Post by on Nov 3, 2007 22:20:53 GMT
PAVAROTTI
Luciano has died.
He was as near to us as any spouse, partner, sibling, child or parent. Such was his ability to engender affection of the highest degree, founded on respect for his talent and our perception, that he sang to us individually; not on daily acquaintance, animal lust or compulsion of nature that is the family tree.
He brought excellence and passion to everyman in a way that will not be forgotten, and to everyman his producers bequeath an album: a reference for his next life.
Through Nessum Dorma we hear the remote rendering of his most intense link to us: football. He sings alone – apart from the orchestra and chorus, the better to say it is he. The tone shows us he is about to leave but he needs to remind us of how good he was. In closing, the orchestra endorses him.
Having established the link to us, he reminds us of his technical virtuosity in Brindisi. The trills, the lightness, the accuracy of pitch, the intensity of gaze (focussed on his subject, not his audience, but so easily confused) show us a man at the peak of his talents; before him, a virgin peak. The lady has no choice but to reciprocate, as does the chorus, thus each staking a claim to our future needs.
He still needs more confidence before his final journey and so we hear O Sole Mio and defer wiping the tears from our cheeks until it is over. He is right to do this for we cannot avoid thinking about the concert in Egypt and the multilateral trills shared among the three cavaliers. It is as if we need to be reminded he did not work alone. And in this is his ultimate generosity and challenge: his passing of the baton to Domingo and Carreras.
La Donna e mobile repeats his technical excellence. He remains distanced from the orchestra, but this time ready for his journey. All those to whom his bequest appeals are now focussed on what he was; what he could do; and their love for him and what he did.
At the start of Volare, we hear his engines prepare for his journey, tempered by the corny introduction of bells more applicable to a Bing Crosby Christmas film. But we persist, hooked on the news and inquisitive about what follows. His voice is an emitter, sounding out the dimensions of his new immediate environment (at this stage temporal). He tests the full scope and range of his voice, for that is his sole source of sustenance and key to the final gateway. He plumbs the depths of kitsch, B movies and cabaret, but ascends with increasing urgency and intensity through standards, imagined tap dancing, to the heights of Danny Williams driving through the Swiss Alps.
It is not looking good.
It is an attempt to capture the Boxing Day television audience as extra fuel for use if the main thrusters are exhausted.
In Panis Angelicus he knows he is on his way, hovering above the Cathedral. Lesser mortals have sung this at their mother’s funeral with equal sincerity and dignity. Here he recognises there is an order of things. He submits to it. There is not a trace of retrospective arrogance and excuse. The chorus and orchestra emphasise the mediocrity of all things terrestrial. He yearns for his justified destination.
Caruso is an in-flight movie in which he is the star. Such a movie fills the audience’s time. To him it is an opportunity to express regrets while keeping his testimony rehearsed. He is retrospective when he should be prospective. Or is it an advanced plea to St Peter? Nothing like a bit of research, is there?
Still we listen. We want him to have the audience of eternity.
But still he will not leave us. In Non ti scordar di me, he is in an Italian restaurant with chequered table cloths and a mountain rising steeply behind him with the sun shining brightly. He rejoices in what he has known. Perhaps it’s another in-flight movie. It is certainly not providing fuel to the rockets.
Torna a surriento sees him passing the moon in the box it took 8 men to bear, but he now has no need of them. Destiny is his fuel. He is alone, and does not dislike it. To the solar system he has the confidence to make a statement. The orchestra joins behind him, to make sure he does not waiver.
Now comes the rejoicing. Funiculi funicular shows the pain of earthly existence has gone. The chorus rejoices in its passing.
He is alone and pleased to be so. Many a changing room has expressed the personal satisfaction of using the hand.
The reflective bassoon now introduces us to Una furtive lagrima: the tear he sheds as he passes Saturn, too distant to be discerned; an opportunity to show us a real tune, vocal warmth of an intensity that survives the assault of the dust of the rings he skirts. To die in the presence of this rendering at any age would not be premature.
His aspiration and destination is now clear in Ave Maria. He approaches as a supplicant for something we see as his right. You cannot believe him unless this this objective is in mind.
