GALLI-CURCI

Southland Times, Issue 21831, 7 October 1932, Page 8

GALLI-CURCI

SINGING AND COLOUR SUCCESSFUL SONG RECITAL ■ ARTIST WARMLY RECEIVED If Madame Galli-Curci had no voice at all she would still win her . audiences with her charming personality; if she had no personality, the extraordinary colouring in her singing would win them. And she has both these winning qualities. The grandmamas of the present generation, and tire grandpapas, too, thought much more of coloratura singing than their grandchildren, who look on it as vocal gymnastics more suited to the training school than the concert platform—a change of view already attacking Italian opera of the old type—and it must be confessed that while the technical brilliance which a number like the “Shadow Song,” from Meyerbeer’s “Dinorah” demands and enhances, is impressive, it is a science rather than an art, a proof of glittering facility, not of the capacity to make sound live as music, to quicken the soul of music and link it with the divinity of man’s poetry. Until music moves beyond the mechanics of itself, it is not an art, and it fails to make contact with this generation which, in spite of all its peculiar jargon about cold realities, reacts with a quick spontaneity when its emotions are touched. Humanity must clothe and colour music in these days, and though it be true that a lot of sentimental claptrap passes for something very much better, nobler than it is, there is still a wonderful response to poetry, in written word or in sound, when it is human. This is an advance. The great symphonic music of the .world does not live in its technical ingenuity; the great singers are not great because tone and trill are impeccable. The tremendous ovation which marked Madame Galli-Curci’s singing of such coloratura feats as the “Shadow Song” and “Lo, Here the Gentle Lark,” by a large audience last night in the Civic Theatre, might be taken as a refutation of this idea, but actually both were marked by a quality which invested them with audible beauty quite apart from the scintillating twists and turns in which the voice engages in rivalry with the smooth flexibility of the flute. It is arresting, of course, to think that the human voice can be compelled to achieve so close an approximation of the bird’s ornamentation; but far more impressive is the fact that a human voice can change its hue and, passing through varying gradations of tone without stumbling, can interpret the drama of poetic beauty.

Madame Galli-Curci has an awe-in-spiring reputation to justify, a reputation built in this part of the world by the gramophone which carried her voice ahead of her. With their remembrance of her records lively in their minds, those who heard her firsthand last night for the first time were probably surprised to find that her voice was not so voluminous as they had expected. It is a rich voice, carrying its sweetness without effort and infinitely more colourful than the records have been able to suggest, but the colours are not emphatic, they are not blatant like the vigour of youth—they are more restrained, balanced, just adequate, as they should be. Her opening numbers, drawn from composers of the 17th and 18th centuries, were varied delightfully. “Se tu m’ami” (Pergolese), an illustration of legato singing, was succeeded by “Chi vuol la zingarella,” graceful but staccato, and these were followed by “O del mio amato ben” by Donaudy and “Whither runneth by sweetheart?” by Bartlet. In all of these, whether the mood was vivacious, serious or sombre, the singer was eloquent. In the second bracket the Spanish “Cantar popular” was charming, and the flirtatious “Les Filles de Cadix” by Delibes no less so, but the singer’s extraordinary capacity to create a picture in atmosphere, to delineate veiled melancholy in shadowed tranquillity was shown in Hahn’s setting of Verlaine’s “D’Une Prison.” This was a beautiful number. After it came “Lo, here the gentle lark,” with flute obbligato played by Mr Williams, and the audience was moved to vociferous enthusiasm. As an encore Madame Galli-Curci sang “La Paloma.” In the latter half of the programme she sang three English songs of the later days. Maurice Lesley’s fragrant “The Second Minuet,” Florence Aylward’, expressive love song “Deep in my heart” and Novello’s dainty “The little Damosel.” Then came a long string of encores, the audience bringing her back time after time as she sang “My old Kentucky Home,” “Drink to me only with thine eyes,” “Home, Sweet Home” and “Cornin’ thro’ the Rye,” numbers which endeared her to the audience which relished her generous response to their enthusiasm. The last programme number was the “Shadow Song” from “Dinorah,” to which reference has already been made, and it was followed by an outburst of applause and cheering, giving the recital a triumphant close.

Mr Raymond Williams, the flautist, is an artist of outstanding quality. He phrases boldly, and while-producing a remarkably fine tone, he is a brilliant executant. What marks his playing more than anything else, however, is his tonal gradations through the whole scale, and his remarkable colouring, especially in the Debussy number “The Little Shcnherd.” Hue’s Serenade and a Gigue by Le Claire were also very beautiful. Mi- Homer Samuels, who was also the accompanist, played Debussy’s Reverie and ;he “Golliwog’s Cake-walk,” but without atmosphere in either. Probably Mr Samuels, having to face it, was less able to escape the terrible effect of the municipal scenery.