son épouse Angela Gheorghiu qui incarne Fanny dans la création mondiale de Cosma ouvrant la saison lyrique à Marseille le 4 septembre. Interview.

"Mon frère David a eu vent du projet. Il m'en a parlé et j'ai appelé Renée Auphan en lui disant que j'étais d'accord pour créer Marius. Le personnage me plaît et chanter dans une création mondiale m'intéresse; c'est prouver que cet art est vivant. Puis je pense que j'ai un côté romantique qui colle au personnage. De plus, j'ai grandi avec les oeuvres de Pagnol, ça me rappelle mon enfance.

Chanter Cosma c'est simple? Oh non! N'allez pas croire que c'est de la variété. C'est difficile car Cosma ne tient pas trop compte de la tessiture. Il y a des notes à donner qu'un ténor n'utilise pas, surtout dans les graves.

Il ne faut pas oublier que j'ai débuté par la chansonnette. Il a fallu que je m'impose dans l'art lyrique. Je suis bosseur et ça a marché. J'ai toujours touché à tout car je considère que mon talent me donne la mission de procurer du bonheur au plus grand nombre. Dans la rue, les gens me reconnaissent. Souvent, ce sont des gens simples qui se retrouvent en moi. L'artiste ne fait pas de politique, il doit communier avec tout le monde. Puis, il ne faut pas oublier que je suis issu d'une famille modeste.

C'était un coup monté. On ne m'a pas laissé m'exprimer. D'ailleurs, l'air qui a été sifflé est sur le DVD édité par la Scala. Si ça avait été mauvais, ils ne l'auraient pas mis. Ça fait vingt ans que j'en envoie (NDLR, des notes). J'ai eu des hauts et des bas mais je n'ai jamais mal chanté. À la Scala, je venais d'être opéré d'un kyste dans le nez. Et je n'accepte pas la trahison de ma famille, celle de la direction de la Scala qui connaissait mon état de santé. Pour la petite histoire, Placido Domingo m'a demandé d'être Radames à Barcelone. Si j'étais mauvais, m'aurait-il invité ?

Ce n'est pas facile de chanter dans ce lieu et les Chorégies arrivent toujours en fin de saison, lorsqu'on est le plus fatigué. Là aussi, je donne le maximum de moi-même. Je n'en connais pas beaucoup qui, dans les mêmes conditions, chantent à fond la pré-générale, la générale et les deux représentations officielles. Moi je le fais, pour mon public, par respect ! C'est ma fierté, mon honneur."

« Je viens d'apprendre la triste nouvelle, je suis vraiment bouleversé vous savez mon admiration pour le grand maestro qu'était Pavarotti et aussi l'homme, parce que c'est quelqu'un qui a vraiment compté dans ma carrière et dans ma vie...

Pour moi c'était un homme formidable parce qu'il avait la sagesse des grands, il avait un côté en même temps gourou, il avait quelque chose de j'ai envie de dire de messianique il parlait avec des paraboles, avec des énigmes, et il fallait le comprendre, il ne faisait jamais des phrases entières, c'était des mots avec beaucoup d'ironie souvent, mais aussi un côté comique. Il avait aussi de la répartie, il avait beaucoup d'esprit, c'était quelqu'un qui observait, et c'était ça qui me plaisait, il avait la sérénité et le sens de l'observation des grands.

La première fois que je l'ai rencontré j'étais dans un magasin pour me faire signer un disque, j'étais un fan et un ami lui a dit ce jeune chante aussi, et il m'a embrassé comme ça à la fin des signatures j'étais encore là derrière les barrières, il a écarté les barrières en partant et il m'a donné une accolade, il m'a entrainé avec lui avec un petit groupe et on est allé trinqué alors que j'étais un parfait inconnu, un jeune étudiant

Je ne sais pas si je suis son héritier, mais il m'a donné quelque chose de très fort, il a allumé une vraie flamme en moi dans mon cur on se comprenait à demi-mots, avec des regards, on ne se parlait pas énormément mais il y avait toujours cette admiration réciproque.

Je l'ai appelé il y a à peu près un mois, il m'a dit Ne te perd pas étranger, c'est la réplique de Turandot et il m'a dit rappelle toi les trois notes la grande technique de Pavarotti c'est la maitrise de ces trois notes, et en me disant ça, il me disait ne perd pas les trois notes, c'est-à-dire que je les avais aussi il me passait le flambeau

Je ne sais pas si j'arriverai à faire la même chose que lui, en tout cas, il nous a ouvert le chemin et, moi, il m'a indiqué la route et je suivrai ce chemin il m'a montré que l'opéra s'adressait à tout le monde et pas simplement à des connaisseurs ou à une élite. Je le remercie du fond du cur

Je suis vraiment très triste, hier j'étais encore heureux, je parlais encore de Pavarotti et de l'admiration que je lui portais et ce matin, d'apprendre que Pavarotti n'est plus là Demain, le spectacle sera pour lui, je vais lui dédier.

