Lillian Evanti, Black Opera Star

Lillian Evanti was a professional Opera singer. She became the first African American to sing in a professional European opera company in 1925. She was born in Washington, D.C., and graduated from Armstrong Manual Training School, where her father, W. Bruce Evans, was the first principal. Her paternal grandfather, Henry Evans was born in North Carolina as a free black man and later moved to Oberlin, Ohio where he helped with the Underground Railroad. Evanti's maternal grandfather John H. Brooks was elected to the House of Delegates in 1874 and defeated Frederick Douglas Jr. Although gifted in music, in 1908 Lillian entered Miner Teachers College (now University of the District of Columbia) for the education of black elementary school teachers. In her time there she met Georgia Douglas Johnson, a future poet and literary figure that Evanti would later consult with in writing songs.

From Wikipedia She graduated from Howard University with a bachelor's degree in music. At her commencement in May 1917 she sang French, German, English as well as American songs that brought her national attention by the black press such as the New York Age (being a woman of color, she was not discovered by white media for over a decade after this performance). With the support from her husband, Lillian set sail for Paris in 1924 to begin her operatic journey. In an effort to sound more European she combined her maiden name "Evans" and her married name "Tibbs" to create her new stage name Evanti. As an African American classical singer in America, there was little success for her outside of the black community and she hoped that in France she would finally find her voice. In Paris, Lillian studied voice with French soprano Gabrielle Ritter-Ciampi and within the year moved to Nice where her instructor advised her to audition at the local opera houses. Evanti, a soprano, sang at the Belasco Theatre in 1926 with Marian Anderson.[2] She debuted in 1925 in Delibes's Lakmé at Nice, France.[3] Although she was receiving praise in Europe, only black newspapers were picking up her success in America. In an article by The Chicago Defender (national edition) on Sept 26, 1925, Evanti goes into detail about the unknown color prejudice she experienced in France after her debut. "Distinguished Parisians understand us " says Madame Evanti "there is no such thing as color prejudice, especially among the upper classes." The article then goes into a story of her making her first public appearance in a joint recital with a violinist at the home of the distinguished Salmon family " I feel that Mme.Salmon understands very thoroughly the race question in America. She has made a special study of it and is very much interested in the general progress of the Negro." As Lillian's popularity grew she sang opera at Toulon, Montpelier and Monte Carlo where in 1926 she was a guest artist of the Monte-Carlo Philharmonic Orchestra. Finally, in 1927 she was invited to sing in Paris. The Chicago Defender reviewed her singing the same role at the Trianon-Lyrique in Paris during Christmas Eve of 1927 "When the posters all over Paris announced that an American would interpret "Lakme" on Christmas Eve night, the theater-going public began to wonder. An American interpreting the leading role at the Trianon-Lyrique? That's one of the things which almost never happen. She was no longer an American singing in French, she was an artist of rare ability; she was all that Delibes himself could have desired in his heroine." During her time in Europe, Evanti would return home to Washington every summer and would give concerts in the area. Along with spirituals, Lillian presented a wide range of repertoire including works by Handel, Scarlatti, Bellini, Rameau which grabbed the attention of a few "white" papers, although they neglected to identify her as a black