Luciano
Pavarotti, the Italian singer whose ringing, pristine sound set a
standard for operatic tenors of the postwar era, died early this morning at his
home in
His death was
announced by his manager, Terri Robson. The cause was pancreatic cancer. In
July 2006 he underwent surgery for the cancer in
The Maestro
fought a long, tough battle against the pancreatic cancer which eventually took
his life, said an e-mail statement that his manager sent to The Associated
Press. In fitting with the approach that characterized his life and
work, he remained positive until finally succumbing to the last stages of his
illness.
Like Enrico
Caruso and Jenny Lind before him, Mr. Pavarotti extended his presence far
beyond the limits of Italian opera. He became a titan of pop culture.
Millions saw him on television and found in his expansive personality,
childlike charm and generous figure a link to an art form with which many had
only a glancing familiarity.
Early in his
career and into the 1970s he devoted himself with single-mindedness to his
serious opera and recital career, quickly establishing his rich sound as the
great male operatic voice of his generation the King of the High Cs,
as his popular nickname had it.
By the 1980s
he expanded his franchise exponentially with the Three Tenors projects, in which he shared the
stage with Placido Domingo
and Josi Carreras, first in concerts associated with
the World Cup and later in world tours. Most critics agreed that it was Mr.
Pavarottis charisma that made the collaboration such a success. The
Three Tenors phenomenon only broadened his already huge audience and sold
millions of recordings and videos.
And in the early
1990s he began staging Pavarotti and Friends charity concerts, performing side
by side with rock stars like Elton John, Sting and Bono
and making recordings from these shows.
Throughout these
years, despite his busy and vocally demanding schedule, his voice remained in
unusually good condition well into middle age.
Even so, as his
stadium concerts and pop collaborations brought him fame well beyond what
contemporary opera stars have come to expect, Mr. Pavarotti seemed increasingly
willing to accept pedestrian musical standards. By the 1980s he found it
difficult to learn new opera roles or even new song repertory for his recitals.
And although he
planned to spend his final years, in the operatic tradition, performing in a
grand worldwide farewell tour, he completed only about half the tour, which
began in 2004. Physical ailments, many occasioned by his weight and girth,
limited his movement on stage and regularly forced him to cancel performances.
By 1995, when he was at the Metropolitan
Opera singing one of his favorite roles, Tonio
in Donizettis Daughter of the Regiment, high notes sometimes
failed him, and there were controversies over downward transpositions of a
notoriously dangerous and high-flying part.
Yet his wholly
natural stage manner and his wonderful way with the Italian language were
completely intact. Mr. Pavarotti remained a darling of Met audiences until his
retirement from that companys roster in 2004, an occasion celebrated with
a string of Tosca performances. At the last of them, on March 13,
2004, he received a 15-minute standing ovation and 10 curtain calls. All
told, he sang 379 performances at the Met, of which 357 were in fully
staged opera productions. In the late 1960s and 70s, when Mr. Pavarotti was at
his best, he possessed a sound remarkable for its ability to penetrate large
spaces easily. Yet he was able to encase that powerful sound in elegant,
brilliant colors. His recordings of the Donizetti repertory are still models
of natural grace and pristine sound. The clear Italian diction and
his understanding of the emotional power of words in music were exemplary.
....Mr. Pavarotti
had the natural range of a tenor, leaving him exposed to the stress
and wear that ruin so many tenors careers
before they have barely started. Mr. Pavarottis confidence and naturalness
in the face of these dangers made his longevity all the more noteworthy...
...In the late
1980s, when both Mr. Pavarotti and Mr. Domingo were pursuing superstardom, it
was Mr. Pavarotti who showed the dominant gift for soliciting adoration from
large numbers of people. He joked on talk shows, rode horses on parade and
played, improbably, a sex symbol in the movie Yes, Giorgio. In a
series of concerts, some held in stadiums, Mr. Pavarotti entertained tens of
thousands and earned six-figure fees. Presenters, who were able to tie a
Pavarotti appearance to a subscription package of less glamorous concerts,
found him a valuable loss leader.
The most enduring
symbol of Mr. Pavarottis Midas touch, as a concert attraction and a
recording artist, was the popular and profitable Three Tenors act created with
Mr. Domingo and Mr. Carreras. Some praised these concerts and recordings as popularizers of opera for mass audiences. But
most classical music critics dismissed them as unworthy of the performers talents.
Ailments
and Accusations
Mr. Pavarotti had
his uncomfortable moments in recent years. His proclivity for gaining weight
became a topic of public discussion.... He was booed off the stage at La Scala during 1992 appearance. No one characterized his
lapses as sinister; they were attributed, rather, to a happy-go-lucky style, a
large ego and a certain carelessness.