J'avais une amitié profonde avec Pavarotti, et même c'est plus que de l'amitié, il y avait une sorte de communion entre nous, on avait communié ensemble, vous savez, c'est curieux mais les ténors c'est aussi une religion et lui, pour moi, c'était mon mentor, mais aussi mon prophète c'est quelqu'un que j'admirais énormément. » (Propos recueillis par Jérôme Godefroy et Alain Duault)

Pentito? No. Cenere sul capo? Macché. Atto di dolore? Anzi. Contrattacca in tribunale, e figuriamoci nelle interviste. L'accusato accusa. Roberto Alagna non ci sta a passare alla storia dei misfatti lirici come il tenore che scappò dalla Scala. E così la soap operistica non accenna a finire, più lunga di un vertice del centro-sinistra e certamente più appassionante. Riparlare della famosa Aida milanese, «prima» della stagione scorsa ma memorabile per quel che successe alla «seconda», quando Alagna contestato fuggì rimpiazzato da un Radamès di riserva in jeans, è del resto praticamente obbligatorio ora che quella produzione (oltre ad Alagna, la formazione è Urmana-Chailly-Zeffirelli) diventa un dvd della Decca.

Al telefono da New York (Roméo et Juliette al Met), Alagna puntella la sua traballante linea difensiva: «Lo sanno tutti che è stato un agguato, pilotato da tre o quattro persone». Ma allora perché ha fatto causa al teatro? «Perché la Scala ha sbagliato. Io li avevo avvisati tutti, Chailly, Zeffirelli e Lissner, che stavo male e che se fosse successo qualcosa sarei uscito un attimo, avrei bevuto un po' d'acqua e zucchero e sarei rientrato. Invece zac, era già pronto il sostituto». Ma se era in jeans... «Non era in costume perché sarebbe dovuto entrare un altro Radamès, che però era bloccato nel traffico. Comunque io avrei voluto ritornare in scena. Ma come facevo? C'era già un altro».

Vabbè, parliamo del dvd. «Il video dimostra che non ho fatto male. È la recita del 7 dicembre. Sono onesto: non è la volta che ho cantato meglio in vita mia, ma non è male. E, guarda caso, a parte la frase finale, nel dvd il "Celeste Aida" è quello della seconda. Capite? Proprio quello che hanno fischiato. Ma che, evidentemente, non era così brutto. A Chailly che dice che devo ringraziare i tecnici della Decca rispondo che, visto che hanno registrato cinque recite ma io ne ho cantato solo una, semmai è lui che deve ringraziarli. Se c'è stato un montaggio, sarà stato fatto sull'orchestra. Per quel che mi riguarda, non c'è trucco».

Insomma, il tenore francese non piange al telefono. Anzi, è un torrente in piena. Evoca certificati medici («Mi sono dovuto operare, avevo un problema serio»), carte bollate («Certo che ho fatto causa alla Scala, e la vincerò»), perfino la politica («Si sa, in Italia arte e politica spesso si mischiano. Era appena arrivato Prodi, ed ecco la contestazione quando ho intonato "un esercito di prodi". Ma io che c'entro?»). Al di qua delle Alpi lo riascolteremo («se tutto va bene - chiosa lui -, perché adesso in Italia non mi sento amato, mentre dopo questa faccenda in Francia sono un eroe») in gennaio a Bologna per l'Orphée di Gluck. Ma, oltre a un'ondata di dvd in arrivo, «compreso un Werther registrato al Regio di Torino che è venuto benissimo», Alagna annuncia che forse non farà la sua Aida prossima ventura, al Liceu di Barcellona: «Non vado a farmi insultare». O magari è proprio lui a non credere troppo al suo Radamès.

When French tenor Roberto Alagna replaced the ailing Rolando Villazón in Gounod's "Roméo et Juliette," the Associated Press declared Mr. Alagna a "triumph," proving that a tenor in need is a tenor indeed. This month Mr. Alagna looks likely to reach similar heights in Puccini's "Madama Butterfly," which he sings at the Metropolitan Opera beginning October 8. This represents quite a change of destiny for the tenor, whose path has been as rocky as that of any opera hero.

