Tenor / Director / Author  Michael  Ballam

A Conversation with Bruce Duffie





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Michael Ballam (born August 21, 1951) has received critical acclaim with the major opera companies of the USA and a recital career in the most important Concert Halls of every continent. His operatic repertoire includes more than 700 performances of over 110 major roles, sharing the stage with the world's greatest singers including Roberta Peters, Jerome Hines, Joan Sutherland, Kiri Te Kanawa, Birgit Nilsson, Beverly Sills, Plácido Domingo and Ethel Merman performing regularly with such companies as the Chicago Lyric, San Francisco, Santa Fe, Dallas, Washington, Philadelphia, St. Louis and San Diego Operas. He has performed on every continent, in 80 countries.

At the age of 24, Mr. Ballam became the youngest recipient of the degree of Doctor of Music with Highest Distinction in the history of Indiana University. An accomplished pianist and oboist, he is the Founder and General Director of the Utah Festival Opera, which is fast becoming one of the nation's major Opera Festivals. Professor of Music for the past 24 years at Utah State University, he has also been a faculty member at Indiana University, The Music Academy of the West, University of Utah, Brigham Young University (where he was awarded the Teaching Award in Continuing Education in 1992) and guest lecturer at Stanford, Yale, BYU Idaho, Catholic University and Manhattan School of Music.

In 1987, Dr. Ballam became aware that the Capitol Theatre on Main Street in Logan, Utah, had changed ownership for the first time since its debut in 1923. Originally used as an opera house, ballet recital hall, vaudeville house, roadhouse and movie palace, it became closed to live performances in 1958. From that point forward, the theater was used only for motion picture screening. With changing tastes in motion pictures, a 1,500-seat auditorium was too large for movies from the 1970's on. In 1982, the Capitol began showing only second and third run films and fell into disrepair and misuse. Having performed on that stage in 1956 at the age of 5, Ballam had a great love for the theater and knew the magic she was capable of creating.

Concerned that the theater may be torn down, or altered to a different use, he approached the new owner Eugene Needham III, asking him to give the theater to Logan City. Explaining his vision of restoring the theater to its original glory, it became the property of the people of the region. Thus began a 5 year, $6.5 million dollar renovation, expanding the stage house, and linking with what became the Bullen (Arts) Center. The newly named Ellen Eccles Theatre opened on January 8, 1993 becoming the new home of the Utah Festival Opera and Musical Theatre, (UFOMT) founded by Ballam.

The Festival's 1993 Inaugural Season contained an opera, two operettas and one musical. It soon rose to national then international prominence, growing from an annual budget of $300,000 to $4,500,000 in 2019. During its 27 seasons, UFOMT has produced a total of 181 productions, employing 21 full-time employees and over 300 seasonal employees.

In 1998 Ballam renovated the Historic Dansante Building, a 45,000 square foot arts facility, containing 4 rehearsal spaces, 10 practice rooms, 12 executive offices, reception center, dining room, auditorium, set, props and costume shops. In 2016 Ballam completed the renovation of the Utah Theatre, a 1923 movie house, now transformed into a state-of-the-art Performing Arts Center capable of any form of performance, containing a full-fly stage house, proscenium, orchestra pit, rehearsal space, dressing rooms, rooftop garden and a Mighty Wurlitzer Organ.

During his 52 year career as a professional opera singer he has produced, directed or starred in 349 professional productions. He is the author of over 40 publications and recordings in international distribution, has a weekly radio program on Utah Public Radio, starred in 3 major motion pictures and appears regularly on television. Dr. Ballam serves on the Board of Directors of twelve professional Arts organizations. In 1996 he was designated one of the 100 Top Achievers in the State of Utah by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher of the U.K., appointed Artist Extraordinaire by the Governor of Utah in 2003, given Honorary Life Membership to the Utah Congress of Parents and Teachers, received the "Excellence in Community Teaching Award" from the Daughters of the American Revolution in 2007 and was awarded the Gardner Award by the Utah Academy of Science, Arts and Letters, for "Significant Contributions in the Humanities to the State of Utah" in 2010.

==  Biography is from the Artist's website  
==  Names which are links in this box and below refer to my interviews elsewhere on my website.  BD  






In the fall of 1978, Michael Ballam sing roles in three operas with Lyric Opera of Chicago.  First was Harry in Fanciulla del west on Opening Night, with Carol Neblett, Carlo Cossutta, Gian-Piero Mastromei, Florindo Andreolli, Arnold Voketaitis, Kathleen Kuhlmann, conducted by Bruno Bartoletti, and staged by Harold Prince.  Next came Schmidt in Werther with Alfredo Kraus, Yvonne Minton, Timothy Nolen, Gregory Kunde, conducted by Reynald Giovaninetti, directed by Pier-Luigi Sammaritani (who also designed the sets).  Finally came Beelzebub in the world premiere of Paradise Lost by Penderecki with Ellen Shade, William Stone, Peter van Ginkel, Paul Esswood, Frank Little, again conducted by Bruno Bartoletti, with ballet by Maria Tallchief.

About three years later [January of 1982], Ballam returned for a concert, and at that time he graciously agreed to speak with me about his career . . . . .


Bruce Duffie:   You are performing here in Chicago as part of the Bolla Young Artists Series.  [This privately sponsored series was supported by (among others) Roberta Peters.]  Do you consider yourself a Bolla Young Artist?

Michael Ballam:   Well, somebody does!  I read that in the newspaper, so it must be right!  [Both laugh]

BD:   I understand you have a PhD?
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Ballam:   That’s correct, in voice performance and music history.  That’s how the degree works at Indiana University.  It’s a combined major of study.

BD:   In your young opinion, where is opera going today?

Ballam:   It’s going in some interesting directions in America.  It’s obviously working its way to ‘the tube’, the television, which has its good points and its bad points in my estimation.  More people saw La Bohème on that first telecast from the Metropolitan in the mid-
’70s than had seen it from the time Puccini set down his pen.  The public is starting to tune in to the Public Broadcasting Service [PBS] to see those sorts of things.

BD:   Is this a good step or a bad step?

Ballam:   I have mixed feelings about it.  I feel a little bit like John Wayne, when he was approached to do Gunsmoke.  James Arness ended up taking the role, but John Wayne said no, he was not interested in it, and flatly refused, even though they had a hunch it was going to be rather successful.  Wayne said,
“When people walk into the theater and look at me on a screen, I am at least twenty-feet tall!  If you reduce me to four inches on a TV screen, my image is shattered.”  He felt he would be reduced to something that he didn’t want to be considered as.  That’s not why I think opera shouldn’t be on television, but some thread there works the same way.  The majesty of opera is in its spaciousness, its grandeur, its size, its spectacle, and these are things you cannot find on a small stage, and certainly not on a television screen.  Plus, in America, we have gotten so visually-orientated in the television industry that it is a machine of incredible visual quality, but dreadful audio quality as it stands today.  Of course, we get the simultaneous broadcast once in a while, but actually just turning on the television, you’re getting sound quality about the same that you get on a transistor radio.  [Remember, this conversation took place at the beginning of 1982, and the technical quality of the audio (and the visual) has improved greatly since then!]

BD:   It’s an itty-bitty speaker, and, of course, there is the hum from the picture tube.