Or was he that good?
Recognising he has some way to go, he invokes the repertoire of Star Wars to introduce another part of this repertoire, for again we are in Spain: Granada. Having made the plea, he needs to increase velocity towards his goal. He conscripts mediocrity for this purpose. He has all eternity to reach and spend there. What’s the rush?
The rush moves him on from the solar system to where he can think and express himself on life’s more fundamental issues, which he does in Corte n’grato. He rejoices and regrets with an intensity that increases his speed away from us. The orchestra sees this and clings on with strings that cloy. He persists with the voice. They will surely return to base soon, freeing him to promote the solo voice as a solo instrument in no need of support. By their absence they are learning.
In Che gelida amnina he has the confidence, at last, to go it alone. The end of is journey nears. He needs a minimalist accompanist, but he needs the radar of the gates to detect him; and him alone. Wise as a Roman general he sends out piercing initiatives. He believes, and we know, they will not be ignored.
Why, oh why, do we then have Mamma? We have it because every man has a mother, just as Prime Ministers need a Willy. It’s a cheap joke to provide rocket fuel. He does not need it. He is now within the gravitational pull of his destination.
Pavarotti’s last credential is that he is in tune with multiculturalism and here he shows it. Well, nothing wrong with covering the bases, is there? Santa Lucia seems to fill the bill.
In Mattinate our man focuses on providing arias to which the heavens might best reverberate. Better than the average lift wallpaper
We are now nearing home. There is a theme. There is a specification for the new home, if only someone would listen. There is a plea from the heart. E lucevan le stele provides this. If this man doesn’t make it the rest of us are going to be really naughty. He says this on our behalf.
Verdi witnesses his arrival at his final destination. There are fanfares, there is passion. There is rejoicing. There are statements of arrogance and there are timbres designed solely to be an addition to celestial creations. He is there and at home, as he should be.
I mourn a friend and a talent in a way I have not done for 22 years. I rejoice in the privilege of hearing an angel on earth. A man who has his destination in mind and ends his album with a tune from Verdi; an anagram of DRIVE.
For an Italian, can there be a better epitaph?
Luciano has died.
He was as near to us as any spouse, partner, sibling, child or parent. Such was his ability to engender affection of the highest degree, founded on respect for his talent and our perception, that he sang to us individually; not on daily acquaintance, animal lust or compulsion of nature that is the family tree.
He brought excellence and passion to everyman in a way that will not be forgotten, and to everyman his producers bequeath an album: a reference for his next life.
Through Nessum Dorma we hear the remote rendering of his most intense link to us: football. He sings alone – apart from the orchestra and chorus, the better to say it is he. The tone shows us he is about to leave but he needs to remind us of how good he was. In closing, the orchestra endorses him.
Having established the link to us, he reminds us of his technical virtuosity in Brindisi. The trills, the lightness, the accuracy of pitch, the intensity of gaze (focussed on his subject, not his audience, but so easily confused) show us a man at the peak of his talents; before him, a virgin peak. The lady has no choice but to reciprocate, as does the chorus, thus each staking a claim to our future needs.
He still needs more confidence before his final journey and so we hear O Sole Mio and defer wiping the tears from our cheeks until it is over. He is right to do this for we cannot avoid thinking about the concert in Egypt and the multilateral trills shared among the three cavaliers. It is as if we need to be reminded he did not work alone. And in this is his ultimate generosity and challenge: his passing of the baton to Domingo and Carreras.
La Donna e mobile repeats his technical excellence. He remains distanced from the orchestra, but this time ready for his journey. All those to whom his bequest appeals are now focussed on what he was; what he could do; and their love for him and what he did.
At the start of Volare, we hear his engines prepare for his journey, tempered by the corny introduction of bells more applicable to a Bing Crosby Christmas film. But we persist, hooked on the news and inquisitive about what follows. His voice is an emitter, sounding out the dimensions of his new immediate environment (at this stage temporal). He tests the full scope and range of his voice, for that is his sole source of sustenance and key to the final gateway. He plumbs the depths of kitsch, B movies and cabaret, but ascends with increasing urgency and intensity through standards, imagined tap dancing, to the heights of Danny Williams driving through the Swiss Alps.
