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baroque_mongooseI spent a significant period of my life looking for a tenor.
I grew up hearing primarily operatic tenors - not just heavy operatic tenors like Pavarotti, but the lighter ones who did things like Gilbert & Sullivan; and I always preferred the lighter ones, but for some reason none of them was ever quite what I was looking for. It took me a fair while to realise that was what I was doing, but some time around my late teens or early twenties I realised I'd be listening to someone singing and thinking "he's good, but it's not him". Eventually I found an Italian one who was very close; he did an album of Neapolitan songs which I listened to a great deal at one point, but, since I no longer have the album, I can't even remember his name. All I remember is that he was nearly right, and for quite a while I thought he was the closest I was ever going to get to this elusive ideal.
But then I got to know the excellent Porthos, who, among his many other talents (and he's quite the polymath, is our Porthos), is a very good semi-pro countertenor. He was a member of a large ensemble that used to perform now and again in St Albans - I think it wound up quite a while ago - and so I went down for one of their concerts. And, as he was driving me over to St Albans (since he lives a fair way from there), he said to me: "Oh, by the way, I think you're going to like our tenor soloist. His name's [redacted] and he's a bit special."
Never a truer word.
So I settled myself in the audience (I had a good seat, since obviously I was early), Porthos disappeared off round the back to join the rest of the ensemble, and eventually the concert started. It was well over twenty years ago now, but I can remember it as if it were yesterday. The four soloists came up onto the stage. Three of them were tall, elegant, and self-possessed, just as you'd expect; but the fourth was this little bald bloke with wispy hair, and he looked as if he really wasn't quite sure what he was doing there. And I thought "oh... is that the star tenor?"
And then he opened his mouth.
Before he'd sung more than a very few notes, I was completely stunned. This, without question, was The Voice. The one I'd been patiently waiting to hear all these years. And not only was it an intrinsically beautiful voice (to my ears at least; most people would agree with me, but he does have a very distinctive timbre and there are a few people who don't like it, which is fair enough), but it was a voice with pinpoint control. I had never heard anything else like it. I was already quite amazed by what he could do by the time he got to this one particular line, but he had more to show us. The line was something to do with "hot and cold and moist and dry".
He put a different, and totally appropriate, tone colour on each of the four adjectives.
He and Porthos were chatting away quite happily after the concert. I'm not normally overwhelmed by anyone, but I couldn't do much more than stand there and stammer "that was amazing". And Star Tenor beamed from ear to ear and went a little pink and said "oh, thank you, you're very kind", as if he really wasn't anything like as good as I thought.
After that I really needed to hear more of this bloke, so I started looking for recordings, only to find that he was on so many that I couldn't possibly decide which to get. So, nothing daunted, I tracked him down online (eventually finding him via another ensemble with which he was associated), and e-mailed him to ask which of his many recordings he particularly recommended.
Apparently I'd asked him a difficult question there, because he doesn't really like the sound of his own voice. But, if pushed, he would concede that [X] and [Y] had been well received, and possibly also [Z]. So I bought all three of them and loved them, and e-mailed him back to tell him so. [X] is still one of my all-time favourites, though I've bought many other recordings since then.
We clicked. It's not just a common interest in early music and off-beat sense of humour, though those do help; but the better I got to know him, the more clearly I realised that I was dealing with someone of astonishing integrity, and to be honest that's far more of a draw than even "the voice I'd been looking for all my life". If he hadn't been who he is, I have no doubt I'd still be listening to his recordings, but I probably wouldn't still be in touch with him. But, as I've told him to his face, I came for the music and I stayed for the integrity.
I am deeply fond of all three of my Musketeers. But that's why he, of all of them, is my best friend.
I grew up hearing primarily operatic tenors - not just heavy operatic tenors like Pavarotti, but the lighter ones who did things like Gilbert & Sullivan; and I always preferred the lighter ones, but for some reason none of them was ever quite what I was looking for. It took me a fair while to realise that was what I was doing, but some time around my late teens or early twenties I realised I'd be listening to someone singing and thinking "he's good, but it's not him". Eventually I found an Italian one who was very close; he did an album of Neapolitan songs which I listened to a great deal at one point, but, since I no longer have the album, I can't even remember his name. All I remember is that he was nearly right, and for quite a while I thought he was the closest I was ever going to get to this elusive ideal.
But then I got to know the excellent Porthos, who, among his many other talents (and he's quite the polymath, is our Porthos), is a very good semi-pro countertenor. He was a member of a large ensemble that used to perform now and again in St Albans - I think it wound up quite a while ago - and so I went down for one of their concerts. And, as he was driving me over to St Albans (since he lives a fair way from there), he said to me: "Oh, by the way, I think you're going to like our tenor soloist. His name's [redacted] and he's a bit special."
Never a truer word.
So I settled myself in the audience (I had a good seat, since obviously I was early), Porthos disappeared off round the back to join the rest of the ensemble, and eventually the concert started. It was well over twenty years ago now, but I can remember it as if it were yesterday. The four soloists came up onto the stage. Three of them were tall, elegant, and self-possessed, just as you'd expect; but the fourth was this little bald bloke with wispy hair, and he looked as if he really wasn't quite sure what he was doing there. And I thought "oh... is that the star tenor?"
And then he opened his mouth.
Before he'd sung more than a very few notes, I was completely stunned. This, without question, was The Voice. The one I'd been patiently waiting to hear all these years. And not only was it an intrinsically beautiful voice (to my ears at least; most people would agree with me, but he does have a very distinctive timbre and there are a few people who don't like it, which is fair enough), but it was a voice with pinpoint control. I had never heard anything else like it. I was already quite amazed by what he could do by the time he got to this one particular line, but he had more to show us. The line was something to do with "hot and cold and moist and dry".
He put a different, and totally appropriate, tone colour on each of the four adjectives.
He and Porthos were chatting away quite happily after the concert. I'm not normally overwhelmed by anyone, but I couldn't do much more than stand there and stammer "that was amazing". And Star Tenor beamed from ear to ear and went a little pink and said "oh, thank you, you're very kind", as if he really wasn't anything like as good as I thought.
After that I really needed to hear more of this bloke, so I started looking for recordings, only to find that he was on so many that I couldn't possibly decide which to get. So, nothing daunted, I tracked him down online (eventually finding him via another ensemble with which he was associated), and e-mailed him to ask which of his many recordings he particularly recommended.
Apparently I'd asked him a difficult question there, because he doesn't really like the sound of his own voice. But, if pushed, he would concede that [X] and [Y] had been well received, and possibly also [Z]. So I bought all three of them and loved them, and e-mailed him back to tell him so. [X] is still one of my all-time favourites, though I've bought many other recordings since then.
We clicked. It's not just a common interest in early music and off-beat sense of humour, though those do help; but the better I got to know him, the more clearly I realised that I was dealing with someone of astonishing integrity, and to be honest that's far more of a draw than even "the voice I'd been looking for all my life". If he hadn't been who he is, I have no doubt I'd still be listening to his recordings, but I probably wouldn't still be in touch with him. But, as I've told him to his face, I came for the music and I stayed for the integrity.
I am deeply fond of all three of my Musketeers. But that's why he, of all of them, is my best friend.
