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[Melodie]

At the Met, curtain comes down on incomparable 43-year career

By Richard Dyer, Globe Staff, 3/14/2004

"In boca del lupo" -- "into the mouth of the wolf" -- is the traditional greeting exchanged by Italian opera singers before they go onstage. They say this instead of courting disaster by wishing one another good luck.

Last night Luciano Pavarotti was scheduled to step into the mouth of the wolf for the last time when he sang his farewell performance at the Metropolitan Opera and his last scheduled opera appearance, ending a resplendent stage career that began 43 years ago with a performance of "La Boheme" in Reggio Emilia, Italy.

The tenor plans to keep singing concerts until his 70th birthday in October 2005; his website lists forthcoming dates in Japan, Greece, and Spain. In a recent converation about his pop album "Ti Adoro," Pavarotti did not rule out the possibility of a farewell appearance in Boston.

This is not the occasion to survey Pavarotti's nonoperatic career in concert, arena events, on film and television, with the Three Tenors, and as a newsworthy talk show celebrity; all of that continues. What is important is that Pavarotti let all of his outside activities feed back into opera. He could have left the opera house decades ago and made even more money than he has, but he chose not to. The musical world needs its celebrities because they vouch for the validity of the art. No opera singer in history has been better known to a mass audience, so Pavarotti's contribution to opera has lain not only in his performances (and in his support of younger singers), but also in the way he created an increased public awareness of the art he served.

Pavarotti's voice is unique, his sunburst timbre instantly recognizable and unforgettable. At the beginning his instrument was bright, lyrical, and perfectly poised all the way up to high D; he became a megastar when he fired off a volley of nine consecutive high C's in "La Fille du Regiment." His isn't an especially large or loud voice; one source of its appeal is its quality. Pavarotti spins phrases on a silken legato at every dynamic level and his diction is always a model of how to sing the Italian language.

He may not be able to read music -- reports vary -- but his musicality is instinctive, natural, communicative, and convincing. He seems to rejoice in the physical act of singing, and he has always sung honestly, with open-hearted emotion. His singing has personality because it emanates from a person -- you always have the feeling he is sharing something with you when he sings. As the years passed, Pavarotti's voice darkened and deepened a little, and he was able to tackle heavier roles. At an age when most of his legendary predecessors were retired or deceased, Pavarotti soldiered on, sometimes when he shouldn't have. Despite fluctuating weight Pavarotti was usually light on his feet, until knee and hip problems restricted his mobility. The years have shortened his span of breath and sometimes compromise his rhythm and phrasing; time has dried some of the juice out of his sound.

Still, a certain amount of the lyric spin of his voice remains to this day; no earlier tenor who recorded at his age has sounded significantly better than Pavarotti does now. His voice shows decades of use, but no sign of abuse. He was never a particularly compelling actor and ultimately he became so famous a personality that it was virtually impossible for him to disappear inside a role. "He plays the part of being Pavarotti with succulent delectation," states the late Nicolas Slonimsky in "Baker's Biographical Dictionary of Musicians." He has always been boyishly eager to please the audience, gentlemanly and gallant in his treatment of female colleagues; these qualities remained even when his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed days were behind him and his hairdresser wasn't the only one who knew for sure.

Something in the character of Riccardo in "Un Ballo in Maschera" appealed to him, and he worked harder to communicate that than he sometimes did -- his performance was full of passion, playfulness, despair, dignity, and nobility. Because life didn't bring him many comic roles, he was particularly cherishable in the few he did perform. He enjoyed the self-caricature of portraying the Italian Singer in Strauss's "Der Rosenkavalier," and audiences adored him as the tipsy, lovesick country bumpkin Nemorino in "L'Elisir d'Amore" -- and his singing of the aria "Una Furtiva Lagrima" dripped like honey from the comb.

Thanks to the FleetBoston Celebrity Series, Pavarotti has often sung concerts in Boston; his operatic appearances were few, however, and limited to performances with the Met on tour. Fortunately, he sang both Riccardo and Nemorino in the Hynes Auditorium, as well as a Cavaradossi opposite the Tosca of the legendary Italian soprano Magda Olivero, who was then older than he is now; he fussed over her as if she were his mother and surrounded her with an aura of golden tone.

Pavarotti has sometimes been accused of laziness, but it's hard to make the accusation stick. He is not as versatile as his younger colleague Placido Domingo, and yes, he sang only one opera in French, and none in German; he never sang in a new opera. But he isn't one to take the easy way out -- he didn't have to sing the difficult title role in Mozart's "Idomeneo" when he did, but he chose to.

Nineteen major roles at the Met is nothing to sneer at, and he did record nearly a dozen more, some more than once.

It must be a relief to him no longer to have to face the strain of opera house performance and the impossibility of living up to his own legend; he deserves to find a new happiness far from the mouth of the wolf. But we will miss him, and there is no real successor in sight. To expect another Pavarotti to appear is as unrealistic as it would have been to expect a new Caruso or Bjoerling; instead there was a Pavarotti, who wasn't like either of them, and that was plenty good enough.

http://www.boston.com/news/globe/living/articles/2004/03/14/pavarotti_sounds_his_final_opera_note/