4 & 5 maggio, 2007
Grande Evento al Bellini
From the beginning, this trip to Sicily had felt unsettled. Andrea’s
sudden cancellation of the opera Andrea Chenier had thrown us off
balance, as it must have done for many others. In a half-panicked flurry,
we revised plans, changed reservations, rebooked flights…and that was
only after we had first carefully considered whether to continue at all
with the long-anticipated trip. But it was my 60th birthday present, and
we had never been to Sicily. So we went.
And then, all the long way home from Catania—from high above the
startling turquoise and intense azure of the Mediterranean….into
Fiumicino, through the whirlwind farewell evening walk to all our
favorite spots in Rome, then, the next morning, the endless hours across
the Atlantic home—my thoughts would turn and turn again to the "grande
evento al Bellini," as the newspapers called it.
Il Pubblico
On both nights of the concert, as we walked into the Teatro Massimo
Bellini, people were standing in the piazza in small circles talking
animatedly. Mostly these were Italians. There were young and old. A
little girl of 5 or 6 twirled in her pretty dress and white fur cape
that clearly made her feel like a true principessa. We watched as
a white-haired nonna was lovingly escorted one slow step at a
time to her seat near the front. I think, perhaps, she was not there to
see the soprano! There was a sizable group of Americans from the U.S.
Navy Base at Sigonella outside of Catania. Many of them had served in
Iraq. The young man seated beside us with his wife had just returned
from his second tour—his specialty was disarming explosives. I could
only hope this beautiful music, whose final words are "grant us
peace," would be a balm to his heart and soul. For his wife, he was
giving her the long-held dream of hearing Andrea for the first time. As
we watched others come in, it seemed evident that many were coming to a
theater of this kind for the first time. The instant they entered, they
would stop stock-still, mouth and eyes suddenly wide in awe, captivated
instantly by the spirit of the venerable gold and red space more than a
century old.
The Theater
The theater is smaller than Teatro di San Carlo in Naples where
Andrea first sang the Petite Messe Solennelle a year ago. It was
easily filled to overflowing with the glorious resonant sound of the
chorus and the solo and the harmonizing voices of the principal singers.
We were in the last row both nights, which was still close, and Andrea’s
voice was clearly audible over the orchestra and soared out with the
other singers. This intimate setting delivered Andrea’s carefully
crafted notes to us as if he were bestowing a private concert. We are
bereft of such jewel-box shrines to la musica in the U.S. In
Italy, for even the smallest towns, they are the norm, taken for granted.
This is what brings us from far across the ocean to hear our tenor’s
voice in a setting that cannot be duplicated. The giornale in
Catania created a special hyphenated designation for those of us
fortunate enough to make such a pilgrimage—"Bocelli-Friends."
The Work
Petite Messe Solennelle. I have loved it from the first note I
had heard at Teatro di San Carlo in Naples. This glorious work of
Rossini is humbly humane, profoundly faithful, touching in its heartfelt
passion, contagious in its soaring spirit, simple in its truth, moving
in it plea for mercy and peace. No wonder it was an obvious choice for
Andrea…it suits him perfectly. Through all the intricate harmonizing
and complex interweaving of the notes, Andrea never missed an entry. Of
course, he alone was without a score in hand. This music, secured in
mind and heart, is poured straight out to us from him, unfettered by any
need to read it note by note. In fact, more than once, if you were
watching, he was plainly seen to mouth the parts of the bass, mezzo, and
soprano along with them. He had committed the entire score and libretto
to his seemingly unlimited memory.
Highlights
All the principals had solos and also joined in duets. The soprano
had more than one. But the tenor’s "Domine Deus" comes first.
It is so distinctive—distilled triumph…a pure and majestic statement
of the dominion of the Lord God. The Latin words themselves have a regal
sound ("Rex celestes"), and Andrea’s superb diction raises
them to the highest level. He sings it for all he is worth, and then
quietly takes his seat as the work moves on. His moment in the spotlight
seems much too brief, and it is so difficult to resist the natural urge
to applaud madly in response to him. But this is generally not accepted
etiquette for this classical work. (Although later in the program, the
soprano was acknowledged after her solo "O salutaris hostia.")
After a tender "Qui tollis peccata mundi" duet from the
soprano and mezzo and a rather sedate solo from the bass, the
irresistibly infectious rhythm of "Cum Sancto Spiritu"
crescendos to an unleashed, brilliant gallop of joy in Rossini’s
little Mass. It is a moment when the audience is powerless to resist
responding with applause to the exuberance of the final burst from the
chorus. Andrea, too, beamed a smile of pleasure at this moment both
nights. The great "Credo"…"I believe"…follows
and is the heart of the work in which the soloists intone the basic
tenets of the faith. As he has often stated, Andrea is a believer. He
sang these single lines assigned to him with evident conviction and
pride—his voice was strong and straightforward. "Agnus Dei"
concludes the work. During this emotionally wrenching and powerful mezzo
solo, Andrea was markedly intent…immersed in the grip of the anguished
plea for mercy and peace forged into this final piece.
