Pavarotti’s Voice Silenced

Most people haven’t been to an opera, couldn’t name a single opera and certainly don’t spend anytime listening to it. Yet, if asked to name an opera singer, the name Luciano Pavarotti comes easily to their lips. Yesterday, his manager, Terri Robson, issued a statement that read, “The great tenor, Luciano Pavarotti, died today at 5:00 a.m. at his home in Modena, the city of his birth.”

What made Mr. Pavarotti a cultural icon was a fortuitous marriage of voice with personality. Had he not been able to sing a note, there is every chance that his engaging character would have made him a star in some other field. But he could sing. Opera fanatics say that on February 17, 1972, at the Metropolitan Opera, he hit nine high C's in an aria from “The Daughter of the Regiment.” Not only could he hit the notes, he made them sparkle. His voice was particularly suited to the bel canto style that concentrates on the quality of the sound as well as the pitch.

However, that doesn’t make anyone a world famous singer. Opera tickets aren’t cheap (shame on the Ministries of Arts!), and there is a certain class-consciousness about attending. And there are damn few opera houses around. So, he took opera to where the people were. He starred in the first telecast of “Live from the Met” in March 1977. He sang to 150,000 in London’s Hyde Park in 1991; 500,000 on the Great Lawn of New York’s Central Park in 1993 (seen by millions on TV); and 300,000 in 1994 at the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

Not only did he charm the man in the street, he also wowed his fellow musicians. His work with Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo (The Three Tenors) and his charity collaborations with pop musicians (Elton John, Eric Clapton, Bruce Springsteen, Sting and Bono) took his music even farther afield. Bono said he was "a great volcano of a man who sang fire, but spilled over with a love of life in all its complexity. I spoke to him last week. The voice that was louder than any rock band was a whisper. Still he communicated his love. Full of love."

His life wasn’t all roses, of course. There were the tax issues with Italian and German authorities, and his marriage of 37 years broke up when he fell for his assistant who was younger than his first set of kids. His weight affected his health, too. Yet, through all of that, he continued singing until cancer made it impossible. London's Royal Opera House at Covent Garden said it best, “He introduced the extraordinary power of opera to people who perhaps would never have encountered opera and classical singing. In doing so, he enriched their lives. That will be his legacy.” Not bad for one lifetime.

© Copyright 2007 by The Kensington Review, Jeff Myhre, PhD, Editor. No part of this publication may be reproduced without written consent. Produced using Fedora Linux.

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