September 24, 2007 
Wiener Staatsoper
Österreich
 
Tales From the Wiener Staatsoper
 
die Stadt
For four spectacularly sunny days, we had tasted nearly all that Vienna had to offer—a drive through the famed Vienna Woods beside the swiftly sparkling, pale emerald (no, not blue) Danube, the history of the Holy Roman Empire and the Hapsburgs, crowned jewels, royal palaces, dark rich Sachertorte, endless Kaffee mit Schlag, Wiener Schnitzel, Apfelstrudel, and foaming beer. But in this city whose heart’s lifeblood is music—Schumann, Schubert, Strauss, Haydn, Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart—all residents whose music echoes everywhere, the high note of our stay was, of course, sung by Andrea Bocelli. At the hallowed Wiener Staatsoper on September 24, 2007, Andrea humbly bestowed his own contribution to this city steeped in melody.
 
das Opernhaus
In a year’s time, Andrea has made milestone appearances at three storied venues: at the venerable and prestigious Teatro di San Carlo in Naples, with the impeccable New York Philharmonic at Avery Fisher Hall, and now here at the peerless Staatsoper of Vienna. From the outside, the first glimpse of the opera house is breathtaking. It is truly grand, both in size and appearance, the arcaded front windows in the Renaissance style, crowned on either side with majestic equestrian bronze statues that Andrea would appreciate, the side loggias complemented by two beautiful fountains. It is a centerpiece of the old city. Once inside, the main foyer with the famous grand staircase sweeps you into the proper mind-set for "grand opera." This mecca of classical music is steeped in tradition and memories of the famous who have performed here. Just weeks ago a black flag of mourning had flown from its rooftop for perhaps its most famous adopted son, the tenor from Modena. Hans Richter, Richard Strauss, Arturo Toscanini, Karl Böhm, Fritz Reiner, Antal Dorati, Herbert von Karajan, Lorin Maazel, Zubin Mehta, Leonard Bernstein, Riccardo Muti, Georg Solti, Giuseppe Sinopoli, Claudio Abbado, and now Seiji Ozawa have been among its illustrious directors and conductors. But the interior theater itself belies the grandeur without. The red velvet, ivory, and gold décor is presented in a classically conservative design. Nothing ornately showy or gaudy, no gilded ostentation, direct and elegant….actually, a perfectly matched setting for our tenor.
 
das Konzert
The first moment of this historic evening came upon us without warning. No preliminaries. No welcoming announcement. No introductory overture of full orchestra as with previous concerts. Andrea and Carlo quietly walked out of the side wings, and he was there. Taken unaware this way, only a few more alertly observant members of the audience noticed and reacted in a startled and somewhat scattered welcoming applause that alerted us to his presence…but what began sporadically soon swelled to warm appreciation that the long-awaited moment had come at last. There was no need on Andrea’s part to earn this applause…it poured forth out of the sheer delight in his mere presence. Despite his summer tan that had glowed at the July concert in Lajatico, Andrea seemed pale at this first moment onstage…his smile tentative, preoccupied, and fleeting—all the enormity of the significance of this important undertaking weighing on his shoulders. He was clean-shaven and, although handsome as ever in his trim "everyday" tux with the stylish, flared-collar, formal white shirt and tie, he seemed singularly vulnerable on the big stage that was extended to cover the orchestra pit, and thus brought him closer to us. So it began at the Wiener Staatsoper. Andrea, Carlo, and the beautiful, shiny-black Bosendoerfer grand. It was all we needed.

Wien, 24.9.07, thanks to Jack!

