Jess Thomas Says Farewell

Remembering the young Jess Thomas, one of the most consistently interesting American singers of the 60's, is a much more rewarding experience than regretting his Rhine Journey.

Jess Thomas made his professional debut at 30, in 1957, singing small roles in "Der Rosenkavalier" and Verdi's "Macbeth" at San Franciso Opera. By 1961 he had arrived at Bayreuth, where he sang Lohengrin ('62, '67), Tannhauser ('66, '67), Walther ('63,'69) in "Die Meistersinger", and Siegfried ('69,'76). His Parsifal ('61-'63,'65) was particularly celebrated—he was awarded the Bayreuth Prize in 1963—and one of the most consistently praised recordings of that work, under Knappertsbusch, captures him in the title role in 1962, opposite the Kundry of Irene Dalis. George London, caught at his peak only shortly before a vocal crisis prematurely ended his career, is a mesmerizing, huge-voiced Amfortas. Hans Hotter, one of the two or three most important Wagner bass-baritones of the century, sings Gurnemanz; and Marti Talvela, at the beginning of a great careeer, is Titurel. The magnificent Gustav Neidlinger, who owned the role of Alberich and sang it hundred of times, is a near-definitive Klingsor. The radiant young Gundula Janowitz, and Anja Silja, lead the Flower Maidens. This is an irreplaceable recording, in very fine sound.

In the studio, he recorded "Lohengrin" under Kempe, with Elisabeth Grummer, Christa Ludwig, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Gottlob Frick. "Lohengrin" has fared well on records, and this is one of the very best, with a perfectly balanced cast of great singers, all of whom (apart from Thomas) are native German speakers. They are all completely inside the tradition, and Thomas is the glowing center of a recording of great power and authority. It is also a very beautifully sung performance, with no weak links--Fritz Wunderlich sings a small supporting role--which immediately sets it apart.

From the tenor's early years are German language studio recordings of "Forza" and "Ballo". I have heard only selections from those recordings, but I'd like to hear the rest. From 1962 on, twenty or more live performances have been available, and I have yet to hear one in which he sings with anything less than faultless musicianship, committed, intelligent characterization, immaculate diction, and often thrilling vocal prowess. He is a particularly fine Emperor in "Die Frau Ohne Schatten" by Richard Strauss, and his Bacchus in "Ariadne auf Naxos", opposite Janowitz, is really splendid. New York Philharmonic concerts under Bernstein capture him with Eileen Farrell in extended excerpts from "Tristan" and "Die Gotterdammerung"; they are spectacular. Not only is the huge-voiced Farrell in wonderful voice, Thomas is her peer, and Bernstein supports them both with a deeply expressive subtlety of dynamics and line that allow them to sing quietly more often than is usual in these super-charged scenes. Both of these heroic American singers benefit. These are legendary recordings, rare, but well worth hunting for. The sound is very good, considering the source: a tape recorder on somebody's lap. There is an additional part, "Man who Coughs"; he is evidently an experienced performer, but he wants to hear the concert, so he doesn't interject very often. When he does, he creates a pretty vivid sense of being present in a theatre, which makes the singing that much more immediate and thrilling. There's also a complete Act I of "Die Walkure" with Farrell and Bernstein, unfortunately not with Thomas. His rival James King, himself a worthy artist, is Siegmund. This is a role not much associated with Thomas, although I have read that a performance exists in sound; I would be very interested in hearing it.

Thomas was invited to open the new Met in 1966, in Samuel Barber's "Antony and Cleopatra", a sumptuous, old-fashioned piece that could fairly be called Grand Opera. (Sam Barber's Aunt was the American contralto Louise Homer, one of the most famous and important singers of the first decades of the 20th century). Franco Zeffirelli directed an all-American cast, headed by Leontyne Price and featuring the very handsome young Puerto Rican bass, Justino Diaz. The production was intended to show off the new stage, a couple of blocks deep, with flies large enough to keep 3 or 4 full productions hanging while another played on stage. It was equipped with several elevators, computerized lighting, and, significantly, a gigantic turntable. On opening night, as Price sat atop a huge pyramid, just like Elizabeth Taylor in the then recently-released film "Cleopatra", the turntable started rotating, then stopped, lurched, and failed. The opera went down in flames. (Samuel Barber also wrote "Vanessa", a highly successful Met premiere in the previous decade, with Eleanor Steber, Rosalind Elias, Nocolai Gedda and Georgio Tozzi. RCA made a commercial recording soon after, and a live performance from Vienna has recently been issued.) Barber was so traumatized by the cruel reviews that he said later that it had finished his career, and he wrote little afterwards.

Thomas opened the Met again after the disastrous strike that crippled the 1969 season, as Radames (again opposite Price). It can be admitted that the voice is not Italianate without denying that it is a very well-sung characterization, and what is undeniable is that this voice has "face", it's immediately recognizable, it is always deployed with taste and imagination, and it has plenty of power. Like both his American dramatic tenor rivals, James King and James McCraken, Jess Thomas spent his career in the shadow of the eccentric, temperamental and deeply thrilling Jon Vickers. I would not have said this when I was listening to his attempts at the very heaviest roles in the Wagner canon, but 40 years on it's clear to me that Jess Thomas deserves a place among the Great Tenors.


Putting this important artist in his historical context brings us back to 1982 and Jess Thomas' farewell. He sang powerfully, with all his customary taste, imagination and conviction, and it seemed clear that he wasn't stopping because he had to. In Act III he was made up, in the pre-war tradition, as Jesus, a disconcerting, even risible effect, but probably not Thomas' decision. Parsifal is not usually considered funny, but I have to say I found the spectacle of Jess Thomas, disguised as Jesus Christ, singing powerfully in German while Tatiana Troyanos, disguised as Mary Magdalen, washed his feet and dried them with her long black hair---well, it was a Monty Python moment for me. Nobody laughed. I'm sure more than a few people were deeply puzzled and looking around a little nervously. After all, this is what caused all that unpleasantness between Wagner and Nitezsche, right?

But a few dozen people had laughed a couple or three hours earlier, during Act II. I was one of them, but I tried to laugh quietly. I cannot forget the entrance of the Flower Maidens. The designer, Robert O'Hearn, had followed Wagner's explicit (and very often ignored) instructions, and costumed 16 of them, eight singers and eight dancers, as literal flowers. They're wearing flimsy, diaphanous costumes in very lovely colors. They are very pretty, in the way things could be prettty in 1971 or so, when the production was new. Parsifal is standing up right center on the steeply raked stage as eight svelte and sexy dancers make their entrances, one after another, leaping lithely, landing lightly, pastel draperies flying. If a raked stage might be a problem for them, you couldn't tell from looking. Thomas stands rooted to the spot, only his head moving slightly as he appears to count the entrance of each beautiful young thing. He doesn't move an inch, until the "real" Flower Maidens--the ones who sing--begin to enter. Alas, these beautiful-voiced flowers do not much resemble their dancing companions, except in their identical wardrobe: these are Some Big Flowers. But as these hefty Blumenmadchen make their comparatively thunderous entrance, Parsifal is suddenly transfixed, his body language tells us that it's all he can do to get control and not throw himself on them. Indeed, once all eight singers have arrived down left center, he trots gamely after them, visibly impassioned,singing enthusiastically, studiously ignoring all those tall, nubile, (silent) young dancers just a little bit upstage of them. Jess Thomas: an actor to the last. Or maybe, after all those years singing Wagner with big women with big voices, Jess Thomas had become a Chubby Chaser. And that night in 1982, for the very last time, he was going to sing, gloriously, until the Fat Lady shut up.