Washington DC
The great one passed away last night. I never met Pavarotti and only saw him perform once, at the old Boston Garden. An acoustically less sensitive or sensible building would have been difficult to find.
He was singing the exquisite Nessun Dorma from Puccini's Turandot when, at the worst possible moment of perfected, painful silence between breaths, a pay telephone rang somewhere in the rafters of the old barn. A legendary temper, yes, but one almost imagined a slight grin on his face in recognition of the sheer silliness of the moment. Ah, the innocence of the pre-cellular era.
The great one passed away last night. I never met Pavarotti and only saw him perform once, at the old Boston Garden. An acoustically less sensitive or sensible building would have been difficult to find.
He was singing the exquisite Nessun Dorma from Puccini's Turandot when, at the worst possible moment of perfected, painful silence between breaths, a pay telephone rang somewhere in the rafters of the old barn. A legendary temper, yes, but one almost imagined a slight grin on his face in recognition of the sheer silliness of the moment. Ah, the innocence of the pre-cellular era.