First posted as a comment, but the diary has scrolled off the Recent Diaries list. For those who would enjoy the video clips in this diary by dangangry and the comments, go here:
http://www.dailykos.com/...
Artists who can give us the breath of God, the single note of inestimable beauty, who speak to us of the sublime leave their mark from one soul to another.
Luciano Pavarotti attained that mark. He gave us that mark. Forever, he will sound out the ending of "Nessun Dorma," the repeated "Vincero!" (I shall win!)
I have been listening to NPR out of NYC with its raft of critics "balancing" the Pavarotti legend. It increased my pain. Well, that balanced critique is the role of the professional critic. But to me one single note of incredible beauty, the sublime, is worth all of a person’s lifetime. And Luciano gave me many such notes.
I have been in love with Luciano for decades. I wanted to wallow in his vocal cords. I wanted his mouth to shape "A Vucchella" forever. I longed for him to burst into song with his incredible lung power, then speak to me softly in a whisper that could be heard in an auditorium.
I was kissed by Pavarotti over and over. His recordings gave me divine pleasure through the darkest days of my life. "Vin-ce-ro!" gave me courage and sustained me, not solely to survive, but to win over my darkest demons.
I had seen one Pavarotti superstar concert in Baltimore. A "cattle call," I named it. Somewhere in the middle of a vast convention center and armed with opera glasses, I felt dissatisfied. It was nothing I couldn’t hear on a CD, except for the excitement of the vast audience.
When the opportunity arose to get a season ticket for a Washington opera performers series for the winter season of 1987-88, I jumped at the chance. Poor though I was, the season of special appearances including Pavarotti, was a compulsion. It was worth the entire season’s cost to attend, not a superstar concert, but a Pavarotti recital in DAR Constitution Hall, which seats about 3,500 people.
The recital was scheduled for 3 p.m. on a Sunday. I lived in Takoma Park, MD, at the time and planned to drive into D.C. for the event. So much for plans. My car, infamous for not starting at critical moments, refused to start to take me to Pavarotti. So, one hour before the start of the performance, there I was on a Sunday-quiet main street trying to find a taxi to hail. Well, God or Pavarotti sent me a taxi in the suburbs, and we hightailed it to the Takoma Park Metro Station. I exited the Metro in D.C. to find a policeman who could direct me to Constitution Hall. Unbelievably, I made it to the venue at the stroke of 3 p.m. and the doors where just opening.
I swear I heard the Divine that afternoon, not only the soaring high notes of a tenor, but the profoundly beautiful baritone range and whispers that spoke of his love for the music. Without an orchestra, his voice accompanied only by piano was the sweetest, most stirring sound I have ever heard in my life.
A lifetime reader of books with a propensity for the romantic, I decided to resurrect an old custom. I wrote Pavarotti a note requesting the Tosti song "A Vucchella," not listed on the program -- decidedly a disappointment. Of course, I included my seat number. I gave it to an usher requesting that it be delivered to Pavarotti.
Pavarotti responded to the rousing applause, cheering and demands of the audience at the program’s end. He entered again – carrying a single red rose, and I knew what he would sing. The strain of "A Vucchella" began:
http://www.answers.com/...
This song brings together a rather unusual combination--the poet Gabriele D'Annunzio, the Neapolitan dialect, and a very light-hearted sensuality.
D'Annunzio is far better known for his heavily erotic materials such as the libretto to Zandonai's Francesca da Rimini, rather than this cheerful poem asking for a kiss.
"Yes, you have lips just like a flower's petals, pouting a tiny, a very tiny bit. Please, give them to me, give them to me, they are like roses, give me a little kiss, give me one, Cannetella! Give them to me and take mine, a little kiss, from your rosy lips, which are pouting a tiny, a very tiny bit."
As Luciano sang the last verse, he turned to his left – in my direction – and sang the tender ending. (To me, of course. I would entertain no other thought.)
The recital ended, and I felt I had purchased the most noteworthy thing in my life. Today, I am convinced of it. If I hadn’t been in recovery from alcoholism, I would have spent the money on my best friend, booze, instead of the sublime.
But, there’s more. Like many in the audience, I hustled to the back exit. We were hoping for a glimpse of the maestro. A huge black car exited the ramp, but word quickly was passed that it was a decoy.
I ran. I ran that strange high-heeled strut to the front of the building, standing a curbside. I was blessed again that day. There was the car with Luciano in the passenger seat, stuck in a line of traffic – RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!
I screamed: "Luciano! Luciano!" Finally, perhaps afraid that I would attract the attention of hoards of people, he turned to me – and blew me a kiss.
The kiss of the divine from four feet away.
That’s my Pavarotti story. It happened just before I moved to St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands. I must have been doing something right that year when I had the glorious gift of Pavarotti in recital and a job offer -- a newspaper and the beach-- in the same Fall.
I wrote him a letter, asking that he record a recital performance. He did – about a year later. He also sent me a signed photograph.
The photograph was lost along with most of my belongings in Hurricane Marilyn that devastated St. Thomas in 1995. I don’t need the photograph. But I did then and do need always -- "Vincero!"
To this day, I remember "Vin-ce-ro!" with special meaning.
Luciano, the gift-giver, remains in my heart and soul – and all of us. Forever.
Thank you, Luciano.