"Together for the First Time"
Petite Messe Solennelle, Washington National Opera, November
21, 22, 2008
Once Andrea relinquishes the quiet refuge of Forte di Marmi and is
again on the road to perform, the pace he maintains always amazes me.
Little more than 48 hours from home, he had already breezed through a
New York charity gala tribute to Robert F. Kennedy, a nationally
broadcast NPR interview with Placido Domingo, and a full orchestra
rehearsal of the Petite Messe with the principal singers. Ahead
of him lay the challenge of two very diverse performances—the
concert opera of Cavalleria Rusticana in San Antonio and the
concert before the cathedral in the seaside Mexican town of San
Francisco de Campeche. Our tenor is masterful and matchless at
shifting gears in the musical realm. But it must have been a challenge
to deal with the shock of the unseasonable spell of bitter cold that
held the nation’s capital in its grip during his stay in Washington,
DC.
November had already been a significant month in our city—celebrating
a new president-elect, the lame-duck Congress in session to deal with
rapidly changing and alarming economic events, the nation’s
Christmas tree in place and awaiting the ceremonial lighting, and
construction already proceeding at the Capitol and along the parade
route for the historic January presidential inauguration. But in the
microcosm of the music world, in the corner of our hearts reserved for
a Tuscan tenor pursuing his dream, yet another landmark event of a
different sort was about to take place. "Two great artists…together
for the first time" read the larger-than-life poster at the top
of the red-carpeted stairway leading into the lush crimson and gold
interior of the opera house in the John F. Kennedy Center for the
Performing Arts. In embracing this debut of Andrea with the Washington
National Opera, it seemed fairly clear that Maestro Domingo had drawn
the symbolic equivalent of a line in the sand of the classical music
world. The program notes were unequivocal: "Tenor Andrea Bocelli,
one of the most important voices in opera, has infused new life
into opera’s theatrical and discographic panorama."
This much anticipated performance of Rossini’s Petite Messe
Solennelle that had sold out months in advance was a first for the
Washington National Opera, but it was the third experience with this
piece for Andrea, Jack and me. The first had introduced us to Naples and the
storied Teatro di San Carlo, the second at Teatro Massimo Bellini in
Catania, had given us our first taste of Sicily. But this time Andrea
was in our own backyard, and Bocelli friends of long standing had
traveled from Washington State and Michigan to share it with us.
Gioachino Rossini wrote this mass, his last major work, when he was
71 years old. Domingo’s comments in the program notes related that
the composer called it "the last mortal sin of my old age."
When I looked at the two pages of Latin lyrics in the program and
tried to sound them out word by word, I wondered how anything so
awkwardly foreign could be transformed into such gloriously soaring
beauty. Yet, I had fallen in love with this work the first time I
heard it and believe it is easy for anyone to do so. The closely
blended harmonies throughout in duet and quartet are so lovely. Its
energy and joy are infectious. The entire work has a strong, driving,
forward movement, rhythmic and lyrically beautiful, also touching and
poignant. In fact, these qualities as a whole apply equally to our
tenor—a perfect artistic match! Although there is only one solo aria
where Andrea can shine in the spotlight, there are numerous single
lines when his beautifully distinctive timbre stands out. His careful
crafting of each lyrical moment with strongly felt emotion, precisely
careful diction (this boy knows his way around Latin!), and perfectly
controlled harmony are little gems of delight bestowed to us
throughout. Because we have heard him speak often of his faith and its
meaning for him and of his particular devotion to the Madonna, he
infuses the lines that fall to the tenor with a personal emphasis that
you can hear and feel. There are several of these in the Credo
("I believe") telling of the Christ—made man by the Holy
Spirit through the Virgin Mary and who ascended into heaven and sits
at the right hand of God—and of belief in the church that is "one,
holy, catholic, and apostolic."
As the title implies, this liturgical work is based on the prayers
of the Catholic mass. The first piece, the Kyrie, belongs to
the orchestra and chorus. The four principal singers are seated at
this point. Both nights, Andrea sat forward in his chair, back
straight and with a palpable aura of tension, like a tightly wound
spring. At this quiet moment of anticipation, and throughout similar
points during the 80-minute work, Andrea was deeply attentive and
clearly involved in following all aspects of the piece, frequently
quietly hand-conducting beside his chair as he is wont to do, or
silently mouthing the parts of the other singers. Watching the others
using their quiet breaks to pore over their scores or quickly check
them frequently during the performance, it is impossible to ignore the
impressive fact that Andrea holds the entire complex work in his
memory alone and yet never once missed a note.
