The story of Greek tenor Costa Milona (1889-1949) is both fascinating and distressing. Born Konstantinos Mylonas to poor farmers in Keratea, East Attica, he lost his father as a youth. Kostas, as he was known, found work in the local mines, often amusing himself by singing on the job. He was overheard by a music loving engineer named Anastasios Kyriakidis, who recognized a rare talent and offered to pay for his studies. In the fall of 1908, Kostas was enrolled at the University of Athens. After four years of Byzantine Music studies, the tenor found himself in the Hellenic Army, fighting in the First Balkan War. At the war’s end, he returned to civilian life, enrolling in the Athens Conservatoire in the fall of 1913. Here, Kostas gave his first public performance in a play by Legouvé, with his singing debut following in a 1917 student recital. Kostas’ education was again interrupted in WWI, when he was placed in the Macedonian Muleteer Corps, earning the British War Medal for his service.
After graduating with honors from Athens Conservatoire, Kostas, who had been employed as a cantor at an Athens Greek Orthodox church, attempted an operatic career. The tenor’s diminutive stature, barely five feet tall, relegated him to supporting roles, mostly in operetta. Frustrated, he left Greece for Italy, never to return. Now calling himself Costa Milona, the tenor landed in Rome in early 1921, vainly searching for singing work. When money ran low, Milona tried his luck in Milan, where he was awarded a scholarship to the prestigious La Scala Opera School. Unfortunately, singing work was still hard to come by. After a year of study, Milona moved again, this time to Berlin.
After arriving in Berlin in 1922, the tenor’s fortunes started to change. Record labels finally recognized Milona’s voice as a marketable commodity. A long association with Parlophon produced nearly 100 sides during the next decade. Milona also began another association…a rather unfortunate one…with the National Socialist Party. Although this alliance proved profitable for the tenor, it would come back to haunt him. Meanwhile, Milona became an extremely popular recording artist and recitalist. In early 1923, he appeared in Tristan und Isolde at the Opéra de Monte-Carlo. What he sang, however, were the typical tiny roles…the shepherd and young sailor. Nearly a decade would elapse before Milona set foot on the opera stage again.
Milona, now married with a family, reveled in his popularity, embracing the new medium of radio. Milona didn’t merely sing on radio, however. As was the case with other artists living in fascist states, the tenor was pressured to deliver Nazi propaganda. After a decade away from the stage, Milona sang Rodolfo in Bohème with Staatsoper Wien on March 22, 1932, also singing a Verdi Requiem that same year. Now known as “Little Caruso”, or “The Pocket Caruso”, Milona concertized throughout Germany and Austria and was in Amsterdam for a 1934 performance over KRO under Henri van Goudoever. Milona was listed on the 1935-36 roster of Oper Frankfurt and sang Bohème and Pagliacci with Deutsche Oper Berlin in June 1937. He also sang these operas, as well as Ballo in Maschera at Volksoper Wien the following year, and gave a Verdi concert at Vienna Musikverein in December 1940. Milona performed at Oper Frankfurt as late as 1942, confining himself to concerts and radio broadcasts after that.
After the war, however, Milona found himself in dire straits. An April 1946 Berlin concert turned out to be his swansong. Failing health, vocal decline and his alliance with the Nazis rendered him unemployable. Milona’s bank accounts had been seized, leaving him destitute. Travel funds came from a wealthy London widow who had known the tenor in Berlin. With all his worldly goods packed in a single suitcase, Milona moved into her home in the Hendon district. Despite the comfortable setting, the tenor’s health continued to decline. Following a heart attack, Costa Milona died on March 27, 1949. He was 60.
Costa Milona’s story is a tragic one. Although the tenor’s political affiliations initially worked to his advantage, they were his ultimate undoing. Opinion is divided as to Milona’s motives. He is vilified by those who feel that he gladly exploited the regime’s favoritism. Others defend the tenor, saying that defying the Nazis would not only have cost him his career, but his very life. Ultimately, it is impossible to know the truth of the matter. It is perhaps best to separate art from political ties. Milona’s recordings, made from 1922 to 1940 for Parlophon, Vox, and Homocord (I exclude the mid 1940s propaganda speeches), reveal a rich, Italianate lirico-spinto voice, a bit muffled in the lower register, but with a brilliant top. Despite some haphazard musicianship, these records are still quite a joy to listen to. Here, Milona sings “Addio fiorito asil” from Puccini’s Madama Butterfly. This was recorded in Berlin for Parlophon on June 19, 1930.
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