Thousands Celebrate Pavarotti’s Art and Humanity
By ELISABETTA POVOLEDO
The New York Times
Published: September 9, 2007
MODENA, Italy, Sept. 8 — Luciano Pavarotti, the Italian tenor, was eulogized today as a “great artist” with “a profound sense of humanity” in the same cathedral where he once sang in the children’s choir.
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Thousands of people watched as Luciano Pavarotti’s coffin left the cathedral in Modena, Italy. (Alessandra Tarantino/Associated Press)
During a musical career that spanned nearly 50 years, Mr. Pavarotti, who died near here on Thursday at 71, successfully bridged highbrow and pop culture. After decades on the world’s greatest opera stages, he began performing in concert stadiums belting out operatic arias flanked by some of the planet’s biggest pop stars.
The celebrity guest list at today’s funeral reflected the diverse worlds straddled by Mr. Pavarotti, who was distinguished as much by his powerful voice as his boyish charm.
In the pews of Modena’s 12th-century Romanesque cathedral sat Franco Zeffirelli, who directed Mr. Pavarotti in Puccini’s “Tosca” at the Metropolitan Opera in 1985; Joseph Volpe, the Met’s former general manager; Bono, the lead singer of U2; and the Italian rock stars Zucchero Fornaciari and Jovanotti.
Political leaders included Romano Prodi, Italy’s prime minister; Kofi Annan, the former United Nations secretary general; and several Italian government ministers.
“For years, many famous but also common people were united by his voice,” said Mr. Prodi, who spoke at the end of the ceremony and called the tenor “a messenger of peace and fraternity.”
All of Italy grieves for the singer, said Mr. Prodi, “but we are proud of him.”
In a message of condolence, Pope Benedict XVI said that the artist had “honored the divine gift of music through his extraordinary interpretive talent.”
Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone had sent a telegram yesterday to Monsignor Benito Cocchi, Archbishop of Modena, who was to preside at the tenor's funeral rites. It read:
"Having learned the sad news of the death of tenor Luciano Pavarotti, the Holy Father expresses his sentiments of condolence for the passing of a great artist who honored the divine gift of music with his extraordinary intepretative talents. In entrusting his soul to the mercy of God, the Holy Father invokes for his family and those hear and dear to him the support of Christian hope which is the only comfort possible for the sorrow of a great loss and sends you and those who will take part in the funeral services a comforting Apostolic Blessing."
Mr. Pavarotti’s coffin was draped in a wreath that included golden sunflowers, which were his favorite.
Visibly moved, Raina Kabaivanska, a soprano and longtime friend and sometime co-star, opened the ceremony with the “Ave Maria” prayer from Verdi’s “Othello.” Andrea Bocelli, another tenor who has enjoyed crossover success, later sang Mozart’s “Ave Verum Corpus.”
Outside the church, thousands of people watched the proceedings on two large screens and applauded at the end of each aria.
The Corale Rossini, the local choir in which Mr. Pavarotti sang during the 1950s, accompanied the entrance of the 18 celebrants and other hymns during the hour-and-a-half Mass.
Prayers were read from his widow, Nicoletta Mantovani, her daughter and his daughters from his first marriage to Adua Veroni.
Near the end of the ceremony, Mr. Pavarotti’s distinctive voice, which captivated millions of passionate fans, rang out in a 1978 recording of César Franck’s “Panis Angelicus,” a duet with his father, Fernando, also a tenor who first instilled love for music in his son.
It was followed by a standing ovation and long applause both inside and outside the cathedral.
More than 2,000 security officers and 200 volunteers were on hand to control the crowds during the funeral, which was televised live on RAI, Italy’s state broadcaster.
The turnout, estimated by organizers at 50,000, was the biggest in Italy at a commemorative function since the funeral for Pope John Paul II, in April 2005, which drew millions.
As his coffin emerged from the cathedral to more applause and the strains of “Nessun Dorma,” the Puccini “Turandot” aria that was Mr. Pavarotti’s signature piece, Italy’s famous aerobatics squadron flew over twice, leaving a stream of red, white and green smoke, the colors of the Italian flag.
Mr. Pavarotti died on Thursday after a yearlong battle with pancreatic cancer. He never strayed far from here, where, on the outskirts of town, he was born and died. During three days of mourning, his love was amply returned by this city’s residents.
“The Maestro was, and will always remain, a symbol of our city,” said Archbishop Benito Cocchi during the eulogy, which also recalled the tenor’s charity work in many “initiatives of great social value.”