singer. As Evanti's reputation and demand grew, her marriage began to suffer. Her husband Roy Tibbs who was once enthusiastic in supporting her career was now beginning to resent her success. In September 1925 while visiting her family she found that Roy had moved out of their house and was terribly ill. After nursing him back to health, Lillian returned to France only to come back again two years later to a cold and empty house. Evanti decided to sue Roy for separate maintenance. In an article by The New York Amsterdam News on August 22, 1927 " she sought to return to him and that he refused to see her, that when she went to see him he left the house and that she and her son remained. Mrs. Tibbs stated that from 1924 to 1927 she did not receive more than $225 from her husband for her support and assistance maintenance. She says her husband after urging her to pursue her career has tried to make it appear that her ambition is the cause of their separation." Lillian's petition was granted by the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia and Roy Tibbs was ordered to pay monthly child support. After her divorce, Evanti continued to travel with her mother and son. As an opera singer and concert artist, she toured throughout Europe and South America. In early 1932 she was invited by Gatti-Casazza, general manager of the Metropolitan Opera Company, to audition at their house. Lillian left Europe at the height of her career to sing opera in her native country. Unfortunately, they refused to give her a contract. With all of her European success, it was hard to believe that the highest opera house in America would deny this diva their stage. She auditioned for them two more times, the last time in 1946 at the age of fifty-six. They never offered her a contract, due to racial segregation. Nevertheless, Evanti continued to sing from 1932 to 1935 in the United States to praise and acclaim for the "tonal beauty of her voice.", including a private recital at the White House for an audience of Eleanor Roosevelt and her friends. In 1943, she performed with the Watergate Theater barge on the Potomac River. In 1944, she appeared at The Town Hall (New York City).[5] She received acclaim as Violetta in Verdi's La traviata as produced by the National Negro Opera Company in 1945.[6] In an article by The Chicago Defender (National edition) on August 14, 1943 "Miss Evanti expressed a desire to see more of her race become interested in opera. She explained that "La Traviata" is offering her an opportunity to translate the role of Violetta in English, in order that a better understanding will be afforded those witnessing the performance." Lillian continued to give concerts and recitals all over the country and in the 1940s began to spend more time composing. In 1942 Evanti visited notorious blues composer W.C Handy and thus began a musical relationship between composer and publisher. The Handy Brothers published Lillian's "The Mighty Rapture", "The Twenty-third Psalm", "Thank You Again and Again", "Speak to Him Thou", and "High Flight". Eventually, she published her own music as owner and founder of the Columbia Music Bureau in Washington. In 1963, she walked with her friend Alma Thomas in the March on Washington. She is also a member of Zeta Phi Beta sorority. In the post World War II era her life changed drastically when her husband, mother and brother died all within five years of each other. Her grief- and the decline of professional demands-gave Lillian the chance to grow closer with her son, his wife and her two grandchildren. Although she was no longer singing on grand opera stages, Evanti became involved in the music life within the D.C community and brought her love and passion to the "Evanti horale". Lillian's prologue to her unpublished autobiography can be found at the Center for Black Music Research at Columbia College Chicago.

