I first met Nico Castel in 1991 at the International Institute of Vocal Arts summer program run by Bill Woodruff in Tampa, Florida. I showed up for my coaching all set to sing “Come scoglio.” As a very young singer, I thought my Italian was pretty good—I’d studied the language and had had diction classes, of course! The very first word out of my mouth, “Temerari!” was met with a resounding “No!” and a pound on the piano—I had given him a huge double “m,” alas for me! I trembled in my pumps and tried to do better but, boy, did I get a lesson that day!
The faculty decided that all of the participants could stand to be immersed in Italian, and the next summer they took the program to Chiari, Italy. That is where I met Nico’s wife Carol. I coached with the Castels now and then during the 90s, and when I moved to NYC in 2000, I studied voice with Carol full time. I was actually in and out of the city at first, and once in a while they would kindly let me stay with them for a few days. Later, Carol asked me to be the administrator for the summer program they ran at Vassar and then at the Sullivan County Community College, which I did from 2006–2013. Several of those summers, I also apartment sat for them while they travelled to teach and direct elsewhere. They were very kind to open their hearts and home to me, and I would open their mail and take care of the office for them.
I somehow managed never to hear Nico in any of his nearly 800 performances at the Met—which I truly regret. Just from watching him conduct masterclasses and watching him demonstrate, I could see that he was brilliant onstage, truly inhabiting a character even in a line or two.
In 2011, I sang with Nico and tenor Mariano Vidal in a concert of Spanish and Latin American songs as a fundraiser for the Delaware Valley Opera. He still sounded fabulous and communicated so well, not only the text but also what the text meant to him. I felt truly honored to share that stage with him. Our encore was a “three tenors”-type version of “Granada,” and I remember much laughter as we figured out who would sing which lines.
Of course, he is probably best known to new generations of singers as a brilliant linguist who was fluent in many languages, and I believe that is one reason he was so brilliant onstage. He knew nuance like no one else I’ve ever encountered, and that comes from fully knowing a language inside out and knowing every definition of a word. It always blew my mind that he was capable of playing multilingual Scrabble—it had never occurred to me before to even attempt to do that. His 15 volumes of opera libretti with word-for-word translations (and explanations, when confusing) and IPA transliterations have become a boon for young singers to assist them in their translating work, and his name has become a verb—“I can’t go out tonight. I have to stay home and Nico my Bohème score.”
It is the offstage Nico that I know best, though. The first time I stayed with them on an audition trip to the city, I was watching TV with Carol in the living room. He emerged from the office and said to her, “Can I get you something from the kitchen, mein Engel?” I was floored—the hard-as-nails diction coach who had so terrified me was a teddy bear!
He loved to laugh and he seemed to delight in making others laugh. Conversations could change languages midstream, or he would use an accent for effect (my favorite was when he did a Brooklyn accent). He loved watching the World Cup. When we were at the summer program, we had to make sure he could watch the games when he wasn’t teaching or coaching. I was never too into soccer before that—but since that first summer, I watch the World Cup games, rooting as he did for Portugal until they are out, and then I root for Spain. His enthusiasm was that infectious!
Nico was great fun to watch old movies on Turner Classics with, and I remember watching episodes of Law & Order with him and Carol. At the very last frame of each episode, when Dick Wolf’s name came on the screen, they would look at each other and give a little wolf howl and laugh.
For all of his glorious accomplishments onstage and otherwise professionally, this is what touched my heart the most. Nico Castel was a wonderfully loving man. He loved Carol and his daughter Sasha and the rest of his family and friends. He loved the music he worked with and loved the languages passionately. This is why he could be a taskmaster—it was all very dear to his heart. It wasn’t just that you had to say a word correctly—you had to say it correctly because to do otherwise would be unloving and dishonoring to the language. And Nico was deeply loved in return and touched many, many lives.
I feel compelled to conclude with not only “Rest in peace, Nico,” who was dear to so many, but also to the many who may be reading this: “Now go and work on your languages!”