The exquisite Gloria is the first time that the four
principal singers stand in unison to blend their voices in the first
gracefully interwoven harmonies. Andrea seemed a bit concerned about
rising and sitting in unison with the others at the proper moment and
would often turn in anticipation to the bass seated beside him,
Alexander Vinagradov, whose cue he depended on. More than once, it
seemed to me that Andrea knew the cue better than the young Russian
did, but nonetheless waited for the discreet touch to confirm the
correct moment to stand and be seated.
Domine Deus, the beautiful tenor solo follows the Gloria.
Seeing Andrea left standing alone as the introductory clarion notes
ring out from the orchestra momentarily brought butterflies to my
stomach, but his first notes of this familiar sacred aria were firm,
crisp, and clear, dispelling any need for nervous concern. I love the
regal vocal bearing and faithful conviction he brings to this piece,
particularly his proud intonation of "Rex caelestis" ("heavenly
king")! Andrea’s voice, confident and proud, carried easily
through the hall. (He seemed to have risen above the cold he had been
fighting over the last two days.) When he finished with the firmly
emphasized "Filius Patris," the audience overcame any
initial hesitation about the appropriateness of applause between
movements to acknowledge his masterful rendition.
The soprano (Kate Aldrich, an American) and the mezzo (Sabina
Cvilak, who is Slovenian) next sang the melancholy and pleading Qui
tollis peccata mundi ("You take away the sins of the world")
in rich and closely harmonized duet. Then the bass had his solo (Quonium
tu solus Sanctus "For you alone are holy"). This young
man had a rich and thrilling voice, with volume to spare. It was quite
exciting to hear him, and when he finished the piece that really
challenges both the upper and lower ranges for a bass, Andrea, always
the considerate and generous-hearted colleague, turned
enthusiastically to him and personally applauded his effort and also
whispered a brief word of praise.
Outside of Andrea’s solo aria, I find both the Cum Sancto
Spiritu and the Credo to be the most compelling music in
the work. The rhythm in the first is infectious and irresistible
(Andrea yielded completely to it, keeping time with his whole body) as
the chorus builds to a crescendo of grandly glorious sound that
inevitably claims an audience response of ardent applause. In the Credo,
there is a lovely point where there are alternating mini-duets between
the mezzo and the bass and the soprano and the tenor. The soprano’s
voice had a haunting, pure clarity that blended with and complemented
Andrea’s plaintive elegance quite stunningly. I believe that this
music might compel even the staunchest of infidels to reconsider their
disbelief.
For all of the nearly raucous enthusiasm of the Credo, the
incomprehensively slow, dirge-like organ solo that follows it,
Preludio religioso, seems to last an eternity, although Jack
confirmed that it was really about 10 or 12 minutes. Although some
insisted that they found this interlude beautifully contemplative, I
found myself internally debating "What was Rossini thinking???"
Andrea took the opportunity of this vocal respite to ever-so-subtly
attempt to adjust whatever had been creating some slight discomfort
with his left heel and shoe. For several minutes, he kept me from
falling into a hypnotic trance with the endlessly entertaining
variations of discrete heel, pant, and stocking adjustments. On the
basis of my doting observations of his many performances of Petite
Messe, I can confirm without a doubt that this is a man who finds
it supremely challenging to be completely still. I’m sure a quick
review of my last two reports on this piece would yield an impressive
description of the variety of gestures in the extensive secretive
fidgeting repertoire at Andrea’s command: the fleeting bowtie check,
the formal vest adjustment, the "where IS that music stand"
check (which can easily be alternated with "is it still there
since the last check 5 seconds ago"? or "could it be
adjusted a bit lower?"), the surreptitious hand conducting, the
rhythmic finger tap (varied with the rhythmic total hand on thigh tap),
the pant leg smooth-over, the slight twitch of the noble Tuscan nose,
the stray hair toss, the end-of-the-immediate-known-world tentative
toe check, the impatient knee jiggle, the flick of an eyebrow arch,
and on and on—all of which I am sure go completely unnoticed by the
less obsessed and better-behaved patrons of the theater.
