Music, in essence, is just organized sound waves moving through air. Instrumentalists and vocalists strike and vibrate c(h)ords to give voice, as it were, to black dots upon the page. Composers rely on musicians to bring their music to life. But musicians rely on composers just as much to continually provide new, exciting material. The two exist — and always have — in a symbiotic relationship.
Even before Handel was writing for the castrato known as Senesino, composers had been working closely with singers. The works they created for and with them continue to be performed today, creating a legacy that extends from everyone who sings a song or aria in the 21st century all the way back to the person who originally performed the work centuries ago.
So, who were the songbirds for whom some of our most well-known composers wrote?
Franz Schubert and Johann Michael Vogl
Schubert may be the composer that comes to mind today when we think of lieder (or German art songs), but in his day, he wasn’t actually all that popular. Though he rarely had any public performances of his works during his lifetime, Schubert had a devoted group of friends and admirers who gathered each week to perform his compositions. These Schubertiaden, as they came to be known, were frequented by the composer, who would play at the piano, as was the operatic baritone Johann Michael Vogl. Vogl premiered many lieder at the Schubertiaden, including the famous “Der Erlkönig,” and the composer often showed drafts to Vogl for feedback. When Schubert and Vogl performed together, Schubert felt the two attained a level of perfection unrivaled by other performers of their time: “The manner and means with which Vogl sings and I accompany him, the way we seem to be one single being in these moments, is for these people really new, really unexperienced.”
But things weren’t always peachy for the pair. We know from the writings of a frequent Schubertiaden attendee, Leopold von Sonnleithner, that as Vogl’s voice grew increasingly fragile with age, he often resorted to declamatory affectations, of which the composer disapproved: “Vogl often produced a passing effect by tonelessly spoken word, by a sudden outburst, or by a falsetto note, but this could not be justified artistically.” Nevertheless, throughout Schubert’s life, Vogl was a champion for his music, and even after Schubert’s death, Vogl continued advocating for his work by assisting the composer’s principal editor, Diabelli, in preparing a number of lieder for publication. As such, many of Vogl’s artistic embellishments may survive to this day in published versions of Schubert’s works.
Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears
Benjamin Britten met tenor Peter Pears through a mutual friend in 1937. The pair instantly hit it off, and Pears quickly became both Britten’s muse and romantic partner. Within weeks, Britten had composed his first work for Pears, a setting of Emily Brontë’s “A thousand, thousand gleaming fires.” Throughout their decades-long relationship, the two exchanged letters suffused with affection and admiration for each others’ artistic merits. Britten wrote of the wholehearted confidence he had in his partner’s abilities: “Well, my darling — enjoy yourself, a bit — remember how good you are (the best ever), & see you very soon.” Pears had a sense of gratitude for their bond: “Work with you is totally different in kind from any other sort. It becomes related to life immediately, which is more than any of the other stuff I do, does.” Pears described their creative process rather simply: “I’m rather inclined to have ideas and throw them out, and then Ben will carry them through.” And carry ideas through Britten did: he wrote numerous vocal works expressly for Pears, including many of his operas, such as Peter Grimes, Albert Herring, and Billy Budd.
Like any relationship, it wasn’t perfect. Pears had a strong personality, and this caused Britten a degree of anxiety: “You know, sometimes I’m nervous of talking about these new ideas I have ... [I]f he says, ‘That’s a silly idea’ or something, I’m put down straight away, I can’t go on with it.” Moreover, the constant traveling that Pears did as a singer, compounded with a series of health problems that simultaneously befell Britten, caused some strain. Nevertheless, the pair loved each other at a time when such love was prohibited by law. The risks they took to express that affection both in their work and everyday lives is a testament to the respect they had for their special bond.
George Frideric Handel and Senesino
“Who knows not this, when Handell plays, And Senesino Sings? Our Souls learn Rapture from their Lays, While rival’d Angels show amaze, And drop their Golden Wings.” (Aaron Hill)
Francesco Antonio Bernardi, the famous Sienese castrato better known as “Senesino,” was Handel’s go-to castrato for over a decade. Handel’s employers had had lured the star castrato to London with the promise of fees exceeding 3,000 guineas (nearly $500,000 today). Over the ensuing years, Handel wrote major roles for Senesino in over a dozen of his operas, including Giulio Cesare, Rodelinda, and Orlando.