His frequent
withdrawals from prominent events at opera houses like the Met and Covent
Garden in
A similar
banishment nearly happened at the Met in 2002. He was scheduled to sing two
performances of Tosca one
a gala concert with prices as high as $1,875 a ticket, which led to reports
that the performances may be a quiet farewell. Mr. Pavarotti arrived in
From then until
the second scheduled performance, on Saturday, everyone, from the Mets
managers to casual opera fans, debated the probability of his appearing. The
New York Post ran the headline Fat Man Wont Sing. The demand to
see the performance was so great, however, that the Met set up 3,000 seats for
a closed-circuit broadcast on the Lincoln Center
Luciano Pavarotti was born in Modena,
Italy, on Oct. 12, 1935. His father was a baker and an amateur tenor; his
mother worked at a cigar factory. As a child he listened to opera recordings,
singing along with tenor stars of a previous era, like Beniamino
Gigli and Tito Schipa.
He professed an early weakness for the movies of Mario Lanza,
whose image he would imitate before a mirror.
As a teenager he
followed studies that led to a teaching position; during these student days he
met his future wife. He taught for two years before deciding to become a
singer. His first teachers were Arrigo Pola and Ettore Campogalliani, and his first breakthrough came in 1961
when he won an international competition at the Teatro
Reggio Emilia. He made his debut as Rodolfo in Puccinis Bohhme later that year.
In 1963 Mr.
Pavarottis international career began: first as Edgardo
in Donizettis Lucia di Lammermoor in
A turning
point in Mr. Pavarottis career was his association with the soprano Joan
Sutherland.
In 1965 he joined the Sutherland-Williamson company on an Australian tour
during which he sang Edgardo to Ms. Sutherlands
Lucia. He later credited Ms. Sutherlands advice, encouragement and example
as a major factor in the development of his technique.
Further career
milestones came in 1967, with Mr. Pavarottis first appearances at La Scala in
A series of recordings
with London Records
had also begun, and these excursions through the Italian repertory remain some
of Mr. Pavarottis lasting contributions to his generation. The recordings
included LElisir dAmore, La Favorita, Lucia di Lammermoor
and La Fille du Rigiment
by Donizetti; Madama Butterfly, La Bohhme, Tosca and Turandot
by Puccini; Rigoletto, Il Trovatore, La Traviata
and the Requiem by Verdi; and scattered operas by Bellini, Rossini and
Mascagni. There were also solo albums of arias and songs.
In 1981 Mr.
Pavarotti established a voice competition in
He also gave
master classes, many of which were shown on public television in the United
States.
Mr. Pavarottis forays into teaching became stage appearances in
themselves, and ultimately had more to do with the teacher than those being
taught.
An
Outsize Personality
In his later
years Mr. Pavarotti became as much an attraction as an opera singer.
Hardly a week passed in the 1990s when his name did not surface in at least two
gossip columns. He could be found unveiling postage stamps depicting old opera
stars or singing in Red Square in
In 1997 Mr.
Pavarotti joined Sting for the opening of the
Im not
a politician, Im a musician, he told the BBC Music Magazine in an
April 1998 article about his efforts for
The latter was
not a new accusation during the 1990s. In a 1997 review for The New York Times,
Anthony Tommasini accused Mr. Pavarotti of
shamelessly coasting through a recital, using music instead of his
memory, and still losing his place. Words were always a problem, and he
cheerfully admitted to using cue cards as reminders.
A
Box-Office Powerhouse
It was a tribute
to Mr. Pavarottis box-office power that when, in 1997, he announced he
could not or would not learn his part for a new Forza
del Destino at the Met, the house scrapped its
scheduled production and substituted Un Ballo in
Maschera, a piece he was ready to sing.
Around that time Mr.
Pavarotti also made news by leaving his wife of more than three decades, Adua, to live with his 26-year-old assistant, Nicoletta Mantovani, and
filing for divorce, which was finalized in October 2002. He married Ms. Mantovani in 2003. She survives him, as do three daughters
from his marriage to the former Adua Veroni: Lorenza, Christina and Giuliana; and a daughter
with Ms. Mantovani,
Mr. Pavarotti had
a home in
He published two
autobiographies, both written with William Wright: Pavarotti: My Own Story
in 1981, and Pavarotti: My World in 1995.
In interviews Mr.
Pavarotti could turn on a disarming charm, and if he invariably dismissed
concerns about his pop projects, technical problems and even his health, he
made a strong case for what his fame could do for opera itself.
I remember
when I began singing, in 1961, he told Opera News in 1998, one person
said, run quick, because opera is going to have at maximum 10 years of
life. At the time it was really going down. But then, I was lucky enough
to make the first Live From the Met
telecast. And the day after, people stopped me on the street. So I realized
the importance of bringing opera to the masses. I think there were people
who didnt know what opera was before. And they
say Bohhme, and of course Bohhme is so good.
About his own
drawing power, his analysis was simple and on the mark.
I think an
important quality that I have is that if you turn on the radio and hear
somebody sing, you know its me. he said.
You dont confuse my voice with another voice.