We were all in awe of Pavarotti. In videos of that concert, the guest performers—me included—look like a bunch of kids bouncing up and down, beside ourselves to be onstage with the greatest tenor of our time. As excited as I was, the enormity of the opportunity was not lost upon me. I’d prepared so diligently for this once-in-a-lifetime experience, but actually being onstage, in such close proximity to the maestro, hearing his powerful voice before it even hit the mic, was surreal. I was inspired by a heightened awareness of the artist I was performing next to. The moment of exhilaration was soon replaced by urgency. I had to focus on the Italian lyrics on my music stand (making sure not to mispronounce any words and give them unintended meanings), and on the cues for my parts, not to mention the thousands of people in front of me and the millions watching throughout the world. Fortunately, the arias we performed were a vocal feast for a tenor and I was swept up by a sense of musical gratification.
At showtime, as if the event itself and singing in Italian weren’t challenging enough, Diana, Princess of Wales, was sitting in the front row. In hindsight it made an incredible night even more significant. We were introduced at Pavarotti’s restaurant after the show, where we all celebrated the event. The princess was radiant and gracious. Although the UK was my second biggest market, Princess Diana admitted that prior to the performance she had no clue who I was.
It was clear to me how powerful a force Diana was at that time and would continue to be. She had an undeniable charm and grace. Her seemingly endless mission to raise funds for children all over the world is what remains with me.
One of my favorite moments during the performance was the grand finale, when my turn came to step up to the microphone, following Pavarotti, and sing a verse of “Nessun dorma.” He was gesturing to me to take over, very visibly supportive, smiling, and joyful, which helped ease my nerves. At the same time, everything was accelerated and elevated. The tone, power, and perfect control of his phenomenal voice was felt by all my senses, setting the bar as high as it could go for my entrance. The sensation was both inspiring and demanding. The audience was pleasantly surprised when I hit the high note. Just after that Luciano walked behind me and gave a thumbs-up. I couldn’t see him, but I heard the audience reaction, and of course I’ve only replayed that part of the video six or seven—thousand—times.
THAT OPERA THING
I don’t want to overstate what a thrill it was, but performing with Pavarotti was one of the most important moments of my career. After the Pavarotti experience, I dived deeper into opera. One of the great things to come from that event was that the astounding soprano Renée Fleming had watched it with her sister, Rachelle. We later became friends, and I recorded “O soave fanciulla” from La Bohème with her, which was quite an experience. Renée sang an octave above my high C. She is not only an incredible talent, but also a wonderful mother and one of the few high achievers I’ve known who has managed a well-balanced life while performing with grace and gratitude around the world.
I came to enjoy operatic singing so much that I inserted an aria or two into my concert sets just to give the audience a little something different. I don’t know for certain, but I may be the only performer to have sung real opera at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville. I’ve taken some heat from those who thought I should stick to R & B and pop. Among friends who thought I’d lost my marbles was Jimmy Koplik, who was the biggest concert promoter in Connecticut for many years before taking charge of Live Nation’s East Coast operations. Jimmy is a mensch who always takes care of his friends, especially when they want tickets that are “impossible” to find. Jimmy also is never afraid to speak his mind. We were flying to a concert he’d booked for me in upstate New York when the subject came up.
“Michael, I know it’s your choice, but I don’t get the whole opera thing,” Jimmy said.
I laughed. Jimmy wasn’t the first to say that to me. I explained how performing with Pavarotti had inspired me to do more with my vocal training. Singing opera had strengthened my voice and improved my techniques, I said.
“Besides, my audiences really respond well when I change it up with an aria or two,” I said.
Jimmy looked at me as if my horizontal needed adjusting, but it was his attitude that was adjusted after the concert. He brought a big group of friends backstage to meet me after the show. One of the guys in his group rushed up to me and, with Jimmy standing there in amazement, said, “Oh my God, Michael, that Italian thing you did, that opera or whatever it was, oh my God, I don’t know how you hit those notes. That was amazing!”
