Soprano Florence Quivar Is A Thoroughly Modern Diva

When fans and reviewers talk about Florence Quivar's voice, they use the kind of adjectives you find in restaurant-review accounts of the dessert menu: "Creamy." "Delectable." "Endless velvety riches."

Quivar, the American-born soprano who will sing the role of Princess Eboli in the (Gold Series) cast of Seattle Opera's "Don Carlos" (opening Wednesday), is likely to laugh at these adjectives, since she seldom indulges in desserts. She's the thoroughly modern version of the diva: travels with wrist weights, takes care of her health, balances her career so there's lots of concert and recital work in addition to the opera roles.

Yet she also exudes that great old-fashioned attribute of the diva: glamour, and lots of it. When Quivar, as Princess Eboli, sings the big aria "O don fatal," in which she laments the havoc wreaked by her fateful gift of beauty, audiences will have no trouble believing her.

The mezzo-soprano category, that deeper range that most of us grew up calling "alto," is not an easy one. The register tends to penetrate less well through ensembles and orchestras, so the singer must work hard to focus her sound without forcing or pushing.

And the mezzo hardly ever gets the guy. Seldom the heroine of any opera (though there are some lovely exceptions), she often is relegated to the role of the confidante, the nurse, the servant, even the old crone. Several of the opera world's most famous mezzo roles call for a demented old hag - and Quivar has had more than her fill of them.

Take the role of Ulrica in Verdi's "A Masked Ball," a role for which Quivar is besieged around the world, from the Paris Opera Bastille to the Metropolitan Opera to London's Covent Garden.

"Ulrica is an ugly old witch," laments Quivar, "and she hasn't much to sing. When you warm up your voice, you want to sing the whole show."

More intriguing to Quivar are roles such as Adalgisa (in "Norma") and Amneris (in "Aida"), as well as the troubled Princess Eboli of "Don Carlos." These are creatures of power and conflict.

Quivar is in the happy position of being able to pick and choose roles.

"I bought a nice house in Princeton," she says, `"ut I'm so busy I can't spend more than about three months at home each year. I just never get to that house. But I can't say I'm sorry to be busy!"

Quivar's career, which now takes her regularly around the world, was launched in 1975, when conductor Lorin Maazel led a concert version of "Porgy and Bess" in which Quivar joined a cast including Leona Mitchell and Barbara Hendricks. Requests for more symphonic work, including music of Rossini and Mahler, were quick to follow. Her repertoire grew - she can sing "Bluebeard's Castle" in both Hungarian and German - and Quivar learned how to balance her assignments so she didn't wear herself out.

Not a natural extrovert, Quivar has had to work to overcome shyness, particularly when working with such domineering figures as the late Herbert von Karajan.

"But you get more secure with yourself as you go on," she says.

"I've had a few turning points in the past few years, from the death of my longtime voice teacher (Marinka Gurewich) to the death of my mother. Dealing with all this has made me a stronger person.

"I like to think that there's a link between me and my ancestors, too. My great-grandfather was born a slave, but he formed a church which still exists in Philadelphia. He was famous as an orator, able to move people's emotions and understanding through his voice. As a singer, that's my goal, too."