The performance is a poet. a performance in which they sing and do not speak

How I sing the performance

On the day of the performance, I sleep late so that my body can rest as fully as possible, and when I wake up, I drink a cup of coffee with sweetener, nothing else, and that’s always the case. It is clear that my first thought is whether I am in voice today or not. I can test its sound in the shower, like any person, but I do not do this for the pleasure of hearing myself accompanied by the sound of water. The condition of the voice is a vital factor for a singer.

I wonder why everyone is so concerned about the impact of sexual function on the voice? Maybe because vocalists always look for an excuse for themselves when they are out of voice, and excessive sexual activity seems like a noble reason that excuses the singer. Or simply because sex is incredibly interesting to everyone, and any excuse is always welcome just to talk about it.

Many singers, in particular tenors, are convinced that making love immediately before performing in a play has a beneficial effect on the voice. Terry McEwen, who will soon become director of a theater in San Francisco, claims that he can determine by the sound of his voice whether a singer had sexual intercourse on the night before the performance or not. One of my colleagues is so convinced of the beneficial effects of sex that he often organizes such an “event” in a hurry in his makeup room.

My friend José Carreras takes, in my opinion, the right position here. “I know that sex is good for my voice,” he says, “but I don’t presume to judge my colleagues. I've never spent time in bed with a tenor."

This is all so ridiculous. Like José, I can't help but joke about it when journalists ask me questions about sex... all the time. To the Newsweek cover story who asked me what I thought about this, I replied:

I think that sex tunes my body the same way that vocalizations tune my voice... and I sing vocalises every day.

Jokes aside, I think it’s better to abstain from sexual intercourse on the day you need to sing, and the day before too. I think it’s more correct not to give it to the body at all. no loads during this period of time. You can sing equally poorly five minutes after intercourse and even five days later. However, I don’t think that the relationship here can be as predictable as many would like us to believe.

One way or another, you should not be at the mercy of such a problem and allow it to influence your life. One of my colleagues Metropolitan very strict in this regard. His wife openly complains that her husband does not fulfill his marital duties - both before and after the performance: “But he sings,” she adds, “twice a week!”

As for my usual routine on the day before a performance in an opera performance, let me, in describing it, throw a blanket over the question of sex.

After coffee and a shower, I sing vocalises for two minutes. If the voice sounds, I stop studying and rest until breakfast. If there is no voice, I still finish singing vocalises after two minutes... I relax a little and only then sit down at the table. After breakfast I spend some time at the easel or reading. I try to avoid meeting people - talking tires my voice.

Then I rest again for a few hours and start singing vocalises again. If there is still no voice, I force it, even scream if necessary. I continue the exercises until I am convinced that my voice has returned. I'm going to the theater. And again vocalises to check if I lost my voice along the way.

The peasant boy Nemorino from Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore is one of Pavarotti's particularly favorite roles.

As the singer himself believed, she was very close to him in character, and therefore it was not difficult for him to enter this image.

I get to the theater in my old Mercedes, which I keep in the garage of the Marie-Theresa Residence, where I stop every time I perform in La Scala. This is a very comfortable and quiet hotel, where I rent an apartment spacious enough to place my paintings - a room with a kitchen where I can cook something delicious for myself and my friends.

The center of Milan is a complete nightmare, here traffic moves along the streets only in one direction. I don't know the city well, but from the hotel to the theater La Scala could get there with eyes closed. I love driving and prefer to sit behind the wheel myself. All my friends know about my passion and often, when I am abroad, they allow me to drive their cars on our trips together.

After a performance or some other exciting event, nothing gives me as much pleasure as being behind the wheel of some powerful car and racing down the freeway at high speed. This is an amazing way to relieve tension, just don't tell the traffic police that I advise you to do the same.

La Scala allows me to park my car in the courtyard behind the stage, which is very convenient. I always arrive an hour or an hour and a half before the curtain goes up.

Today I sing for the first time in La Scala“Love potion” and therefore I’m much more worried than usual. I always get nervous before going on stage. And any singer who assures you that he is completely calm will tell a lie.

But sometimes I worry especially strongly. For example, when I first performed with my solo concert on television on a national television channel in the USA, I was so scared that I didn’t seem to understand anything.

Milanese critics can turn into real sadists. It is impossible to predict when they will decide to deal with some singer and how their hostility may turn out.

I suspect that in many cases the reason is purely emotional, without any connection to actual performance. Naturally, they know about my successes in the USA and other countries, which scares me. They don't like it when foreigners tell them which Italian tenors should be praised or criticized.

