Jens Christian Tvilum

Tenor

Born in Odense in 1986. He made his debut at the Royal Danish Theatre in 2013 as Dr. Cajus in Falstaff. He has been a member of the Royal Danish Opera’s soloist ensemble since 2014.

Jens Christian Tvilum discovered his love of the stage at the age of 10 and grew up performing in amateur theatre, touring the world with a local theatre group. When he discovered his passion for opera as a teenager, he began studying in 2007 at the former Carl Nielsen Academy of Music in Odense, before continuing at the Opera Academy in Copenhagen.

At the Royal Danish Theatre, he has performed roles such as Don Ottavio in Don Giovanni, Tichon in Katya Kabanova, Eisenstein in Die Fledermaus, the First Armed Man in The Magic Flute, Triquet in Eugene Onegin, Camille de Rosillon in The Merry Widow 2.0, Arv in Maskarade, Pong in Turandot, Enrique in The Exterminating Angel, and Cajus in Falstaff.

Over the course of his career, he has worked with major conductors such as Alexander Vedernikov, Giancarlo Andretta, Christian Badea, Michael Boder, and Paolo Carignani, as well as renowned directors including Graham Vick, Stephan Herheim, Damiano Michieletto, and Marco Marelli.

Jens Christian also has an active concert career and has performed in works such as Mozart’s Requiem, Mendelssohn’s Die erste Walpurgisnacht, and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9.

He received the Reumert Talent Prize in 2011 for his debut as Don Basilio and Don Curzio in The Marriage of Figaro at Aarhus Summer Opera in 2010.

What can opera do?

What makes opera special is, of course, the singing. Singing is like a primal force that comes from deep within. We all know the urge to cheer when we are happy, to shout when we are angry, and to cry out when we are sad. We laugh and we weep. When we sing, it is this primal force that we open up to—something that words alone cannot achieve. Words can move the heart, but when they are set to music, something more happens: they take hold of the heart and either pull it or carry it along. Some call singers’ high notes “cultivated screams,” and that is not entirely wrong—cries of longing, pain, joy, and love.

The most unusual thing you have experienced on stage?

During the overture to The Marriage of Figaro, some of the soloists and I were dressed as servants, “preparing the stage.” Two of us had identical trousers, and by mistake the pairs had been switched. I ended up wearing my slimmer colleague’s trousers. Although they felt a bit tight, I didn’t notice anything wrong until I had to kneel on stage to lift something—and the trousers split. Fortunately, the audience didn’t seem to notice.

Later in the same performance, in the role of the lawyer Don Curzio, I wore black trousers and a very long frock coat. In the middle of the scene, both suspender clips at the back came undone, and I could feel my trousers slowly sliding down. Luckily, the coat covered it, but to keep them from falling down completely, I had to spread my legs more and more to hold them in place. It felt like a very long scene.

The final pair of trousers wasn’t mine. In the last act, Figaro had to kneel before Susanna (disguised as the Countess). His trousers split when he sat down, and since he couldn’t leave the stage until the very end, he had to perform the rest of the act facing the audience. It became a rather two-dimensional performance.

Who is your favourite singer?

Luciano Pavarotti. His technical skill and musical talent were unmatched. To see and hear him sing is, for a singer, a study in great vocal technique—and for anyone, pure pleasure to the ears.

What is your favourite opera?

My answer has always been that there are so many great ones that it’s impossible to choose just one. However, I have recently had to admit that when opera is occasionally played at home, it is Puccini’s La bohème. My favourite is the 1977 Met television recording with Renata Scotto and Luciano Pavarotti.

La bohème was also the first opera I ever saw, at the age of seven, in Verona. I was on holiday there with my family, and during the day we visited the arena. It turned out that there was a dress rehearsal of La bohème that same evening, and the tickets were free. My parents thought it would be a fun experience. We went, but had to leave during the interval because my nine-year-old sister and I couldn’t stay awake.