For most of the world's bassos, Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov is operatic boodle, and they will go to considerable lengths to sing it in public. Its protagonist not only gets to wear some of opera's most magnificent costumes, but he has two long and meaty scenes in which to show off the full richness of his voice, rave through a couple of bloody hallucinations, and finally fall dead down a flight of stairs. Last week, at the Metropolitan Opera House, the part was taken by Jerome Hines, 32, the first U.S.-born basso to try it there, and the season's fourth basso (after Nicola Rossi-Lemeni, George London, Cesare Siepi) to sing Boris.
Basso Hines's voice was as big, dark and smooth as the best of them, and his basketball-player's height (6 ft. 6½ in.) gave him a properly commanding appear ance. His craggy makeup, with its shaggy beard and beetling brows, made him resemble the tormented Mussorgsky him self. He did not quite have the authority to dominate the role, but few expected a first try to be a great one, and the crowd yelled itself hoarse after the death scene, called Hines back for seven solo curtain calls.
Back-Porch Chemistry. The son of a Hollywood production manager, young Jerry Hines took singing lessons, but spent most of his spare time puttering with a chemistry lab on his back porch.
But when he landed his first role at the age of 18, as Bill Bobstay in H.M.S.
Pinafore, he knew he wanted a career as a singer. He got a degree in mathematics and chemistry at U.C.L.A., and, when he found he was half an inch too tall for military service, worked for an oil company during the war, singing when he had the chance. His teacher brought him to the Met in 1946, and he was hired on the spot.
Except for Mephistopheles in Gounod's Faust, he was long relegated to medium-size basso parts, found it difficult to compete with star foreigners for the leading roles. As a result, he does some shrewd horse-trading, e.g., he still sings the relatively minor parts of Brother Pimen (in Boris) and the Grand Inquisitor (in Don Carlo) in exchange for a share of the bigger parts.
Boris on the Couch. Basso Hines applied his scientific turn of mind to preparing his Boris. Last spring, on the Met tour, he took the character to half a dozen psychologists for analysis, wrote his findings for the current Musical America magazine. His own theory: Boris was a hysteric and a manic-depressive whose chest-heaving and temple-pounding came as natural results. His death, the cause of which is unclear in the libretto, was almost surely due to a cerebral hemorrhage. "Of course I didn't try to make a case history out of him," says Hines. "Once I understood the motivations,! forgot about it and sang the part."
But Jerome Hines's problem is still not solved: as one of four Boris bassos, he does not expect to get many chances to sing it. He now wants to try for a Don Giovanni at the Met, and then devote himself to his scheme of monopolizing a role that nobody else specializes in: Boito's version of the Faust legend, Mefistofele.