Besides, I don't like my own throat. It doesn’t seem to hurt, but it’s still a little different from what it should be... just that “little bit” that makes me more nervous than usual.

I enter my makeup room, where the walls are lined with dark wood. I hear my colleagues singing vocalises in the neighboring rooms - the familiar atmosphere backstage at the opera house before the start of the performance. I’m going to find out if my Adina, Mirella Freni, has arrived and how she’s feeling. She sits at the makeup table, smiles at me and blows me a kiss.

My makeup room is on the men's side just above her room. I am greeted by the costume designer, a middle-aged woman who has been working in the industry for a long time. La Scala. My costume is ready, but first I have to get ready, sit at the piano and sing vocalises, then go to a small room at the end of the corridor, where the make-up artist is waiting for me, with whom at the dress rehearsal we came up with a good make-up for my Nemorino.

I sit down in front of a brightly lit mirror with my back to the door and, while the master is working, I exchange greetings through the glass with friends who come to visit me. Even if I’m worried, like today, I still manage to joke and laugh with them.

Director Jean-Pierre Ponnelle comes to remind me of the small changes we agreed on at the dress rehearsal. At first, the director staged the opera “L'elisir d'amore” in opera house in Hamburg.

The make-up artist finished working on my face. Now I'm a tanned country boy who spends a lot of time in the sun tending sheep. (This idea - to turn Nemorino into a shepherd - was suggested by Ponnelle.) A wig with short curly hair is fixed on my head and seems to suit me. I don’t always have such a good feeling after being made up and dressed. I return to the make-up room and are helped into my costume, which basically consists of a loose, extremely comfortable country shirt.

Now I'm ready, all that's left to do is wait to go on stage. This is where the excitement makes itself felt especially acutely. I sit down at the piano and try out my voice. Everything is in place, but my throat is not okay. It worries me very much. Something is bothering me, and this “something” may not affect my voice right now, but affect it in an hour. Meanwhile, another three hours must pass before the last note is sounded.

A theater vocal teacher comes into my makeup room. La Scala. He does this before every performance. He says hello, sits down at the piano and plays a chord. I sing a phrase in a major key. We move on, gradually raising the notes. When we approach “do”, the maestro stops and turns to me.

Is it coming? - he asks.

I admit that there is something bothering me in my throat. He assures that his voice is fine. Leaves.

The most painful time is coming. You've done everything you need to do, but there's still twenty minutes left before the curtain goes up. Now you can only sit and ask yourself how you got to the point where you chose a profession that forces you, a grown man, to put on some strange costume and go on stage in front of thousands of people with the risk of being a laughing stock or causing a scandal.

Opera is a wonderful art form because it combines many elements. And each of them can destroy the singer, even if he does an excellent job with the others. When the curtain is ready to rise, opera ceases to be ancient for the performer. precious treasure from a great art collection, but turns into a minefield.

Finally it's time to take Right place on stage and I go to my way of the cross. The dressmaker follows me with a bottle of mineral water, a box of pins and all sorts of other small items.

Approaching the stage, I begin to look for a bent nail on the floor. This is a sign that I have believed in for a long time. I can't sing until I find a nail like this. This can usually be done without difficulty, since there is always a lot of carpentry and carpentry work behind the scenes.

This sign combines two typically Italian superstitions: metal brings good luck, and the bent shape of the nail resembles a horn, which saves from bad luck.

Everyone laughs at my habit, and there were times when some stagehands, trying to help me, also began to look for a bent nail on the floor. It is not true that I am sending Adua ahead to find such a nail, as I happened to read somewhere. Whoever wrote this doesn't know my wife. Moreover, this habit of mine makes her very angry, because I put the nail, of course, in her pocket, and holes form there, which she then has to sew up.

Now many people know this sign of mine, and fans from all over the world send the most incredible nails: some are silver, and one is even massive from cast gold. But I need the most ordinary iron nail, found a minute before going on stage, to ward off bad luck.

I arrive at my place. In the first act of L'elisir d'amore, Ponnelle invented rural landscape- with Nemorino's house in the proscenium box on the left. And opposite is the house of Adina, the girl my hero loves. These boxes are usually used only by theater administrators, but for our production they were turned into scenery. True, I rarely find myself in my house, since I am on stage almost all the time.

I sit down on the bench. I hear a noise in the hall: an ocean that can caress you or kill you. They give me something like a toy - a straw lamb, which I need to hold in my arms while performing the first aria. The conductor ascends to the podium and bows in response to the greetings of the orchestra. The audience is silent.

