The Death of Pavarotti

Luciannot Pavarotti and James Brown

Lucian­not Pavarot­ti and James Brown

Well, there’s not much I can say about Pavarot­ti that oth­ers aren’t bet­ter qual­i­fied to say. He is one of those fig­ures that steps out of a genre. Peo­ple who hard­ly ever lis­ten to jazz know Louis Arm­strong, peo­ple who hard­ly ever lis­ten to opera know Pavarot­ti, who suc­cess­fully stepped into the shoes of Caru­so as the ambas­sador of opera to the broad pub­lic. He ful­filled the role bril­liantly, using his com­i­cal, un-threat­en­ing appear­ance to advan­tage. It was as if your favourite jol­ly uncle had super-pow­ers, which he only used after din­ner. On hear­ing of his death, I played his won­der­ful duet with James Brown, and his rather pecu­liar one with Lou Reed. Then I went through Pavarotti’s Great­est Hits, with his famed arias from Rigo­letto and L’élisir d’Amore, among oth­ers. Then I played his album of Neapoli­tan folk songs, O Sole Mio, and his album of Christ­mas car­ols, O Holy Night. Over the course of the next two days, I played a few entire operas in which he starred: Bellini’s Beat­rice di Ten­da, and I Puri­tani, where he sang with Joan Suther­land, one of the few women with the stature and lung pow­er to stand up to him in the ring; as well as an ear­ly per­for­mance of Puccini’s La Bohème, with Freni, direct­ed by von Karajan.

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