Beginning Thursday evening, more than 100,000 residents and others came to the cathedral to pay their respects to the tenor, who lay in a white maple coffin lined in dark red velvet, dressed in a black tuxedo. He clutched a silver rosary and his trademark white silk scarf. His longtime makeup artist prepared the tenor for his final bow, said Gianni Gibellini, who handled the funeral arrangements.
After the funeral, Mr. Pavarotti’s body was taken to the Montale Rangone cemetery, just outside of town, where he was buried next to his parents and a stillborn son.
“He was more than just a voice,” said one resident, Milena Montecchi, a retired office worker who attributed her lifelong love of opera to the tenor. “He had charisma. There are plenty of good singers. He had something more.”
Last ovation at Pavarotti's funeral
From the Press Association
Sept. 8, 2007
Luciano Pavarotti's voice rang out a final time inside Modena's cathedral in northern Italy, as a recording of the great tenor singing with his father highlighted a funeral attended by family, dignitaries and close friends.
Guests gave the tenor one last standing ovation as Panis Angelicus, the 1978 duet Pavarotti sang with his father, Fernando, inside Modena's Duomo came to a close.
The duet was one of the most poignant moments of the funeral, which began with a moving rendition of Verdi's Ave Maria and a message of condolence from Pope Benedict XVI, saying that Pavarotti had "honoured the divine gift of music through his extraordinary interpretative talent".
Thousands of people watched the invitation-only service from a huge television screen erected in Modena's main piazza, where a recording of the tenor's most famous works had boomed out during two days of public viewing.
They watched as Italy's Air Force precision flying team flew over the cathedral at the end of the service, releasing red, white and green smoke in the colours of the Italian flag.
Pavarotti's white maple casket, covered in sunflowers - his favourite - lay before the altar, with his wife, Nicoletta Mantovani, looking on. Sitting nearby were Pavarotti's three daughters from his first marriage.
On hand were the Italian premier, Romano Prodi, U2 lead singer Bono, film director Franco Zeffirelli and former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan. Also invited were Stephane Lissner, the general manager of Milan's La Scala Opera House, where Pavarotti appeared 140 times, once receiving boos, and the Metropolitan Opera's former general manager, Joe Volpe.
The opera great died Thursday in his home on Modena's outskirts after battling pancreatic cancer for more than a year. He was 71.
He was beloved by generations of opera-goers and pop fans alike for his breathtaking high Cs and his hearty renditions of folk songs like O Sole Mio and popular tunes like My Way.
Modena city officials estimated that 100,000 people had viewed Pavarotti's body in two days. Admirers signed books of condolence placed by vases of sunflowers outside the cathedral. The Foreign Ministry said similar books would be available for well-wishers at Italian embassies and consulates around the world.
Italy Mourns ‘an Expression of Our Culture’
By ELISABETTA POVOLEDO
The New York Times
Published Sept. 7, 2007
About 100,000 people lined up to pay their respects during the 24 hours that the tenor lay in state at Modena Cathedral.
MILAN, Sept. 6 — Italy mourned Luciano Pavarotti on Thursday amid fond tributes from friends and colleagues and broader reflections on how he had been a distinguished ambassador of Italian culture.
“Big Luciano has gone,” read a banner headline on the Web site of the news agency ANSA, in a reference to the nickname by which he was affectionately known here because of his girth.
Opera houses from Sicily to the Veneto were decked with black mourning bows or gigantic photographs of the tenor, and some observed a minute of silence during evening performances. Flags flew at half-staff at La Fenice theater in Vienna and the Festspielhaus, the theater in Salzburg, Austria, ANSA reported.
The state broadcaster RAI’s main channel bumped regular programming in favor of the renowned Three Tenors concert held during the 1990 World Cup, at the Baths of Caracalla in Rome, with Mr. Pavarotti and his fellow tenors Plácido Domingo and José Carreras.
“A splendorous era of opera is consigned to history,” said Stéphane Lissner, the director of La Scala in Milan, Italy’s temple to opera; Mr. Pavarotti performed there over nearly three decades. Mr. Lissner recalled the generosity of an artist “who always seemed to be singing for you.”
“The Italian word was sculpted in his song,” he said in a statement.
Among Mr. Pavarotti’s many merits, Prime Minister Romano Prodi said, was that he exported “the most authentic artistic image of our country, eliciting emotions and disseminating passion and culture.”
Mr. Pavarotti was born in Modena in 1935 and maintained close ties with the city throughout his life. He died in his villa at Santa Maria del Mugnano, just south of the city.