Ballam:   Yes.  So transferring something as audio-orientated as opera onto sound that’s coming out like that, is really kind of ludicrous.  Plus, it never looks the same on the television.  For example, the one I did from the San Francisco Opera was Samson and Delilah with Shirley Verrett.  [DVD shown at right.  Ballam was the First Philistine.  Also, see my interview with Julius Rudel.]  We had staged it for this huge house, and her gesticulations and expressions were so that the people in the top balcony could see her.  We did not stage it for television.  We staged it for the opera house, which is the second largest in America.  Then all of a sudden, the camera crews come in and started peering down our throats, and people are shocked by these expressions and these gestures.

BD:   Would it have been better if they had re-staged it slightly for the tighter medium?

Ballam:   Perhaps so!  But then on the other hand, it might kill the punch because the real opera devotees are going to expect that when she’s going for a B-Natural, she’s going to shake a bit.  Her body is going to show physical energy in an immense state, so they expect it.  But the guy tuning who generally watches Hee-Haw is going to be shocked when they do a close-up of the soprano who is having to work to make those sounds.  They won’t understand that.

BD:   I’ve thought that when they take the angles, they should get no closer than a medium shot.

Ballam:   Yes, it doesn’t flatter us, because opera singing is not an easy task.  It takes Herculean strength, and it’s not nice to look at.  If you’re sitting in an opera house, you don’t see Mr. Pavarotti shaking until you come up close.  Then you see the sweat pouring off of the face, and that’s not really flattering in a dramatic situation.  However, those ‘television operas’ which were written specifically for TV, like Menotti
’s Amahl and the Night Visitors, are already toned down.  But this is not Tristan and Isolde!

BD:   Would opera work at the cinema on a wide screen?

Ballam:   That’s interesting...  We’ve had a bit of interest in that, such as the Don Giovanni of Losey, which was met with real differing opinions.  At least the sound on the new theater equipment with the Dolby Stereo is getting a lot better than sitting at home on a television set.  On film you get the size and location, as with the Tosca filmed at the Castel Sant’Angelo.  That was exciting.

BD:   Do performances rattle you when you know they’re being taped for broadcast or television?

Ballam:   Yes, they do.  On this recital tour that I’m now doing, this is the third of five recitals of this particular program.  The first one was at the Kennedy Center, and I knew that National Public Radio was there recording my recital.  It does have a way of unnerving you a little bit, because you know if you make a mistake, it’s permanent.  Plus, we are in a live performance idiom, and then all of a sudden there’s a tape running.

BD:   Listening to that performance even the next day is not the same?

Ballam:   No.  I never listen to recordings immediately after.  That’s not wise.  Franco Corelli would listen during an intermission of a performance.  His wife was there with a cassette recorder, and she would record all of his things, and he would sit in his dressing room and listen to the playback.  For him it worked, I guess.  The man was phenomenal, but that would drive me crazy because you don’t actually hear what it is anyway.  Being that close to the fact can be counter-productive for an artist.

BD:   What about commercial recordings?  Do they destroy a quality of opera by being able to start and stop, and cut and splice?

Ballam:   I have really mixed feelings about that, because in some respects the recording industry has worked to our disadvantage.  I have done eighteen performances of La Fanciulla del West with Carol Neblett, and I know how Carol sings.  I know that voice as well as any voice there is.  Then when I heard the recording, it was as though I had never heard her voice.  This is not what the audience heard, and is not what I heard standing next to her.

BD:   Was it better or worse?

Ballam:   It was test-tubey!  I can’t think of another word.  It was just manufactured.

BD:   Was it sterile?

Ballam:   It was sterile.  There is no sign that there were human beings singing.  It’s not like in the olden days when Renata Tebaldi sang Fanciulla and she goes up for the high C in the first aria.  They could have fixed that today and made it absolutely perfect.  Still Tebaldi was the best!  It
’s still fantastic, but today they would change it and make it exactly right, or have done it over again.  I remember the first commercial recording I ever made was of King David by Arthur Honegger.  [Photo of this is shown farther down on this webpage.]  On the session, we got one of the movements perfectly wonderful.  Sebastian Cabot was reading, and he was a little touchy about it, and he didn’t want to do it again, but the oboist had come in a measure early.  Even though the mistake wasn’t jarring, it was wrong, and so we wondered what to do.  Do we go back, and do the whole thing again with the chorus, and the soloists, and him doing the reading?  The oboist was leaving the next day, but the engineer said he’d just take the oboe out and put him in in the right spot!  So, without him even being there, they can erase it, lift it off the tape, put it back in the right spot.  They can modify the timbre.  They can change the key signature.  There are recordings of very famous singers (I won’t say who) who are singing arias in keys that they have never performed in their lives.  They sing them in the key they’re comfortable with, and then are just modified up.  That’s when I start thinking why even show up?

BD:   Do you think we’ll ever come to a completely synthesized opera?

Ballam:   It wouldn’t surprise me, because we are able to visualize the format of sound so ideally that someone in a laboratory could determine a voice that has the virility of Franco Corelli, the finesse of Alfredo Kraus, the ping of Luciano Pavarotti, and the velvet of Plácido Domingo, and no one would have to be there.  

BD:   Could someone then sit behind all of these knobs and put feeling into it?

Ballam:   That’s questionable, of course!  The reason I say that commercial recordings of opera have worked to our disadvantage, is that people hear perfect performances which are wonderfully balanced.  They hear a Tristan who never for a moment is smothered by the orchestra.  Then when they go to the opera house, all of a sudden in the third act they can’t hear the tenor, and they’re disappointed.  In Strauss, and Wagner, and some of the Verdi works, there are moments when no human voice can possibly come over the orchestra.  But in recording they can balance it.  So people get used to hearing that, and I don’t think that is right.

BD:   Should the recording be a document of a live performance, or could it or should it be something different?

Ballam:   Those that are live documentations of something that happened are very vital for artists.  We actually hear what happened, and can learn something from it.  However, if you look at the sales receipts, that’s not what the public is buying.  They’re buying the new synthesized versions and new digital recordings.  They’re more interested in a perfect performance, a flawless performance.

BD:   Is that not something which could be reckoned with?

Ballam:   I think the idea of perfection has gotten out of hand.  If you are striving for perfection, you will never hear a tenor crack on a note.  That is the way they sang, and every tenor who has ever lived has had those moments.  There’s no tenor alive who has made every note they’ve ever uttered out of their voice beautiful.
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BD:   Maybe some channel will put together Famous Tenor Out-takes.  [With the advent of 2024 capabilities, this certainly has been done . . . . .  *sigh*]

Ballam:   [Laughs]  I think they are quickly destroyed!

BD:   [Gently protesting]  If they’re on broadcasts, though, somebody’s got them somewhere.
 
Ballam:   Things are seldom broadcast live now.  Hence, if something does go amiss, it can be fixed.

BD:   There are still a few things, including the Met on Saturday afternoons.

Ballam:   That’s right, but the telecast performances get recorded more than once.  We filmed the Samson and Delilah twice, and used the better of the two tapes.

BD:   Where there any inter-cuttings?

Ballam:   I don’t know how much can be done on video tape of splicing and choosing a better section.  It probably can happen, or at least a whole act can be used.  Strangely enough, they’ve been careful not to let the artists have the last word on that.  I know from personal experience that there are some artists who would like to have the final word about which one goes out, and PBS has been reluctant to do that, because if they do it for one artist they must do it for another, and where does it stop?

