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Music: Luciano’s Back in Town

4 minute read
Martha Duffy

There’s more pomp than circumstance in Donizetti’s La Favorita. There is no onstage action in the opera, and the plot moves with godlike indolence. In the last century it was popular because of its pretty, skillfully written melodies and because 19th century audiences rather liked a long evening in the theater.

In this era it seems a waste for Luciano Pavarotti to undertake such a vehicle, as he did last week at New York City’s Metropolitan Opera. The commanding tenor today, he can do a great many things wonderfully well. Some of them, like spinning out a legato line or singing a high C, are displayed in La Favorita. As an actor Pavarotti can be funny or tragic (both in La Bohème), or a careless aristocrat (the Duke in Rigoletto). But with his native wit and musical intelligence, Pavarotti cannot act dumb. Unfortunately, that is required of Fernando, the hero of La Favorita.

He is a monk in 14th century Castile, more obedient to the conventions of courtly love than to the discipline of his vows. He falls in love with a lady whom he has seen in church, and dashes out into the world, not even knowing her name. He eventually learns that she is Leonora (Shirley Verrett), but for an unforgivable amount of time it eludes him that she is the mistress of King Alfonso XI (Sherrill Milnes), even though a chap wearing a crown is always lurking about her or walking up and down the steps to a throne. There are also political complications in Leonora’s life. Fernando is no match for all this. (Bad luck: he could have provided Lohengrin’s Elsa, who also had trouble with names, with the years of bovine bliss she deserved.)

The somnolence of Alfonso’s court turned out to be hard on everyone. The orchestra, under Jesús López-Cobos, was at times embarrassingly inattentive. The Met’s curtailed version of the court ballet was execrable, and Milnes, doubtless sick of climbing in and out of his throne, made the mistake of actually watching it instead of striking a rigid pose. One of the evening’s genuinely endearing sights was his head turning with increasing confusion at botched patterns and fallen hats.

Milnes’ vocal judgment, at least, was excellent. Verrett acted with an effective blend of charm and elusiveness. For a few years she has been trying to retrain her lush mezzo voice to sing soprano roles. The strategy seems wrong; by now the registers of her voice are as separated as the drawers of a desk. Only near the end did her singing match her style.

Pavarotti sang impeccably and with authority, not an easy matter in a part that lies very high even for a tenor. But a week earlier he gave a recital at the Met, broadcast nationwide on PBS, which better presented both his musicianship and his personality. He is perhaps the best and certainly the most popular male singer now. His records dominate the classical charts.

He is 42, and his voice is bigger and less lyrical than it used to be. He has lost 85 lbs., and in doing so disproves the theory that a singer who loses much weight loses vocal beauty. The voice is in lustrous condition. Pavarotti gave a virile E lucevan le stelle from Tosca, an aria that is often more wept than sung. He took on Beethoven’s In questa tomba oscura, an unyielding piece, though a war-horse of recital repertory. In the last two bitter words, ingrata, ingrata, he showed how a bold singer with operatic instincts can bring pathos to the whole song. Perhaps the most perfect, if not the most ambitious number was Tosti’s limpid Ideale. In the heavenly cantoria, one could picture Beniamino Gigli and Tito Schipa nodding paternally, John McCormack consulting the universal genealogy to see if Pavarotti has any Irish blood. He has been compared with these tenors and many more, including Caruso. None is quite right. Pavarotti is himself: a great tenor whose technique is traditional, but whose direct, unsentimental, occasionally tough approach to music makes him very much a modern singer . -Martha Duffy

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