On Thursday, Mayor Giorgio Pighi of Modena announced that the city’s municipal theater would be dedicated to him. “He was an expression of our culture,” the mayor said in a telephone interview.
Mr. Pavarotti will lie in Modena’s imposing 12th-century Romanesque cathedral from Thursday evening until his funeral on Saturday afternoon. [Hundreds gathered to applaud as pallbearers carried his casket into the cathedral, The Associated Press reported.]
The home page of his Web site, lucianopavarotti.com, featured a smiling photograph of the tenor next to a personal reflection: “I think a life in music is a life beautifully spent and this is what I have devoted my life to.”
Pavarotti, Charismatic Tenor
Who Scaled Pop Heights
By BERNARD HOLLAND
The New York Times
Published: September 7, 2007
Luciano Pavarotti, the Italian singer whose ringing, pristine sound set a standard for operatic tenors of the postwar era, died Thursday at his home near Modena, in northern Italy. He was 71.
His death was announced by his manager, Terri Robson. The cause was pancreatic cancer. In July 2006 he underwent surgery for the cancer in New York, and he had made no public appearances since then. He was hospitalized again this summer and released on Aug. 25.
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 Plácido Domingo and José Carreras, first in concerts associated with the World Cup and later in world tours. Most critics agreed that it was Mr. Pavarotti’s 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 with rock stars like Elton John, Sting and Bono and making recordings from the shows.
Throughout these years, despite his busy and vocally demanding schedule, his voice remained in unusually good condition well into middle age.
During dress rehearsal for "L'Elisir d'Amore," at the Metropolitan Opera in New York in 1998.
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 performing in a grand worldwide farewell tour, he completed only about half the tour, which began in 2004. Physical ailments 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 Donizetti’s “La Fille du Régiment” 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 company’s 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 was perhaps the mirror opposite of his great rival among tenors, Mr. Domingo. Five years Mr. Domingo’s senior, Mr. Pavarotti had the natural range of a tenor, exposing him to the stress and wear that ruin so many tenors’ careers before they have barely started. Mr. Pavarotti’s confidence and naturalness in the face of these dangers made his longevity all the more noteworthy.
Mr. Domingo, on the other hand, began his musical life as a baritone and later manufactured a tenor range above it through hard work and scrupulous intelligence. Mr. Pavarotti, although he could find the heart of a character, was not an intellectual presence. His ability to read music in the true sense of the word was in question. Mr. Domingo, in contrast, is an excellent pianist with an analytical mind and the ability to learn and retain scores by quiet reading.
Yet 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 valuable.
The most enduring symbol of Mr. Pavarotti’s 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.
Mr. Pavarotti had his uncomfortable moments in recent years. His proclivity for gaining weight became a topic of public discussion. He was caught lip-synching a recorded aria at a concert in Modena, his hometown. 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 London, often from productions created with him in mind, caused administrative consternation in many places. A series of cancellations at Lyric Opera of Chicago — 26 out of 41 scheduled dates — moved Lyric’s general director in 1989, Ardis Krainik, to declare Mr. Pavarotti persona non grata at her company.
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 farewell. Mr. Pavarotti arrived in New York only a few days before the first, barely in time for the dress rehearsal. On the day of the first performance, though, he had developed a cold and withdrew. That was on a Wednesday.
From then until the second scheduled performance, on Saturday, everyone, from the Met’s managers to casual opera fans, debated the probability of his appearing. The New York Post ran the headline “Fat Man Won’t 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 Plaza. Still, at the last minute, Mr. Pavarotti stayed in bed.
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 Puccini’s “Bohème” later that year.
In 1963 Mr. Pavarotti’s international career began: first as Edgardo in Donizetti’s “Lucia di Lammermoor” in Amsterdam and other Dutch cities, and then in Vienna and Zurich. His Covent Garden debut also came in 1963, when he substituted for and Giuseppe di Stefano in “La Bohème.” His reputation in Britain grew even more the next year, when he sang at the Glyndebourne Festival, taking the part of Idamante in Mozart’s “Idomeneo.”
With Joan Sutherland in the Metropolitan Opera's production of "I Puritani" in 1976.
A turning point in Mr. Pavarotti’s 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. Sutherland’s Lucia. He credited Ms. Sutherland’s advice, encouragement and example as a major factor in the development of his technique.