BD:   Does that bother you to know that people are listening and looking at your artistry from these performances?

Ballam:   I was a little disturbed one night at the Metropolitan.  I was attending a performance of Fidelio, and a friend of mine introduced me to some friends of his.  A young lady said she knew my name very well because she owned some of my recordings!  I said she must have been mistaken, but she said she had my recording of Roberto Devereux with Monserrat Caballé [shown at right, where Ballam sings Lord Cecil].  I said that Miss Caballé and I never made a recording of that San Francisco performance, but she had pirated recordings of three of the operas I had done in the past four years.  Of course, I never made a cent off of them, not that money is the primary thing (because it isn’t), but I would like to know which of those performances ended up going out and being sold to the public.  If I had done it in a studio and was not pleased with it, I would have had the chance to do it again.

BD:   Were these broadcasts or people in the audience with little machines?

Ballam:   Broadcasts.

BD:   Then at least you were told the performances were going to be broadcast.

Ballam:   Yes, but we’re not told that people are going to purchase discs of the performance.  That puts it in a different light... but I
’m just glad to be able to sing.  But the recordings have enabled people to be accustomed and acquainted with the repertory, which is always good.  People in America know Un Ballo in Maschera to a degree because they saw it on television or heard it on the radio or recordings.  However, it also makes a certain segment of the populous reluctant to come out of the confines of their home, where they’re safe and sound, and happy, and can munch on junk food while they’re listening to it.

BD:   [Surprised]  Do you really think that it cuts down on the attendance???

Ballam:   I know it does!  I remember once when I was doing a Beethoven Ninth with the Utah Symphony and the wonderful chorus of the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake.  We worked very hard, and Beethoven himself would have been pleased.  But a professor friend of mine said,
“No I don’t think I’ll come.  I have the Solti recording of it, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s a perfect performance, and I’m always disappointed when I hear something else!”  I was so outraged.  I never said anything, but he didn’t come, and there are a lot of people like him that won’t come.  When we did Fanciulla here in Chicago, one of the comments I heard was, “I saw it when Eleanor Steber did it here, and as far as I was concerned, it was definitive, so why see it again?”  The recording industry is about as definitive as it can get.  You can pull together casts of monumental quality and make them perfect, and then people stay home and think that’s the perfect rendition, so why should I venture out to hear mistakes?  Plus, it’s expensive!  They can buy the opera and have it as a permanent member of their collection for the same price they would pay for a good seat at the Lyric.  So economics are against us, too, and now with the video tapes, people have the Zeffirelli Bohème at home.

*     *     *     *     *

BD:   You’ve done some contemporary works.  Are you pleased with the direction that music is going?

Ballam:   I’ve done a considerable amount of contemporary music, and it has been to my advantage professionally in that I’m able to learn things quickly.  So I get exposure and opportunities that some other people would not.  However, sometimes it can be rather disappointing, and not fulfilling, and frustrating.  It is difficult music to learn.  You’re walking through a wilderness where no one’s been before.  You’re creating a role that has no precedence, which can be wonderful, but it can also be scary.

BD:   In your vision, though, are there Bohèmes coming out of this new wilderness?

Ballam:   The idiom has changed, and the priorities of music have changed.  In Puccini’s era, melody was supreme, and four hundred years from now, people will know that specific theme Mimì tells her name with.  But as far as Krzysztof Penderecki’s Paradise Lost is concerned, from sitting through the entire opera there is not a melody that you’ll come out and whistle.  So the lasting aural melody is gone.  People can enjoy the feeling of excitement of what happened, but they can’t actually tangibly take a melody out with them.  Verdi and Puccini were melody-men, and that’s been a lot of the reason their operas have stayed.  Even if they’ve never seen La Bohème, they have to have heard Musetta’s Waltz at some place, on Muzak, or sitting in the dentist chair.  It’s an affirmative feeling to have heard this.  It is familiar.  But if it’s a good new piece, who knows?  Somehow in America we like bread-and-butter stuff.  We don’t like to have too much esoterica.
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BD:   Are we not adventurous enough?

Ballam:   We’re not immensely adventurous.  There’s also the financial consideration.  The big companies can’t afford to gamble too far because they can be ruined by one production.  The Met is in a different situation in some respects because it is a national institution.  I do not know the books there, but they do get a lot of money that some of the others do not.

BD:   Do you think the money should be more fairly distributed?

Ballam:   Absolutely, but who’s going to determine which are the deserving hands?  I wouldn’t like to be in that position to say.  It’s important that the Met survives.  If the Met falls down, we all fall down because the world at large looks at it as the zenith of operatic achievement.

BD:   [Surprised]  Do you really think if there were no Met, there would be no Lyric, and no San Francisco???

Ballam:   Not necessarily.  We would not lose all opera, but the man in Podunk, who reads in the newspaper that the Met has folded, is going to immediately think that opera is dead!  I’m over-simplifying it, but the Met folding would mean a great deal.  When the Met went on strike a couple of years ago, it affected people who had never set foot in an opera house before.  All of a sudden, they knew of the descension that was going on, and it put opera in a bad light.  It made us all look bad.

BD:   Are the demands of the musicians too much?

Ballam:   I was in Washington last month doing Monsieur Choufleuri by Offenbach with the Washington Opera at the Kennedy Center, and three days before we opened, the orchestra threatened to strike like the Met had done.  Fortunately, they talked themselves out of it, but it would have meant that the entire Kennedy Center would have closed down.  The ballet could not have gone on, the opera could not have gone on, the shows that were playing there could not have gone on.

BD:   Are the demands not justified?

Ballam:   They need more money, they say, and inflation hits those hard-working people.  We principal artists in the business do not have that protection at all.  We cannot barter for fees.  We cannot strike.  We can’t do anything.

BD:   Doesn’t your agent try to nudge a few extra dollars into your contract?

Ballam:   He can do that, and the next time they might hire another lyric tenor.  But when the chorus decides they want more money, or they want less rehearsal time...

BD:   ...they can’t hire another chorus.

Ballam:   That’s right.  They’re strapped because the unions have been very protective of the orchestra, the stage hands, and the chorus.

BD:   But, of course, for years they got just a pittance.

Ballam:   It’s true.  We didn’t choose this for the money.  Vissi d’arte!  [I lived for art (as Tosca sings in her big aria in Act II).]  Of course, some people make lots of money and some people struggle all of their lives.

BD:   Do you see yourself eventually making a lot of money?  Do you see yourself being the next whoever?

Ballam:   As far as seeing myself as the next whoever, no, because never in my life has anyone likened me to any other singer.  I don’t sound like any other singer.  I don’t know if it has to do with the fact that I have never tried to sound like another singer.  A lot of my friends in the business will say someone has a sound like Carlo Bergonzi or like Jon Vickers, but no one has ever said that about me.  Part of the reason is that I don’t want to sound like someone else.  A voice is like a fingerprint.  Each one is different, and that’s the majesty of the human instrument.

BD:   What kind of roles do you want to be singing twenty years from now?

Ballam:   Aside from Siegfried and Otello?  I don’t know.

BD:   [Shocked]  Do you really want to sing Siegfried???

