My grandfather was born in Athlone, Northern Ireland and his best friend growing up was a scrawny kid by the name of John McCormack who grew up to become a world famous tenor. My father therefore grew up in a house where music and particularly opera was part of his daily life. Because of McCormack, he wanted badly to be an operatic tenor but around eleven years old when his voice changed he was chagrined to find that nature had instead endowed him with a nevertheless rich and musical baritone instrument.
He sang in various stagings of comic operas, Gilbert and Sullivan for example, and amateur productions of some of the classic Italian operas but making a living and the advent of WWII prevented him from taking up singing as a career. Instead, he regaled us with his recordings of basses, such as Paul Robeson, baritones like Tito Gobi, and a huge collection of recordings by tenors.... McCormack, Caruso, Gigli, Secombe, Schipa, Lanza, and Campanini among others. He always loved Beniamino Gigli's voice and said he was the most musical of all the great Italian tenors.
One day we were listening to classical music on the radio - I think Dad was doing the crossword puzzle and my sister and I were sprawled on the rug playing chess - when the announcer mentioned something about a new Italian tenor. He then played a new recording of Luciano Pavarotti singing 'Che gelida manina' from La Boheme.
My father sprang from his seat and turned up the sound, standing in front of the radio as if bracing himself against a powerful wind emanating from the speaker, his legs slightly spread, leaning forward, and his arms spread to capture the sound.
When it ended and he turned around, his eyes were shining and tears were running down his face.
"That's it..." he said simply. "That's it."
And he walked out into the garden... we could see his shoulders shaking as he stood there for what seemed like an eternity.
I had never seen my father cry before (and only once since) so this made a great impact on me. Our turntable thereafter became the platform for every recording ever made by Pavarotti and my Dad played the best arias over and over again. Gigli was relegated to a role as a sometimes actor on that stage and the Caruso recordings were left in the cupboard.
Dad loved Pavarotti's voice so much, he even forgave him for "Yes, Giorgio"... something I was never able to do
Pavarotti's voice is imprinted on my soul. I'm not a religious person, but it's my belief that the most beautiful song ever recorded is Luciano Pavarotti singing the Gounod version of 'Ave Maria'...
Requiescat in Pace, Luciano.