Leona Mitchell is one of America's most beloved and celebrated Sopranos. She sung for four of the United States Presidents.

Jessye Norman_ Samson et Dalila_ "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix"

Katherine Ciesinski & Jessye Norman in Belle nuit ô nuit d'amour from Tanglewood

Jessye Norman sings "Amazing Grace" at Nelson Mendela's Memorial Service

Marian Anderson sings 'Ave Maria' - Stokowski conducts

Marian Anderson was an American contralto. She performed a wide range of music, from opera to spirituals. Anderson performed with renowned orchestras in major concert and recital venues throughout the United States and Europe between 1925 and 1965. Wikipedia Born: February 27, 1897, Philadelphia, PA Died: April 8, 1993, Portland, OR Spouse: Orpheus H. Fisher (m. 1943–1986) Education: South Philadelphia High School (1921) Awards: Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, MORE Siblings: Ethel Anderson, Alice Anderson Parents: John Berkley Anderson, Annie Delilah Rucker

Black History - Black Opera Singers

Leontyne Price: The First Black Opera Singer on TV - Grammys Greatest Divas

Denyce Graves "Ave Maria"

"Ol" Man River" from "Showboat" by Ken Anderson Bass/Baritone Singer

Jules Bledsoe, Opera Singer born - African American Registry

Jules Bledsoe was born on this date in 1897. He was a Black classical baritone and composer. Born in Waco, Texas, he was the son of Henry L. and Jessie (Cobb) Bledsoe. He attended Central Texas Academy in Waco from about 1905 until his graduation as class valedictorian in 1914. He then attended Bishop College in Marshall, where he earned a B.A. in 1918. He was a member of the ROTC at Virginia Union University in Richmond in 1918-19 and studied medicine at Columbia University in New York City between 1920 and 1924. While attending Columbia, he studied voice with Claude Warford, Luigi Parisotti, and Lazar Samoiloff. His professional singing debut occurred on April 20, 1924, at Aeolian Hall in New York. As a concert singer, Bledsoe performed in the United States and Europe. He was praised for his ability to sing in several languages, for his vocal control and range, and for his command to communicate through music. He is best known for his portrayal of Joe in the 1927 production of Jerome Kern's "Showboat." His interpretation of "Ol' Man River" made the song an American classic. In his career, Bledsoe performed with the Boston Symphony Chamber Players (1926), the BBC Symphony in London (1936), and the Concertgebouw Orchestra of Amsterdam (1937). He also sang in vaudeville, on radio, and in opera. He sang the role of Amonasro in Giuseppe Verdi's "Anda" with the Cleveland Stadium Opera (1932), the Chicago Opera Company at the Hippodrome in New York (1933), and the Cosmopolitan Opera Company, also at the Hippodrome (1934). A highlight of his career was his title role for the European premiere, in Amsterdam, of Louis Gruenberg's opera "The Emperor Jones" (1934). In 1940 and 1941, Bledsoe worked in films. He played the part of Kalu in "Drums of the Congo," and, although his name did not appear in the credits, he probably played in "Safari," "Western Union," and "Santa Fe Trail." He wrote several patriotic songs, spirituals, and folk songs, including "Does Ah Luv You?" (1931), "Pagan Prayer," Good Old British Blue" on a poem by Countee Cullen (1936); and "Ode to America" (1941). He wrote an opera, "Bondage" (1939), based on the novel "Uncle Tom's Cabin." His "African Suite," a set of four songs for voice and orchestra, was featured by the Concertgebouw Orchestra. Jules Bledsoe died from a cerebral hemorrhage on July 14, 1943, in Hollywood. He is buried in Greenwood Cemetery in Waco. information provided by AAREG (inspiriting the young minds of our future)

Ol Man River

Marian Anderson Sings at Lincoln Memorial

Marie Selika Wiliams

She was born Marie Smith in Natchez, Mississippi, around 1849. After she was born her family moved to Cincinnati, where a wealthy family funded voice lessons for her. She moved to San Francisco in the 1870s and studied with Signora G. Bianchi. She then studied in Chicago with Antonio Farini, who taught the Italian method. There she met a fellow student, operatic baritone Sampson Williams, whom she would later marry. Williams became the first Black artist to perform in the White House in 1878. On November 13, she sang for President Rutherford B. Hayes and First Lady Lucy Webb Hayes in the Green Room and was introduced by Marshall Fred Douglass. She performed at Philadelphia's Academy of Music in 1878 and at New York's Steinway Hall in 1879. From 1882 to 1885 she performed across Europe with her husband, giving a concert in St James's Hall, London, for Queen Victoria in 1883. Williams probably took her stage name from the character Sélika in Giacomo Meyerbeer's opera L'Africaine.Due to her rendition of E. W. Mulder's "Polka Staccato", she was often called the "Queen of Staccato".

From 1885 to 1891, Williams toured the United States with her husband, who took the stage name "Signor Velosko (the Hawaiian tenor)". They toured Europe a second time and performed at the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition before settling in Cleveland, Ohio. Marie joined fellow Black singers Flora Batson and Sissieretta Jones for a performance at Carnegie Hall in New York on October 12, 1896. After her husband died in 1911, Williams gave private lessons and taught at the Martin-Smith Music School in New York City. She died on May 19, 1937.

