4 - A future for young operatic singers

Maestro Giuseppe Macina credits his guardian angel for life-long endeavours

When cars began to crowd the streets of Modugno (in the province of Bari, Italy) Michele Macina understood that an epoch was ending; soon, nobody would buy the saddles and harnesses that his family had been making for three generations, and which adorned the horses from Murge area. So he decided to emigrate.
"It was in 1954," remembers his son Giuseppe, "and we came to Toronto where my brother Vito was waiting for us, and where we started afresh. My father saw that he couldn't go back to being a saddler, so he went to work for a carpenter's shop. My brothers and sisters also found jobs because there were seven of us and dad's wages couldn't make ends meet. As for me, I found a job as a laundry boy. I wasn't yet 15 at the time. We were lucky, though. We found a home, which is this one. I never wanted to sell it, because it was the first firm mooring for my family in a foreign land. I enlarged it and renovated it, and I built a greenhouse in the yard. I love flowers, especially callas."
Nowadays, Giuseppe Macina is a firm mooring for musical culture in Toronto. The prestigious Toronto Arts and Letters Club (founded by the Group of Seven) recognized his role, giving him an award for his work in this city. It was here, in 1967, that Giuseppe Macina founded the Toronto Opera Repertoire, being its art director ever since, "and jack-of-all-trades," he adds, smiling. "Because I really do all sort of things, from modeling the scenes to choosing the costumes, in addition, of course, to the rehearsals for the operas themselves."
But Maestro Macina did not stop at the Toronto Opera Repertoire: in his long career (he's now 62) he directed the St. Cecilia Choir of the Famèe Furlane, taught music at Hamilton's Mohawk College and UofT's Opera School, organized the York Toronto Opera at Humber College and still directs the Giuseppe Verdi Choir of the Columbus Centre.
He inherited his passion for music from his father, who in Modugno had been treated with familiarity by the Popolizios, a family of ancient nobility who had their own box at Bari's Petruzzelli Theatre. "They were real gentlemen," the Maestro remembers. " And they often gave my father some tickets for the opera. Dad missed none, and often he brought me with him. I was little more than a child, and I was still undecided whether I would become a singer or a painter. I chose music after watching a production of the Aida: I was struck by Renata Tebaldi's magisterial performance. And here I am."
Giuseppe Macina smiles again while he tells his story in a wonderful Italian, in spite of having been in Canada 46 years, in a house that looks exactly like him: eclectic. The big piano, used for giving private music lessons, is literally submerged by paintings, statuettes and full-size statues, pictures in precious frames, knick-knacks made in wood, wrought iron, ceramic and glass; and then flower vases, books, CD ROMs, records, musical scores, sketches of costumes.
"Look at this beautiful Madonna with Child. It's Capodimonte ceramic. And look at these Baroque angels," he says pointing to a host of delicate cherubs floating in mid-air, hanging from the ceiling by invisible plastic cables. "They told me that in Lecce," he goes on, "there are craftsmen's shops where one can find extraordinary papier-mâché angels. The last time I went back to Bari on holiday, I specially went to Lecce to buy some, but I had little time available and the shops I visited did not have what I was looking for: they had some angels, to be sure, but they looked mass-produced.
Next time you go to Lecce, please call me; I'll tell you where you can find real papier-mâché angels.
"How can you know that?"
Because I come from Lecce, and I know which shops work with papier-mâché in the traditional way.
"I'll take you at your word for that. I love angels, because I believe that everyone of us has a guardian angel guiding him or her. I couldn't do what I did if I hadn't had one. Think of all the coincidences: as I told you, I had heard Renata Tebaldi in Bari and I was dumbstruck. After coming to Toronto, I learned one day that she would sing in town, and went and met her. I told her I had decided to devote myself to music; she took me seriously and told me that in Toronto Gina Cigna, a great soprano who had sung at La Scala for 30 years, was teaching singing in Toronto. 'Go and see her,' she said, 'if you have the talent she will bring it out.' I followed Tebaldi's suggestion and went to Mrs. Cigna, who auditioned me: she accompanied me at the piano while I sung E lucean le stelle. When I finished, she asked me 'Where did you study music?' 'I didn't,' I replied. She was amazed, because in spite of my lack of studies I had never sung out of tune, but she remarked that I had to study anyway. So I did, and she took me under her protection. Now you tell me: wasn't there a guardian angel behind my back, making me meet all the right people at the right moment?"
Did everything go well from then on?
"Life is full of difficulties, but if I had to draw a conclusion, it would be positive. I deem myself a lucky man, even if at the beginning I had to study music and singing at night, working by day, until I got some scholarships that allowed me to complete my studies at the Conservatory, where Mrs. Cigna had sent me, and then to get a university degree. What I mean is that I never asked anything of my family, even if my father was ready to do some sacrifices to allow me to carry on with my studies."
What did you do after graduating?
"I began to tour: I was a tenor. But I did it for a short time only, because that was no way to live: always on the run, always with a suitcase ready, always in a hotel. I love home life and method; I need roots, concentration. Once I was going to marry, but then I gave it up because I did not mean to lose my loneliness, which I need to recharge my batteries. And also in order to avoid useless stress I never obtained a driving license, and I'm maybe one of the few who never owned a fax or other electronic gizmos. In summary, I abandoned my tours to devote myself to teaching, and one might say to the promotion of musical culture; in those years the need was acutely felt."
