When Austral Sang. The Biography of Florence Austral

Michael Elphinstone and Wayne Hancock

Hyde Park Press 2005

ISBN 0 646 44033 0 $60

Reviewed by Elizabeth Silsbury

In writing When Austral Sang, Adelaide-trained musicologists Michael Elphinstone and Wayne Hancock were determined above all to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about a woman who was somewhat cavalier with her own truths. No source has been left unexplored in their quest. They have scoured the archives of printed and spoken words from Munich to Middlesex to Melbourne, being especially assiduous in refuting dodgy claims by the great soprano herself and the spurious entries that have ensued in previous less penetrating publications.

The result is much more than ‘yes it is no it isn’t’. In 655 pages, 13 chapters including a 46 page index, Appendices for Opera Repertory, Discography in four parts and four pages of Select Bibliography – what? there’s more? – they substantiate their arguments with 1,735 endnotes.

The story of an ordinary girl with an extraordinary voice who was born in Victorian suburban of Richmond, and her rise to become one of the most admired Wagnerian singers of her time is at the core of When Austral Sang ­– a distinctly gushy poem written by a Canadian admirer in the early 30s that provides the title.

We follow her early successes, her departure for study in America, her fudging of the truth about the lack of interest there in her talents and the move to England; her liaison with flautist John Amadio and its sad end; and mainly, of course, her career. Judgments of her work make frequent reference to the fact that while her voice was indeed wonderful to hear, her pitch and rhythm were distinctly unreliable and her acting was wooden. In person she was anything but – she was a charming hostess and loved entertaining at home in London, where most of her professional life was spent. Despite her flaws she sang opera, oratorio and art song around England and USA (the Brahms Requiem in Cincinatti) but failed two auditions at the Metropolitan Opera, the management reporting that she sang like a cook and looked like a German whale. Among many expectations publicly reported as fact was a plan for her to sing Brünnhilde under Richard Strauss in Vienna; a Ring engagement in Berlin was truncated, apparently due to her unsatisfactory performance. On balance, though, surely she scaled enough heights to inspire tolerance for the occasional crash landings.

Austral sang with most of the prominent singers and conductors of her time and made many broadcasts and recordings in the early days of the industry, leaving a vocal legacy that has entranced and even inspired many who came after her.

Although When Austral Sang is heavy going when read as a continuous narrative, it is well worth the effort. Only through knowing the extent of her struggles to secure engagements while overseas can the full impact of her final years in Australia be felt. Twenty-two years is a long time to live with the knowledge that your only asset, your beautiful voice, has deserted you, along with your husband. But despite illnesses (maybe less serious than Austral herself put about) she gamely tried teaching in Melbourne and Newcastle and adjudicating and advising Gertrude Johnson at the National Theatre Movement – none of which brought any further lustre to her name. She was 76 when she died, a good age for a cancer survivor with multiple sclerosis.

Some writers, some of them too willing to take her word for it, whatever it was, have queried whether there was room on the shelves for yet another book about Florence Austral. Her story needed to be set straight, and Elphinstone and Hancock have ironed out the kinks.