A New Black Opera, it's about Time: "Fire shut up in my Bones", Composer Terence Blanchard

Librettist Kasi Lemmons Sung In

English Met titles In English German Spanish ACT I Charles Blow, age 20, drives down a Louisiana backroad with a gun in the passenger seat. Destiny sings to him, calling him back to his childhood home. He begins reliving memories from his childhood. Charles’ seven-year-old self, Char’es-Baby, talks to his mother, Billie. He is desperate for affection, but Billie is too frazzled to give him the validation that he craves. They are dirt poor. Billie works in a chicken factory, but she dreams of Char’es-Baby getting a good education and escaping their town. Her husband, Spinner, is a womanizing spendthrift. When she hears that he’s flirting with other women, she confronts him at gunpoint. She doesn’t shoot, but Billie tosses Spinner out. Billie and her five sons move in with Uncle Paul. Char’es-Baby dreams of a different life, collecting “treasure” from the junkyard while Loneliness sings to him. One day, his cousin Chester comes to visit. When Chester sexually abuses him, he is too horrified and ashamed to say anything. Adult Charles begins to weep as he recoils from these memories, while Destiny reminds him that there is no escape. ACT II As Charles grows into a teenager, he is full of confusion and rage. He attends a church service where the pastor is baptizing people, promising that God can wipe all sins clean. Charles decides to get baptized, but phantom terrors still haunt him. Charles tries to talk to his brothers, but they refuse to engage in any “soft talk.” Loneliness reappears, promising to be his lifelong companion. Evelyn, a beautiful young girl, interrupts Charles’s reverie. Their chemistry is clear. Charles feels a new sense of independence and is finally ready to strike out on his own; Grambling State University has offered him a full scholarship. Billie is left alone to reflect on all that she has sacrificed for her family and wonders what might lie ahead. ACT III Charles is one of several fraternity pledges being hazed at his college. Charles stoically takes each indignity in stride: Pain is nothing new for him. Later, he goes to a nightclub and meets an attractive young woman, Greta. They begin a passionate love affair. Charles eventually shares his awful secret with Greta, only to find out that she’s still seeing someone else. Charles is left alone again. He calls home, desperate to hear his mother’s voice. To his shock, Billie tells him that Chester has come back to visit. Charles instantly decides to return home to confront Chester, gun in hand. Charles sits in his car on the dark road, contemplating the choice lying before him. Destiny starts to sing to him once again, seductively promising to stand by him through to the bloody end. As Charles reaches his childhood home, Char’es-Baby appears, urging him to leave his bitterness behind. Charles must decide whether to exact his revenge or begin his life anew. Synopsis reprinted courtesy of Opera Theatre of Saint Louis. Email Signup Find The Metropolitan Opera on Facebook (opens new window) Find The Metropolitan Opera on Twitter (opens new window) Find The Metropolitan Opera on Instagram (opens new window) Find The Metropolitan Opera on Instagram (opens new window) Information provided by the Met in New York Fire Shut Up in My Bones: Movement Exercise The Creative Forces Behind Fire Shut Up in My Bones Highlights from 'Fire Shut Up in My Bones' Fire Shut Up in My Bones: TV Spot (30 sec)

