The composer Hector Berlioz once remarked that one must not only have the luck to be talented, one must also have the talent to be lucky. He was referring to his contemporary, the celebrated master of French grand opera, Giacomo Meyerbeer. But he might as well have been talking about Dmitri Hvorostovsky.
The 30-year-old Russian baritone has swept through the opera world like a singing jet stream. Since winning the 1989 Cardiff Singer of the World competition in Wales, the singer with the warmly lyrical voice and uncommonly good looks has found himself, rather to his surprise, one of the hottest properties in classical music.
Just when the word was getting around how good Hvorostovsky is, Lyric Opera of Chicago engaged him for his American operatic debut as Germont pere in its new production of Verdi’s “La Traviata” to open the 1993-94 season.
And that’s only the tip of a very auspicious iceberg. Opera houses everywhere are lining up to offer him contracts, and his recording company, Philips, has teamed him up with some of the biggest brand names in classical music, including Jessye Norman, Kiri Te Kanawa and Jose Carreras.
But if you think Hvorostovsky (the “H” in his surname is silent) is ready to gain 200 pounds, act silly on TV talk shows and accept gigs in amplified sports arenas with an oversize white hanky as prop, guess again: The sexy Siberian with the golden baritone is serious-really serious-about his art and how that art relates to a successful long-term career.
That much was clear from a recent conversation we had in his downtown hotel suite, where Hvorostovsky, wearing a purple turtleneck sweater and denim jeans, was taking a few days’ breather between concert engagements on the West and East Coasts. He offered the visitor a cup of coffee, demurring when asked if he was drinking any himself (“I hate American coffee; it’s like black water”).
When asked how it feels being marketed as classical music’s answer to Billy Ray Cyrus, Hvorostovsky laughs. “I didn’t refuse to be a sex symbol. I’m young and vital, so I suppose it’s normal for certain people to find you attractive. This (publicity) is something you have to accept as a part of doing business in the West. We’re not used to this type of thing in Russia.
“All these promotional things are, I suppose, necessary at the beginning of your career, but they exist only on a superficial level. Before very long you must project a different image for people to take you as seriously as you take yourself. What I sing, and my attitude towards music, have nothing to do with sexuality.”
The Boot Hill of opera is crowded with the graves of young singers who have pushed themselves (or allowed themselves to be pushed) too far too fast and have paid dearly for it. But Hvorostovsky seems well aware that a singer who is barely one of the thirtysomethings must develop at his own pace, and that along with vocal development must come a corresponding emotional growth.
“At the beginning I had a lot of offers to sing the heavier Italian parts like Boccanegra or Renato in `Masked Ball.’ I really would love to sing those parts (but) for a young voice like mine that would be very dangerous. A new role has to be learned thoroughly or you shouldn’t do it. So I find I am saying `no’ to opera houses more often than I say `yes.’ “
Hvorostovsky admits, however, that he wasn’t always so prudent. Having initially agreed to sing Rodrigo in Verdi’s “Don Carlo” in a new production late last year at La Scala, Milan, the young baritone had second thoughts as the opening drew nigh.
“I realized that to sing so difficult a part for my debut at that great theater could have killed me. So I canceled. It was hard to refuse the part, but I think I made the right decision. Next year I will make my Scala debut in an easier role, Silvio in `Pagliacci,’ a new production with Riccardo Muti conducting and Luciano Pavarotti as Canio. If I’m good in that, then I’ll be noticed and will have other possibilities to sing different parts.”
Hvorostovsky chose the role of his American opera debut very carefully. He has almost as many Italian opera roles in his repertoire as Russian parts. The role of the elder Germont-the father who is desperate to preserve the honor of his family but whose heart is touched by the love of a dying woman for his son-is one he sang many times from an early age in his native Siberia, although those performances were performed in Russian.
“At the Krasnoyarsk Theater in my home town, I was the official lover and hero of opera,” he recalls, smiling. “I sang all the major baritone parts while only in my 20s. All the sopranos were twice as old, and twice as big. They all wanted to be close to me, because I was young and fresh.”
The Lyric’s Ardis Krainik offered the Russian baritone a new production directed by Frank Galati, designed by Desmond Heeley and starring soprano June Anderson as Violetta and tenor Giuseppe Sabbatini as Alfredo. Although Sabbatini is older than Hvorostovsky, in the opera he will be playing the baritone’s son. But Hvorostovsky isn’t worried, for, as he says, suspending an audience’s disbelief is part of an opera singer’s craft.
Nor does the singer have any trepidation about tackling the part in so high-profile a venue as Lyric Opera. He recently recorded “La Traviata” in Florence with Te Kanawa and Carreras under Zubin Mehta’s baton; he also sang a series of live performances at the Berlin State Opera.
“I knew that my American debut was supposed to be very, very important, because America is obviously a big market,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I have heard Lyric Opera is one of the best companies and that the theater has beautiful acoustics. That’s why I chose Chicago.” His Metropolitan Opera debut as Eugene Onegin in a new production of the Tchaikovsky opera is still in negotiation, he reports.
Hvorostovsky is the product of a musical family. “I heard my father singing when I was very young, and we sang a lot of duets together. I had a very nice voice back then and even sang in a rock group. From 16 I began to take voice seriously. I went to my father’s old singing teacher, a tenor. In two or three lessons I discovered my upper register.q
“After that I took lessons for five years from a woman teacher at the local conservatory. That was the basis for my becoming a baritone. She taught me very carefully, improved my breathing and was very aware of the emotional side in singing, which she developed in me.”
Given Hvorostovsky’s flair for the Italian repertory in general, Verdi in particular, it comes as a surprise that he speaks relatively little Italian. He says that he got his natural ability to hear the sound of sung Italian from immersing himself in recordings by great Italian singers such as Ettore Bastianini, his childhood idol. There is, in fact, a long tradition of Italian vocal pedagogy in Russia, and Hvorostovsky regards himself as a product of that cross-cultural tradition.
Although the baritone had taken first prizes in vocal competitions in the former Soviet Union and in France, he never expected to get very far at Cardiff. An equally gifted young singer, the Welsh bass-baritone Bryn Terfel, happened to be in the same contest and was clearly the audience’s favorite.
“Before it was my turn to go out on stage, I was in my dressing room, listening to Bryn sing,” Hvorostovsky recalls. “I thought, `My God, I’m not gonna win.’ For the first time in my life as a singer, I had doubts about my ability. So I came on stage completely demoralized. At the end of my program I had to sing Rodrigo’s death scene from `Don Carlo.’ Because I really was dying, inside, I was very, very realistic.” His realistic interpretation won him the gold medal.
And the phones have never really stopped ringing.
Meanwhile, Philips lately has stepped up its recording plans with Hvorostovsky. The label recorded him in “Eugene Onegin,” his favorite role and the one he has performed more than any other, last October following a run of performances in Paris. He is learning the Mussorgsky song cycle “Songs and Dances of Death” for a planned recital disc of Russian vocal works. (On a non-musical note, he says he is apartment hunting for his wife and daughter, who now share a small flat with him in Moscow.)
His professional calendar is full for the next four years. Within that time frame he intends to take things slowly. Essential to this serious-minded singer is waiting to see how his voice matures and darkens before taking on the heavyweight opera parts every opera theater in the world, it would appear, wants him to sing.
“I really want to do things that are special, whether they be operas, concerts or recitals. I’ve got to be careful, though, not to lose the balance and sense of being in control all artists must maintain. I don’t ever want to sacrifice the smoothness and beauty of the voice to the demands of more dramatic music. I need to find my limits. So, we will see, we will see.”
