The Welsh sea extends behind Sir Bryn Terfel (Wales; 1965). He grants us an interview from his home to talk about his first concert in Mexico. It will take place on May 27 at 8 p.m. at the Nezahualcóyotl Concert Hall with the Sinfónica de Minería under the guest baton of Roberto Kalb. This is undoubtedly one of the most important one of the most important musical events of the 20th century..
Even when he speaks, Sir Bryn Terfel's voice is powerful and hypnotic. Dense, dark and clear. It is very easy to imagine him singing roles of legendary gods in Wagnerian operas (think Wotan) or sinister Puccinian villains (think Scarpia).
The steely expressiveness of her singing seems made to convey the grandeur of epic fears, mysteries and betrayals that run through the history of opera. But strangely enough, it is also endearing: in its high-pitched regions it possesses an almost homely warmth.
That's why in the repertoire he will sing in Mexico, Wagner and Puccini share credits with musical theater (such as If I Were a Poor Manfrom Fiddler on the Roof) and, above all, traditional songs from his native region (Danny Boy o Loch Lomond).
Sir Bryn Terfel, father of five, has built a family life around the Welsh Sea whose poetic sway of mystery and calm, with its fascinating stories of sailors, crews and adventure, is all-encompassing and all-encompassing in his life.
"The presence of the sea in my country is very important in the way we think and even in the way we sing," says Sir Bryn Terfel at the beginning of this exclusive interview where he talks about heritage, attrition, magic, future, transformation and hope.
The voice of Sir Bryn Terfel
How has your voice evolved over the years, both sonically and emotionally? As a bass-baritone, moving from characters like Figaro to Wotan indicates a certain darkening of the voice, perhaps a loss of agility in exchange for greater dramatic weight. But what about the music industry, how receptive is it to the natural changes a voice undergoes? If a baritone is very attached to certain roles, how easy is it to move into a more vocally dense repertoire? Would you say that the environment is flexible or rather rigid, even hostile? How did that transition play out in your personal experience?
Sir Bryn Terfel: My voice started with a light, youthful color. In the early decade I played Mozart, Rossini and Britten. Figaro and Guglielmo demanded lightness, fast phrasing and firm treble. As the years went by, darker harmonics appeared. I felt how the timbre descended and gained amplitude. In order not to lose elasticity, I practice short scales and intervallic leaps every morning, just as I did when I was a student. This routine preserves the agility necessary for Wagner without sacrificing density.
The industry accepts change if the singer anticipates it. Theaters plan Wagnerian cycles five or ten years in advance. Some music lovers prefer to pigeonhole me in Mozart, but recordings and favorable reviews dismantle their doubts.
I listened to veterans like Hans Hotter and observed their strategy. At every step I check my vocal health with technique masters. There are no shortcuts. The voice dictates the agenda and the career adapts.
The medium may appear rigid, even fearful. Yet it responds to evidence. If I feel fatigue, I rest. If I perceive freshness, I move forward. Thus the transition became a dialogue between the biology of my instrument and the artistic vision I wish to offer.
Today my voice possesses darkness, but also tenderness. I smile when I remember Figaro, because her vivacity lives on in my storytelling. That mix defines my current identity and proves that evolution is not loss, but transformation.
When the magic breaks
Music is magic. Music is hope.
When it happens, it covers everything with a mystical spell.
And then ... it ends.
You come back to reality and something breaks in that instant.
I imagine that for a singer that rupture is even more intense.
What is it like for you to descend from music to everyday life?
How do you manage not to break in the process... or at least not too much?
Sir Bryn Terfel: The end of an unforgettable concert brings a silence that scares. The applause ceases and the adrenaline fades. I feel a brief, almost metallic emptiness. I accept it as part of the job. Then I search for solid ground. My anchor is family. I have five children who welcome me unceremoniously. They don't ask for treble or pianissimos; they ask what's for dinner or when we're going to play soccer. That normality breaks the spell gently.