The Voice of Black Cincinnati with Soja Lui Rey Epps

· First 28 – Madame Selika (1849 – 1937), First Black artist to perform at the White House Marie Smith, her given name, moved with her family from Natchez, Mississippi, to Cincinnati, Ohio, soon after birth. Her beautiful voice was discovered in childhood, and a wealthy family funded her music education. As a young adult, she moved to San Francisco to study music with Signora G. Bianchi and debuted as a concert soprano. In the 1870s, Smith moved to Chicago, where Antonio Farini developed her coloratura soprano voice and taught her the Italian singing method. There she also met a fellow student Sampson Williams, an operatic baritone whom she would later marry. In 1878, Williams became the first Black artist to perform at the White House, being introduced by Frederick Douglass and singing for President Rutherford B. Hayes and First Lady Lucy Webb Hayes. Her rendition of E. W. Mulder's "Polka Staccato" earned her the nickname the "Queen of Staccato." Williams continued to perform in the United States and adopted the stage name “Madame Selika,” believed to be from the character Sélika in Giacomo Meyerbeer's opera L'Africainelater. From 1882 to 1885, Madame Selika toured Europe with her husband, who took the stage name "Signor Velosko (the Hawaiian tenor)" and even performed for Queen Victoria. The Williams’ then toured around the world before settling in Cleveland. Despite her reputation and talent, Madame Selika had difficulty obtaining quality management and was known to organize her tours and concerts. Between 1885 to 1891, the couple opened a music studio in Cleveland and toured the United States performing primarily for all-Black audiences. In 1896, Madame Selika joined fellow Black singers Flora Batson and Sissieretta Jones for a historic performance at Carnegie Hall. After her husband died in 1911, Williams gave private lessons and taught at the Martin-Smith Music School in New York City. Her legacy remains as the most recognized and lauded African American woman singer of the late 19th century. Blacks would not be welcomed to the American operatic stage until the 1930s. Sources: 19th Century Black Cincinnatians you should know | Cincinnati & Hamilton County Public Library (cincinnatilibrary.org) Marie Selika Williams - Wikipedia Marie Selika Williams Gave White House Recital - Racing Nellie Bly-Famous women in history First African American to perform at the White House – Media Diversified Vocalist Marie Selika Williams born - African American Registry (aaregistry.org) The First 28, graciously sponsored by the Greater Cincinnati Foundation, celebrates Black Cincinnatians who were the first in their fields.

BLACK OPERA LIVE - November 14th (MOZARTEAN MAGIC AT THE MET

BLACK OPERA LIVE - November 28th (Porgy Across the Pond)

Marian Anderson - Black Voices in Opera and Why They Matter

Marian Anderson

I grew up in Virginia in a town named after Pocahontas . In grade school we were all taught that Marian Anderson was one of the greatest Opera stars in the world. Her beautiful voice and story made us feel proud to be little Black boys and girls growing up in a segregated society. Our grade school teacher taught us to hold our heads up high and be proud of our race. They also taught us that we could be anything we wanted to be as long as we worked hard to accomplish our goals. Please check out the video, it will warm your heart.

Marian Anderson

Basso Profundo: How a college football standout became an international opera star

Reprinted from the Atlanta Magazine

Basso Profundo: How a college football standout became an international opera star
Atlanta native Morris Robinson was known as “The Singing Football Cadet” at Citadel, then became a salesman. Today, he’s the Atlanta Symphony’s second-ever artist-in-residence.


Morris Robinson is trying to lay low, something that’s never been easy for him. If anyone failed to see the 6-foot-3, 300-plus-pound vocalist lumbering through the lobby of the Woodruff Arts Center an hour ago in black ostrich-skin boots, tuxedo pants, and untucked maroon T-shirt, they certainly heard his voice. Or rather felt it—a sonorous “Hello! How’s it going?” to the doorman at Symphony Hall that seemed to make the walls, the carpeted concrete floor, even the humid air waver like a tuning fork.

Tonight Robinson’s bass is even deeper thanks to some congestion—the onset of what he fears is a cold. That’s why he spent the afternoon resting alone in a darkened Buckhead hotel room instead of surrounded by family at his home in Tyrone, just 35 minutes south. And it’s why he sequestered himself in a cramped dressing room in the bowels of the Woodruff, where he periodically cleared out his pipes with bursts of la-la-la’s, doh’s, and rolling Italian rrrrr’s that made the white-tied instrumentalists start as they passed. And it’s why now, minutes before showtime, Robinson is backstage pacing, size-15 boots falling heavy on the hardwood to and from the stage door, where he keeps peeking out at the packed house. “I’m going to own the room,” he says to himself. “When I walk out, I’m going to take control.”


The sweat is beading on his shaved head. This is a rare show in Robinson’s hometown, a recital to commemorate Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, his sixth performance in this building as artist-in-residence for the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. Many of the people out there are friends and family. Some remember him as DeRhon—his middle name—the boy who sang in church but set aside music to play football, becoming an All-American lineman at the Citadel, before moving north to embark on a career in business. Maybe they’ve heard something about the man who, in his 30s, rediscovered classical music and left the world of corporate sales to become an opera singer.

