a song. It’s foolproof comedy. In act 3, the lovers quarrel and break up (again comically). In the final act, they’re reunited at the deathbed of their friend, Mimì. Madeline and Titus made a charming, thoroughly credible pair, and at the time, Titus’s wife believed they were having an affair. (Later, this sort of suspicion would become a leitmotiv for partners of Madeline’s co-stars.) “I don’t think there’s ever been a Musetta like this,” Peress says. “Every opera singer should study the way she used the stage. You couldn’t take your eyes off her.” While praising her comedyin act 2, he singles out “the pathos of the final scene”: “That was a great event.”
Musically, however, Puccini’s score seems heavier than Madeline’s light, lyric instrument could handle with ease. She had the range, certainly, but did she have the sheer muscle to project Musetta’s lines in an opera house, or to hold her own alongside professionals? Titus and Peress approved, but according to Paul Hume, critic of the
Washington Post
, Madeline “turned out more than her share of educated shrieks in a role that is supposed to be sung quite as much as Mimì.” 2 Although Musetta’s aria “Quando m’en vo” had been Madeline’s audition piece at Green Mansions, she never sang it in public after the curtain fell on
Bohème
. For her, the musical high point of the opera was the opening-night party, when she got to sing jazz with Peress’s friend Duke Ellington on piano.
Later, during a broadcast of
Live from the Met
, Madeline recalled her performances as Musetta as “utterly terrifying,” and she explained that, as far as an opera career went, “The muse was definitely
not
in attendance.” 3 At other times, she was more philosophical: “I think I had the raw material for an operatic career, but I really don’t regret it,” she told a reporter. “Being an opera singer is like being an athlete; you have to stay in training all the time.” 4
Over the years, she did have other prospects for operatic engagement. She auditioned several times for Bernstein for a 1973 television production of his
Trouble in Tahiti
. A few years later, she entered into serious talks with Julius Rudel about a premiere at New York City Opera, though in 2009 he didn’t remember the work in question. In the 1980s, Madeline looked seriously at Offenbach’s
The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein
, and the composer Thomas Pasatieri pitched the idea of Madeline in a new production of Offenbach’s
La Périchole
to Beverly Sills (by then Rudel’s successor at NYCO). There was even the possibility of reprising the role of Musetta in 1981 in Santa Fe.
With the exception of
Trouble in Tahiti
, Madeline didn’t pursue these opportunities with much enthusiasm or confidence, and impresarios seldom pursued her. Sills told Pasatieri she considered Madeline’s voice “too small” for the New York State Theater, the company’s home at Lincoln Center, though Peress scoffs, “If she could be heard in that awful place called Avery Fisher, she could be heard in the State Theater.” Several years after
Bohème
, Peress worked with Madeline in Kansas City in a hall he describes as “a barn, a football field, it’s horrible. And she could be heard there.”
At the Metropolitan Opera, conductor James Levine was a fan of Madeline. Soprano Teresa Stratas recalls him “flying through the air” to greet Madeline when she came backstage. Madeline might have made a terrific Adele in
Die Fledermaus
at the Met in the 1980s, in a production featuring Dom DeLuise as Frosch and Robert Klein’s wife at the time, mezzo Brenda Boozer, as Orlofsky. Klein believes Madeline could have excelled; her singing “was not living-room bullshit,” he says. Peress speculates that Madeline, “a total theater person,” could have had “a Callas-like, go-for-broke career, where she’d be the great actress–singer, in that order.” But, he adds, Madeline would have
Musically, however, Puccini’s score seems heavier than Madeline’s light, lyric instrument could handle with ease. She had the range, certainly, but did she have the sheer muscle to project Musetta’s lines in an opera house, or to hold her own alongside professionals? Titus and Peress approved, but according to Paul Hume, critic of the
Washington Post
, Madeline “turned out more than her share of educated shrieks in a role that is supposed to be sung quite as much as Mimì.” 2 Although Musetta’s aria “Quando m’en vo” had been Madeline’s audition piece at Green Mansions, she never sang it in public after the curtain fell on
Bohème
. For her, the musical high point of the opera was the opening-night party, when she got to sing jazz with Peress’s friend Duke Ellington on piano.
Later, during a broadcast of
Live from the Met
, Madeline recalled her performances as Musetta as “utterly terrifying,” and she explained that, as far as an opera career went, “The muse was definitely
not
in attendance.” 3 At other times, she was more philosophical: “I think I had the raw material for an operatic career, but I really don’t regret it,” she told a reporter. “Being an opera singer is like being an athlete; you have to stay in training all the time.” 4
Over the years, she did have other prospects for operatic engagement. She auditioned several times for Bernstein for a 1973 television production of his
Trouble in Tahiti
. A few years later, she entered into serious talks with Julius Rudel about a premiere at New York City Opera, though in 2009 he didn’t remember the work in question. In the 1980s, Madeline looked seriously at Offenbach’s
The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein
, and the composer Thomas Pasatieri pitched the idea of Madeline in a new production of Offenbach’s
La Périchole
to Beverly Sills (by then Rudel’s successor at NYCO). There was even the possibility of reprising the role of Musetta in 1981 in Santa Fe.
With the exception of
Trouble in Tahiti
, Madeline didn’t pursue these opportunities with much enthusiasm or confidence, and impresarios seldom pursued her. Sills told Pasatieri she considered Madeline’s voice “too small” for the New York State Theater, the company’s home at Lincoln Center, though Peress scoffs, “If she could be heard in that awful place called Avery Fisher, she could be heard in the State Theater.” Several years after
Bohème
, Peress worked with Madeline in Kansas City in a hall he describes as “a barn, a football field, it’s horrible. And she could be heard there.”
At the Metropolitan Opera, conductor James Levine was a fan of Madeline. Soprano Teresa Stratas recalls him “flying through the air” to greet Madeline when she came backstage. Madeline might have made a terrific Adele in
Die Fledermaus
at the Met in the 1980s, in a production featuring Dom DeLuise as Frosch and Robert Klein’s wife at the time, mezzo Brenda Boozer, as Orlofsky. Klein believes Madeline could have excelled; her singing “was not living-room bullshit,” he says. Peress speculates that Madeline, “a total theater person,” could have had “a Callas-like, go-for-broke career, where she’d be the great actress–singer, in that order.” But, he adds, Madeline would have
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