Song of India

Pavel Lisitsian (1911-2004)

I suppose it was only a matter of time before my trajectory of uploads brought me to Pavel Gerasimovich Listisian who, along with the Estonian Georg Ots, was among the most accomplished of baritones in the post-WWII era Soviet Union. Born in Vladikavkaz (near Grozny) to a family of Armenian descent, he originally seemed an unlikely candidate for a professional career in music. Unlike his younger colleague Ots, whose father Karl was a well-respected tenor, Lisitsian did not come from a musical family. He was the son of a mineworker and apprenticed in his teenage years as a driller and welder, until his remarkable potential was noted at workers' concerts. With the assistance of a local workers' cooperative, Lisitsian began professional studies in 1932, at the Leningrad Conservatory. After graduation, there were brief stints at the city's Maly Theater (1935-36), as well as Yerevan's Opera Theater (1937-39), before joining the Bolshoi in 1940 (he bowed as Yeletsky in Tchaikovsky's "Pikovaya Dama"). Lisitsian remained a beloved member of the theater for the next 26 years- a fruitful tenure that included the creation of such roles as Napoleon in Prokofiev's "War and Peace", and Arshak II in Choukhadjian's opera of the same name. Lisitsian was also one of few Soviet-era singers that were allowed to tour abroad extensively. 1960 marked his debuts in San Francisco and at the MET, where he appeared as Amonasro. His characterization there met with critical approval, but it seems the voice was judged a mite undersized for the theater.

Indeed, like Georg Ots, Lisitsian was essentially a lyric baritone with a voice that was of medium amplitude at best. Both, however, shared the estimable virtues of superior breath control and crystal-clear diction, as well as very individual, instantly recognizable timbres. But there the similarities end. In contrast to Ots' sound, which often seems to be pure velvet, Lisitsian's instrument is tempered with a slightly gritty texture, not to mention a highly distinctive (and attractive, to my ears) plaintive quality. The latter, which became more evident as the singer aged, is at times so pronounced that it almost seems as if he is "weeping" (Lisitsian's recording of Yeletsky's aria provides a good example of this). Curiously enough, however, at other times the tight vibrato gives the opposite impression- that is, of a voice trembling with joy.

Such is the case here, in the 'Song of the Venetian Guest', from the 4th kartina (tableau) of Rimsky-Korsakoff's 1897 opera "Sadko". The people of Novgorod gather at a pier on Lake Ilmen, thronging around the overseas traders (Varangian, Indian, and Venetian, among others) and inspecting their merchandise. After a stately introduction, the Venetian's aria gives way to a colorful, rollicking depiction of the splendors of his native city. Lisitsian's account is most enthusiastic in this, probably the least-known of the opera's three "guest" arias. The recording was made in 1948.