Further career milestones came in 1967, with Mr. Pavarotti’s first appearances at La Scala in Milan and his participation in a performance of the Verdi Requiem under Herbert von Karajan. He came to the Metropolitan Opera a year later, singing with Mirella Freni, a childhood friend, in “La Bohème.”
A series of recordings with London Records had also begun, and these excursions through the Italian repertory remain some of Mr. Pavarotti’s lasting contributions to his generation. The recordings included “L’Elisir d’Amore,” “La Favorita,” “Lucia di Lammermoor” and “La Fille du Régiment” by Donizetti; “Madama Butterfly,” “La Bohème,” “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 Philadelphia and was active in its operation. Young, talented singers from around the world were auditioned in preliminary rounds before the final selections. High among the prizes for winners was an appearance in a staged opera in Philadelphia in which Mr. Pavarotti would also appear.
He also gave master classes, many of which were shown on public television in the United States. Mr. Pavarotti’s forays into teaching became stage appearances in themselves, having more to do with the teacher than the students.
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 Moscow.
His outsize personality remained a strong drawing card, and even his lifelong battle with his circumference guaranteed headlines: a Pavarotti diet or a Pavarotti binge provided high-octane fuel for reporters.
In 1997 Mr. Pavarotti joined Sting for the opening of the Pavarotti Music Center in war-torn Mostar, Bosnia, and Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney on a CD tribute to Diana, Princess of Wales. In 2005 he was granted Freedom of the City of London for his fund-raising concerts for the Red Cross.
He also was lauded by the Kennedy Center Honors in 2001, and he holds two spots in the Guinness Book of World Records: one for the greatest number of curtain calls (165), the other, held jointly with Mr. Domingo and Mr. Carreras, for the best-selling classical album of all time, the first Three Tenors album (“Carreras, Domingo, Pavarotti: The Three Tenors in Concert”). But for all that, he knew where his true appeal was centered.
“I’m not a politician, I’m a musician,” he told the BBC Music Magazine in an April 1998 article about his efforts for Bosnia. “I care about giving people a place where they can go to enjoy themselves and to begin to live again. To the man you have to give the spirit, and when you give him the spirit, you have done everything.”
Mr. Pavarotti’s health became an issue in the late 1990s. His mobility onstage was sometimes severely limited because of leg problems, and at a 1997 “Turandot” performance at the Met, extras onstage surrounded him and helped him up and down steps.
In January 1998, at a Met gala with two other singers, Mr. Pavarotti became lost in a trio from “Luisa Miller” despite having the music in front of him. He complained of dizziness and withdrew. Rumors flew alleging on one side a serious health problem and, on the other, a smoke screen for his unpreparedness.
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.
It was a tribute to Mr. Pavarotti’s 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 substituted “Un Ballo in Maschera,” a piece he was ready to sing.
Around that time Mr. Pavarotti left 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, Alice.
Mr. Pavarotti had a home in Manhattan but also maintained ties to his hometown, living when time permitted in a villa in Santa Maria del Mugnano, outside Modena.
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 didn’t know what opera was before. And they say ‘Bohème,’ and of course ‘Bohème’ 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 it’s me.” he said. “You don’t confuse my voice with another voice.”
Allan Kozinn contributed reporting.
The Note That Makes Us Weep
THE THRILLS, THE CHILLS, THE HIGH C
Pavarotti knew his way to the note
By DANIEL J. WAKIN
The New York Times
Published September 9, 2007
Pavarotti as Radames in 'Aida'. The top note here is only a high B.
A PUBLICIST long ago gave Luciano Pavarotti the sobriquet King of the High C’s, for his remarkable ability to hit and sing the heck out of one of the highest notes of the tenor voice. The tag followed Mr. Pavarotti, who died last week, into most of his obituaries.
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Related
Luciano Pavarotti, Charismatic Tenor Who Scaled Pop Heights, Dies at 71 (September 7, 2007)
An Appraisal: That Voice: Warm, Urgent, Italian, Singular (September 7, 2007)
Discography (September 6, 2007)
Times Topics: Luciano Pavarotti
Luciano Pavarotti Hits High C in Donizetti's 'La fille du Regiment' (mp3)His voice, especially earlier in his career, was remarkable across its range. But that little note, an octave above middle C on the piano, played a role in projecting Mr. Pavarotti’s fame around the world. That is no surprise. The tenor high C has a long and noble tradition, and a healthy dose of mystique.
“It’s the absolute summit of technique,” said Craig Rutenberg, the Metropolitan Opera’s director of musical administration — in effect, its chief vocal coach. “More than anywhere else in your voice, you have to know what you’re doing. To me it signals a self-confidence in the singer that lets him communicate to us that he knows what he’s doing and he has something very important to express with that note.”