What made that particular need be felt?
"Let's first of all specify the period: the mid-Sixties. At the time, Toronto had two great concert institutions: the Canadian Opera Company and the University Opera School. They were big and prestigious, and they only hired renowned artists, so there was no room for young talents. At the same time opera singers, especially Italian opera singers, were living a golden age: think of Di Stefano, Del Monaco, Simionato, Tito Gobbi, Corelli, and many more. These great artists came also to Toronto on their tours, and unavoidably they promoted musical culture so that more and more students attended conservatories and the university. But after graduation they could find no jobs, or at least an occasion to get noticed. The Toronto Opera Repertoire was born precisely to make room for the young: it was an intuition of the Board of Education and mine, and I must say that in over 30 years it never failed its purpose, considering that many of our young talents went on to become renowned artists. Just think of Michael Burgess, who's become a star of the musicals, or to Paul Fry, a dramatic tenor, a star of New York's Metropolitan."
And which works do you stage?
"In practice, all those that refer to the European, and particularly Italian, opera tradition. Verdi, Puccini, Donizetti are among the most frequent authors; as to the operas, Hoffman's Tales, Le nozze di Figaro, Macbeth, Un ballo in maschera, Il trovatore, La Boheme, Romeo e Giulietta, Faust. Remembering everything is difficult, but I think I gave you a rather correct account. What I really would like to underscore is that this commitment requires constant hard work, which pays back when one of your young people manages to strike the critics' attention. And be warned, critics here are far from generous."
So you amply deserved the award by the Toronto Arts and Letters Club...
"You might say so, although I would like my creation not to live in such poverty..."
What do you mean?
"We never swam in money, but now, after the provincial government's cutbacks to culture, we are really down to stale bread and cheese rinds."
Can that be true?
"Very true. Imagine: I only have two pianists at my disposal. They were paid $25 per hour, and it was very little; now they're down to $15. As to myself, I receive $27 per hour, 9 hours a week. But I spend there at least 60 hours each week. Now do you understand why I have to be a jack-of-all-trades? That's the only way we can manage to stage two great operas per year."
How do you raise funds?
"The students do it all. They don't just study for their operas, they arrange all the details of the shows: they make the posters, the invitations, the scenes, even print the tickets. And of course go and look for sponsors, because we got practically nothing from the government, apart from the wages, if we can call them so, for the pianists and myself. Last year, the Toronto Arts Council gave us $2,000. Luckily, private benefactors fill public gaps: Mr. Luigi Speca, an Italian, the owner of a Malabar company that rents theatrical costumes, has always been very generous with us.
What may be the reason for these gaps, in spite of the merits of the Toronto Opera Repertoire? I don't think that the people at the Canadian Opera Company have your kind of problems.
"No, no, they haven't. Their problems deal with handling the millions of dollars pouring in their coffers, justified by the staging of high-quality works with renowned, i.e. costly, artists. What can I say? Will you content yourself with the consideration that in Canada, culture has a following only if it's a business?"
No, I won't. Please explain.
"You see, in Canada people have a difficult time understanding that cultural initiatives need time to achieve success, and in the meanwhile must be supported, or they will never bear the fruits desired. Here, either you are an instant hit, or they cut you down. Investments must pay back right away. But culture has a different rhythm from the economy. You will thus understand why doing anything new is so difficult, and what I meant by culture being a business. Then there's something else..."
What else?
"My mother kept telling me, 'Eat bread and tomatoes, but live in peace with yourself. And if you have good health, deem yourself very lucky.' Do you know what I mean?"
That you don't compromise?
"Exactly. Thank God, I'm in good health and like to eat bread and tomatoes. But when I look in the mirror, I can say 'Bravo Peppì'. Isn't that something? And then I think I've taught something more than music."
What?
"The Italian language. One cannot study opera, one of Italy's top artistic expressions, without a knowledge of Italian language and culture. Do you see why, in spite of 46 years in Canada, you have to acknowledge that I speak Italian?"
And a very good Italian at that.
"Thank you very much, but I'd like you to meet some Anglo-Saxon students of mine: you would be astonished by their Italian and knowledge of our culture. Mind you, I do not turn anyone away: if they don't have remarkable voices, they sing in the choir, but I keep them anyway. I'm keeping an 82-year-old Scotsman, fond of opera. What I mean is that, even if they won't become singers, all of them will fall in love with Italy."
You're a lucky and satisfied man, then. Is there anything you wanted to do but didn't?
"I would have loved to cultivate my other passion: painting. I get along tolerably well with brushes, but I had no chance to carry out serious studies like I did with music. I don't complain, however. Apparently my guardian angel decided he wanted to hear me sing, and not see me paint."

(translated by Emanuele Oriano)

Publication Date: 2002-12-22
Story Location: http://tandemnews.com/viewstory.php?storyid=2180