Ballam:   Everyone wants to sing Siegfried!  God determines if you sing those roles though, and I haven’t been speaking to him lately about it.  But it doesn’t seem that’s in my immediate future.  I have had quite a bit of experience, but some people think that I should have done more at my age.  I did an awful lot of roles, and there are not too many that I’m just dying to sing.  I shouldn’t even mention what some of those are, but one of them is Peter Grimes.  This is shock to people when I say it because it belongs to Jon Vickers, who is a titan of a man, and I respect him almost above all other singers.  The man has musical and personal integrity.  He’s just fantastic.  However, I worked with Peter Pears, and the piece was written for a voice like that.  Vickers has put his stamp on it indelibly, and it’s wonderful.  He’s absolutely incredible.  It’s spine-tingling to see his Peter Grimes.  However, there is another approach, and that is the Peter Pears approach, which is at the whole other end of the spectrum.  Of course, it’s what Britten wanted.  He had the inside track there.  They worked on it together.  I never saw Peter Pears do it.  I saw Jon Vickers do it when I was a young man.  The first time I ever went to Europe, I spent my last dime to go to Covent Garden and see that, and I was astounded by the performance.  I had never heard a tenor voice with that kind of depth and virility in a baritone-esque sound, and it was very thrilling.  That got locked in my mind as the way Peter Grimes ought to be.  Then, when I went to Indiana University and began to study the work, I heard the recording with Peter Pears, and immediately was shocked.  I thought this isn’t what it’s all about.

BD:   I think part of the conflict is because Vickers is really much more to the George Crabbe poem.  Britten toned it down and made it softer, but of course that’s the opera.  In the poem, he’s a much more rough-hued fisherman.  He’s much more brutal, and Vickers is much more like that, which is why it’s so plausible.

Ballam:   Vickers is a man of strength, and he plays it that way.  He’s absolutely incredible.  I just wished so much at some point in my life I could have seen Peter Pears do it.  There are gradations between both ends of the polarities.  There are things in between, and that is where I stand.  I started with that role when I was first into operatic literature.  It’s something that is very important to me, and something that I think I can bring a viability to.  But when I proposed the idea, people would immediately ask if I was a heldentenor.  I remind them that it was written for a lyric tenor, or even lighter even than a lyric tenor, almost a leggiero, and we shouldn’t forget that.  It
’s the same thing with Don José, which I hesitated to sing for years, even though I was asked a number of times, because I am not a dramatic tenor at this point in my life.  But the piece, as Bizet intended it, was for a lyric French tenor [Paul Lhérie, shown in the box below].  It’s so nice like that, however we have tended to hear Mario Del Monaco or Franco Corelli, who are both wonderfully virile and strong.  So we have tended to identify that role with heavier voices.  [The noted Mozart tenor Léopold Simoneau recorded the role, but (as far as I can find) never sang it on stage.]


Paul Lévy, known as Lhérie, (October 8, 1844 - October 18, 1937). His father Victor Lhérie was a comic actor and vaudeville author, and his uncle Léon-Lévy Brunswick, comic opera librettist, co-wrote the libretto for Postillon de Lonjumeau by Adolphe Adam. By his own admission, Lhérie was not a born tenor. After the Conservatory, he joined the Opéra-Comique troupe, where he debuted in 1865 in Auber's L'Ambassadrice. He then created the role of Charles II in Don Cesare de Bazan by Massenet. His modest qualities as a singer attracted some criticism: “Mr. Lhérie, intelligent and a good musician, persists in wanting to expand his little voice to the point of shouting; this is the reversal of the problem: the container must be larger than the content. » (Le Figaro, December 15, 1872).

lherie Then an event occurred by chance which would serve him well: the first tenor Duchêne, who fell ill, had to give up singing Romeo and Juliet.
Lhérie replaced him, and Bizet heard him that evening. Bizet was charmed by the tenor's acting talents so much so that he chose him, against the advice of du Locle, to be Don José during the creation of Carmen [as seen in the photo at right]. The reception was lukewarm: “Lhérie does not give enough character to the Havanese Don José. It is true that the Don José of the play has ceased to be that of the novel. » (Le Figaro, March 5, 1875). “Lérie has warmth and distinction; unfortunately his voice does not always obey him; too often she is her master's mistress. » (La Presse, November 21, 1875)

After the creation of Carmen, Lhérie converted to a baritone, and traveled throughout Europe and America.
Returning to Paris, he led a long career as a professor at the Conservatory. It was not because of his singing that he hit the headlines the most. He was taken to court in 1885 by two women to whom he was married, each of whom ended up obtaining a pension! He died at a very old age in 1937, crowned with the title of Dean of French singing. He marks the role of Don José with his acting talents, and, after him, we begin to consider that the role requires an actor rather than a singer.

== Biography above is a translation from the website of the Opéra Comique,
listing those who have sung the role of Don José there  




After studying in Paris, Lhérie made his debut at the Opéra-Comique in 1866 as Méhul's Joseph. He created the role of Charles II in Massenet's Don César de Bazan in 1872, Kornélis in Camille Saint-Saëns's La princesse jaune in 1872, Benoît in Delibes's Le roi l’a dit in 1873, and Don José in Carmen by Bizet in 1875. Bizet and Lhérie became friends during the preparations for Carmen. They would swim together in the Seine during the singer's visits to the composer's house in Bougival.

He became a baritone in 1882, singing Posa in the first performance of the Italian revised version of Verdi's Don Carlos at La Scala, Milan, two years later. He also spent time during the 1880s at Covent Garden in London, where he performed Zurga (in Les Pêcheurs de Perles), Rigoletto, Germont (La Traviata), Luna (Il trovatore), and Alphonse (La favorite). He sang Iago in Brescia in 1887 with Adalgisa Gabbi, José Oxilia and conductor Franco Faccio. He also sang Zurga and other roles in an Italian season at the Théâtre de la Gaîté in 1889, and created the role of Simeone Bardi in the premiere of Godard's Dante in 1890 at the Opéra Comique, having just reprised Zampa for his reappearance at the Salle Favart.

In Rome at the Teatro Costanzi on 31 October 1891, he was the first Rabbi David in the premiere of Mascagni's L'amico Fritz (he himself was Jewish) and repeated the role in Monte Carlo the same year. In 1894, he created Gudleik in Franck's Hulda, also in Monte Carlo.

Lhérie retired from the stage in 1894. In the last years of his life he taught opéra comique and opera at the Paris Conservatoire, prize-winners among his pupils included Léon Rothier, David Devriès, Suzanne Cesbron-Viseur, Ginette Guillamat and Geneviève Vix.




[Ballam continues]   I had turned that role down four times before I did it in Michigan.  The conductor said he wanted to do it as an opéra-comique, and he wanted the light-lyric quality, and the sensitive Don José as he is in the novella, and as Bizet wanted it.  He was not going to go for bombastic things.  The director [Patrick Bakman], who was the most important reason I chose to do it, said to me, “I don’t want you to murder her at the end.  I want you to kill her by accident in the heat of passion.  You’re caught up in getting her away from Escamillo, and you have the knife out because you threatened her, and you kill her.”

BD:   You never had any intention of killing her?  It just happens?