These are the most terrible moments. There is no way you can back down here. The performance has begun. I’m sitting in my house, sweating, it’s running down my neck in streams, and I still have to sing for three whole hours. I would agree to become anything but an opera soloist. I'm ready to go back to classroom to those little devils... Anywhere. I pray. I believe in a good God. But faith is not enough to overcome painful anxiety. I don’t think I have any enemy, but if he existed, I wouldn’t wish such terrible moments as these on him either.

The overture begins and the curtain rises. Soon I will have to go on stage and begin a little pantomime with the girl with whom I am in love, and who in turn will come out of the house from the opposite side. However, for long years career, I was already convinced that I was endowed with some special property that helped me overcome paralysis from excitement. When I need to appear on stage, something seems to turn off in my mind, I turn into an actor and no longer think about anything extraneous.

Something like self-hypnosis occurs, and it is difficult to explain “this something.” I become the hero of an opera performance. Partly thanks to complete concentration, which I consider absolutely necessary for any good performance, whether we are talking about an opera or a concert. And partly, I think, because something like a psychological defense arises from the huge burden of responsibility. If you just allow yourself to think about what awaits you in the coming hours - about all the possible dangers, risks and many details that need to be remembered, about technical and musical tasks, about disagreements with the conductor in reading the score..., about the public, first of all about the public, about this stubborn Moloch, full of whims - if you just start thinking now about even a small fraction of all the exciting problems, you will simply collapse in unconsciousness.

Complete concentration, excluding from consciousness everything that does not concern your immediate action at this particular moment, this is precisely the state that is absolutely necessary to achieve highest degree artistic skill, but also partly for the sake of self-preservation. You are a simple village boy in love with a girl who rejects you. And nothing else. It often happened to me that I forgot about the audience for a long time. If anything entered the consciousness from the world that Donizetti and Felice Romani created, it was the conductor waving his baton in the semi-darkness.

In "Elixir of Love" I have to start right away with a big aria. Nemorino stands near his house in the beams of spotlights, clutching a straw lamb to his chest, and sings: “How beautiful, like the road...” This is a beautiful melody, a tender declaration of my hero’s love for Adina, but the aria is not without risk for the tenor, especially because that he had not yet had time to warm up.

Everything is going well, and the audience lets me know this with their applause... not crazy at all, but heartfelt, almost hot. It’s amazing how I can grasp the mood of the audience even before the applause starts. This is something at the subconscious level. It rarely happened when the reaction of listeners at the end of a number turned out to be unexpected for me... in its coldness, indifference or delight. I always feel it before it manifests itself.

Now, when Mirella sings Adina’s simple aria, telling her friends the story of Tristan and Isolde, I feel great warmth auditorium. What public is capable of remaining indifferent to Freni? Her appearance alone is enough to conquer everyone. And what she great singer, a soprano of the highest standard, becomes obvious during the performance of the first aria, even if it is simple and unpretentious, and Mirella cannot immediately show all her skill.

According to the role, Nemorino must look with loving eyes at Adina from the other end of the stage. And like Luciano Pavarotti, I admire her and think: we were born almost at the same time - our birthdays are separated by several months, we grew up in the same block small town, and now we sing together in the most famous opera house in the world, performing two great roles of the Italian opera repertoire. What a joy to work with Mirella! Both as a singer and as a friend.

The first act is going well, I feel that the audience is “thawing” and enjoying the singers more and more. But I know very well: even if she approves of your performance, the audience could rebel against the entire performance at any moment. Dulcamara makes a dramatic appearance on stage and sings her barker aria. Now I enter into a duet with him, asking him to sell a drink that Adina will love Nemorino after drinking.

I really like this duet. The plot is completely clear and charmingly comic: a naive peasant who believes in a miracle, and a shameless charlatan who sells a dummy instead of an elixir.

The music wonderfully conveys Nemorino's joy when he manages to persuade such a learned man to help him win the girl's love, and Dulcamara is so happy that he has found a naive simpleton who is easy to deceive. The music wonderfully emphasizes the fun nature of this game: people can deceive each other, but everyone has a great opportunity to get everything they need. Here, in my opinion, Italian comic opera reaches its peak. And there are enough such episodes in “Elixir of Love.”

At the end of the first act, Nemorino rushes around the stage in despair, and everyone laughs at him, because now Adina is being prepared for a wedding with his rival.

