Last night I happened to be watching the CMA Awards Show on ABC which celebrates the nation’s top-selling country music artists. As I was listening to Martina McBride, who has an absolutely amazing voice, I was struck by how similar the worlds of opera and country music really are.
First of all, country music often offers soaring, lyrical melodies sung, usually, by singers with appealing voices. Think not only of Martina but of Faith Hill, Reba McEntire and Trisha Yearwood (who can out-sing many opera singers) but also Clint Black, Garth Brooks and newcomer Josh Turner, who has a voice of pure velvet with a stunning chest voice. In country, the music is king. It’s not, as in rap or today’s current pop music, all about screeching or flashy riffs which emphasize the singer over the tune (if there is one at all). Go ahead and listen to an old Merle Haggard album. That man had a voice that was sheer honey. He milked a melody like no other country singer, and he did it all without pinched high notes and gulping passaggios.
Then there are the themes: poverty, loneliness, abandoned children, drunkenness, divorce, adultery, and even murder. Is there really much difference between the story line of Otello and Reba’s hit “The Night The Lights Went out in Georgia” (originally sung by Vicki Lawrence of The Carol Burnett Show)? Or the mysticism of Marguerite’s final aria in Faust vs Martina McBride’s faith in “God’s Will”?
Some might argue that opera is high brow and country music merely redneck low brow. But they are mistaking the current elitist attitude about opera over the historic appeal of this type of theatre. In Europe, opera has always been the art form of the masses just as country music is here.
The CMA awards ceremony included some real lows — The guys of Rascal Flatts were perfectly awful in their two sets. It seems to me that the minute they leave a studio they lose whatever talent they might have had. Kenny Chesney won for Entertainer of the Year, but his performance of “Don’t Blink” was mediocre to say the least and the audience was barely stifling yawns during it. I much preferred Miranda Lambert, who reminds me a bit of Susan Graham, feisty and fulsome (both seen below).
The real highlight of the evening was a complete surprise. Kellie Pickler, of American Idol fame, sang her heart out in a song about abandonment which she wrote about her own painful childhood. Singing it in Nashville caused her to break down in the middle of the song and to start crying. She sang the hell out of it even as she choked back tears, and brought the house down. How different is that, in spirit at least, from watching a true diva like Teresa Zylis-Gara give a gut-wrenching performance of Suor Angelica about a mother lamenting over the dead child she had abandoned? (see both stars below).
Something else I noticed while watching these performers do their thang on TV is how similar some of them are in terms of personality and charisma to the great opera stars of today and yesterday. Looking at Sarah Evans in her strapless gown one might mistake her for Anna Moffo in her prime, both of them oozing stylish looks that belie their talent.
And handsome baritione Josh Turner has the matinee idol looks and the talent of heartthrob divo Nathan Gunn. (both seen below)
Isn’t Carrie Underwood the Elizabeth Futral of country music? Gorgeous to look at, with a golden voice that may not be as jaw-dropping as a Sutherland or a Sills, but it gets the job done beautifully. And one could easily compare Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland to the fabulous Finn Karita Mattila. (both below)
So during the commercials last night, I made a list of other similarities. Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, who are country’s power couple, can certainly hold their own against Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna.
Alison Krauss is the Renee Fleming of Nashville; there is nothing she can’t sing.
Shania Twain could be Sylvia McNair’s twin, even to the extent that neither are seen that much today.
When you look at Wynnona Judd there are echoes of Marilyn Horne celebrating the American Song.
I would say Trisha Yearwood, who is married to Garth Brooks (the Pavarotti of opry?), has all the appeal of Deborah Voigt and now that Voigt has lost so much weight, they are about the same dress size.
Dark-haired crooner Brad Paisley could be the Juan Diego Florez of country, although his roulades are not quite as good. But he has the same degree of sparkling wit and lithe sex appeal. Gary LeVox of Rascal Flatts is Anthony Dean Griffey with a twang, so long as he is in the studio and not performing live.
Next time you listen to Clint Black (whose fine high tenor is as plangent and poignant as Jussi Bjoerling’s), Keith Urban, Clay Walker or that ballsy redneck woman Gretchen Wilson, try to imagine them on the stage of the Met working their blue-collar magic on a black-tie crowd. 