It is not looking good.
It is an attempt to capture the Boxing Day television audience as extra fuel for use if the main thrusters are exhausted.
In Panis Angelicus he knows he is on his way, hovering above the Cathedral. Lesser mortals have sung this at their mother’s funeral with equal sincerity and dignity. Here he recognises there is an order of things. He submits to it. There is not a trace of retrospective arrogance and excuse. The chorus and orchestra emphasise the mediocrity of all things terrestrial. He yearns for his justified destination.
Caruso is an in-flight movie in which he is the star. Such a movie fills the audience’s time. To him it is an opportunity to express regrets while keeping his testimony rehearsed. He is retrospective when he should be prospective. Or is it an advanced plea to St Peter? Nothing like a bit of research, is there?
Still we listen. We want him to have the audience of eternity.
But still he will not leave us. In Non ti scordar di me, he is in an Italian restaurant with chequered table cloths and a mountain rising steeply behind him with the sun shining brightly. He rejoices in what he has known. Perhaps it’s another in-flight movie. It is certainly not providing fuel to the rockets.
Torna a surriento sees him passing the moon in the box it took 8 men to bear, but he now has no need of them. Destiny is his fuel. He is alone, and does not dislike it. To the solar system he has the confidence to make a statement. The orchestra joins behind him, to make sure he does not waiver.
Now comes the rejoicing. Funiculi funicular shows the pain of earthly existence has gone. The chorus rejoices in its passing.
He is alone and pleased to be so. Many a changing room has expressed the personal satisfaction of using the hand.
The reflective bassoon now introduces us to Una furtive lagrima: the tear he sheds as he passes Saturn, too distant to be discerned; an opportunity to show us a real tune, vocal warmth of an intensity that survives the assault of the dust of the rings he skirts. To die in the presence of this rendering at any age would not be premature.
His aspiration and destination is now clear in Ave Maria. He approaches as a supplicant for something we see as his right. You cannot believe him unless this this objective is in mind.
Or was he that good?
Recognising he has some way to go, he invokes the repertoire of Star Wars to introduce another part of this repertoire, for again we are in Spain: Granada. Having made the plea, he needs to increase velocity towards his goal. He conscripts mediocrity for this purpose. He has all eternity to reach and spend there. What’s the rush?
The rush moves him on from the solar system to where he can think and express himself on life’s more fundamental issues, which he does in Corte n’grato. He rejoices and regrets with an intensity that increases his speed away from us. The orchestra sees this and clings on with strings that cloy. He persists with the voice. They will surely return to base soon, freeing him to promote the solo voice as a solo instrument in no need of support. By their absence they are learning.
In Che gelida amnina he has the confidence, at last, to go it alone. The end of is journey nears. He needs a minimalist accompanist, but he needs the radar of the gates to detect him; and him alone. Wise as a Roman general he sends out piercing initiatives. He believes, and we know, they will not be ignored.
Why, oh why, do we then have Mamma? We have it because every man has a mother, just as Prime Ministers need a Willy. It’s a cheap joke to provide rocket fuel. He does not need it. He is now within the gravitational pull of his destination.
Pavarotti’s last credential is that he is in tune with multiculturalism and here he shows it. Well, nothing wrong with covering the bases, is there? Santa Lucia seems to fill the bill.
In Mattinate our man focuses on providing arias to which the heavens might best reverberate. Better than the average lift wallpaper
We are now nearing home. There is a theme. There is a specification for the new home, if only someone would listen. There is a plea from the heart. E lucevan le stele provides this. If this man doesn’t make it the rest of us are going to be really naughty. He says this on our behalf.
Verdi witnesses his arrival at his final destination. There are fanfares, there is passion. There is rejoicing. There are statements of arrogance and there are timbres designed solely to be an addition to celestial creations. He is there and at home, as he should be.
I mourn a friend and a talent in a way I have not done for 22 years. I rejoice in the privilege of hearing an angel on earth. A man who has his destination in mind and ends his album with a tune from Verdi; an anagram of DRIVE.
For an Italian, can there be a better epitaph?