A defence of the diva, as Kathleen Battle visits Toronto
Sure the opera singer has a reputation, but we’re drawn to those with egos to match their talent
You could call Kathleen Battle the Donald Trump of classical music, a social rules breaker of colossal proportions loved fervently by family and friends but deeply disliked by a breathtakingly long line of detractors from her 40-plus years on concert and opera stages.
The 67-year-old visits Roy Thomson Hall Sunday with pianist Joel A. Martin and the Nathaniel Dett Chorale for Underground Railroad: A Spiritual Journey, a program that explores slave spirituals and hymns and the writings of abolitionists Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass.
Battle will bring the same program to New York’s Metropolitan Opera in November. This is notable because it will be her first time performing with the company since she was fired 22 years ago — despite her previous 224 Met appearances — for “unprofessional actions during rehearsals.” Then Met general manager Joseph Volpe — reminded that his predecessor had fired the diva of all divas, Maria Callas, in 1958 — retorted that “Kathy Battle is no Maria Callas.”
A year later, Chicago critic Sarah Bryan Miller suggested Volpe might be accused of being kind.
“Kathleen Battle is the most universally despised individual in the world of classical music, transcending all lines of gender, ethnicity and nationality,” Miller asserted. “To know her is to loathe her.”
Rival sopranos have wanted “no Battle” clauses in their contracts. San Francisco Opera cast members wore “I Survived the Battle” T-shirts after one contentious production.
“She’s the only artist I know of in my 43 years of dealing with artists who has managed to alienate practically everyone in every single place where she’s been,” said Schuyler Chapin, New York commissioner of cultural affairs.
Yet we’re drawn to Battle and to divas in general.
Divas are monumentally self-centred, opinionated and demanding, we’re told. They’re not easy to work with. (Check out Diana Ross or Nina Simone.) But maybe that’s what it takes.
Who doesn’t respond deeply to that memorable line in Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard, when Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), the diva of Hollywood’s glory days, says, “I am big, it’s the pictures that got small.”
Remember all the hackles raised by tennis star John McEnroe’s mouthing off about bad calls by tennis officials? Later scrutiny shows he was right as often as not.
And don’t forget, divas sell. Callas’s 1965 return to the Met in Tosca was front-page news in New York for days and spiked interest in the Met for years. With the recent unfiring of Battle, Met general manager Peter Gelb admitted that “there aren’t enough” Battle-size reputations to go around to deliver the ticket sales the company needs.
Consider June 6, 1727, the golden age of divadom, when “two celebrated rival ladies,” Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni, shared a London stage during a sold-out performance of Giovanni Battista Bononcini’s Astianatte. At one point, they ended up pulling out each other’s hair. “Hissing on one side” of the hall, reported the British Journal, was countered by “clapping on the other.” In other words, they had a hit.
Today’s diva is more likely to be found in “popular music, business, organized religion,” says Darryl Edwards, a professor of voice at the University of Toronto Faculty of Music. He says diva behaviour — once encouraged by the ticket-buying public — simply isn’t possible now.
“Opera is largely driven by generous donors, grants from foundations and governments,” Edwards says. If there’s a big ego in the room it be- longs to some CEO, not the singer.
In defence of the diva, then, we offer some forgiving views of famous incidents from Battle’s rocky past.
She phoned her management from the back seat of her limo to get the driver to adjust the air conditioning.
Have you ever had to knock on that stupid little window between seats to get the driver’s attention? As often as not, the driver will just speed up, making your bubbly spill. Besides, the incident happened in California where limo folks should know climate control.
She complained that the pasta dish from room service in her Boston hotel included peas.
Peas? The very thought of pea-pitted pasta makes one nauseous.
She changed hotel rooms another time because she hated the carpets.
Who wouldn’t want to do that if they weren’t locked into staying at some rug-challenged joint?
She appropriated another singer’s dressing room because it was closer to the stage.
Doesn’t anyone know how the star system works?
She told the director of the Vienna State Opera that under no circumstance would she agree to appear there, then she did.
Negotiating. It’s called negotiating. Peter Goddard is a freelance writer and former Star music critic. He can be reached at peter_g1@sympatico.ca.