das Programm
The concept for the evening’s program was simple, and simply brilliant—three hundred years of Italian music that fit Andrea’s sweetly nuanced lyric tenor perfectly, challenged his vocal range and power, and displayed his maturing technical mastery to full effect. The intensely romantic repertoire was divided into two parts. The first ranged from Caccini, among the founding fathers of opera who first sought to shine the spotlight on the solo singing voice, to the vocal and emotional complexity of Verdi. From Caccini, he chose "Amarilli," a love song, simple and direct. Coupled with the sublime elegance of this Renaissance melody, Andrea’s voice was the vocal equivalent of pearls on black velvet. It was over too soon. Next, the jaunty "Vittoria, Vittoria," from Carissimi, in the same romantic vein, the lively notes crisply and precisely timed, and some extremely challenging trills, typical of this era, that Andrea controlled nicely. The audience response at this point seemed somewhat reserved, but open. The comicly mournful "Tres giorni son che Nina"—Pergolesi’s song of a lovelorn young maid who had taken to her bed in melancholy collapse over unrequited love—was a bit more complex with its melodic jumps from low to high and a final, beautifully controlled high sweet note from Andrea that now decidedly began to weave its spell with the audience. Clearly our tenor was warming to the task. It was wonderful to hear him testing the waters of completely new material. When Andrea loves a melody, I swear you can hear the warm glow in his voice and his whole body leans into the singing of it. This is how it was with Giordani’s yearningly romantic melody, "Caro mio ben." It was the first song of the evening that was familiar to me, and it was achingly lovely, enchantingly sweet.
I have to apologize. Sweet, sweet, sweet seems to be the mantra in these descriptions, boringly repeated, but to characterize these songs it is impossible to avoid the word. With Andrea, however, such musical sweetness is never candy-coated but has an emotional depth and richness that is heartfelt and delicately spun. For this concert, he seemed to have an endless store of the sweet notes that only he floats so incomparably. The next two choices were canzonetti from Bellini, the master of bel canto: "Malinconia, ninfa gentile" and "Per pietà, bell'idol mio." Although these had been written as chamber music to fit an intimate setting, Andrea’s renditions easily filled the vast theater, and we basked in the intimate romance of his voice. In each piece, he displayed strong power notes and a fluidly melodic line, and in "Ninfa" we had the rare treat of an impressive cadenza…an unaccompanied, captivating, vocal confection from Andrea that commanded rapt attention and stopped more than 1700 throats in that theater at midbreath.
For me, the climax of the first set was definitely the two romanze of Verdi—presenting a marked contrast from the first simple jewel of Caccini. The mournful "Non t’accostare all’urna" is filled with forceful power and boldly deep emotion, and Andrea was now more than ready for the task. As he had in New York at Avery Fisher Hall, on the final word dormir he held forever the last, low, long note of this piece, literally and symbolically invoking the eternal peace of sleep. The successful effort clearly made him VERY happy indeed! Big, big, smile. He then took "L’esule"—the final offering of this first part of the program—in full stride. This is a piece that allows Andrea to exhibit a range of technical skills, beginning with an aptly placed vocal jump in the first musical phrase from high to low on the word colli, through wonderfully wrought color that underscored the emotional sense of soave, the isolated loneliness of pensoso mi staro’, and the plaintive desperation of condannato al pianto. It was clear that he was in the zone, inhabiting only this song…all the initial nervousness fallen away, only the microcosm of the music that mattered…he hit the impressively glorious final high note (a B flat?) with ease and, in response, the audience was totally his. With the well-known romantic repertoire of Tosti, Danaudy, and Denza still to come in the second half—perfectly matched to Andrea’s vocal strengths—there was no doubt he would be in his glory.
 
zwei Freunde—zwei Maestros
During the intermission, I thought of Carlo and Andrea. Andrea’s is a fiercely loyal heart that inspires and firmly binds lifelong friendships. Among those in this closeknit circle, Carlo Bernini is unique. His faithful support and prodigious musical skills have been and continue to be integral in shaping the musical gifts that Andrea shares with us. We are the final benefactors of their labors together. Before Andrea takes the concert stage, records the CD, sings the opening notes of the live opera, there are long, patient, selflessly dedicated hours of hard work….to memorize, correct, fine-tune, perfect, revise, repeat, refresh, and polish to perfection. Whenever and wherever Andrea has need, you will find Carlo.
More often than not it was Carlo at Andrea’s side to do what needed doing throughout the grueling daily schedule of his concert tours. And long before the concert tours, the two had forged a friendship straddling both their personal and professional worlds. Much of this is now "Bocelli-lore"—their first meeting in the house at Lajatico, the amiable soccer team rivalry, the camaraderie of two devoted dads, the benefit of the famously honest Carlo critique, the indestructible bond between these two sons of Tuscany—Bocelli and Bernini. Now they shared this historic moment in Vienna…together on that fabled stage with the shiny, black, Bosendorfer grand (the perfect complement, and, it seemed, the perfect refuge up there for Andrea). From time to time, he clung to it like a life raft, and to Carlo like a lifeline. It was a delight to see the interaction between the two—Carlo vigilantly following and translating the subtle body language of Andrea to perfectly pace his accompaniment, their brief conversing sotto voce between songs, the hand-on-shoulder ease of their comings and goings to and from the stage, which they did for nearly every other song. (It made you wonder what Andrea could possibly do on these less-than-30-second breaks…a kiss, a sip, a deep breath, a sigh, a scratch, a sneeze?). Whatever it was, it included Carlo’s solid calming confidence. Acconto di Andrea, perpetually on-call, before popes and presidents, in moments poignant and profound, the funerals of Andrea’s babbo and, more recently, an operatic legend, through endless rehearsals, tours, and TV appearances, if Andrea needs him, unfailingly, Carlo is there. The friendship between them honors both.
 
