Pavarotti was a great icon for many. For me, he was my inspiration to sing. Every day for three years I used to watch him living life to the fullest, and whenever he was teaching me he always said “Come on! Be passionate about what you do! Sweat with desire to sing.”
As a student I was unsure what this meant, so I wrongly started to push my voice and try to “do” things with energy. He constantly told me that first you must acquire the knowledge (technique), then you must allow your talent to soar out to the world. The only “doing” aspect is the energy and passion. That way it all becomes beautiful and seemingly easy.
He told me something I’ll never forget: “You are a beautiful woman and a beautiful singer. Now choose which means more to you. You have to work hard at both for life: To sing like a God you have to devote yourself to it 100 percent and be generous enough to give it all away to others.” That message will stay with me for life. R.I.P. Luciano.
—Catriona Gallo
I was a finalist in the second Pavarotti/Opera Company of Philadelphia competition, and I chose to sing “Ah, fors’è lui, Sempre libera.” I was last out of 35 singers to sing for the committee at the Beacon Theatre in NYC, having been bussed from Philadelphia at 6:30 a.m.
Finally, around 4 p.m., I sang, and naturally planned on taking the standard cut used for auditions, cutting out the tenor part. Well, at the moment of the cut, out of the dark theatre, singing into a microphone, came the voice of Luciano himself singing Alfredo. Poor John Wustman from the piano yelled “No, Luciano! It’s been such a long day!” but he kept singing, and I finished the aria. So I sang with Pavarotti that day. Too bad I didn’t have a tape player!
—Andrea Broido
I wandered the plaza of the Los Angeles Music Center on a warm, sunny afternoon, gazing at the jacaranda trees with their lavender blooms and listening in my mind’s ear to “The Dance of the Happy Shade” from Gluck’s Orfeo. Played by a lone flutist, it had been televised as part of Luciano Pavarotti’s funeral the day prior. I had come to L.A. for the Verdi Requiem that Placido Domingo would conduct in honor of L.A. Opera’s late chief executive officer, Edgar Baitzel, and in memory of his longtime tenor colleague.
I remembered first hearing Pavarotti in Florida, where he sang Edgardo to Joan Sutherland’s Lucia. My friends and I had spoken with her before the performance and asked if we could come back to see her after the Mad Scene. “You can if you want to, but I’ll bet you won’t,” she said. She was right. We all stayed to hear the incredible new tenor sing the finale.
Now Pavarotti’s career is over, but history repeats itself. Domingo conducted the Requiem with the wonderful Los Angeles Opera Orchestra and fabulous soloists, including a previously unknown tenor, Arturo Chacon Cruz. It was an unforgettable experience and an emotional powerhouse. I’ve still got goose bumps. I think Luciano looked down and smiled.
—Maria Nockin
I remember when I was a student at the University of Illinois in 1976-77, I attended a masterclass where Erie Mills, Eric Halfvarson (I think), and a few other masters’ students sang, and Luciano was giving the class. What a thrill. It was at that class that John Wustman, (then a professor at U of I and also the accompanist for M. Pavarotti) told Luciano that he had to hear a wonderful tenor about to graduate named Jerry Hadley. Jerry (who I will always remember as a flirty, handsome, fun guy with an amazing voice) was asked to sing for Luciano but politely requested to sing for him at some other time because he wasn’t prepared properly to show his best. He then got an open invitation from Pavarotti to come to New York City and sing for him there. The rest as we say, is history.
When I reflect on this I am saddened by the recent losses to our art form, but I am gratified that I did know Jerry, and, even though I was “just in the chorus,” by how kind he was to me. And how kind Pavarotti was to all of us, and what an amazing voice he had.
—Sivia Van Gundy, Los Gatos, Calif.
I missed out on a chance to see Pavarotti when I was living in Tulsa, Okla. because I was in a performance that night. He started his Farewell Tour there and I remember the big question on the evening news. “Why start with Tulsa?” the reporter anxiously asked him—and then, when the cameras showed Pavarotti’s face for a response, he was smiling and had a twinkle in his eye, and he said “Why not?” We never will know the answer, but his reply was so cute!
—Gracie Moore, Roanoke, Va.
As a young high school tenor, my first classical recording (on two cassettes!) was Pavarotti’s Greatest Hits collection. It’s the only recording I ever wore out physically due to use. It was my introduction to opera and many of the Italian standards.
Fast forward to college and my first trip to the Met: Pavarotti singing Cavaradossi. With much enthusiasm, and nary a clue, several fraternity brothers and I managed a dressing room visit after the performance, where we presented him with a Phi Mu Alpha sweatshirt from our chapter back in Missouri. A picture from that visit, with seven of us circling around the Maestro while he sat, exhausted, holding up our sweatshirt, is among my favorite photographic memories. He dwarfed us, both in size and distinction. We were wide-eyed and cocky; he was seasoned and gracious.
—Curtis Tucker, general director, Lake George Opera at Saratoga
I had the distinct honor of knowing dear Luciano. I participated in his masterclass at Carnegie Hall. His love of the young artist and desire to help is a memory I shall always remember. He hugged me and told me to “learn how to cover” the high notes. Now that I have written a book and know the science behind it, I now know what he meant.
He created the International Pavarotti Competition in Philadelphia, and he provided free transportation to all of us. I was at the Vienna State Opera in Austria at the time. I did not win, but I got a free ride home!
He sang at The Kennedy Center in D.C. and I stood in line to greet him. He tried to kiss me on the lips and I pulled back. He asked me: “Ma perche tu non mi baccia?” I told him that I was a one-man woman and that he could kiss me on the cheek. We chuckled and I have the picture of him accepting to kiss me on the cheek instead of the lips!
—Chrissellene G. Petropoulos
As music critic for the Boston Herald, I was assigned to cover the filming of a big scene from Pavarotti’s one movie, Yes, Giorgio. I was quite cranky about the project because it meant sitting outside, on the ground, with about 300,000 other listeners at Boston’s Hatch Shell. John Williams and the Boston Pops were on stage and Pavarotti sang Werther’s aria, “Pourquoi me réveiller?” It was the most inauspicious moment for music-making one could imagine.
. . . Yet, Pavarotti opened his mouth and delivered the most heart-stoppingly lovely performance one could imagine. The diction was flawless, the sound sumptuous, the interpretation deeply poignant—even with the distortion of an outdoor sound system. Time stopped. The crowds disappeared. The crass commercialism receded. It was one of the most memorable listening experiences I have had—and there have been many.
—Ellen Pfeifer
I heard Pavarotti singing a live concert at the Oakland Coliseum in 1991. What I remember most is that although I was just one face in a sea of 10-12,000 audience members, I felt as if he was singing directly to me. That ringing, clear, natural voice was like none other. What a sad year for opera!
—Linda Noble Brown
