Sometimes unpretentious artists take a while to get noticed, especially if they are laser-focused on their craft, aren’t seduced by glitz, and don’t buy into traditional audience expectations. By all accounts, the great soprano Benita Valente, who died last Friday at 91, fell into that category.
In a 1985 profile for The New York Times Magazine, Linda Blandford wrote admiringly about Valente’s work ethic, watching her rehearse a Handel cantata for an upcoming recital at Carnegie Hall. “People overlook how stunning and complete is her virtuosic command,” Blandford attested. “No one values what seems this easy.” (To this suggestion, Valente had a quick riposte: “Easy? I work hard, all the time. I never stop working, never stop trying to improve, never stop thinking about what I'm doing.”)
Valente was a singular talent beloved worldwide and adored in Philadelphia. Her silvery tone by itself might be enough for some fans, but her unforced, natural phrasing, coupled with immaculate intonation, will always remain a yardstick for others. Consider the innocence and seeming effortlessness of her 1961 version of The Shepherd on the Rock by Schubert, recorded at the Marlboro Music Festival, with Harold Wright sounding glorious in the clarinet acrobatics, and Rudolf Serkin at the piano.
Valente died last Friday at her home in Rittenhouse Square, confirmed by her son, Pete Checchia. Over the last few decades, she and her husband, Anthony (Tony) Checchia, who died in 2024, were as much a part of Philadelphia’s DNA as any artists in the city.
Born in Delano, California on Oct. 19, 1934, Benita Valente moved to the City of Brotherly Love to attend the Curtis Institute of Music, where she studied with the French baritone Martial Singher and soprano / mezzo-soprano Margaret Harshaw. She graduated in 1960, and that same year won The Metropolitan Opera’s National Council Auditions, followed by a performance with Serkin at Marlboro.
Her husband, whom she married a year earlier, later partnered with Marlboro’s manager, composer Philip Maneval, to create the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society, and both organizations share an interlocking relationship to this day.
Valente began her operatic career in 1962 at Theater Freiburg in Breisgau, Germany, as Pamina in Mozart's Die Zauberflöte. She continued to sing in Europe, before making her 1973 Met Opera debut in the same role, which she would eventually sing more than 200 times. In addition to Mozart — she also sang in Idomeneo and The Marriage of Figaro — both Falstaff (as Nannetta) and Rigoletto (Gilda) were good fits. She ultimately appeared at the Met over 70 times.
Perhaps her most thrilling night was in 1984, when she appeared at The Met Opera in the premiere of Handel’s Rinaldo, the company’s first-ever performance of an opera by the composer. “On opening night,” Blandford recalled, “it was not Marilyn Horne but Miss Valente who unexpectedly walked off with the evening's longest ovation.”
Yet despite her successes worldwide, she remained an ardent Philadelphian. After making her debut with The Philadelphia Orchestra in 1958, when she was still a student at Curtis, she performed some 60 times with the ensemble. (Baseball fans will be delighted to know that she was also a fervent fan of the Phillies.)
On recordings, she covered repertoire from Brahms, Schubert, and Wolf, to outliers like William Bolcom and Luigi Dallapiccola. She collaborated with the Juilliard String Quartet on a recording of Arnold Schoenberg's Quartet No. 2 that won the 1978 Grammy Award for best chamber music performance.
Also revered as a teacher, Valente inspired students at the Academy of Vocal Arts and at Temple University. Maneval recalled dozens of colleagues and mentees, in addition to an avalanche of tributes on social media, as evidence of her influence. ''Young singers ask me, 'Do I have to live in New York?'” recalls Pete. She would reply, “You can live wherever you want — as long as people think you live in New York.” That quip was clearly a part of her down-to-earth approach to her art and to life in general, borne out by others’ comments.
Yet more Philly snapshots emerged from telephone conversation with the renowned New York dramaturg Cori Ellison. In 1980, she traveled to Philadelphia to see Valente in Die Zauberflöte at the then-called Opera Company of Philadelphia, after a friend promised to introduce them. That meeting spawned a friendship that lasted some 40 years, including Ellison’s time as Valente’s program annotator. The pair often met at favorite haunts near Valente’s home in Rittenhouse Square, with Di Bruno Bros. and Marathon Grill at the top of the list.
Ellison confirmed others’ comments about Valente’s granitic devotion to her craft. Despite the goodwill and bonhomie, “In the studio, no matter how friendly, even if she had just made you a tuna salad sandwich, no holds were barred. She was an exacting master.”
In 1999, a year before Valente retired from singing at age 65, Chamber Music America bestowed upon her the Richard J. Bogomolny National Service Award, the organization’s highest honor for contributions to chamber music. Notably, among a field of starry previous recipients, this was the first time that a vocalist was chosen.
In addition to Pete, Valente is survived by Eliza Batlle, the daughter of Uruguayan pianist Luis Batlle, a regular presence at Marlboro. “She was not my sister by birth, but by choice,” explains Pete. “Benita and Eliza called each other mother and daughter. I call her my sister, and Eliza called Pop ‘the main man.’”
Ellison summed up the Valente era, exuding both wistfulness and a bit of the youthful excitement of that first meeting. When they would go shopping or to concerts, Ellison recalls, “You could not walk a block without people recognizing her. Everyone knew her, and she was always warm and gracious. In Philly, she and Tony were the king and queen of classical music, and they wore their mantles with great dignity.”