In 1998, under previous general manager Joseph Volpe, the Met dismissed Mr. Alagna and his ex-wife, Romanian soprano Angela Gheorghiu, after Mr. Alagna objected to set designs for Verdi's "La Traviata." Last December in Milan, Mr. Alagna walked out during a La Scala performance of Verdi's "Aida" after part of the audience booed his first aria. Due to such incidents, Mr. Alagna and Ms. Gheorghiu were nicknamed the "Bonnie and Clyde" of the opera world, or even the "Ceaus¸escus" a particularly unappetizing reference to Romania's longtime dictator Nicolae Ceaus¸escu, executed in 1989. Just days ago, Ms. Gheorghiu was fired from her role in Puccini's "La Bohème" at Chicago's Lyric Opera because she missed rehearsals in order to lend moral support to Mr. Alagna in Manhattan.

Despite this echo of past headaches, Mr. Alagna's new best-selling compact disc for Deutsche Grammophon, in addition to the reissues of his superb line of opera recordings for EMI and his new French-language memoir,

"Je ne suis pas le fruit du hasard" (I Did Not Happen by Accident), look likely to have changed his tune permanently. At 44, Mr. Alagna has become humanized in the public eye, and is more popular than ever as the best French lyric dramatic tenor in recent history. "Je ne suis pas le fruit du hazard" (Grasset) sold 20,000 copies in France after its first three weeks in print. Recounting Mr. Alagna's family history, the book goes a long way to explain the origins of his talent. The son of Sicilian immigrants who moved to the unglamorous Paris suburbs of Clichy-sous-Bois in the 1950s, Mr. Alagna sang pop songs for eight years as an entertainer in a Paris pizzeria. (Mr. Alagna has recently returned to these roots with a best-selling CD for Deutsche Grammophon in tribute to Luis Mariano (19141970), a joyously effete Basque operetta singer much beloved in France). After serving in the tank corps during military service, Mr. Alagna married, but his first wife died of a brain tumor when she was only 30, leaving him with a young daughter.

This real-life tragedy unfolded in a context of Sicilian family vendettas as recounted in his memoir, which makes turn-of-the-century verismo operas such as "Cavalleria Rusticana" pale by comparison. His great-grandparents fled New York's Little Italy and returned to Europe in order to escape gang wars in the New World. His great-grandmother was an avid spiritualist, conducting terrifying séances akin to those in Gian Carlo Menotti's melodramatic "The Medium."

Small wonder that young Roberto grew up with a lively dramatic imagination. His virile, wholehearted voice at first excelled in lighter tenor roles, such as those in "La Traviata" and Massenet's "Manon." Then, under the expert guidance of Antonio Pappano, one of the finest current conductors of the Italian repertory, Mr. Alagna recorded an unforgettable series of opera CDs for EMI, most of them recently reprinted, including Puccini's "La Bohème," "La Rondine," "Tosca," and "Il Trittico"; Verdi's "Don Carlos" and "Il Trovatore," and Massenet's "Manon" and "Werther." These are among the most idiomatic, refined recordings of romantic opera ever made, yet some tone-deaf critics have preferred to ignore Mr. Alagna's musical achievements, and focus on backstage gossip instead.

Mr. Alagna's way of handling the press may have caused some of the problem. When he was asked by Le Figaro magazine in 2005 about his favorite sport, Mr. Alagna replied, "I do it every night in my bedroom with my wife." In the same interview, in which Mr. Alagna characterizes himself as "hyperactive, hyperacoustic, hypersensitive, and hyper-foolish," he admits to a weakness for French screen clowns such as Louis de Funès, Fernandel, and Bourvil, as well as contemporary comedians such as Élie Seimoun and Gad Elmaleh, who draw comedy from their North African Jewish upbringings. In the mausoleum-like atmosphere of the world's opera houses, this kind of anarchic comic spirit is a rarity.

In interviews, Mr. Alagna sometimes chides his elders, as he did in Le Figaro in 2005, pointing out that he sings "La Bohème" in its original key, while the famed Three Tenors transposed the notes downward for more vocal ease: "People don't know or don't realize that Domingo and Carreras never sang it in the original key," he said, "And Pavarotti stopped doing so at age 40."

This kind of frankness, and even his walkout at La Scala, have made Mr. Alagna more popular than ever in France where, as the critic Jacques Drillon astutely pointed out in the weekly magazine Le Nouvel Observateur, opera is seen as a stadium sport akin to soccer. Mr. Alagna's Milan walkout was analyzed as minutely as the 2006 World Cup final against Italy, when the French superstar Zinedine Zidane was sent off for head butting. As Mr. Drillon explains it, Mr. Alagna was booed at La Scala shortly after he appeared, "exactly like a soccer player despised by the crowd."