By all accounts, however, Handel did not consider Senesino a friend. He found the singer exceedingly arrogant, and because Handel himself had a rather strong personality, the two frequently butted heads. As just one example, shortly after Senesino’s arrival in London, the singer proposed an opera to be performed as part of the subscription season. Handel took Senesino’s idea and assigned the duties of the adaptation to someone else. When Senesino confronted Handel, Handel is said to have called him a “damned fool.” In 1733, after years of smaller disagreements, tensions came to a head — and they did so very publicly. By mid-December, Handel had fired Senesino, who then made the announcement on stage following his final performance. Unsurprisingly, he did not use the opportunity to sing the composer’s praises. Just months later, Senesino retaliated for the perceived wrongdoing by setting up shop with a rival opera company, taking a number of the composer’s prize singers and much of his audience with him. The two never collaborated together again, but hey, at least we got some incredible music out of their dysfunctional partnership while it lasted!
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Francesco Benucci
When Mozart first heard the comic singer Francesco Benucci, who would become both his Figaro and Guglielmo, perform in a 1783 production of Salieri’s La scuola de’ gelosi, he wrote to his father, “the buffo is particularly good.” His praise seems modest enough, but Mozart was highly impressed. Benucci had been performing across Italy since 1777, but in 1783 he joined Emperor Joseph’s Italian opera company in Vienna, where he stayed for 12 years. Like Mozart, the Emperor valued Benucci’s talents so highly that he told his theater director that unless they had both Benucci and Nancy Storace (another star and Mozart favorite) under contract, he might as well fire all the other singers and call off the opera season.
Mozart’s first work with Benucci in mind was the abandoned Lo sposo deluso, of which we only have 20 minutes of the first act. But in 1786, the Emperor’s company premiered Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro with Benucci in the title role (Storace played his Susanna). Mozart was so thrilled with Benucci’s performance, it is said that during the first rehearsal with orchestra, as Benucci sang “Non più andrai,” Mozart whispered repeatedly, “Bravo! Bravo, Benucci!” Over the ensuing years, Mozart revised Don Giovanni for a Viennese production with Benucci in the role of Leporello, and also composed the role of Guglielmo in Così fan tutte for the singer. It’s strange to think that if Mozart had not found the wonderfully-inspired Benucci, he may never have written The Marriage of Figaro or Così fan tutte!
Vincenzo Bellini and Giuditta Pasta
“When I begin to speak of that divine woman, my mind doesn’t give me terms to express what I feel.” This is how Bellini described Giuditta Pasta, the Italian singer who premiered the starring roles in La sonnambula, Beatrice di Tenda, and Norma. Pasta’s talent was above all others — others were merely “the same rabble of dogs” when compared to Bellini’s “divine woman.” Without a doubt the most famous singer of her time, Pasta played both female and travesti (male) characters and also created characters for the likes of Donizetti (the title role in Anna Bolena and Bianca in Ugo, conte di Parigi) and Rossini (Corinna in Il viaggio a Reims).
If Maria Callas was the reigning prima donna of the 20th century, Pasta was the Callas of the 19th. And for both, the role of Norma was a ground-shaking moment in their careers. However, according to an anecdote by the writer Michele Scherillo, the famous aria “Casta Diva” was almost scrapped before the opera’s premiere. When Bellini first showed it to Pasta, she felt it did not suit her. Bellini, however, urged Pasta to reserve judgement for a week and devote every morning the following week to singing through it. If, at that point, Pasta still found it ill-fitting for her voice, he agreed to change it. While Scherillo’s writings aren’t the most trustworthy, we do know that on the opening night of Norma, Pasta offered Bellini a gift with a note that read: “Permit me to offer you something that was of some comfort to me in the immense nervousness that always torments me when I find myself little fitted to perform your sublime harmonies: this lamp by night and these flowers by day were witnesses to my studies for Norma, and no less of the desire I cherish of being always more deserving of your esteem.” Regardless of whether Scherillo’s anecdote is true, there is no doubt that Pasta and Bellini shared the sort of relationship in which each trusted the other wholeheartedly and believed firmly in the art that they were creating together. Today, “Casta Diva” remains just one of the countless jewels inspired by the reigning voice of the 19th century.
So, which of your favorite 21st century artists do you think will inspire the arias and songs our descendants will sing centuries from now? Leave a comment below to let us know what you think!