Coming home is decisive. I prepare breakfast, take the little ones to school, fix a leaky faucet. These simple tasks reorder the mind. They remind me that art lives, but life rules. I play tennis. Sport oxygenates the lungs and releases muscle tension.
I also rely on brief rituals. I listen to the sea around my house. The sound connects me to my childhood in Wales and reduces overexcitement. I don't deny the crack that opens as I step off the podium. I recognize it and cross it with small steps: family, routine, exercise, study. Thus the magic is not broken; it becomes another form of hope that accompanies me to the next role.
Sir Bryn Terfel's repertoire
One of your artistic hallmarks is your ability to jump between worlds: from Wagner and Puccini to musical theater and traditional folk songs. What guides your repertoire choices? What drives you to mix such different styles and how do you make those transitions make artistic sense?
Sir Bryn Terfel: I choose works that tell powerful stories. I see myself first as a storyteller. If the plot moves, I accept the challenge. I don't think "I'm an opera singer, I must say no to a musical". I think "can I serve this story with my voice and my presence?".
Diction decides everything. In Puccini I look for the roundness of Italian; in Rodgers I need clarity of consonants in English. I must get every word to the last seat. The audience understands me and then the emotion flows, regardless of the style.
I study each score with the same discipline. I spend hours in my studio singing fragments until the text lives inside me. The key is constant work and the humility of knowing that it is never perfect.
My dark timbre is best suited to dramatic roles. I use that color to create authority in Wotan or Scarpia. In musicals I soften the edge of the sound and emphasize warmth. The contrast reveals new facets. The audience discovers that the same voice can frighten and comfort at the same time.
I try to be a good colleague. I listen to the directors, respect my colleagues and try to be on time for every rehearsal. That attitude facilitates genre hopping, because mutual trust sustains the experiments.
I have been in my career for twenty years and I know that the body and the voice age. I want to explore these worlds before the voice leaves me. Variety keeps curiosity alive. So the transitions are not whimsy, but the natural evolution of a storyteller still searching for new paths.
The Welsh vocal tradition
Wales is often called "the land of singing". Singing, especially male choral singing, occupies a central place in your culture. How did that tradition shape your first steps as an artist? And today, what role does Welsh music retain in your musical life?
Sir Bryn Terfel: I grew up in a valley where every family supports at least one choir. My father sang bass in the local choir and so did my mother. They took me to rehearsals from the time I was a child. I would hear how the voices would intertwine and I felt the singing was so natural. I learned those songs without realizing it.
As a teenager, I followed the tradition and learned folk songs such as "Myfanwy" and "Ar Lan y Môr". Today, at 59, Welsh music remains at the center of my repertoire. I close many recitals with it because I want the public to hear my roots.
In short, Welsh music gave me identity, discipline and purpose. It lives on every time I project a low note or tell a story in any language. Without that heritage, my voice would lack soul.
The Te Deum from Toscaone of the most moving moments of the opera.
The Te Deum is chilling: Scarpia plans to abuse Tosca as a sacred hymn rises behind him, and suddenly exclaims, "Tosca, you make me forget God!" just before joining the procession. How do you prepare for something so emotionally and morally complex? How do you get into a character who is devout and depraved at the same time, and make that tension feel real to the audience?
Sir Bryn Terfel: I start by reading the libretto away from the music. I need to understand every word and every silence. Scarpia is a member of the secret service who uses faith as a weapon. I analyze the historical moment: Rome under siege, corrupt power, collective fear. That atmosphere feeds my imagination.
Then I study the score in pencil. I identify the bars in which I must sing with the voice of a predator and the bars in which liturgical piety commands. This alternation creates the tension.
The intensity of this unparalleled moment in the history of opera, I compare it to I compare it, for example, to Wotan in the second act of Die Walküre or with the Méphistophélès in The Damnation of Faust by Berlioz. And if I'm honest with you, to be able to interpret such intense moments as these is why I became a singer.
And that's what I'm going to do in my first concert in Mexico: sing to thrill.
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