Luciano Pavarotti (October 12, 1935
– September 6, 2007): a brief appreciation
Luciano Pavarotti is
likely to be remembered for many reasons:
for being one third of the Three Tenors,
his tone and timbre, his distinctive
figure, his ability to almost caricaturise
the archetypical tenor with a drooping
white handkerchief, his popular appeal
that could draw crowds to fill football
stadia to hear opera, his humanitarian
work and, his now classic recording
of Nessun Dorma.
Music lovers will forever
debate who should be counted amongst
the truly great singers of all time.
Regarding tenors the debate is particularly
harsh: Caruso and Gigli undoubtedly
make the list, but so too might artists
as diverse as Jon Vickers, Peter Pears,
Giuseppe di Stefano, Franco Corelli
or Alfredo Kraus. The point is that
every voice has its own nuances to offer.
The two tenors with whom Luciano collaborated
most famously, Jose Carreras and Placido
Domingo, have their own star qualities,
be they feeling for text or exploration
of the psychological depths of many
of operas greatest roles. Luciano Pavarotti
is thought by some to fall short of
his colleagues in these two facets of
his art, but to focus entirely on these
points is perhaps to miss his greatest
contributions to operatic performance.
These, I would say,
were his near-effortless ringing tone
in the upper register, something that
was still evident until fairly late
on in his career. Even in darker passages
or roles his tone could only be described
as uplifting, Pavarotti’s voice was
instantly recognisable for its pliancy
and heart on sleeve emotional honesty.
The second quality I would pick out
was Pavarotti’s ability to characterise.
Restrain any surprise for a moment;
I’m referring to his facial acting,
not that of his bodily acting. Aware
no doubt of the limitations caused by
his physical size, he chose to focus
much of the expression of the role into
the face, which, as luck would have
it, proved to be a remarkably versatile
vehicle for him. Indeed, as a singing
student, I was often encouraged to watch
films of Pavarotti’s performances –
and those of others – as a means to
realising the range of expression that
is possible whilst singing.
It is some good fortune
that Luciano lived through the peak
period of the recording industry, for
most of his major roles and artistic
collaborations are preserved for posterity.
The best of them though come from earlier
in his career, when his voice could
seemingly do almost anything asked of
it. He himself was particularly proud
of the Idomeneo recorded under
Sir John Pritchard’s baton. He was indeed
a stylish Mozartian. Pollione in Bellini’s
Norma proved useful in collaboration
with Joan Sutherland, as did much else.
Verdi and Puccini though proved the
backbone of his stage repertoire: La
Traviata, I Pagliacci (the
earlier recordings of both are to be
preferred) and Il trovatore coupled
La Boheme – arguably his best
recording of which is a live version
conducted by Carlos Kleiber though the
studio version under Karajan is noteworthy
also – to each prove special in their
own way.
For a tenor often thought
to stick too much to the mainstream,
evidence is in the recordings to suggest
an investigative streak: a recording
of ‘alternative’ Verdi arias for Sony
CBS with Abbado, a controversial Otello
with Solti, and the Requiems of Donizetti
and Berlioz might be taken as examples
of this. Yet it was in Verdi’s Requiem
his plaintive tenor came into its own,
both under Solti and, later, recorded
live under Muti for EMI. Missed opportunities?
Most tantalising perhaps was the prospect
of a Pavarotti Lohengrin, which
he told the late Michael Oliver about
in an interview for Gramophone.
It seems lack of time to study the score
was one of the few obstacles in his
way. Of all the Wagnerian tenor roles
it is the one that would have suited
his voice the best: Wagner’s markings
take in the full range of dynamics,
and with its mixture of ardour, valiance
and mystery there is a far amount that
Luciano might have found appealing within
the score.
Luciano was of course
just as generous towards lighter music
in his career. Recordings exist featuring
collaborations with the likes of Henry
Mancini. The songs of Tosti played a
similar role for him as the Neapolitan
song had done for di Stefano years earlier.
A late recording with Leone Magiera
at the piano shows Luciano’s care for
Tosti at its most extensive; but already
the voice shows signs of needing more
preparation before the notes ring forth.
All of which was to form a firm basis
for ventures such as "Pavarotti
and Friends" and "The Three
Tenors" concerts. Of the Three
Tenors concerts I have little doubt
that the original was the best. Having
just been reissued in a deluxe 2 DVD
set you can hear that all three were
still in superb vocal shape. As an event,
a far cry from high art it might be,
but need one care so much? Luciano’s
personal charisma and popularity was
carefully employed to break down the
stuffiness of the classical music establishment
which at times can do it more harm than
good. Yet for about three brief seconds
in the encore of Nessun dorma,
when Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras
join together for the final fortissimo
Vincero! you hear a near ideal
tenor sound – a rich baritonal hue from
Domingo, a slight and pleasing nasality
from Carreras, and a golden openness
from Luciano completes the palette.
That quality, once heard, cannot fail
to lift the spirits and raise a smile
even on the most dismal day.
Evan Dickerson
http://www.pavarotti-forever.com/
