Viva Pavarotti

In our house he was just Pav. It only seemed fitting that this amiable character, this familiar and personable voice should have an affectionate nickname. When he did his thing, we would just smile and shake our heads and say "That's Pav."

As a beginning singer, I marvelled at his smoothness of production, wonderfully tangible diction and, of course, that glorious golden placement. If there was ever a definition of 'squillo', this man was it. It's true I couldn't quite connect with him as I could with the Teutonic intellectualism of Fischer-Dieskau, but each time I listened to Pav it was like a singing lesson; every note was placed where it should be, every word clearly enunciated, the legato seamless. I remember playing certain passages over and over again to try to figure out just what he was doing. I never quite could. You know a singer is remarkable when you can hear two notes of something and know who it is immediately.

Unfortunately, I never saw him live and I would have thrilled to hear that voice in its prime. Still, the recorded legacy is substantial and, for the most part, quite good. The Boheme with Freni has got to be one of the greatest opera recordings ever. The Elixir, perfectly characterized with an affecting benign sweetness.

It was sad to see what he became in the last ten years of his life. He was reduced almost to caricature as the voice began to decline and his weight continued to rise. Pride prevented him from exiting gracefully and the career stretched on perhaps five years longer than it should have. He apparently had difficulty in learning new roles, effectively condemning him to repertoire best suited to men twenty years his junior. It was sort of like watching a great athlete try to replicate feats of youth while not quite having the tools to do it anymore or the resources to adapt and change.

But what is good far outweighs the bad. I'll always smile when I hear him toss off yet another fantastic high C. I'll just shake my head and say "That's Pav."