A stormy scene is very tiring for me: when the curtain falls, I am completely exhausted. I head to the dressing room, almost not hearing the applause, which seems to be enthusiastic, but not overwhelming. Milan has not yet been conquered. I can barely catch my breath, I’m drenched in sweat.

Having reached my room, I fall into a chair. I drink some mineral water, then a cup of warm tea. My voice seems to be holding up for now, but there are still two more acts to go.

Recital at La Scala. 1983

My wife comes in. She says the audience is happy. But I can’t relax until I sing the big aria in the second act “I see a tear on the sly...”.

Intermissions are like a neutral zone, when you find yourself outside of the battle for a short period of time, but the war is not over yet. At first, during breaks, I didn’t want to see anyone except my wife. Now I am no longer so strict about visits to my makeup room, but only after the end of the performance I become again accessible to the world animals.

I wipe off the sweat, fix my makeup and wait to go out. It seems that not even two minutes have passed before I’m back on stage - bargaining for a second bottle of love elixir from Dulcamara. In the drunken scene, when I had already signed up as a recruit to pay for the drink, the bottle suddenly breaks in my hands. I don’t notice the blood until I go backstage. The costumer washes the cuts and seals them with a band-aid so that the audience does not notice anything.

At rehearsals, and at the dress rehearsals too, the bottle was always plastic. We decided that it would be calmer this way. For some reason, which I would find out later, the props manager decided to replace it with glass without notifying me. I’m standing on stage in full confidence that I’m holding an unbreakable bottle in my hands, and suddenly it suddenly shatters into pieces. Of course, there was probably some reason for the replacement - maybe a plastic vessel got lost or some other similar stupidity happened - but to discover it during the performance...

You involuntarily perceive what happened as a betrayal on the part of a person whose duty, on the contrary, is to help you. Unfortunately, this kind of trouble occurs quite often, forcing you to become very nervous and sometimes explode with anger.

Compared to many singers, among whom there are people simply prone to scandals, fortunately, I had few troubles on stage. One day, when I was performing in San Francisco, I suddenly felt the floor sink beneath me. It started strong earthquake. Frankly, except when I'm walking up the stairs to a plane, I'm usually quite brave. And then, too, I behaved completely calmly. Then they told me that my behavior prevented panic in the theater.

During the performance, other small events can happen that I don’t even notice. On stage I am completely immersed in the action of the opera. I still remember one case when, due to absent-mindedness, I almost ruined my entire role. Sang “La Bohème” in Ankara. Because I don't know Turkish language, then I sang the part of Rudolf in Italian, and the other singers answered me in their own language. It turned out to be very strange to hear such familiar music in combination with some completely incomprehensible words! I felt incredibly funny. And in fact, who would not be distracted if, playing the role of a Parisian poet of the last century, he suddenly heard that they were answering him in Martian?

But let's return to the "Elixir of Love" in La Scala. Finally, all the partners leave the stage and leave you alone. I step into the center of the huge stage space and sing one of the greatest tenor arias ever written - "Una furtiva lacrima" -“I see a tear on the sly...” The aria is amazing and very mysterious, because before it the music in the opera sounded lively and cheerful... And then suddenly emotional mood changes completely, and Donizetti includes in the score a single number of incomprehensible seriousness and beauty, as if telling the listeners: “You’ve had enough fun, and now I want to remind you that I - great composer and you listen to great singers.”

But while the orchestra performs a bright, sad introduction, I can only hope that the audience La Scala I'm ready to listen to just a good singer.

It is very difficult to explain to people of other nationalities what happens when Italian tenor performs before the Italian public one of the greatest arias of our operatic repertoire.

We need to feel in our hearts how much opera means to us, how deeply we honor our composers, how close their music is to us, how important it is for our national prestige.

When I start singing "Unafurtiva lacrima" I don’t know for sure, but I can imagine what amazing memories arise for music lovers sitting in the hall. Perhaps they remember how this aria was sung by Gigli, Skip, Di Stefano, Tagliavini, or some other great tenor who performed on the same stage, whose performance became one of the most exciting moments in life for listeners. And now I have the nerve to compete with them. When I sing the first notes - tenderly, softly - an indescribable excitement covers everyone - both me and the audience.

The aria is unusual not only because it is the only sad number in the whole comic opera. Most of the great tenor arias of the Italian repertoire tend to end high note, and if you take it properly, you can lead the audience into crazy delight.

In the aria "Una furtiva lacrima" there is nothing familiar... It's just desperate wonderful music, which can reveal the slightest flaws in a poorly delivered voice.