Ballam:   Right, it just happens.  He has a temper, but I thought I could do it because I’ve always seen Don José as a victim.  This man loves her dearly, but she’s wrong for him.  They’re not meant to be together, but they have been thrown together, and the death is accidental.  From the day I learned the Flower Song, I would go into an audition and ask how they would like me to sing it.  Would they like me to sing it with the heroic B-flat, or would they rather have me sing it as it’s written?  Oftentimes, conductor asked what I meant.  He didn’t know that Bizet says en falsete, voix mixte, pianississimo up to that B-flat.  When it came to actually being out on stage and doing the role, I wanted to know from day one how Mark Flint wanted that B-flat sung.  I had my own opinion, which was that Bizet had the right idea.  The worst thing Don José could possibly say to Carmen is Je t’aime [I love you], because once she realizes she’s got him, everything starts to switch.  He is scared to death to say this to her, and the aria builds up without having this blaspheming remark.  But there’s one thing that he needs to tell her, and that’s why he’s breathless about it.  Et j’étais une chose toi! [And I was a thing to you!]  Doing it loudly is more spectacular, but the orchestration is a harp glissando and nothing else.  Just a silence and a pause.  The tenor whispers in her ear, and it’s the only way it can be done in my book.  Fortunately, the conductor agreed.  Because we were doing alternate nights, the other tenor chose to sing it full.  There have only been a few times in my life have I known that I really had them, and I had them at the end of the Flower Song.  There was an absolute hush.  It was just breathless because I had done what Bizet wanted, and Bizet was right.  Then the review appears the next day!  His first criticism was that I had blonde hair.  In the novella Don José was blonde.  But Corelli was not blonde and Del Monaco was not blonde, so the guy thought I was wrong.  Then the fact that I sang the end of the Flower Song quietly was absurd to him.  The man never knew that’s how Bizet wanted it.  He expected to hear it sung full and loud, so when I didn’t do that, he was surprised, and criticized me in the review.  [Both laugh]  In fairness, that’s a reviewer’s job.  If somebody trips on the stage, he has to write it up.  The next night everyone asked me what I was going to do.  Mark said,
“Whatever you want to do, just give me a sing when it comes.”  I got out there, and the second act began, and I got all caught up in it.  The time came to move down to Carmen, and I got down there and I thought I have no choice!  There is no choice!

BD:   Bizet was right!

Ballam:   He was right.  I am on sacred ground singing the music of Georges Bizet.  This man had an idea that was immortal, and I’m a vessel through which his immortality can survive, and if I desecrate that, I shouldn’t be on the stage.  I don’t care what some critic says about singing that phrase.  There was no choice.  I had to sing it the way I felt it had to be done, and if I get criticized for it, it’s his misfortune!  But it’s not just his misfortune, because it colors the whole audience that reads it, and it taints their opinion, too, which is unfortunate.  But when it all comes down it, and when I meet Georges Bizet up in the great opera house on high, I want to say to him,
“I did the best I could for you.”  My decisions are not always right, but that one was.

*     *     *     *     *

BD:   You have just come from a brief stage rehearsal in Orchestra Hall.  Tell me about different halls.

Ballam:   They’re all quite different.  The Lyric is quite a good house for its size.  It makes a difference in the way you sing.  If you get used to a hall, and you know what’s happening, then you calm down.  You know how you’re singing, and you just do it the way you are used to.  But oftentimes you do rely on the way it sounded another night, or the way you tend to feel when you’re just not used to a hall.  It takes a while to get used to it.  That’s why I like to be able to get used it before the recital begins.
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BD:   Is it particularly difficult because you are a peripatetic singer?

Ballam:   That’s a good word, peripatetic!  Yes, that can wear thin after a while.  For the time being, I appreciate going about and singing in different places.  I don’t know how long one can enjoy that, but I guess I’ll find out.

BD:   Does it also play havoc with one’s personal life?

Ballam:   It does.  My wife is very supportive.  I own a home in Utah, and have an apartment in New York, and right now she is running a pre-school on the first floor of the Utah home.  She’s working on a PhD in Child Development and Children’s Psychology.  She’s always had a tremendous interest in children, and she taught Kindergarten for many years in Indiana when we were first married.  Then when we went to New York, she began working in advertising agency.

BD:   Sometimes singers can bring spouses with them, and sometimes they don’t.

Ballam:   My first season at the Lyric, I did not bring her or Christopher with me, because I didn’t have the place to stay, and she had a job teaching in a school called The House of Little People.  We felt it was a wonderful opportunity for her, and Christopher could go with her.  She was expecting another baby, and it just didn’t seem right uprooting them at that point.  The next season I went to San Francisco, and we all moved there together.  We spent two seasons there together, and that was very nice.  Sometimes that can spoil you, because you get used to having your family there, and chances are that I will never again have those long-extended periods with a company.

BD:   Why?

Ballam:   My availability is getting less and less.  The companies would like to have me sing, but I cannot guarantee a large block of time to any one company anymore like I could have two or three years ago.  When I came to Chicago, I remember coming around my birthday at the end of August, and staying until Christmas time.

BD:   Wouldn’t you like to stay in one place for a few weeks a year, rather than a lot of different places?

Ballam:   Ideally, yes, however, in order to do that, one has to adjust the repertoire of what you want to be doing.  One season in San Francisco I did five operas in a three-month period, and I don’t want to do that anymore.  There was The Magic Flute on Monday night, and Arabella on Wednesday night, and The Magic Flute again on Friday night.  I suppose it would be all right if you were doing solely semi-inconspicuous comprimario roles, but what was happening in San Francisco was that I had a very substantial part in Arabella [Elemer], but one of the Armed Men in The Magic Flute.  If I was singing an Armed Man every other night that would be fine, but to be up on Thursday night to sing Elemer, one’s energies have been taxed by having sung The Magic Flute all week.  When I’m singing Arabella with Kiri Te Kanawa, I have to really hold my own.  I shouldn’t be spending my energy doing the other parts.  I treasure my experience with the Lyric, and with San Francisco.  It was just time to do something else, and things were taking different directions.

BD:   How do you balance your life between the opera stage and the recital platform?

Ballam:   There was a period of time that I did not want to sing any recitals at all.  The prospect was frightening, and not attractive to me at all.  I’m into opera primarily for the costumes, the scenery, the lights, the action, the properties, and the sets.

BD:   Do you like hiding behind all of this stuff?

Ballam:   Exactly, hiding behind it.  I was not born to a theatrical family, but I started performing publicly when I was two years old, and have always been most vital when I’m on stage in a role.  I chose opera as a career because it is an intense type of musical theater.  I would happy as a Broadway singer, however, the grandeur of opera heightens what is already there on Broadway.

BD:   If someone offered you, say, a two-year run as the lead tenor in Brigadoon...

Ballam:   ...then I would say no.  But if they offered me a two-year run as Tony in West Side Story, I would say yes, and that almost happened.  It would depend on how I felt about the piece, and what I thought I could bring to it, and the longevity of a run.

BD:   You would be doing it eight time a week.

Ballam:   Yes, and I don’t know if I could sing Tony every night of the week.  That’s pretty tough if you sing it with real gusto.

BD:   I wonder if there could be a producer who would have the imagination to cast two people, so you’d only have to do four performances a week instead of eight.

Ballam:   Possibly, but of course you would have duo-salaries.  It comes down to economics in running a Broadway show.  I’ve never known that to happen, but it makes a lot of sense really.

BD:   If you’re only performing half the time, wouldn’t you get half the salary?

