Opera Monday: Sweet-n-Low, or How Samuel Ramey Gave Me Operaphilia

I’ve always been a sucker for a deep voices.

Even before I got into opera, I automatically responded to voices—speaking and singing—of gents like Paul Robeson, Howard Keel, James Coburn, Geoffrey Holder, and especially the One Voice to Rule Them All, Richard Burton.

So naturally, when I caught the opera bug, I fell for Samuel Ramey’s gorgeous basso.

Here’s how it happened:

(This excerpt is from Arrigo Boito’s Mefistofele, the production in which I first heard Ramey.)

I first became aware of how amazing opera was in my early 20s, and in my casual listening over the next few years, I  heard any number of terrific voices, including bassos and bass-baritones, but Ramey—along with mezzo-soprano Frederica von Stade—really sucked me in and made the opera jones stick. They made me want to really LISTEN.

There are plenty of lovely bass voices out there, but Ramey’s is, as any opera-lover will tell you, quite special. The tone is dark, lush and powerful—all the attributes that are essential for a thrilling basso—but his voice also has a brightness and gentle ease that would seem contradictory, but serve as a sort of integral counterpoint to those other qualities, and make Ramey’s instrument one of rare expressiveness.

When you add to those prodigious gifts the astonishing agility and versatility that can only have been the result of very hard work, you have an artist that can make your heart alternately beat like mad or seem to stop altogether—a very happy thing in the opera house.

Here’s an example (Ramey as Assur in Gioacchino Rossini’s Semiramide):

Along with his exceptional voice, Ramey’s athleticism and compelling stage presence helped cement him as one of the foremost interpreters of roles like Mefistofele and Assur, as well as Gounod’s  Méphistophélès, Verdi’s Attila, Rossini’s Maometto, and Escamillo, the object of Carmen’s lust in Bizet’s opera.

To quote a line from one of my favorite BBC series, Jeeves and Wooster, he’s “wonderful at the loud bits,” but he’s none too shabby in bits that require a bit more lyricism, legato and a touch of piannissimo. Try his “Deh vieni alla finestra” from Mozart’s Don Giovanni:

When you’re a basso, as Ramey has noted, you never get the girl (unless it’s by force or compulsion), but in my humble opinion, you do get the best music. (And unlike tenors, you almost never have to share a duet with a lovelorn soprano—it’s all you, baby.)

The one significant exception I can think of is Mozart’s Figaro, and I will probably out myself as a Ramey fanclub heretic when I confess that this is my favorite among Ramey’s roles.

Watch him having fun with Faith Esham’s Cherubino, and maybe you’ll agree:

Time passes, and inevitably wreaks a bit of havoc on its way. At 68, Mr. Ramey has gradually bid adieu to the roles above and many others.

Nevertheless, he continues to sing, and while some quibble with his wobble (or “slow vibrato” as he jokingly calls it), the fact is that this is still a great artist with something interesting to say. He chooses his current roles wisely, to suit the age of both his form and voice.

He has recently finished a run of Verdi’s Attila—not in the title role, for which he was once justly celebrated—but as Leone (the Pope), a small but essential role, for which the conductor, Riccardo Muti, reportedly requested him. I didn’t get to see it, but I did see the telecast of a recent Turandot (Puccini), in which Ramey sang the role of the tenor’s blind, aged father.

Wobble? Check.

But also…

Lyricism? Check.

Sensitivity? Check.

Expressiveness? Check.

So, while I’m enjoying discovering the Figaros, Giovannis and Mephistos of younger bassos these days, I’m also looking forward to hearing more from my beloved Samuel Ramey—as Timur, Claudius, the Grand Inquisitor, and Dons Alfonso, Basilio and Pasquale—maybe even a Judge Turpin? (And in San Francisco, please, Mr. Ramey and Mr. Ramey’s agent?)

An operaphile can dream, can’t she?