Enrico Caruso

BEST OF LEADERS & SUCCESS

Opera Singer Enrico Caruso Scored A Perfect Tenor

Sound Of Success: His diligence, integrity and attention to detail
gained him the adoration of fans and coworkers alike

BY CURT SCHLEIER FOR INVESTOR'S BUSINESS DAILY

Enrico Caruso learned early never to assume.

In 1901, the singer considered by many to be the greatest operatic
tenor of all time returned to his native Naples, Italy, in triumph.
He’d achieved worldwide success and was going to make his debut in the
local Teatro San Carlo.

“He had no doubt that he would triumph there as elsewhere,” wrote
Howard Greenfeld, in his biography, “Caruso.”

But it was not to be. Apparently Caruso (1873-1921) was unaware
that a local group called the “sicofanti” (or sycophants) decided how
every artist was received. Visiting performers usually bribed them to
ensure adoring critics and packed houses.

Caruso “failed to pay proper respect to this tribunal of
influential men; he gave out no free tickets, a very common practice,
and he made no effort to befriend them or the newspaper critics they
controlled,” Greenfeld wrote.

The result was predictable. His reception was cool and critics the
next day faulted his performance.

It was the last time Caruso made an appearance without doing his
research into the venue first.

To remind himself to do so, Caruso cut out the worst review “and
carried it with him so that he would never forget,” Greenfeld wrote.

Caruso developed a love of singing as a child, and his mother
encouraged his dream of singing professionally. His father insisted he
become an apprentice to a mechanical engineer and a factory worker.
Obediently, Caruso went to work.

He also enrolled in the Bronzetti Institute, which trained boys
for church choirs. As difficult as his schedule was, he had no
intention of giving up on his dream.

Ultimately, he decided that to achieve his dream he had to give up
his job and devote himself full time to singing.

Persistence Pays

He auditioned countless times, but failed to capture a part. He
kept trying. Finally, he landed a role at a Naples opera house. But
during rehearsals he became so nervous that he flubbed his lines,
missed cues and sang off key. He was dismissed.

Undeterred, he won another role at a different opera house. But
his appearance there was cut short because of poor reviews.

Some might have given up. Caruso, however, looked at his
experience as good training: So far, he’d managed to master two roles.

Caruso continued practicing his singing every chance he got, even
while working at his other jobs. His vocal polish became so astounding
that when he went to audition before Giacomo Puccini, the composer’s
reaction was: “Who sent you to me, God?”

Other conductors and directors began asking for Caruso to sing in
their productions. His career took off.

Caruso stayed at the top of his game largely because of his
enormous focus. Take his debut at the prestigious Paris Opera in the
summer of 1908. Just before he was to take the stage, Caruso received
two pieces of news sufficiently devastating to be the basis for a
country western song. His father had died and his wife ran away with
the chauffeur.

Nevertheless, “he put aside his profound grief” and gave a stellar
performance, said Greenfeld. Soon, he appeared at London’s Albert Hall
and did the same there.

Caruso never stopped trying to improve. When he wasn’t in the
theater rehearsing or performing, he was in a studio or hotel room
vocalizing and learning new roles.

Aware that happy people work harder, Caruso tried to make sure
that people enjoyed working with him. Unlike some performers, Caruso
rarely exhibited a temper. He went out of his way to make everyone
comfortable, complimenting fellow performers and stagehands, and
listening carefully to suggestions from conductors and directors. All
loved working with him.

Caruso was willing to take chances. In 1910, at the height of his
fame, he took a secondary role in the rarely performed opera “Armide.”
In the politicized world of opera, he could have demanded a bigger
role in another opera. Instead, he took the secondary role “grateful
for the chance to master a style to which he was unaccustomed,”
Greenfeld said.

He wasn’t content to stand pat. As he grew older, his voice—though
still exceptional—began to deteriorate. So he made better use of the
gifts he had. He showcased the vocal stylings he’d already mastered,
and refrained from pushing his voice to do what he knew it couldn’t.

Class Act

He also spent more time developing his acting skills, hoping to
add more dramatic power to his performances. For example, before he
took on the role of the Jewish goldsmith in the opera “La Juive,”
“(he) attended synagogue services so that he might study what he felt
were the unique vocal methods of cantors,” Greenfeld said.

Caruso spent hours in libraries to assure that all aspects of his
characterization from makeup to costumes were accurate.

Caruso’s scrapbook contained the vouchers that accompanied the
checks he received following performances. On them, he noted his
personal appraisals of his performance, from fair to good to
marvelous.

This story originally ran Feb. 10, 2003, on Leaders & Success.