Alessandro Moreschi
The Last Castrato

Fourth voices, they were called.

Upon closer inspection, they presented some of the characteristic traits of other voices: boy choir voices, yet rich in harmonies and female register, and still generated by the vocal power of a man.

The world of the castrati is now a distant memory, a product of an era that no longer exists. The name, perhaps a bit derogatory for our times, referred to a category of opera singers who, in their youth, before puberty, were subjected to the will of their parents in an attempt to ensure a successful musical career for their children – the removal of the testicles (if sexual maturity was not already compromised by congenital dysfunctions) to preserve their childlike voice.

Some of them became true stars of music in the 18th and 19th centuries, up to the early 20th century, when Pope Leo XIII banned their use within Church activities and his successor Pius X, in 1903, definitively ended the history of these singers, declaring the practice of castration illegal (also due to its danger to the survival of children).

Alessandro Moreschi was not the greatest among the castrati (the role undoubtedly belongs to Carlo Broschi, known as “Farinelli” – besides, based on contemporary testimonies, many connoisseurs actually consider him the greatest opera singer tout court**), nor was he the last of the prominent evirati celebrities, which was probably Giovanni Battista Velluti. He was simply the last of the castrati (at least within the Sistine Chapel); not only that: he was also the only one to pass down his voice.

The seventeen tracks that make up the compilation known as "The Last Castrato" – a rather undignified name – were recorded between 1902 and 1904 (unfortunately a bit early for the Sorrisi leaderboard) in the Sistine Chapel and range from classic sacred arias to more recent operatic pieces of the time, always on religious themes; the recording has immense historical significance: it is, in fact, the only direct evidence left of what the sensation of these eunuchs' singing across the diaphragm might have been like. In conclusion, a recording of Pope Leo XIII himself giving his blessing was included.

It is certain that the weight of the years (more than a century!) is palpable: the recordings are a celebration of rustling, low sounds, and sacred analog noise; which, however, does not disturb, but rather I find it gives even more charm to the whole affair (what sense would it make to have a relic from centuries past in the almost perfect and, in some ways, annoyingly clean sound of a digital medium?).

Among the tracks, I mention Gounod's "Ave Maria" (in my opinion the most emblematic track for what has been said, also because of the familiarity of the aria and the immediate comparison with other more "canonical" versions), the Gregorian chant "Incipit Lamentatio" and Terziani's "Hostias Et Preces"; but there is also a piece by Mozart ("Ave Verum Corpus") and Rossini's "Crucifixus". My thin knowledge of the subject certainly does not allow me to engage in cultured digressions on the artistic value of individual pieces; but I am not writing this page for them.

The protagonist is obviously Moreschi's voice; clear, extremely high, evocative, yet so alienating – almost embarrassing for us people of the two thousand – when associated with his plump image. Perhaps not perfect, as I seem to notice in certain passages, Moreschi's singing ability – sometimes considered a mediocre singer – has been often criticized; it may be that these were indeed the quality standards of the art of the castrati, at least at the end of their historical trajectory. Probably, as has been suggested, the perhaps unimpressive performance of the Lazio artist could be attributed to the bewilderment of performing not in front of an audience but in front of a bulky apparatus like a phonograph (or whatever it was). Or maybe Maionchi told him that, in her opinion, Alessandro didn't have the X factor.

It is also true that the singer was probably approaching the decline (also qualitatively) of his career, which would last a few more years. Moreschi, soloist of the Sistine Chapel Choir for 30 years, retired from the scene in 1913 (the papal provisions did not extend to castrati already employed in the most important ecclesiastical structures) and unfortunately died in poverty and forgotten by many in 1922, at the age of 64.

Of him, and an entire ancient and glorious history, only a squeaky testimony remains in the end (the very farinellesque castrato of fiction with the scarlet cape played by Garko and that hottie Coppola doesn’t count, neh) accidentally listened to and commented on*** for unknown reasons.

But anyhow; it seemed right to consider in this cybernetic musical context what is, after all, among the very first albums in history, the only artistic legacy of the art of the castrati, the Rosetta Stone of angelic voices.

* Before anyone starts shouting their "oh dear!" right away, I'll admit it, I definitely used Wikipedia; satisfied?

** Add a bit of dark sarcasm, one could indeed define him an artist with guts.

*** The rating clearly makes no sense, as there is no point of comparison for the work in question.