BocelliOnline

[Melodie]

Posted on Sun, Dec. 01, 2002

Tenors, anyone?

Though Andrea Bocelli is still the most exalted, some soulful Baby Bocellis are setting hearts afire.
By David Patrick Stearns
Inquirer Music Critic

To those who believe that there is and should be only one Andrea Bocelli, stop reading, immediately. If you don't, you'll be sorry.

While the Tuscan tenor has inspired a following so devoted that it borders on being monotheistic, his success has sired a new musical genre and a host of fresh faces. Known as pop tenors, PBS tenors or Baby Bocellis, these young talents include Mario Frangoulis, Josh Groban and Russell Watson, each with a distinct personality, but with key Bocellian elements in common: a cosmopolitan, semioperatic repertoire; an inspiring background story; and a kinder, gentler sex appeal.

And this is their season.

Recording companies have bet their promotional budgets on these talents during the Christmas shopping period; the singers' TV specials on PBS are the linchpins of stations' holiday membership drives. Great hopes ride on them at a time when sales projections yield anxiety elsewhere in the industry.

Those hopes are justified, because Bocelli and his brood have awakened the sleeping giant of the recording industry: devoted adult fans. In regions of Billboard magazine's Top 200 chart that are normally dominated by Eminem, Josh Groban's eponymous disc peaked at No. 8 this fall, selling two million copies. Bocelli is way ahead: He has five multi-platinum discs (Romanza sold 17 million in the United States) and his new Sentimento debuted on Nov. 23's Top 200 chart at No. 12. Watson and Frangoulis aren't there at the moment, but their respective albums, Encore and Sometimes I Dream, are crowding one another on the Top 5 of the classical crossover chart.

Adult consumers also can go for the big-ticket items: Prime seats for Bocelli's Dec. 8 First Union appearance are as high as $350 - and they sell.

Most curious, though, is the genre's purposefully international flavor. Although American pop has mostly been an English-language medium, the Bocelli babies often slip into Italian.

"The music is so different from what people are listening to in a pop context," said Lisa Stevens, senior vice president of marketing for Sony Classical. "It's classical to people who aren't core classical buyers. Culturally, it's almost an aspirational kind of purchase."

Just about anyone could take to these artists, which means the potential fan base could hardly be more dispersed. How to find it? Such matters are in the front of Stevens' brain, because she has the task of "breaking" Frangoulis, the new kid on the Baby Bocelli block.

The prerequisite for success in this world isn't so much a strong tenor voice as a strong but tender persona.

Female sympathy must be enlisted, and the poster boy, so far, is Groban, whose breakthrough began with filling in for Bocelli at the 1999 Grammy Awards and continued with an Ally McBeal guest shot, in which he played a sensitive, tormented teenager who astonishes his prom with his angelic singing voice.

That's not real life, of course, but with Groban's soulful eyes and boyish face, you could believe that it is. Frangoulis' story involves growing up in war-torn then-Rhodesia and fleeing to Greece, where he was raised by his aunt. It's dramatic. It's true. It's perfect.

Then there's the touched-by-an-angel quality. It's not enough for the voice to be beautiful; it must seem miraculous. There have been many blind performers, but few have generated the mystique of Bocelli, whose early lack of performance polish only heightened the sense that his talent hadn't been developed so much as it had been conferred upon him from on high.

Similarly, the 35-year-old Watson's working-class Manchester, England, background and the smoky men's clubs in which he sang were hardly the places to learn Puccini's "Nessun dorma." Yet he did. And Groban? He's 21. Few are so natural and guileless. The ultimate point of these qualities isn't sincerity, but authenticity. Nothing reveals vulnerability better than a momentary lack of stage assurance.

In contrast, the older Frangoulis (estimated by some to be in his early 30s) is the most experienced performer of the four, having studied at London's famous Guildhall School of Music and Drama, done time in the casts of Les Miserables and Phantom of the Opera, and enjoyed stardom in Greece for years. His showmanship is so polished it's almost intimidating. Or, for that matter, almost Vegas. Will the approachable, Byronic title of his new album, Sometimes I Dream, compensate for that? Nobody knows.

In spite of best-laid plans, popularity in this genre is far from predictable - or rational. You never know who will be seized upon, or why. Though opera snobs are said to hate Bocelli, there were some who proclaimed him from the beginning to have the prettiest voice in the business. Although Bocelli, now 44, has silenced many of his detractors with his positive vocal developments, less-snobby opera people beg to differ.

"I find his voice coarse, grating and lacking emotion," wrote one of Philadelphia's most recent converts to opera in an e-mail. "People tend to say, 'You like opera? You must love Bocelli,' which is akin to saying... 'You like food? You must love White Castle.' "

That's why Baby B. fans seem to come from everywhere, but no place in particular, which makes selling these singers so hit-and-miss that marketers crave a silver bullet - something that will find its target wherever it is. The best example is Groban's Ally McBeal appearance, which some call a "silver freight train."

"With these artists, you don't get the radio airplay. You don't have MTV," Stevens explained. "PBS is one of the few outlets left. It has an older, more affluent viewer and, like [National Public Radio], has people interested in more eclectic programming."

Another outlet is air travel. First-class passengers on American Airlines recently received a free Frangoulis CD sampler, and clips from his special are seen on in-flight programs. Recordings are sent out for play in posh restaurants and boutiques. The ideal scenario involves a network morning-show spot or, better yet, a song on the soundtrack of a hit movie.

The nightmare scenario is a depleted promotional budget, an exhausted staff, and a talent that flashes in the pan. And that's where these singers become truly unpredictable, because in this new genre, longevity is reached via different rules. For example, if his Nov. 23 special on PBS' Great Performances is any indication, Groban has an extremely narrow range. He sang one romantic ballad after another, with no variation in emotional tone.

For anyone else, this would be a 10-minute career. Yet there's no indication that Groban has peaked. Barbra Streisand's much-ballyhooed mystery collaborator on hernew Duets album turned out to be - Groban.

Is it possible that part of his popularity comes from his offering such a consistent commodity? These performers, like everybody else, are three-dimensional personalities offstage. Yet onstage, they are scrupulously one-dimensional, achieving a dependability that creates an emotional safety zone.

Groban's mellow voice (you can't call him a tenor) promises dewy-eyed romanticism - and nothing but. Watson offers a Dennis Quaid, cat-that-ate-the-canary sense of mischief. Frangoulis' chiseled face exudes male virility, and there's a robust tenor in the bargain. Bocelli is the Italian poet with an ache in his voice.

The attachment fans feel with these artists is all the more cemented for being uncomplicated, which explains why few other genres have resulted in such extraordinary tension between fans and critics. In each camp, perceptions come from opposite directions. Years of seeing rotund Luciano Pavarotti pass himself off as a starving poet in La Boheme have trained critics to look past a performer's exterior and listen analytically. Yet everyday CD consumers tend to operate from the gut, sometimes on the basis of appearance, and resent having their taste criticized.

Clearly, these performers aren't loved just for their voices, but for their souls - or what their souls are perceived to be. Critics don't think in those terms. For fans, purchasing their CDs and concert tickets aren't mercantile transactions as much as they're like accessing a new best friend. And that lack of complication means you can love them unconditionally. The artist is not just a singer, but more like a member of the family, minus any annoying tics.

Stevens encapsulates this dynamic best: "The secret weapon with [marketing] Mario," she says, "is Mario."


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Contact David Patrick Stearns at 215-854-4907 or [email protected].

http://www.philly.com/mld/inquirer/entertainment/4636809.htm