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For the love of Luciano

World-renowned tenor was opera star of masses with easily recognized face, voice and character

Marc Shulgold, Rocky Mountain News

Published September 6, 2007 at midnight

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The world knew him by sight, instantly. How could you miss the man? Luciano Pavarotti was bigger than life.

No fat joke intended. His size might have inspired endless cheap jabs, yet he laughed all the way to the pasta bar.

Ah, but there was more to the man than his size. As the old TV theme song goes, he could turn the world on with his smile - an easy, ear-to-ear grin that seemed sincere every time he flashed it. And there was the scruffy beard and ever-present napkin in his left hand, clutched during a recital like some beloved little blanket.

Everyone recognized him, even those who don't know Verdi from Wagner. It's been a long time since one singer became the inescapable face of opera.

What's even more remarkable about the great Italian tenor, who died today, was the fact that his voice was just as recognizable. For even the most casual opera-lover, the sound of Pavarotti singing in Italian was as unmistakable as his boyish grin.

Die-hard opera buffs can identify the sound of Del Monaco or Corelli or Bjrling with little difficulty. For the millions who never heard of any of those great tenors, the smooth, creamy sound of Pavarotti carried immediate familiarity.

Consider this: The highest level of celebrity in opera is to become known by last name only. Callas. Schwarzkopf. Tebaldi. Magic!

But here was someone more famous than that. The world knew him by his first name. Luciano became a family friend - a big, lovable uncle.

His fame multiplied as he conquered the masses with his tenorial sidekicks, Placido Domingo and José Carreras. Thanks to the Three Tenors, folks who never heard of Puccini could hum along with Nessun Dorma. The trio became the kings of the High C's - not to mention the classical and crossover record charts.

Purists were appalled, sniffing that opera had been transformed into a silly, tasteless circus, performed in ballparks.

Did the Three Tenors Phenomenon really lure more people into the opera house? It's hard to tell.

This much we know: In his day, there was arguably not a better tenor on the planet than Pavarotti. His voice was a glorious thing - powerful, ringing, secure from top to bottom. Thrilling.

I first heard him onstage back in the early '70s, when I ushered at Royce Hall, UCLA.

What struck me that night was the effortless way he produced those big sounds - and he probably held back a bit, since Royce sat only 1,800. A few years later, he would return to UCLA, singing in cavernous Pauley Pavilion.

Almost overnight, a Pavarotti concert had become a happening, akin to a rock concert.

His last appearance in Denver was in 2001 at the spacious Pepsi Center, packed to the rafters for the occasion.

It was a lovefest, of course - audience members calling to him in Italian, he grinning in response. Great fun, though, at 65, his voice was starting to slide into inconsistency.

What remained a constant during Pavarotti's remarkable career was his meager attempts at acting on the opera stage. He tried to inhabit a character, furrowing his brow, stomping around with angst, clutching the soprano with love in his eyes.

It rarely convinced - a product, perhaps, of the longstanding indifference paid to serious operatic acting by singers, directors and audiences.

In a classic bit of miscasting, Pavarotti and the plumpish Renata Scotto amply filled the screen as those starving Bohemians Rodolfo and Mimi in a televised La Boheme. Ah, but the singing was glorious!

And that's what truly mattered. He was, for much of his over-extended career, a magnificent singer, if also a magnetic personality and - inevitably - a subject for gossip columns.

Now, we can forgive his extramarital indulgences, his legendary visits to the buffet table and his feeble acting.

Pavarotti was a star. His name, like his singing, will not soon be forgotten. Here's proof: Opera is enjoying an explosion of brilliant tenors, yet none of them will be labeled "The Next Pavarotti."

There can be no such thing.

Marc Shulgold is the music and dance writer. or 303-954-5296