Marcello Rota was the conductor, a familiar colleague and ally of
Andrea. He too seemed quite taken with Rossini’s work and exhibited
more emotion and athleticism in his conducting than I had ever noticed
before in his past concert work with our tenor. In fact, at times, Rota
was so animatedly electrified that you could swear Andrea channeled the
conductor’s energy and "watched" and smiled frequently at
his loyal maestro friend’s uncharacteristic fit of emotional
abandonment. It is a big responsibility to choreograph orchestra, choir,
and the four singers with precision and feeling. On this occasion, Rota
was masterful, and that isn’t a word I would normally connect with him.
Andrea
Compared with the other singers, Andrea seemed more respectfully
meditative and intent on the music during the choral parts and when not
singing. The soprano often gazed absently out into the theater. The
mezzo pored over her book, looking as if she often needed the
reassurance of yet one more review of the score. The bass frequently
looked preoccupied. Andrea consistently maintained an appreciative
expression that reflected his affection for the piece. But, of course,
who knows what thoughts might have been mincing about in his mind up
there!? And I know it isn’t charitable to make physical comparisons,
but when Andrea and the bass stood together, it was impossible to ignore
the contrast—Andrea elegantly tailored to perfection; the bass….not
so much.
About three quarters of the way into the Petite Messe, there
is a long, long, loooong piano solo, rather puzzling in its presence at
that point. Frankly, it is a bit tedious, but it provides the perfect
opportunity to observe Andrea, without being distracted by the need to
listen more intently to the work. Andrea does not do "still"
very easily. Perhaps one reason is the constant search for the point of
balance in a chair, actually most chairs, that cannot easily accommodate
all grandly handsome 6’3" of him. But he had achieved a somewhat
satisfactory chair stance at this point in the concert: knees a bit
apart, back straight, head at a slight tilt. I have noticed before that
when seated, the length of his torso puts him at least a head higher
than anyone else nearby. But what particularly drew my gaze at this
point were his hands…. each hand at rest at midthigh, slightly spread
out. These are gentle giant hands. There is something familiar about
them, I’m thinking. And then it strikes me…Abraham Lincoln hands.
The Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC, has been a lifelong Mecca for me,
and the hands of that imposing statue are hands I know and love. Hands
of gentle strength, determined. Like Andrea’s. For the moment, he
holds them still, but in the course of any given concert, who among us
has not studied every nuance of their animated course. Through these
performances at the Bellini, I watched them grasp the safety bar behind
the conductor’s podium, keep time in what Andrea must have supposed a
secret place where no one sees his private conducting, fidget with the
trimly tailored white formal vest, brush away a stray wisp of hair,
twitch his noble nose, gently touch his neighbor supportively, reach out
for reassurance, smooth the elegant Armani trousers, tap a rhythmic
accompaniment…nearly always moving in some way or another.
Both nights, the applause for the ensemble at the concert’s end was
most generous. In general, Europeans do not work themselves into the
kind of delirious appreciation that Americans manage routinely for
Andrea…at Avery Fisher Hall, for example. And in this case, there was
no added incentive of a possible encore or two to be coaxed. But the
audience stayed in place and applauded loudly and long enough to bring
the soloists back onstage at least three times. Mind you, this was no
small feat for them. The only exit from the stage was at the back, and,
because space was at a premium up there, it was a tricky maneuver coming
and going through the maze of musicians and up and down some kind of
barrier in the rear. Nevertheless, Andrea managed easily, and all basked
in the well-earned approval.
The Media
There was a lot of media buzz opening night. There were a TV
cameraman and a reporter in the theater doing preliminary color
commentary. There were several photographers during the first half of
the Friday concert who, honestly, were annoyingly intrusive and
distracting during the performance with their clicking cameras and
loudly thumping steps jockeying for position on the theater’s wooden
flooring. The back-to-back headlines in La Sicilia Friday and
Saturday nights were "Bocelli strega il pubblico" and
"Bocelli lascia freddino il pubblico"—Bocelli bewitches,
Bocelli leaves them a little cold. Critics. It is all too schizophrenic
to make sense of. But I learned a terrific new word from the reviews:
"beniamino," the favorite. Literally, it is the name Benjamin,
the favored youngest son of Jacob in the Old Testament story, but made
into a noun. I like it. It fits. Of all the other little tenors, Andrea
is clearly our favorite, our beniamino. Impartial? We don’t
even try. E’ cosi’.
Home
Allora, we are home again. What I can’t get out of my head is
Andrea. (No big news flash for any of us there, you’re thinking!) It
is that unforgettable image of him standing, once again, in a storied
theater. Statuesque, proud. On that stage, it is so undeniable that he
is doing what he was born to do. He strikes that instinctive tenor
stance, hands calmly at his side, determined, focused, giving us all he
has to give, as always. It is more than enough.
For the present, all is quiet on the Bocelli front. Our Sicilian
adventure began and ended unsettled. Unanswered questions remain. Where
from here, Andrea? Dove sei, dove andrai, Maestro caro?
By Cami McNamee
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