The solo of the soprano in O salutaris hostia is a dramatic
highlight and musical showpiece of the mass. Ms. Cvilak was exquisite,
and for the second time, Andrea responded with his enthusiastic
applause. His three colleagues were fairly young singers at the
beginning of their career, and it must have been a thrill to
collaborate with two maestros of the professional stature of Placido
Domingo and Andrea Bocelli. Domingo has devoted increasingly more time
to conducting and developing young protégées through his opera
programs and competitions. Throughout the evening, he seemed
thoroughly absorbed in the challenging and pleasurable task of
coordinating the accomplished artists onstage at his command to
produce this masterpiece of sacred music.
When the final powerful notes of the profoundly moving mezzo solo Agnus
Dei ("lamb of God") brought the complete work to a close
with the words "dona nobis pacem" (‘Grant us peace"),
it truly felt like we had received, for a sacred time, a blessing in
the midst of our often troubled world. Warm applause flowed
immediately from the audience, who clearly appreciated what they had
just experienced and gradually rose to their feet in clusters here and
there to affirm their approval. Onstage the singers reflected their
personal satisfaction with freely exchanged smiles and clasped hands
raised together above their heads in an exuberant expression of happy
satisfaction. Andrea was broadly beaming, and he also turned round to
personally thank the orchestra and chorus behind him with his own
enthusiastic applause. After several minutes of this celebration, all
left the stage, but quickly returned to acknowledge the undiminished
applause, then left again.
At that point, as some in the audience were preparing to leave,
unexpected activity onstage set up a quiet murmur that quickly grew to
a delighted outburst as the assistant conductor returned with Andrea,
and the audience realized that both were taking position for an encore!
The easily recognizable strains of Panis Angelicus began. From
our close perspective in the front row and to the side, I was
particularly struck by Andrea’s profiled stance—ramrod straight,
conveying an aura of confident pride, but also another dimension. He
seemed deeply wrapped within the quiet reality of this sacred melody,
personally lost in reverence for its prayerful power. His
interpretation was strongly moving and flawlessly pure. Again, the
audience response was grateful and warm. Andrea bowed gracefully and
smiled beside the beaming conductor who was clearly happy for him.
Once again, the two walked offstage while the applause continued. Then
in quick succession several swift and unexpected movements occurred
onstage and caused a hesitant shift in the level of applause—Andrea
reappeared through the stage door arm-in-arm with Maestro Domingo who
gripped a book of music and was followed by the assistant conductor,
who mounted the podium while stagehands quickly placed two music
stands for the singers. A murmur of momentary confusion rippled across
the audience before sudden realization hit! A palpable electric thrill
of sound surged through the hall as the audience exploded in stunned
disbelief at the prospect of a surprise encore duet between Domingo
and Bocelli. These two operatic icons stood momentarily silent onstage
together, before they launched into what would certainly become the
memory of a lifetime for the 2,000 plus who filled the house. The
reaction from the crowd redoubled at the recognition of the first
notes of what is arguably the most beautiful duet in the repertoire
"Au fond du temple saint" from Bizet’s The Pearl
Fishers.
Over the years, I have happily invested hours and hours to find the
perfect words to capture the priceless moments Andrea has shared with
us—but for this moment, words fail. The sheer energy of it just
poured out and washed over us. Andrea sang so powerfully, with ALL his
heart and soul flowing out from deep, deep down, his body taut with
the all-encompassing focus on this joyful moment beside a much admired
colleague. Domingo, thrilling us this time with a rich baritone,
seemed to revel in the deliriously beautiful sound that the two were
blending so magnificently. As long as I live, I will hold in my mind’s
eye the sublime instant at the soaring climax of that intense
partnership of interwoven heart, soul, and voice, the two men
reciprocally embracing shoulders, when Andrea turned to that legendary
comrade at his side and beamed a brilliant smile that seemed to say
that nothing could ever tarnish this shining moment in any way.
In the audience, 2,000 faces shone with 2,000 smiles. We sent a tidal
wave of euphoria flooding over these two artists in gratitude for
their priceless gift and our blessed good fortune in being present to
receive it. At its height, I turned to take in the spectacle behind me
and bask in awed amazement at the unanimous and jubilant approval…all
of us on our feet and awash in the deafening accolade to repay, as
best we could, the gift we had just received. IT WAS AWESOME!!!
Is it foolish—in a world that is so often dark and hostile in its
capacity for devastating evil— to seek the heart and voice of one
tenor as a precious antidote? Tonight, and for many nights to come, in
quiet contemplation of this evening’s events, the bright memory
within of one smile and one voice is all the answer I require.
- by Cami McNamee