I was born Jacob Pincus Perelmuth on June 3, 1904. My parents, Louis Perelmuth and Anna Posner Perelmuth, were Russian immigrants who settled on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. My mother wanted me to play the piano but we couldn’t afford one, so she settled on the violin. Occasionally during this period, I would sing at my local synagogue, winning praise for my high, pre-adolescent voice. Singing was far from the top of my priorities, however. My mother envisioned a medical career for me, and I had no objection. As I finished high school and began college, however, I began to have other ideas.
I put together a small dance band, featuring my violin, and made some extra money by playing at social events. The band started by playing at weddings held in the Perelmuth’s catering hall, but soon found other work. I enjoyed my musical work more than my schoolwork and saw that it could be far more remunerative than studying. When I failed out of Columbia University for neglecting my studies, I decided to try making a living as a full-time musician.
While struggling with my band, I eloped with my long-time girlfriend, Alice Kalmanowitz. Although Alice and I had first met as children in 1912, we did not begin dating until the mid-1920s. The Perelmuths did not approve of our relationship because they were afraid a serious girlfriend or wife might lure me away from my studies and the Kalmanowitzes disapproved because, although they liked me personally, they did not foresee a financially successful future for me. Alice and I had actually married in secret in October, 1928, several months before our elopement, but we each went back to live with our parents and told no one of the marriage. Finally, in June 1929, we ran off to Chicago and had our religious ceremony. Our parents were dismayed, but ultimately accepted the marriage and Alice and I returned to New York. In 1930, Alice gave birth to a son named Lawrence, who, as Larry Peerce, would grow up to become a successful television and motion picture director.
The band had found some success by this time, especially once I began singing the vocal choruses myself. Under the names Jack Pearl and Pinky Pearl, my band and I worked more and more until 1932 when a job at a hotel brought me together with impresario Samuel “Roxy” Rothafel. Rothafel was in the process of creating entertainment programs for the newly-completed Radio City Music Hall and he approached me after hearing me play and sing. I was surprised that Rothafel was interested at all, but particularly that he was interested in me as a singer, rather than a violinist. Rothafel changed my name to “John Pierce” and hired me as a singer. I had little confidence in my chances for success, largely because I thought my short stature, ethnic features, and wide body type would preclude me from winning over audiences. Rothafel told me I was “the handsomest man in the world” if I would only believe it and I credit Rothafel for giving me the confidence that would last the rest of my life.
While singing classical and popular music at Radio City Music Hall, I convinced Rothafel to compromise and call me “Jan Peerce.” The new name had the sound that Rothafel wanted, but made me feel more comfortable and closer to my own identity. As Jan Peerce, I also worked in radio, sometimes anonymously and sometimes under my new name. In 1935, Alice and I had our second child, Joy. My repertoire grew wider and began to include operatic arias as the 1930s wore on. In 1938, I was called upon to audition for Arturo Toscanini, the most famous conductor of the century. Toscanini needed a tenor for a concert performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and I had been recommended. After a successful audition in Toscanini’s hotel suite, I got the job and my appearance with Toscanini expanded my reputation greatly. Toscanini frequently referred to me as his “favorite tenor” and we maintained a friendship and occasional professional collaboration for fifteen years, until Toscanini’s retirement.
I had still never performed a full opera, although some critics and many fans were discussing my future as a tenor at The Metropolitan Opera. Though I was still unsure of my suitability for grand opera, my wife Alice had no doubts and, while serving as my agent, she booked me, without my knowledge, to appear in Rigoletto in Baltimore with star Robert Weede. I learned the part, honored my wife’s commitment and received great acclaim for my operatic debut. I began studying other operas and appearing in various touring companies throughout the United States, in addition to my concert tours. In 1939, Alice and I had our third child, Susan.
At last, in 1941, The Metropolitan Opera offered me a contract and on November 29, I made my Metropolitan Opera debut in La Traviata. Critics were nearly unanimous in their praise and I made numerous subsequent appearances that season. I remained a fixture at The Metropolitan Opera for twenty-five straight seasons. I was one of the institution’s most famous and commercially popular tenors, continuing to perform the roles I considered within the scope of my voice and personality. Despite urging by Toscanini and others, I insisted that not every opera was for every singer and I kept to my repertoire of approximately twenty operatic roles. I remained with The Metropolitan Opera, while also touring the country with various other companies, until 1966, when I retired from operatic performance because my vision had deteriorated and I could not navigate the complex sets anymore.
I was in constant demand as a concert performer from the 1930s through the 1980s. I traveled the country every year and made several international tours, including trips to Japan, South Africa, Western Europe, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. In 1956, I became the first American singer to visit the Soviet Union on a concert tour. Although throughout my life, people mistakenly claimed I had been a cantor, I did incorporate Passover services at various hotels into my appearance schedule. Each year from the 1960s through the early 1980s, I presided over religious services for hotel guests, usually in Miami, Florida.
I was a frequent and successful recording artist and pioneered a trail between classical or operatic singing and popular music. Frequently commenting that the only two kinds of music are “good” and “bad,” I would record entire operas, albums of arias and classical songs, as well as popular singles and albums of Broadway show tunes. My recording of “The Bluebird of Happiness” was immensely popular, eventually becoming one of the best-selling records by a concert artist. It also became my most requested number, to the shock and dismay of some classical critics.
After retiring from grand opera, I embarked on a new phase of performance: the musical theater. Feeling a very personal connection to the story of Fiddler on the Roof, I made it clear that I was interested in appearing in the play. After a summer tour of the show in Ohio, I took the lead role in the Broadway production for several months in 1971 and 1972. I would continue to tour with the show on and off through 1982. I never again appeared on Broadway, but did tour in The Rothschilds and an original musical intended for Broadway, Laugh a Little, Cry a Little.
I was very concerned with maintaining the quality of my voice and rehearsed constantly. My longevity was rare, if not unique, and I continued to impress critics and audiences until 1982, when I became ill and fell into a coma from which I never recovered. I died on December 15, 1984 in New York City.
2008 was such a bore, let's hope this year will bring us more. The pain it caused just makes me shrink so here's to you and my next drink! Have a very Happy Birthday Darling!
Ah! Enjoying the day, and listening to a wonderful 1950 recording of Rigoletto. I believe you might be familiar with it..Robert Shaw Chorale, an extremely impressive Tenor in the role of the Duke of Mantua, and the Rigoletto, well, I think he wasn't half-bad either!
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