It’s time. Robinson takes a last swig of lukewarm water and straightens his jacket. He clears his throat one final time and quickly blows a kiss to the sky, to the one lifelong fan who isn’t here—the mother who seemed to know all along that her son’s voice was meant to stir the masses.



Sedora “Louise” Robinson was a housewife who sang in the church choir and made sure that her home in Kings Forest, a middle-class neighborhood in southwestern Atlanta, was full of music. All four of Louise’s children sang and played an instrument. Morris took piano lessons and practiced with the Israel Baptist Church choir, standing on a chair to soak in the applause after a Sunday solo on “Can’t Nobody Do Me Like Jesus.” When he was just seven years old, his mother took him to try out for the Atlanta Boy Choir; he made first soprano. But after a couple of years, feeling out of place, he quit. “I was a big black kid from Southwest Atlanta, bigger than most of the boys in the choir,” he says. “And I wasn’t playing football.”

It turned out, though, that he was too big, 130 pounds by age 10, for his age group in organized ball. So he gravitated back to music. He picked up the more socially acceptable drums, which he played for cash in churches all over town. He also played baritone in junior high band, which fed into the prestigious Northside School of the Performing Arts (now North Atlanta). The day after Robinson made the high school band, his mother made him audition for the school choir. By senior year he was touring with the school’s stage show, which, to the young teen’s eternal embarrassment, involved wearing a sequined vest and tights. “Where do you even go to buy tights for a 200-pound dude?” says Derrick Bailey, who grew up two streets away from Robinson and played football at Northside. Not that Robinson suffered much ridicule. “There are easier targets,” says Bailey. “Leave the baritone player alone and go after the guy who plays piccolo.”

During spring of his freshman year, Robinson went out for football. When the band director came looking for him one day, the football coach said, “He won’t be in band anymore.” From then on, the teenager’s life was two-a-days in the sweltering Georgia summer, weekday a.m.’s in the weight room, and plowing lanes for running backs and protecting his QB on autumn Friday nights. And when it came time for college, Robinson was picking between Division 1 football programs instead of conservatories.
-

Robinson chose a full ride to the Citadel, where he enrolled as a 265-pound cadet. The offensive line coach at the time, Jeff Bleamer, set about addressing the gentle giant’s demeanor. “He was a really nice guy,” Bleamer says. “And he didn’t want to turn that personality off on the field; I gave him vocal lessons, all right, but they weren’t singing.” Bleamer credits Robinson’s extraordinary work ethic in shaping the soft underclassman into a senior All-American who dominated opposing defenses.

Off the field he played piano and directed the gospel choir, which was a refuge and community for the few African American cadets. Music was a way to feel connected to his childhood and God. It was also getting him some national exposure: “The Singing Football Cadet” was featured briefly in Sports Illustrated and on CBS College Football Today. In 1991 he even sang the national anthem at the NBA All-Star Game.



Robinson was scouted by NFL teams, but he was deemed too small. As for music, that didn’t seem like a viable career option either. His English degree ultimately took him to Washington, D.C., where he worked in corporate sales for 3M. En route to a conference, he met a flight attendant named Denise, and the two eventually married. One day his young wife and his mother scheduled a tryout with the Choral Arts Society of Washington, a pro-caliber volunteer chorus. “I had a 1 p.m. audition, and I needed to prepare a song,” says Robinson. He still had “Tuba Mirum” from Mozart’s Requiem memorized from high school. He rushed to the National Cathedral and made the cut.



Still, it wasn’t until Robinson moved to New Hampshire for a sales job with Advanced Elastomer Systems in 1997 that he saw music as anything more than just a hobby. “I knew I had this talent, and I could see that people loved it, but I didn’t know what would afford me the opportunity to do it for a living,” he says. He enrolled in the continuing education program at the New England Conservatory of Music and performed in weekend shows throughout the region. It was at one of these offbeat concerts, playing the devil in a tiny production of Satanella in Salem, Massachusetts, where Robinson caught his break. One night Sharon Daniels, a former Broadway and New York City Opera singer who taught voice at Boston University, was in the audience. When Robinson made his entrance from the back of the hall, Daniels heard all she needed to. “It was chilling,” she says. “After 25 years of professional singing, I knew what that sound was.”