Tenor high C’s are scattered throughout the opera literature. Sometimes tenors transpose the aria down slightly or drop an octave, other times they fake it and edge into falsetto voice, where it is easier to sing. Just as often, they hit it, and hold it, and that moment is one of the most exciting in an opera house. It is moments like those when opera, in addition to the aesthetic joys and emotional satisfactions, can seem like a spectator sport or a circus high-wire act. They’re times when opera audiences cheer or jeer.
But the high C has a more visceral, spine-tingling lure.
“The reason it’s so exciting to people is, it’s based on the human cry,” said Maitland Peters, chairman of the voice department at the Manhattan School of Music. “It’s instinctual. It’s like a baby. You’re pulled into it.” When a tenor sings a ringing high C, it seems, “there’s nothing in his way,” Mr. Peters said.
The pitch, in itself, has a satisfying quality. The key of C major, after all, is a stable, cheerful, happy key, the one with no sharps or flats.
Fascination may also derive from the fact that high tenor notes are somewhat freakish. Women have high voices, and men have low voices. For a male to sing that high with such power somehow seems unnatural.
With one important exception: through the 18th century, the most celebrated singers were castrati, boys altered before puberty who grew into men with powerful high voices. Un-altered tenors rarely got higher than an A without singing falsetto. Many of their roles were decidedly unheroic, like the slightly wimpy Don Ottavio in Mozart’s “Don Giovanni.” But the style was one of grace and agility.
Then, with the rise of Romanticism and a taste for bolder singing — and perhaps a distaste for gelding — the modern tenor voice was born. The first notable tenor to hit a modern high C was the Frenchman Gilbert-Louis Duprez. He sang the note not with a falsetto but with a chest voice, at the first performance of Rossini’s “Guillaume Tell,” in 1831. Rossini was not pleased. The sound, he said, was like “the squawk of a capon with its throat cut.”
But there was no turning back, especially with the heroic tenor voices demanded by Wagnerian opera.
In the mid-20th century, Alfredo Kraus, Franco Corelli and Jussi Bjoerling had great high C’s. Curiously, Enrico Caruso, arguably the greatest opera celebrity, had a weak one and had to work hard to develop his top. Plácido Domingo, who extended his voice up from the baritone range and who is widely admired for his musicianship and artistry, is also not known for pinging high C’s. An unkind joke among singers has him dubbed “Mingo.” “Where’s the ‘Do?’ ” someone is asked. “He doesn’t have one,” goes the answer, “do” being the singing syllable for C.
Mr. Pavarotti won his place in the pantheon of high C’s with a run of Donizetti’s “Fille du Régiment” in the 1972-1973 season at the Met. The aria “Pour mon âme” calls for nine of them in a row, and Mr. Pavarotti tossed them off brilliantly. In 1995, it was a different story. Singing the same aria, he transposed the notes down, missed the first and eventually left the stage for his understudy to take over.
Being able to hit the note consistently, in the context of a moving line and with a ringing, beautiful sound, requires talent, but also technique.
Mr. Peters, of the Manhattan School, said the chest voice, the strongest source of sound, and the head voice, where the sound vibrates in the head’s cavities, must be perfectly balanced. The base of the tongue, the jaw, the larynx must all lie in just the right position, unrestricted by tension.
Mr. Pavarotti once described the feeling this way: “Excited and happy, but with a strong undercurrent of fear. The moment I actually hit the note, I almost lose consciousness. A physical, animal sensation seizes me. Then I regain control.”
The tenor Juan Diego Flórez, also acclaimed for his top, will sing “Fille” at the Met in April. He said in an interview on Thursday that he imagines a keyboard in his head, and reaches for the note there.
“You think very high,” he said. “You give a lot of space in your throat.” Mr. Flórez said that as he is heading for the high C’s in “Fille,” he feels the adrenaline flow. “It has to sound very spontaneous and happy,” he said. “You have to hit them without effort. But that’s the acting. You’re concentrating on making those notes sound great.”
When he feels them vibrating correctly in his head, the pleasure is deep. “The public can feel that,” he said.
Sometimes, a pleasure it ain’t. Adolphe Nourrit was the reigning tenor in Paris until Duprez came along with that new-fangled C. Nourrit struggled to keep up with his younger rival, but could not muster the note. That fact, it was said, helped lead him to suicide.
Quite possibly a case of death on the high C’s.