I knew it was coming, but it’s still a shock when you hear of a loved one passing away. I opened up my e-mail to condolences, and knew Luciano had finally lost his battle and is now able to rest and see his mother and father. I will miss him terribly. He was a friend, a colleague, a mentor, coach, critic, and above all a grand human being.
We shared the stage in his World Tour concerts more than 30 times since my first encounter with him at his competition in 1989, where I was one of 40 winners. The direct result of the competition was being invited to sing with him on a PBS Pavarotti Plus and then singing Adina to his Nemorino in the Opera Company of Philadelphia’s production of The Elixir of Love. The production was almost cancelled because of cracked roof beams in the concert hall. What a thrill to be chosen to sing with the greatest voice of opera!
My career has had many exciting moments, many because of where and what I was singing while on tour with Luciano Pavarotti. I remember his humor—he loves to tell stories and jokes, which can be pretty tricky to follow in Modenese Italian.
He was a wonderful cook who loved wandering down the hallway of the hotel where we were staying, carrying a pan of scrambled eggs and tomatoes or whatever else we were all eating. Most nights before a concert he’d play poker until the wee hours, and usually win.
I’ve met little Alicia and have gone shopping many times with his wife, Nicoletta. One particular memory involves going in and out of an antique shop in San Antonio where Luciano was in search of the perfect birthday gift for Nicoletta. I knew it when I finally found it, and his face confirmed my find with an enormous grin and those sparkling eyes.
What memories there are. Eating truffles in Italy with his entourage after he sent the best hunter and his dogs out. Singing for the emir in Doha, Qatar four days before the Iraq War started. Meeting presidents and movie stars back stage after concerts. Police escorts, dinners in Japan, China, and Malaysia. Personal tours of amazing car collections. Swimming in the “cement pond” at a friend’s house in Beverly Hills. Everyone holding hands during takeoff and landing in the private jet (he was a nervous flyer), and many more.
At a Las Vegas rehearsal, he looked at me over his reading glasses and said, “Breathe and watch me . . .” He then proceeded to give me a note by note coaching through “Si, mi chiamano Mimi.”
Why me? I’ve asked many times. Being in the right place, maybe. Hard work, perhaps. But I think the best reason is he knew and I knew that our voices “felt” good together. That was and will always be an extraordinary sensation, standing on stage with Luciano, matching notes, phrasing, heart, and music with him. He didn’t intimidate me, nor did he ever try. He was always kind to me (sometimes even when it was hard to take) and requested to sing with me as much as was possible. We were set to do the final six concerts—including the White House—of his Farewell Tour when he discovered the cancer.
He gave me so much that I will carry with me always. He was a man who cared deeply about his family and friends, his art, and the far-reaching potential of music.
I could write a book, but for now I will mourn with the rest of the world over the loss of a singer who changed the face of opera and a friend who cared about me.
We will miss you Luciano. God rest.