After the show, Daniels approached the devil with a deal. “I asked him if he had ever considered taking his voice seriously,” she says. She couldn’t promise anything more than an audition for the prestigious BU program, which, if he were accepted, would require a full-time commitment; he’d have to quit his corporate job. He took her card and said he’d think about it.

About a week later, Robinson called Daniels to set up an audition.
A shower of applause greets Robinson as his boots pound a path to center stage. He’s standing in front of the conductor and the seated orchestra, wearing a black suit jacket and matching button-down with the collar open. Tonight’s show is a selection of songs, not an opera. Still, Robinson puts his mind in Italy in the 14th century, where Verdi’s opera Simon Boccanegra takes place. Once the crowd settles and the strings sound the ominous, mournful introduction to “Il lacerato spirito” and the horns answer, Robinson inhabits his character, Jacopo Fiesco, who is lamenting the death of his daughter, Maria.

Robinson’s voice rumbles to life as he extends a hand to the audience, as if opening a pit in the middle of the auditorium. Hurling thunderbolts over the crescendoing 72-piece orchestra, Fiesco condemns both the seducer who brought this tragedy upon his family and the Virgin Mary, who allowed it to happen. As he holds the final sorrowful note—steadily, without a hint of congestion—even the patrons who don’t speak the language and haven’t found the translation on page 37 of the program can feel this father’s pain.



Robinson’s command of his voice (not to mention Renaissance Italian) didn’t come to him naturally. When he began studying under Daniels at BU in 1999, he was little more than raw talent. “He didn’t have the musical education,” says Daniels. “He had no sense of style, no vocal technique.”

Robinson spent hours each day learning how to harness his voice’s raw power—to securely access his high range, add more richness and nuance to his lower register, and smooth out the transition between them. He studied Italian, German, and French—the tongues of classical opera—including diction and style as well as comprehension. And he struggled with deportment, moving and singing in period velveteen.


In his spare hours, Robinson worked at Best Buy, but after a stellar debut in 1999 with the Boston Lyric Opera as the King of Egypt in Verdi’s Aida, roles started flooding in: Bartolo in Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro and other parts in Madama Butterfly, Don Giovanni, Salome. In 2001 he placed third in the New England region of the Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions, which ultimately led to an invitation to audition for the Met’s Lindemann Young Artist Development Program. He was one of only nine singers accepted from all over the globe. He and his wife moved to New York City, where he made his Met debut in Beethoven’s Fidelio. His mother was in the audience.

Now on a world stage, Robinson worked even harder. He paired with instructor Mark Oswald, a former baritone with the Met, who gave Robinson more than 200 lessons over three years. Oswald worked with Robinson on breathing exercises. His student sang arpeggios in every key, which helped build muscular support for every vowel sound, of which there are about 20 in the combined European languages. Robinson recalls it as a “vocal gym.”

“He had to build his voice note for note, vowel by vowel,” says Oswald. “He needed refinement as he ascended the range. But he had the voice of God on the low notes.”

The roles of gods and titans in Wagner and Verdi soon came to Robinson from opera houses in Philadelphia, Boston, St. Louis, Los Angeles, and Sydney. To compete against singers who’ve been training since childhood, he simply worked harder. He paid a pianist by the hour to run through the parts with him, recording the session on his phone. After weeks of listening to the recording on repeat and singing a cappella while pacing his home, he gradually absorbed the role.

