Magda Olivero, an operatic soprano whose long, storied career was matched only by the extraordinary devotion of her followers, who were drawn by her remarkable vocal gifts and the dramatic intensity of her performances, died Sept. 8 in Milan. She was 104.
Her death was first reported by Opera News. The cause was not disclosed.
Miss Olivero made her operatic debut in her native Italy in 1933 but did not appear at New York's Metropolitan Opera until 1975, when she was 65 and sang the title role of Giacomo Puccini's "Tosca." The audience interrupted the music with shouts of "Brava!" and gave Miss Olivero a 20-minute ovation.
Many critics were unmoved by what they described as her “strident” voice and overblown theatrics. But Miss Olivero defiantly sang on, continuing to give recitals well into her 90s and developing a considerable legion of fans.
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She was one of the last practitioners of the century-old Italian tradition of “verismo” singing, which was known for its dramatic realism and emotional expressiveness. She abandoned herself to her characters as if she were a method actor.
“Whatever it is that makes audiences turn to jelly,” music critic Howard Klein wrote in the New York Times in 1971, “whatever that unknown quality is that reaches magnetically from a stage to communicate strong emotions to an audience, Olivero — in spite of technical limitations — has it.”
Detractors pointed to what they considered flaws in Miss Olivero’s voice, such as a hollow, reedy tone, tight vibrato and an upper register that tended toward shrillness. She continued to play ingenue roles past age 70, prompting a critic for New York magazine to dismiss her as the “Norma Desmond of opera,” referring to the vain, superannuated actress in the 1950 film “Sunset Boulevard.”
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Even if her voice was limited, most aficionados agreed that Miss Olivero had a superb mastery of such technical qualities of singing as breath control, pitch, tone, dynamics and diction, all of which she used to full dramatic effect. Her vocal range reached to a high F. She could effortlessly build a single note from a whispery pianissimo to a full forte, then return to near-silence.
“The voice is only 40 percent of an operatic performance,” she said in 1977. “The other 60 percent is made up of innumerable intangibles. When I sing I do not think of singing, but of acting and the character. Of course, to do this you need a great deal of vocal technique, otherwise it is impossible.”
Miss Olivero had a winsome attractiveness, and her study of dance gave her movements a fluid grace. She could project subtle emotional nuances onstage, creating a musical and theatrical presence of exceptional intimacy.
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“You may or may not like the voice,” tenor Placido Domingo said in 1971, “but as an artist, she is remarkable.”
Almost from the beginning, Miss Olivero developed a coterie of admirers. Then, at age 31, when she was on the brink of a promising career, she married and left the stage, seemingly forever.
A decade later, she was lured back by the dying wish of composer Francesco Cilea, who pleaded for her to provide him "one last joy" by performing the title role of his 1902 opera "Adriana Lecouvreur."
Cilea died two months before Miss Olivero returned to the stage in February 1951, but Adriana became one of her signature roles.
"She proved to be, if anything, a finer singer than ever," critic Robert M. Connolly wrote in Stereo Review, "her voice richer and fuller ....and with a new maturity to her acting."
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Domingo recalled a performance in Italy in which Miss Olivero, then in her 50s, played the tragic heroine in Puccini's "Manon Lescaut."
“After the final death scene,” Domingo told the Times in 1971, “the audience was in a frenzy. About 500 people broke through the guard rails and swarmed to the stage. It was frightening. We had to have police protection.”
In the second half of her career, Miss Olivero sang only when and where she wanted, often in Europe and South America. When tastes in vocal performance changed, she stayed true to the distinctive style she had learned in the 1920s and ’30s.
She performed a wide range of operatic works, but her preferred repertoire was focused on the Italian classics of the 19th and early 20th centuries, including “La Boheme,” “La Traviata” and “Madame Butterfly.” She cared little about making records and for much of her career did not have a manager or publicist.
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As time went on, Miss Olivero’s fans began to circulate bootlegged private recordings, making her something of an underground sensation. Beginning in the 1970s, reporters noted that she had a particularly ardent following among gay men, and her appeal was likened to that of Judy Garland, Marlene Dietrich and another opera star, Maria Callas.
Miss Olivero became known throughout her career for putting so much of her soul into her roles that she sometimes broke down in sobs after the final curtain.
“I must always hold myself back from the emotions I have to express,” she said in 1971. “To feel them too deeply, I may cry during a performance, and in so doing, fail to project to the audience. But by containing them and concentrating on projecting what I feel, then the audience will cry.”
Maria Maddalena Olivero was born in Saluzzo, Italy, near Turin on March 25, 1910. (Various other dates have been erroneously listed for her birth, most often 1914.) Her father, an official in the Italian judiciary, encouraged his daughter’s interest in music.
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Miss Olivero grew up at a time when the grand tradition of Italian opera was a part of everyday life. The celebrated singer Enrico Caruso was alive during her youth, as were the composers Puccini and Ruggero Leoncavallo. Before singing one of Puccini’s operas, Miss Olivero once prayed before the composer’s tomb.
She had an idiosyncratic singing style from the beginning and, after one audition, was told by a conductor to “look for another profession.” Yet she persevered, studying under a demanding teacher who insisted on impeccable technique.
After her operatic debut in Turin in 1933, Miss Olivero performed at Milan’s La Scala opera house while still in her 20s. She married business mogul Aldo Busch in 1941, saying she was leaving the stage to raise a family, but they had no children. Busch died in 1983.
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Miss Olivero retired from staged opera performances in the 1980s, but her voice remained remarkably intact in occasional recordings and recitals — which she gave up only when she was about to turn 100.
She was aware of the disparaging comments about her dramatic stage manner and the quality of her voice, but Miss Olivero knew her singing better than anyone else.
“I never had a voice,” she said in 1993, echoing her critics with ironic disdain. “What I had was expression, a face, a body, the truth.”
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