Luciano Pavarotti

It's probably tedious to recount Pavarotti's world career, from his studies in Modena together with Mirella Freni, to his early artistic partnership with Joan Sutherland and Richard Bonynge, and to his position as the world's greatest operatic star since Maria Callas, particularly at a time when his voice was on the decline, and when he primarily sang semi-classical, semi-pop concerts, either with Domingo and Carreras as the Three Tenors, or with actual pop stars at the annual Pavarotti and Friends concerts in Modena.

Just a few facts perhaps that were unknown to myself, and may be unknown to some others, as well. I was always aware that he studied in Modena with Arrigo Pola (together with Freni, see above); what I didn't know is that after three years, he switched to legendary Ettore Campogalliani in the same town for another four years.

That already his 1961 debut (Rodolfo in Reggio nell'Emilia) was recorded is more than well-known among collectors, but it's probably less noted how come: the son of writer Vladimir Nabokov, Dmitrij, was a budding basso, and sang Colline on the evening of Pavarotti's debut; it was he who brought the recording equipment, because he wanted to make his absent father hear his performance. (Dmitrij Nabokov's career went nowhere, for the record.)

The stage director of that Reggio Bohème was ex-soprano Mafalda Favero, and so her husband was in the audience: Alessandro Ziliani, meanwhile long retired as a tenor, and one of Italy's most important bookers. He immediately took Pavarotti under his wing, and for several years (or until Pavarotti became too famous to listen), he carefully directed the young man's career, and wisely chose his roles – only belcanto, and a bit of Mozart. The rest of Pavarotti's life unfolded in front of the world...

Personally, I heard Pavarotti six times, all at the Vienna Staatsoper. He was excellent in April 1984 as both Nemorino (not quite appropriate in style, but beautifully sung and charming nonetheless) and as Radames (and no, on that occasion, his voice was – contrary to François Nouvion's experience recounted above – not to small for the role), and in 1986 as Riccardo. In Luisa Miller, in 1986 as well, he was ill-disposed and disappointing (and caused a scandal among the Staatsoper habitués since he had a microphone hidden in his wig, something that was not nearly as common back then as it is today), and in Tosca (1994) and Andrea Chénier (1996), he was terrible, the voice was small, yes, but above all way too thin and lyrical, even for Cavaradossi.

From live recordings, it's obvious that his technique was always a bit shaky: at all stages of his career, he could be great (above all vocally, not so much in terms of musicality and interpretation), or a complete failure. My impression is that it was connected to his physique – the "bigger" Big P. was, the better worked his voice; when he lost weight, his support vanished. Of course, in later years (cf. my Tosca and Chénier experiences), nothing helped, and he could be as fat as imaginable, and disappointed nevertheless.

Reference: Enciclopedia Treccani