Ballam:   Then the attraction of doing it might be considerably less.  You have to pay the rent, which is always a consideration.  It’s hard to be a performer, you know.  We’re not living in an age of patronage, where artists are free to do what they did, and still have the bread-and-butter be put on the table.
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BD:   Let’s go back to the concerts.

Ballam:   I used to do recital work as a graduate student, but I didn’t expect to make a living doing that because it’s an art-form that is not flourishing at all.  We began this interview by talking about where opera is going, and I think opera is in pretty safe hands at the moment.  It seems to be going on the up-swing... slowly, but at least it’s going in that direction, with more companies, more performances, and more attention.  Recitals are going in the other way.  When I was young, in a season in my little home town of Logan, Utah, which had 21,000 people at that time, we had two or three solo vocal recitalists per year who would come to the town and sing.  As I recall, there haven’t been even one or two in the last three or four years.

BD:   Is that because the recitalists are not coming, or because the town won’t support them?

Ballam:   Both.  It’s not just that town in particular.  America has become more interested in spectacle and stardom, and now they only go to a recitalist who is an international operatic star.

BD:   In other words, if Pavarotti came to Logan, Utah, they’d go, but if Michael Ballam came to Logan, they might not?

Ballam:   [With pride]  If Michael Ballam came to Logan, Utah, you’d probably get a better crowd than Luciano Pavarotti because that’s my home!  [Both laugh]  But if we’re talking about Panguitch, Utah, yes, that’s true.  Pavarotti would always fill a house because he sells American Express cards.  He’s a famous man, and everyone is always asking me if I know him!  If Sherrill Milnes came to town, they might come out, but when I was young, Jane Doe would come to sing Frauen-Liebe und Leben and people would come and love it, and be moved.  The music was the thing.

BD:   Was Jane Doe any good?

Ballam:   Of course!  There were wonderful singers who came, one of whom was Justino Diaz as a very young man.  He was twenty-one years of age.  He wasn’t a star of the Met then, but people went and supported him, and loved it.  But now with the media doing what it does, people can see ‘La Stupenda’, Joan Sutherland and Luciano Pavarotti singing live from Lincoln Center for free.  So, they’re not going to want to go out on a cold winter’s night and slip on the ice to see someone they’ve never heard of do some lovely music.

BD:   It’s too bad.

Ballam:   It is too bad, and recitals are very important to singers to keep up that kind of discipline.

BD:   Is that why you’re going back to it now?

Ballam:   I’m going back it because I’m being paid for it!  [Laughs]  But it’s always something where you have to be very finely tuned.  I remember when I was doing Arabella in San Francisco, Ingvar Wixell was working on a recital, and every day that he worked on the recital, his rehearsals and his performances were better.  There was no question about it, because he was finely tuning the instrument, just keeping it in trim.  I do know two gentlemen in the country right now who want to be recitalists like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.  I’m not sure this is possible.  I hope for their sake it is, but unless it’s Renata Scotto, whom they heard on the Mike Douglas Show, they’ll go and hear her, and love it.  But I’m not sure that they would know the difference between her and Jane Doe.  I hope that changes, and I hope people will keep coming to the recitals.  I get criticized for not including opera arias sometimes.  Those are my money notes.  That’s why I sing at the Lyric and San Francisco.  I have those notes and what they need.  I would like to sing the entire recital of nothing but Vesti la giubba [Canio
’s aria from Pagliacci] or La donna è mobile [Rigoletto], the hit tunes of opera, but that’s not where they belong.  That’s going back to the same situation I mentioned about John Wayne being twenty feet tall.  The majesty about E lucevan le stelle [Tosca] is the fact that the orchestra is telling you everything that’s happening, painting the picture, and giving you the emotions.  Then Cavaradossi puts some beautiful words on top of the beautiful tunes.  All of a sudden, if you take the orchestra away, you take the lights away, and you take the effects away, you’ve got a man standing there trying to reproduce a facsimile of what it’s like on the operatic stage.  Even if he’s wonderful, it can only be a facsimile, and an unreasonable one sometimes.  But the folks know the tune, and they know the aria, so they are moved by it.  But from my estimation, it’s taking an idiom and not doing it justice.  Look at the works of Schumann, and Schubert, and Brahms and Strauss.  They intended for a singer to stand in front of a piano and create the whole thing right there.  When I sing Dichterliebe, they’re hearing the same thing that Schumann had in his head, as best as I can create it.  But when I’m singing E lucevan le stelle with the piano, that’s not what Puccini heard in his head, and that’s not what the audience should be hearing.  It doesn’t seem right.  Plus there’s such a vast repertory of fantastic music for piano and voice.  Why should we have to go back to the operatic repertoire, even in encore situations?  Many times before I have used operatic arias as encores, and that’s fine.  The people like the tunes and it’s a chance to sing out.

BD:   [Being Devil
’s advocate]  Wouldn’t it be better to do a Tosti song as an encore?

Ballam:   This kind of thing is more or less what I do now.  That has the same kind of vocalism that an aria would have, without pulling out Vesti la giubba.  I don’t mean to sound like I’m minimizing.  That’s great repertory, and thank goodness it’s there, because that’s how I make my living.  But I have the good fortune of being able to do both.

*     *     *     *     *

BD:   Have you sung some of your roles in English?
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Ballam:   A lot of them, yes.

BD:   Tell me about singing in translation.  Is it good or is it bad?
 
Ballam:   [Thinks a moment]  There are two schools of thought, and I have them both.  Some of the reason we’ve had difficulty selling to the American public on opera, is because we have maintained a cultural snobbery by doing opera in the original language in the major houses.  It made it so the Rockefellers and Vanderbilts could bring their friends to the opera, and be able to say, “I know what’s going on, and you don’t.  Therefore you’re lesser of a person than I am!”  That sort of snobbery was held in high regard.  People could take pride in the fact that they know what Mimì is talking about, and the reason she coughed was not that she got phlegm.  They knew she was going to die in the end, and if it’s in English, everyone understands every word and they have nothing to hold over on the guy sitting up in the cheap seats.

BD:   But what if a guy has bought the record, and has read the libretto?

Ballam:   It’s true, but we’ve come to an age of education now.  The regional houses in Europe always do them in the vernacular, so that the people understand every word, and they should.  To me, opera is a dramatic art just as strongly as a musical art, and how can we possibly be viable dramatically if the people don’t know what we’re saying?

BD:   So you would rather sing it in translation, given all of your druthers?

Ballam:   [Thinks again]  Sort of.  [Laughs]  If it’s an audience that knows the work very well, and knows what we’re saying, that’s one thing.

BD:   But if you’re singing La Bohème at the Met, you’d want to do it in Italian?

Ballam:   There I would have no choice.

BD:   But what if you’re singing it in Topeka, Kansas?

Ballam:   Then they should know the words, and they should know everything that Rodolfo is saying to Mimì.  If the translations are good ones, they can be just as beautiful as the originals.  The W. H. Auden translations are absolutely wonderful.  Goethe translated some of Shakespeare in exquisite German, and Schiller did too, but we don’t seem to do that.  Our great authors never took it upon themselves to translate Faust.

BD:   But from one reading medium to another reading medium, you don’t have quite the problems of fitting it around the musical line.