Robinson was also approached about roles in musicals. But he was reluctant, for fear of being typecast early in his career. Then, in 2012, he was offered the role of Joe in Show Boat, which meant the classic bass solo “Ol’ Man River.” “Show Boat was a big deal,” he says. “I’d been working my entire career to that point to sing German and Italian repertoire at reputable houses. I sat with that contract in my lap for a while. I asked myself, ‘Have I done enough yet in this business to justify doing this?’ The answer was, ‘I think so.’”


Around that time, Robinson and his family (including his young son) moved into a comfortable six-bedroom Tyrone home near family and good schools. “If they don’t hire me to do it, they’re going to hire another black actor who’s going to make all this money,” he says. “I’ve got a Hummer, an Escalade, and a kid who has to go to college.”

Robinson performing as Joe in Show Boat, San Francisco Opera, 2014, with his son, Miles.
Photograph courtesy of Morris Robinson


Last November, Robinson’s homecoming was complete when he was selected as the ASO’s second-ever artist-in-residence. In this capacity, Robinson acts as a community advocate, gives recitals and masters classes for music students, appears at ASO outreach events, and of course, performs, as he is tonight in Symphony Hall. The residency runs through October.

Robinson performing as Ferrando in Il Trovatore, Cincinnati Opera, 2015

Photograph courtesy of Morris Robinson
As the applause rises and ebbs between songs, Robinson looks out upon the darkened house. No one, including himself, could have imagined he would one day be standing on that stage. No one, of course, except his mother. Just two years after she saw his debut in New York, Louise Robinson died of a stroke. “Mom wanted me to sing more than anything,” he says. “Mom always knows.”

The orchestra starts the next song, a ragtime-style tune with a plucked banjo casually keeping time. Despite Robinson having wiped several times with a gray towel, the sweat still glistens on his brow. The song is written for a baritone, and even without the congestion, it would reach into the loftier parts of his register. It’s also the first time he’s ever performed this number in public. “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin’” is a song from the second act of Gershwin’s 1935 opera Porgy and Bess, a love story between a disabled beggar and a former prostitute in the black tenements of Depression-era Charleston. Porgy is a role that Robinson has intentionally avoided, for the same reasons he avoided Show Boa
- See more at: http://www.atlantamagazine.com/great-reads/basso-profundo/#sthash.XvGxFUDy.dpuf

Robinson performing as Sarastro in The Magic Flute, Sydney Opera House, 2014;
Photograph courtesy of Morris Robinson


Now, 17 years into his career, Robinson feels like he’s established himself enough as a classical artist in the serious world of opera to take on Porgy’s baritone in a performance at Milan’s legendary La Scala opera house this fall. Robinson’s decision has sparked a bit of controversy among both mainstream classical musicians who don’t accept Gershwin as a true opera and fellow African Americans who consider the stereotype-laden work offensive. “The part that hurts the worst is that it comes from within my demographic,” says Robinson. “Little do they know that the same fire that I developed on the football field, they just ignited it. I don’t usually try to be the best ever; I usually just try to be the best me. But now, I’m fired up.”

King Philip II and the Grand Inquisitor | DON CARLO


There is no strain in Robinson’s voice as he streamlines his operatic bravado into the pop standard on the comforts of having nothing to lose: “Got my gal, got my Lord,” and then the sustained high note on “Got my song.” The audience comes to its feet.

Robinson (No. 58) played as a lineman for the Citadel, 1990
Photograph courtesy of Morris Robinson


At intermission, well-wishers crowd the backstage, congratulating Robinson. A swarm of friends, family, former teammates and their kids. The instrumentalists scurrying to use the bathroom have to duck and dodge their way through the reunion. People take turns posing for photos beneath his massive outstretched arms. He does his best not to speak beyond a few thank-you’s. His part of the program now over, he’ll skip out on the remainder of the show and sneak back to the Buckhead hotel room to unwind alone in peace. He’s got another performance, an hour-long set of Russian opera here at this same time tomorrow night. And he’s worried he might be getting a cold.

Robinson with the ASO, 2016
Photograph by Jeff Roffman


This article originally appeared in our April 2016 issu


Tags: Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, College Football, football, Morris Robinson, music, opera, performing arts