Fortunately, crowds of music lovers are showing Mr. Alagna the affection he deserves after more than a decade of superb achievement. His future plans include the voice-destroying title role of Verdi's "Otello," and the ideal dramatic role of the French revolutionary poet and eponymous hero of Giordano's opera "Andrea Chénier" next year in Monte-Carlo. He was supposed to perform the same role at the Met soon, but general manager Peter Gelb preferred to cast Mr. Alagna instead in a new production of "Madama Butterfly," where despite enchanting melodies, the tenor role of Pinkerton is a dull stick figure. Mr. Alagna has also hinted at reviving a long-neglected opera, Anton Rubinstein's "Néron," once sung by Enrico Caruso, which would allow him to incarnate the decadent Emperor Nero onstage. Years of unsympathetic press coverage now proven to be highly misleading would imply that this was mere typecasting.

The emergency performers come off like cavalry to the rescue and incidentally collect big extra fees: sometimes more than $13,000 a performance. The Met gets a nice dose of publicity for the opera behind the opera. And the audience, the house contends, benefits from hearing the great artists of the times.

But there is one loser, and that is the poor "cover" singer, as understudies are called in the opera house. These are the solid journeymen who stay on the island of Manhattan no more than 15 or 20 minutes away during a performance in case a singer becomes sick. In the past at the Met, a sudden illness could mean the chance for one of these unheralded performers to have a moment in the sun, to absorb some applause and perhaps help jump-start a career.

The new policy came clear this week after several high-wire tenor substitutions. According to the original schedule, Roberto Alagna was supposed to sing the role of Pinkerton in Puccini's "Madama Butterfly" on Monday. Marco Berti was to sing the role of Radames in Verdi's "Aida" on Tuesday.

Mr. Berti fell ill. So Mr. Alagna was shifted to Radames, and Marcello Giordani, another high-profile tenor who has been singing Edgardo in "Lucia di Lammermoor" at the house, agreed at the last minute to step in as Pinkerton. Mr. Giordani did the same on Oct. 6, taking on a last-minute Roméo in Gounod's "Roméo et Juliette" when the tenor Joseph Kaiser became ill.

Raúl Melo lost out both times, as Pinkerton and Roméo. Mr. Melo, who lives in Brooklyn and has had a respectable 14-year career singing in major European opera houses, has been covering roles regularly at the Met for the last three seasons. He has gone on only once, as the Duke in Verdi's "Rigoletto." And he was sick himself that night to boot.

He sounded philosophical about his recent misses. It was nothing personal, he said, just business. "This is my job," he said. "It's part of the deal." As for Mr. Giordani, Mr. Melo said: "He's doing what he has to do to move his career forward. I'm doing what I have to do because I signed a contract."

Mr. Melo declined to specify his fee, but being passed over for Mr. Giordani meant a loss of decent income. He said principal covers generally earn $1,500 to $3,000 at the Met per performance, but their fee goes up to $5,000 to $8,000 if they appear. Mr. Gelb declined to confirm the figures or say what the cover system costs. Assuming that average cover costs for a performance are $4,000, the total could be close to $1 million a season, if not more.

In an interview, Mr. Giordani said he felt sorry for Mr. Melo. "But what can I do?" he added. "It's business." He pointed out that patrons are paying hundreds of dollars to hear big names. "You have to have respect for the audience," he said.

In an interview, Mr. Alagna said he had been a cover before and also understood Mr. Melo's disappointment, but he pointed out that sometimes a lesser-known singer can hurt his career by performing poorly as a fill-in. Mr. Alagna, smiling, then brought up the Gospel story of Jesus' anointment with expensive perfume, when Judas Iscariot objected that the money should be used for the poor. Jesus replied that the poor would always exist but that he would not always be there.

Mr. Alagna was asked to sing Radames on Monday, right before undergoing a root canal. The first thing he did was check with Mr. Giordani to make sure he would take on Pinkerton. If the job went to a lesser singer, he said, he would be blamed.

On Tuesday, he said, he sat in his favorite spot in Central Park, within view of his wife, the soprano Angela Gheorghiu, from their suite at the Essex House on Central Park South. There he studied the score and meditated. Two hours before the curtain, an assistant director showed him pictures of the production and described his movements.

The performance was well received, and Mr. Alagna said it "exorcised the ghost" of a highly publicized event last year, when he was booed at the Teatro Alla Scala while singing Radames and walked off stage. He was later banned from the house by management. The incident added pressure, he said, because a poor performance at the Met would have confirmed the negative opinion.

Mr. Gelb said his change in policy did not mean that lesser-known singers would not have a chance at the Met. He said he had made efforts to bring in young, promising performers for several performances of a run.

What has changed, he said, is the default position of giving a cover the job of filling in for a sick principal, and the previous practice of letting a cover sing one performance, with the big-name performer taking on the cover role for that night. He pointed out that a number of major European opera houses do not even use the cover system but scramble to find replacements as needed and are sometimes even forced to cancel a performance.