Ballam:   No, because in music the syllables have to fit the notes.  Some of the operatic translations that we are at liberty to use are really tawdry, because there was a period of time when people thought you couldn’t say,
“I love you!”  You had to say, “I love thee, dear!”  By trying to attempt some sort of poetic nature into the text, those old translations are just horrible.  Andrew Porter has some nice translations, and Garson Kanin, Ruth Gordan’s husband, did Die Fledermaus for the Met, which is very good.  But we haven’t had too many really reputable people try to do it.

BD:   Is singing in English as hard as singing in Italian?

Ballam:   It’s very hard, because you have to make choices about the integrity of the vowels.  Few of the big Divos and Divas sing pure sounds in Italian.  They modify the vowels to give the depth to the sound, or the velvety sound.  But when it comes to singing in English, those people sitting out in the house are going to notice it. 

BD:   You’ve got to make it understood.

Ballam:   Yes, and diction is very important.  Otherwise we’re no better than a bassoon.  They can make beautiful sounds, more pear-shaped than the human voice can, and be more in line musically, so why have words if you’re not going to sing them?  Joan Sutherland has chosen for the timbre to be the most important thing, and that’s fine for her.  For me, I’m in the business of singing because of the words.  Music is an avenue through which glorious ideas can be communicated.
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BD:   Do you think that a lot of the new operas are destroying voices by asking them do things for effect that they shouldn’t do?
 
Ballam:   There are times, yes.  To sing contemporary music, one has to have an extraordinarily good technique, because you’re doing jumps and scoops and moves and adding strange colors to the voice that are not necessarily for its best interest.  Singers who are very highly trained, and know their instruments well, and who are intelligent, and have a really strong technique, can pull it off.  Singers who do not, can be crucified.

BD:   Is there really a message to be gotten from that kind of music?

Ballam:   [Thinks once more]  In life we make strange sounds.  Everything isn’t within a tonic-dominant relation.  We do scream sometimes...

BD:   [Being Devil
’s Advocate again]  They said Verdi was destroying voices.  They said Wagner was destroying voices.  They said Strauss was destroying voices.  Now they say that the composers today are destroying voices.

Ballam:   But they were saying Verdi was destroying voices for different reasons.  The reason in Wagner was that you had to have so much sound to be heard.  Strauss was because the tessitura was so high and so loud.  In contemporary music, they might have some validity, because if people do not have proper control of their musculature in their whole body as an instrument, they can hurt themselves.  They can get nodes.  They can lose muscular control just like putting a little child up on toe too early in ballet.  They’re not ready to handle it.  A lot of singers who might sing Norma beautifully, but if they have to sing Penderecki, their body can’t hold it.  They hear the pitch and they attempt to sing it, but have trouble with it.  It’s hard!  It’s very hard, and sometimes terribly unfulfilling because when it’s all said and done, you break your neck trying to sing the music, and sometimes it’s not worth breaking your neck over.  We had 248 critics for Paradise Lost.  The cast was mentioned in a maybe a third of the reviews at best, and always just if there was space at the end.  The singers make it happen!  We’re the ones who had worked like crazy, but the attention was on the sets, the costumes, and the fact that Lyric Opera was producing it.  Then, if they had room at the end, then they’d mention that Mr. Stone was Adam, and Miss Shade was Eve.  Oftentimes, in any contemporary piece, the poor singers are just totally forgotten about.

BD:   Are we not supposed at to look at the piece and then consider the singers?

Ballam:   Indeed, that’s right.  But oftentimes, the piece is looked at and discarded, and then all of that work is for naught.

BD:   Is it right that some of these pieces are discarded?

Ballam:   Oh, sure.  Some of them are trite, some of them are not.  Finances make it difficult to produce opera, so a lot of worthy pieces just end up going to a library, because there’s no one who can afford to put them on.  I did Danton and Robespierre by John Eaton.  The Met has dickered about doing that, but it takes two orchestras a quarter step apart, and it takes an enormous chorus.  It would break the Met.  They would have to spend an absolute fortune on it.  Indiana University, with lots of grant money, and lots of free performers, including a magnificent chorus, and soloists of professional quality...

BD:   Doing it for credit.

Ballam:   Exactly, with the exception of me.  I was hired to do it because I had the left the school by then.  [Ballam sang the role of Danton, alternating with James Anderson, who appears on the recording.]

BD:   Did this encourage you to study Dantons Tod by Einem?

Ballam:   No.

BD:   I wondered if there was any relationship between the two.

Ballam:   Only the libretto.  I’ve never seen the opera or heard it.  The difficult thing about Danton and Robespierre was the use of quarter tones.  I do have relative pitch, and I would get a headache every time I would rehearse it and sing it, because my brain heard the pitches.  People would tell me to just sing some of the notes flat and some of them sharp, but when you finally hear it, it starts driving you crazy because you are singing in the cracks on purpose.  I must say, tough, that it can be exhilarating.

BD:   Did it drive the audience crazy?

Ballam:   There were mixed feelings, but the general opinion was that it was very exciting.

BD:   Was it explained to the audience that you were supposed to sing in the cracks?
 
Ballam:   No, it wasn’t.  [Laughs]  I’ve been doing that for years but not on purpose!  [Both laugh]  But you can tell that it’s not just the singers.  The orchestra is tuned a quarter-step apart, so you’re hearing bizarre sounds before the singers ever come on the stage.  So it’s not as all of a sudden that some poor soprano can’t get up to the pitch.  [Wistfully]  The French Revolution was such a fiendishly ugly period.
amram  
BD:   Is that why Eaton wrote it like that?
 
Ballam:   I don’t know.  People were being beheaded, and there was all that blood and gore and hate.  But it worked very well.  There was a love duet which was more melodious to a degree.  It’s one thing when you’re screaming this hateful and vengeful rhetoric.  Then it’s another thing to be telling your intimate love towards someone in this horribly ugly stuff.  I don’t know, but composers seem to be going in that direction.  I make a living doing that.  I still take the check, and then run to the bank.  [Both laugh]  There have been some times and some pieces that I literally have gone back stage and rinsed my mouth out to get rid of this distaste.  Oftentimes, when someone contacts you to do a world premiere, you do not have the luxury of even seeing the music.  Penderecki is a reputable composer, it was a good part, and they felt it was within my realm.  In that case I sang for Mr. Penderecki the entire roles of Beelzebub and Gabriel before I was hired.  They gave me two days to learn it.  But oftentimes the score is not written...  I sang David Amram’s Twelfth Night in Philadelphia [part of the review is shown at left (written by a man named Caruso!)], and I saw the music.  But what actually comes to the ear with the orchestration is not quite what you see on the page.  However, a lot of young would-be composers came to the performance, and since mine was the most auspicious role, I got two offers from young composers of works that they had in mind.  One of them sent me the music, and I was to look at it and determine which of the two roles I wanted.  One was sort of a dramatic-type tenor, and then there was a lyric-type tenor.  All of a sudden, mid-way through the libretto, I realized that the two of them were in love.  [Laughs]  This was not what I had in mind.  Let somebody else do it first, and if it becomes a tremendous hit, like Brideshead Revisited, then I’ll play the role.

BD:   So, you would not want to play a homosexual?

Ballam:   Oh, no, no, no.  I’ll play anything.  I’d put on a dress if they paid me enough.  I’d play Carmen, but I can’t sing with a rose between my teeth.  No, it’s not a matter of not playing a homosexual.  I just thought I’m getting too old to try to pull this off.