I sing the opening melody of amazing beauty with its dramatic and unexpected change of key at the most exciting place. The melody is repeated with minor variations at the end of the aria. In terms of technical difficulties "Una furtiva lacrima" not difficult. But the singer needs to extract from the music all its enormous emotional intensity, so the aria is incredibly difficult to perform.

I believe that this is the most insidious aria of all the great tenor repertoire: it immediately shows the strengths and weaknesses of the singer.

So I hit the last note, I hold it. There is a moment of silence. I think the aria went well. And then applause is heard, deafening, incredible. Theater La Scala got mad. I stand motionless, hands down, trying not to leave the image. Thousands of thoughts rush through my head. Naturally, I am pleased that the aria has already been sung, I am happy that La Scala applauds me, and I hope the critics will praise me. I won.

But another thought arises that may seem arrogant. I believe that musical number, even the most beautiful, is not a complete work in itself. The composer's intention must still be revealed by the performer in singing, and if you feel that you have succeeded in doing this, you feel like a part of the maestro who created the music.

The ovation continues, and I still try not to leave the character. At one time I bowed to the applause in the middle of an act if it seemed to me that there was no end to it. I thought that with such behavior I would reassure the audience, who never ceased beating their palms, letting them know that I was responding to their delight.

But then I realized: if the audience goes crazy, as it is now in La Scala, then it is simply impossible to respond to applause, get out of character and thank the listeners on your own - this excites them even more.

If you want to have any hope of moving on, so that you can then return home and have dinner, you must stand like a mannequin - a mannequin beaming with gratitude until the audience takes their breath away.

The next day the newspapers wrote that the ovation after "Unafurtiva lacrima" lasted ten minutes. A very long time. I am grateful to the audience even for a minute. A friend told me that I performed a miracle that evening - arrogant public La Scala became like the ardent Neapolitans who adore their San Carlo.

Meanwhile, I stand motionless, immensely happy, endlessly grateful and a little embarrassed.

Finally the performance can continue. I sing a little more with Mirella and then I begin final scene. When the curtain falls, the delight that the audience expressed after my famous aria, With incredible strength flares up again, but now the ovation is addressed only to Mirella Freni and the performance as a whole. And when the challenges follow one after another, you feel rewarded for the terrible moments that you experienced at the beginning of the opera. I admit, I love applause. I need them like air.

As a loving person, I myself need reciprocal love, and there is something magical in the feelings that the public infects you with. It's truly unlike anything else in the world. With friends and loved ones, you can never be sure whether they truly love you or how long-lasting their affections are. And in the relationship between the singer and the public, everything is clear - if they adore you, they say so directly. But they don’t like you, they won’t pretend... And the most wonderful thing is that as long as you can give them what they expect from you, they will constantly, every evening, be ready to express their ardent feelings to you.

Finally, the performance is really over, and I am sitting in my makeup room. My father is here, having arrived by car from Modena. He hugs me warmly. Many friends and strangers crowding at the door, pushing forward and surrounding me. Anyone can come to my dressing room after the performance.

Adua comes up and kisses him hard on the lips, and meanwhile there are so many others around beautiful women. Some journalist from Rome asks:

Which one is your wife?

Everyone laughs.

My daughters hug me too, followed by my sister and aunties. Mom, of course, is not there. She has never visited the theater when I sing. She may become too excited and fear that her heart will not be able to handle too much emotion. However, Mirella and I will be performing a concert in Modena in a week, and my mother promised that maybe she would come. Let's see.

The makeup room is filled with friends and relatives. Everyone comes up to me one after another. I kiss every woman who came to greet me... every one - from eight to eighty years old. I really love moments like this - I joke with everyone.

Some old man grabs my hands and kisses them, someone else says:

No words!

I answer:

I see you liked it, dear friend?

More and more people are coming.

After some time, I notice that my loved ones, with whom I have to go to dinner, are already showing impatience, but they know that I will remain in the makeup room until the last visitor leaves.

Finally, we are sitting at a table in the restaurant that I prefer to all others in Milan. I am never as happy as after a successful performance, here I can relax in the company of people dear to me. Of course, I eat a lot. During the performance, I lose up to five kilograms in weight, but I immediately gain them back, especially if I eat food as diligently as I did tonight, but who can think about a diet in such happy moments?

Moreover, is it even possible to think about anything now? You just have to thank God for the opportunity to do exactly what you want to do, and exactly the way you want.