Opera: For Humanity

In Germany, Jess Thomas is known as a jugendlicher Heldentenor. Put lit erally, it means young heroic tenor.

Put according to Thomas, it means that he has “the heroic amount of guts” needed to sing Wagnerian roles. Put in the U.S., it means that Thomas is the first and most notable of what appears to be a new stable of American heldentenors: men with the projection of a foghorn, the endurance of a marathon cyclist and the range of an ICBM. Most have an ego to match.

Jess Thomas scores high on all counts, as he proved last week singing the role of Radames in the Metropolitan Opera production of A’ida. His military garb amply revealed his impressive dimensions (which he will recite like a cover girl: “Six feet three inches, 200 pounds, 49-inch chest, 32-inch waist”), plus a pair of legs that the Italians rank with those of Tenor Franco (“Golden Calves”) Corelli. Thomas’ voice was stamped with virility—clear, sturdy, securely focused, with a rich lyrical quality that is unusual among heldentenors. While his acting tends toward the hand-clasped-to-heart school, his he-man stature and curly black locks make him one of opera’s most commanding figures.

Taking the Plunge. Thomas has not yet graduated into the ranks of the full-fledged heldentenor. Basically, this requires a voice with the coloring of a baritone and the range of a tenor. Unlike the bel canto tenor who must employ vocal embroidery, the heldentenor must possess the raw power and endurance to sing the weightiest and longest roles in opera. The supreme tests are Wagner’s Tristan and Siegfried, which require 65 and 90 minutes respectively, as compared, say, with the 22 minutes for Tosca. Lauritz Melchior, the last great heldentenor, did not attempt Tristan until he was 39. Thomas, now 38, figures that his voice will be ready in about three years.

Born of Welsh parentage in Hot Springs, S. Dak., Thomas was preoccupied from childhood with the notion of “doing something for humanity.” This, he says, led him to major in psychology at the University of Nebraska, then to a job as a high school counselor in Oregon. “I was tremendously successful in my field,” he confesses. He was at Stanford, working for a doctorate, when a voice teacher heard him sing in a university production. The teacher encouraged him to take voice lessons, and after four years of study Thomas decided to take the plunge. At the advanced (for opera) age of 30, he left the U.S. to join the Baden State Theater in Karlsruhe, Germany.

Group Therapy. In the beginning, his career was more soap than grand opera; for the first year he and his wife Bettye, a former model, lived in the laundry room of an apartment house and subsisted on a diet of potatoes. At length he got a chance in 1961 to sing at the Bayreuth Festival, home of the heldentenor, where he was hailed as a “flawless” Parsifal. Last year he became one of the few U.S. tenors ever to sing at Milan’s La Scala opera house. “The Italians,” he explains simply, “love me.”

As for doing something for the rest of humanity, Thomas’ wife explains that now, through singing, “he helps hundreds of people at one time. He has a life-giving element.” Thomas can only agree. He says that his psychology training helps him to analyze a role and develop that special “heart-to-heart projection.” As a further aid in group mu-sicotherapy, Thomas designs many of his own costumes (as well as his wife’s wardrobe): “That way I portray the role not only musically but also stylistically. You can’t express yourself if you’re wearing a costume meant for a five-foot, six-inch tenor.” He likes to practice his hobby on the days of a performance because, he says, “it helps me keep my mouth shut. And that’s important.”