In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Previous contributors include Jesmyn Ward, Lauren Groff, Bret Easton Ellis, Celeste Ng, T.C. Boyle, Dana Spiotta, Hanif Abdurraqib, Andrew Sean Greer, Roxane Gay, and many others.
Anthony Tommasini’s Voice of a Century is an eye-opening biography of both the life and music of Marian Anderson.
Kirkus wrote of the book:
“Tommasini perceptively sketches Anderson’s complex character, and this longtime New York Times classical music critic really excels in passages about her singing. He apparently listened to every recording Anderson ever made, and his analyses of how her three principal accompanists affected her performances are as acute as his descriptions of her voice are evocative . . . Tommasini’s journalistic skills are evident in his cogent narrative of Anderson’s career, but it’s his deep musical knowledge and sensitive appreciation of her unique gifts that distinguish this short, shrewd book. An invaluable contribution to our understanding of a great artist.”
In his own words, here is Anthony Tommasini’s Book Notes music playlist for his book Voice of a Century: The Life and Artistry of Marian Anderson:
Perhaps because at my core I am a musician and a former performing pianist who became a critic and author, I almost never listen to music when I’m writing. Music is too powerful for me. It would be distracting. But when I was working on my new book about the great Black American contralto Marian Anderson, I took breaks all the time to listen to her recordings, which I’m eager to share. First, some introduction.
Over time, path-breakers in any field can wind up becoming best known for breaking paths, rather than their actual achievements. This has happened somewhat to Marian Anderson (1897-1993). She is surely best known today for a single short outdoor concert she gave on Easter Sunday in 1939. When, due to her race, she was denied the stage of Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C. by its owners, the Daughters of the American Revolution, a plan arose among activists to have this supreme artist, who had sung to acclaim in the capitals of Europe, perform instead on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. With trepidation, she agreed. That day, some 75,000 people gathered before the memorial and around the Reflecting Pool, Black and white Americans mingling together, to hear Anderson’s 30-minute program, which was broadcast live on national radio. But the richness, breadth and sheer greatness of Marian Anderson’s artistry have somewhat faded into history. I was heartened in 2021 when Sony Classical issued a deluxe edition of her complete RCA Victor recordings. I wrote about it for the New York Times, and that article would bring me an invitation to write a book about Anderson as part of a series edited by Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. (The book has just been released by Penguin Press.)
Almost all of Anderson’s recordings are outstanding. But those I have selected here, some of which I did not know prior to that Sony release, have become central to me.
Anderson ended every recital she gave with a group of spirituals, music she first sang as a little girl in the Black Baptist church she attended in Philadelphia. Years later, in 1923, the very first commercial recording Anderson made was this arrangement of the spiritual “Deep River,” for which she is accompanied by a small group of instruments. You must listen through the scratchy surface noise to savor her singing, which, I promise you, will not be hard to do.
Spiritual, “Deep River” (Harry T. Burleigh, arrangement), 1923,
with Rosario Bourdon leading a small ensemble of instruments.
For me, among Anderson’s many recordings of spirituals, “Crucifixion,” from 1941, ranks among the most profound vocal music recordings of the twentieth century. The words, cushioned by achingly beautiful music, begin: “Dey crucified my Lord./And he never said a mumblin’ word,/Not a word, not a word, not a word.” The focus of the spiritual is on Jesus’s reaction to the charges against him and the punishment he endured, which was to say nothing in his defense. If you don’t know this recording, you are going to remember that I introduced it to you here.
Spiritual, “Crucifixion” (John Payne, arrangement)
Franz Rupp, piano; 1941
Schubert’s “Ave Maria” may be his most famous song, a classic German lied. Anderson’s sensitively phrased and deeply expressive singing, without a trace of exaggeration, makes this music sound newly fresh and elegant.
Schubert, “Ave Maria”
Franz Rupp, piano; 1946
Here’s one more Schubert song, “Der Tod und das Mädchen” (Death and the Maiden). Anderson wrote that the song “had to be acted rather than sung.” The slow piano introduction, which unfolds in soft ominous chords, is music associated with Death, clearly recognized as such by this young maiden, who fears that Death has come for her. She erupts in bursts of recitative-like phrases, saying, basically, “I know you come for all of us in time, Death, but please go away. I’m too young. It’s too soon.” Death responds, this time with his words voiced by Anderson, drawing upon her awesome low range. Sounding almost fatherly, Death tells the maiden not to fear, and that she will sleep gently in his arms.
Schubert, “Tod und das Mädchen,”
Frank Rupp, piano; 1946
From the start of her career, Marian Anderson reluctantly pushed aside fantasies of performing opera, since the doors to most American companies were closed to her. But a little-known aria from Donizetti’s opera “La Favorita” became an unlikely go-to piece for Anderson to demonstrate her operatic technique and dramatic flair. She even included this challenging aria (sung by a conflicted Spanish noblewoman who has been mistress to a married king but fallen in love with a lapsed novice monk) in her short program at the Lincoln Memorial. Most everyone there must have been mystified by this music in Italian. But the crowd, from all news reports, was astonished by her singing. Anderson recorded it in Berlin in 1930 with an unidentified orchestra.
Donizetti, “O mio Fernando,” from La Favorita
Anderson recorded this in Berlin for Antiphon in 1930 with an unidentified orchestra and conductor.
In January 1955, although she was nearly 58, her voice was starting to age, and she had no experience at all in opera, Marian Anderson became the first Black singer to perform in a production at the Metropolitan Opera. She sang the supporting but crucial role of Ulrica, a mysterious seer and fortune-teller, in Verdi’s “Un Ballo in Maschera” (A Masked Ball). Rudolf Bing, who had become the general manager of the Met in 1950, felt that the time was long overdue to take this step toward racial justice, though he knew it would distress some of his stodgy, prejudiced patrons. So, he wanted someone widely admired to be first. Anderson was an ideal barrier-breaker. She sang well, won huge ovations and made history. Some months later a matinee broadcast of the production that was recorded captured Anderson’s performance which, despite some patchy moments of singing, was fervent and impressive. Here are two excerpts from Ulrica’s big scene, when she is summoning her fearsome powers from the beyond. Anderson’s singing gives us a hint of the major career in opera she might have had in a less racist era.
Live matinee broadcast, Dec. 10, 1955; Dimitri Mitropoulos, conductor; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus. Marian Anderson (Ulrica)
“Re, dell’abisso” (1:49)
“Arrivo il primo!” (2:43)
Anthony Tommasini was the chief classical music critic for The New York Times from 2000 to 2021. He graduated from Yale University and later earned a doctor of musical arts from Boston University. He is the author of four books, including The Indispensable Composers, a guide to the greatest works of classical music in the canon. As a pianist, he made two recordings of Virgil Thomson’s music on the Northeastern label, which were supported by the National Endowment for the Arts.