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Traian Grozăvescu (1895-1927) was a gifted Austro-Hungarian (later Romanian) tenor whose promising career was cut short by his tragic and untimely death. Born in Lugoj to a choral singer and his wife, Grozăvescu enrolled in law school in Budapest, but soon switched his focus to music. His studies were interrupted by the outbreak of WWI and the aspiring singer found himself at the European front serving as an artillery officer. Grozăvescu was captured as an enemy spy and spent a year in a POW camp. After his release, he made his way to Cluj, where he resumed his studies and began singing in the chorus of the newly formed Romanian National Opera. The tenor’s solo debut with the company occurred on Christmas Day, 1920 as Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly. Grozăvescu spent the next three seasons in Cluj, singing a variety of roles including Cavaradossi in Tosca, Don José in Carmen, the title role in Faust, Canio in Pagliacci and Turiddu in Cavalleria Rusticana. It was the last pair of roles that led to Grozăvescu leaving the National Opera in 1923. When management expected him to sing both roles in the same evening (for the same pay as a single role!), the tenor refused to appear, creating quite a scandal. Although Grozăvescu remained popular with the public in Cluj, he never sang with Romanian National Opera again. After the scandal in Cluj, Grozăvescu travelled to Vienna to pursue further vocal studies with baritone Franz Steiner (1876-1954). He accepted an offer from the Vienna Volksoper and made his debut there as Canio in Pagliacci on July 10, 1923. In March of the following year, he was engaged by the Vienna Staatsoper, making his debut there as Rodolfo in La Bohème. By now, Grozăvescu was married to Nelly Kövesdy (1896-1958), daughter of business magnate Teodor Kövesdy. Unfortunately, the tenor’s wife was a manipulative woman who insisted on controlling every aspect of his life. Nelly Grozăvescu was also a jealous woman who frequently accused her husband of extramarital affairs. Grozăvescu eventually realized that the marriage was a mistake but, in order to maintain peace, passively allowed his wife to handle his professional and personal business. When things became intolerable at home, the tenor sought refuge in his work…and in Viennese nightlife. After most performances, Grozăvescu would relieve his stress by eating, drinking and carousing at his favorite cafes. Although this excessive behavior caused the formerly trim and handsome young artist to grow rather portly, he still enjoyed the company of his adoring female fans, giving his wife Nelly even more reason to suspect him of infidelity. In spite of his domestic woes, Grozăvescu built an impressive career and was even hailed as the successor to Caruso. He continued to add roles to his repertoire including Vasco in L’Africaine, Radames in Aïda, Riccardo in Un Ballo in Maschera, Edgardo in Lucia di Lammermoor, Assad in Die Königin von Saba and the title roles in Andrea Chénier, L’Amico Fritz and Ernani. Frequent guest appearances in Bucharest, Salzburg, Bern, Prague, Budapest, Oslo and Berlin helped to establish him as a major star. By late 1926, the tenor had caught the attention of the Met in New York, who offered him a contract for the following season. Tragically, it was not to be. Grozăvescu grew tired of his wife’s suffocating presence and informed her that he wished to travel to New York without her. The two quarreled bitterly, with Nelly again accusing him of infidelity. The tenor sang what would prove to be his final performance, the Duke in Rigoletto, at the Staatsoper on February 14, 1927. The next day, as he was preparing to leave for New York, Nelly pulled a revolver and fired a single bullet into his head, killing him instantly. Traian Grozăvescu was only 31. Despite ample evidence of a premeditated act, Nelly Grozăvescu literally got away with murder. In the sensational trial that followed, the tenor’s widow used the “crime of passion” defense and, with the help of her influential father, was found not guilty. In a career that lasted barely six years, Traian Grozăvescu managed to establish himself as a major European star. Sadly, it was an ill-advised union with a controlling woman (not to mention his antagonizing said woman with his infidelity) that proved to be his downfall. What a tragic and senseless waste of an extraordinary talent. Grozăvescu’s catalogue of recordings, all made in Berlin for the Odeon label in 1924, capture a youthful artist on the brink of an international career that never came to fruition…a sad reminder of what could have been.