Zugaben
With the five songs of Tosti that opened the second half of the evening, Andrea confirmed his conquest. The spell he casts unfailingly with "Serenata" is a sure winner. This brought his first high C and it was such a visceral experience—it filled this wonderful theater and came with such immediacy, unhindered by a microphone—it was just stunning. Much applause, and many smiles again from our tenor. "Malia" was like decoratively laced spun sugar. "Ideale" was a polished vocal gem, the final haunting torna was perfect, perfect, perfect—enough to capture the most resisting heart…but there was no need, all here had long ago surrendered. He infused "Non t’amo piu’" with perfectly placed emotion and held the final punctuation of the soft note stronger and longer than I had ever heard before. "Occhi di fata" is a personal favorite, and I melt with delighted expectation when I hear the opening notes. This rendition coaxed tears from your eyes. This was all becoming alarmingly emotionally draining, but what a way to go! Andrea invested "Musica proibita" with a powerhouse finish. But with a pang I realized it was the second-to-the-last aria in the program. How could the time have vanished so quickly? In "Vaghissima sembianza," he infused the phrase "d’amore" with impossible richness of emotion. The song is hauntingly sweet and the disconsolate sadness it conveys was doubly unbearable because it signaled the end of the evening with our tenor. How could we possibly let him go? He had invaded our being. By the sheer force of endless applause, we tried very hard to hold him with us in suspended animation indefinitely.
 
Geburtstagswünsche
The wildly enthusiastic standing ovation is not a habit with seasoned and knowledgeable European audiences. But this one couldn’t help itself. Andrea responded with his best radiant smile and clearly intended to very quickly grant an encore. But before he could get it out, an intrepid British-accented voice high in the upper balcony to the right of the stage firmly intoned the first instantly recognizable notes of "Happy Birthday," and the crowd immediately took it up with delight. I’m willing to bet that the dusty Staatsoper archives will yield no previous record of a tenor—or any other singer for that matter—being serenaded, as Andrea was, with a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" that filled the staid house to overflowing with the intense goodwill of its heartfelt wish. His face was lit with a smile that rivaled the candlepower of any 49 birthday candles, clearly reflecting his delight at the extraordinary and completely unexpected and unprecedented gesture of affection. Who but Andrea could inspire a predominantly German-speaking international audience to sing an English birthday wish to an Italian tenor in an Austrian opera house? Of the many Bocelli moments we have been privileged to share, it was among the sweetest, and one we will never forget.

Wien, 24.9.07, thanks to Jack!

glückliches Ende
Andrea had to wait patiently for the applause to abate before giving us his first encore, Verdi’s challenging "Brindisi." After the second encore, "Vorrei morire," and the continued tidal wave of applause, he looked a bit bewildered and conferred quickly with Carlo with a look that conveyed something like "What do we do now coach?" But the third and final encore he chose all’improvviso couldn’t have been more simply appropriate. He gave us Tosti’s lovely "A’ Vuchella," the one with the sweetest final note of all.
So the evening ended as it began—Carlo, Andrea, and the Bösendorfer grand. It was all we had needed.
 
By Cami McNamee
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