BD:   You’re twenty-seven?

Ballam:   No, I turned thirty this year.  They’re using some of the same biographical material for this tour that the Lyric used a few years ago.  There was a time in my life when I was committed to the cause of new music.  If I thought something is a good piece, I would give all of my energies to try and make it work, and I still feel that way.

BD:   You’re choosing your causes more carefully now?

Ballam:   Yes, and I have to be convinced that it really is good, and sometimes you don’t see it.  When somebody brings you a manuscript, and you look at it, you can’t always tell what it’s really going to be like.

*     *     *     *     *

BD:   Are you going to be singing at the Met soon?

Ballam:   I haven’t noticed myself listed in Opera News, but I don’t know.  The Met is like the White House.  One never knows if you’re going to end up there.  You can be in politics all of your life, and never end up in the White House.  I am not interested in doing the wrong role to debut.

BD:   If they offered you Siegfried, would you do it?

Ballam:   [Laughs]  It would have to be something I felt I could bring something special to.  I’m not interested in going there and doing Riccardo [Un Ballo in Maschera].  When I went to New York, I was there a week and was offered the role of Riccardo, which I had sung before professionally in a small company there.  I was advised by someone whose opinion I valued very highly that if one sings in New York, one must be very careful to make a debut that is auspicious enough to perpetuate something.  If I had sung Riccardo, I would be competing with Enrico Caruso, Jussi Björling, Mario del Monaco, Franco Corelli, every tenor from time immemorial who has sung that part.  On the other hand, Pelléas and Mélisande is another story.  I’m not competing with Pavarotti if I choose to do Pelléas.

BD:   Then you’re just competing against Martial Singher.  [A baritone, Singher sang Pelléas at the Met in 1944 & 1945.  Ten years later, he sang Golaud.]

Ballam:   [With a big smile]  He was a mentor of mine, and it was Singher who said that I don’t sound like anyone else.  When I was in Santa Barbara, he had hired me to do The Tales of Hoffmann.  There are similarities between the two of us, both physically and in our views about art and music.  He’s been very influential in my life, and immediately people were saying I was the next Singher.  [Laughs]  Although I respect the man and honor him above anyone else, I’m sorry but I’m not the next Martial Singher.  I am Michael Ballam, and that is it.  I don’t pretend, or want to be anyone else.  I admire what he has done, but I’m not interested in carrying his torch.  It was his, and it should be his alone.  There are certain tenor roles that are just identified with certain tenors right now... not that I wouldn’t like it at some point in time to sing those roles, but one has to be careful.  I’m happy doing what I’m doing, and I’m not desperate to sing at the Met like most of my friends are.  I work all the time, and I’m doing what is thrilling to me.  I would be just as tickled to do something like Peter Grimes, for example, with the Pennsylvania Opera Theater in Philadelphia, where I would know we would do our darndest to recreate what Benjamin Britten had in mind.  We would work ourselves to death, and analyze, and work, and critique.

BD:   You wouldn’t care when the critics say you’re not Jon Vickers?

Ballam:   No!  I wouldn’t care if the critics didn’t come at all, because as an artist, I would feel that I had integrity, and had done my best to bring about the immortality of an idea that Benjamin Britten had, which is what I’m all about in my life.  When I went to New York in 1976, my dad, who has always been very business-orientated, asked how I was going to make a living.  I made a choice at that time that I would never make a decision in my career based upon the dollar.  The fee has to be reasonable, but that would not be the deciding factor.
 
BD:   If you wanted to do it, you would do it unless there was no fee?
ballam
Ballam:   Exactly.  My agent calls, and tells me what is available.  I don’t want to know the fee.  Then I decide if it is something that I want to do based on whether I can bring some vitality to it.  I make the choice before I find out about the money.  Inevitably, when I have made the choice on the basis of the dollar, it was a mistake.  The funny thing is, that since I made the choice that the money was not going to make any difference, the money has always been there.

BD:   You’re very fortunate, because, as you know, many singers are sitting in New York in their little apartments...

Ballam:   ...starving to death and trying to get part-time work.  But I have made the right choices and the right decisions.  I haven’t had it clouded by the money.  I’m not wealthy, and I do not have backing from anyone.  I’m supporting myself, my wife, and my three children.  That’s a big responsibility, but it has always worked.  I believe that if one does make the right choices, it will happen, and the money and security will come.  I used to set up goals for myself all the time when I was a kid.  When I was nine years old, I determined that by the time I’d turned twenty-five, I’d have a PhD.  Now, I cannot say that if I’m not singing at the Met by a certain date I’m going to give it up, because who knows?  I may sing at the Met next year, or I may never sing there.

BD:   You would be perfectly happy not singing at the Met?

Ballam:   It doesn’t make any difference, and I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.  I’m going to be happy as long as I can do what I do, and have integrity about it.  That’s what I’m interested in.  I’m interested in working with companies who take it seriously.  Instant opera?  No!  When I did my first Beppe [Pagliacci], which was my first professional job, I got there and the stage manager walked me around the stage.  He said,
“You sing the first little aria from here; you sing the duet from here; you pull the knife away from him here.  We’ll see you tonight at the performance.”  [Laughs]  That was it!  Of course, I was glad to get the chance to stand up there and sing, and get the applause, and get the check, but never again.  That’s not what life is for me.  For many of my colleagues, that’s precisely what they want to do.  They get a big kick out of that.  I have some very good friends who hate to rehearse, and they don’t want a director to change their interpretation.  They want to use the same prop for thirty years, and they want to say everything the same way.  The way they stand will always be the same way, and if somebody tries to modify it, they don’t want to have anything to do with it.  I can’t do that.

BD:   I hope you continue to have a great success.

Ballam:   I hope so, too.

BD:   Thank you so very much for the conversation.

Ballam:   My pleasure.  It
’s nice to talk to somebody who knows what they’re asking.  I’m quoted in my biography as saying that I went to get a PhD because I wanted to learn everything there is to know about opera.  People start to titter when they see that, and they ask if I have accomplished it.  I say no, but I’m still striving.  I will never stop learning about it because I’m very serious about it, and I want to know everything there is to know about it.  A lot of my friends say that knowing all the history is not going to make me sing any better, but I totally disagree.  The more you know, the more you can bring to something, even if most of the people who are sitting in the house won’t see it.  If one person senses something different, and for one moment in their life feels like they were in touch with something, then it’s all worthwhile.



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© 1982 Bruce Duffie

This conversation was recorded in Chicago on January 29, 1982.  This transcription was made in 2024, and posted on this website at that time.  My thanks to British soprano Una Barry for her help in preparing this website presentation.

To see a full list (with links) of interviews which have been transcribed and posted on this website, click here.  To read my thoughts on editing these interviews for print, as well as a few other interesting observations, click here.

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Award - winning broadcaster Bruce Duffie was with WNIB, Classical 97 in Chicago from 1975 until its final moment as a classical station in February of 2001.  His interviews have also appeared in various magazines and journals since 1980, and he now continues his broadcast series on WNUR-FM, as well as on Contemporary Classical Internet Radio.

You are invited to visit his website for more information about his work, including selected transcripts of other interviews, plus a full list of his guests.  He would also like to call your attention to the photos and information about his grandfather, who was a pioneer in the automotive field more than a century ago.  You may also send him E-Mail with comments, questions and suggestions.