I thanked the guy for his praise while chuckling at his enthusiastic response. Then I looked at Jimmy, who waved a hand at me, saying, “Okay, I got it. I got it. I got it.”
So did many others, apparently. When I released a classical album entitled My Secret Passion: The Arias, it was No. 1 on the classical charts for six weeks.
There was an even bigger benefit to my “Italian thing,” which Jimmy, as a concert promoter, would understand. When Pavarotti embraced me in front of his fans, the sales of my records in Italy continued to climb for many years afterward. Italy is one of my favorite places in the world and to this day I have a substantial fan base there, which is extremely gratifying.
VIENNA WALTZ
Sometimes when you take a risk as a singer you may not hit all the notes, but if you don’t push yourself, there’s the greater risk of going stale, becoming boring, or even boring yourself. My adventure in opera has brought benefits and opportunities I never would have imagined, including one of the most beautiful nights of my life—spent in the company of one of the most beautiful and intelligent women I’ve ever dated.
About a year after I performed with Pavarotti, I recorded “Ave Maria” with another of the world’s top tenors, Placido Domingo, for my Christmas album. Placido, who had great success crossing over into the international pop music world, then invited me to Austria for a holiday concert with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra.
Now, visiting the gorgeous city of Vienna at Christmas and singing with Placido to the accompaniment of a renowned symphony would have been alluring enough, but this was also during the time I was seeing Ashley Judd, who joined me on this adventure.
Christmas in Vienna, wonderful music, a stunning concert hall, and a gorgeous woman at my side: life was good in that moment! Ashley was a very sophisticated Kentucky girl, but she had never been to Vienna, and was excited to be my guest at the Austria Center concert. Because this was a black-tie affair, I ordered up a new tux with tails from Armani, and while I was at it, I bought a dress and coat for Ashley.
Fortunately, she knew how to tie a bow tie because I didn’t have a clue. She was full of surprises with her great sense of humor and zest for learning all there is to know about everything. Ashley obtained a master’s degree in public administration from Harvard University’s John F. Kennedy School of Government just a few years ago, and she has been a leading activist on issues ranging from animal and wildlife rights to global health issues, environmental protection, and women’s rights. She has infinite curiosity and fascination with the world around us, and she is committed to making it a better, safer place.
Given her intellect and breadth of knowledge, Ashley is always direct and to the point. When I first told her I’d been studying operatic singing, she looked at me and said, “Really?”
Then she teased me. “Give me a high C.”
“When the time is right!” I said.
I realized that Ashley might have picked up a few notes left around the house by Naomi and Wynonna, whom I love, by the way. She knew that to sing arias, I’d need to hit the high C notes, or at least a B. Not every operatic tenor has a high C in his range. Some can’t go there, so they can sing only arias limited to a B, which is still higher than most guys can sing. I can’t explain where my vocal range came from. I’m guessing it came from my mother’s gene pool, given her sweet soprano. If my voice comes from farther back in my family history, there may have been a roc
king cantor among my Ukrainian ancestors in Kiev.
Placido Domingo had set up some major rehearsal time to make sure we hit all the right notes for his Vienna concert, which was to be televised and recorded for an album. We flew into Vienna a couple of days early, but most of my time was spent running through the program schedule and my performances again and again.
Ashley was a trouper. She sat in the audience during those rehearsals with the full orchestra. Her presence actually became a bit of a problem. She wore this beautiful low-cut dress with spaghetti straps on her shoulders. Ashley didn’t notice when the left strap drooped below her shoulder. This wasn’t a serious wardrobe malfunction—nothing hidden was revealed—but she is a naturally sexy woman with lovely shoulders, and I’m afraid the entire Vienna orchestra took notice. I’ve never heard professional musicians miss so many notes in rehearsal.
Ashley had the same effect on me and a lot of other men. We were together in Spain that same year when I appeared on a television show to promote a record. It happened that the actor Mickey Rooney, whose incredible career has spanned nine decades, was appearing on the same show. Mickey and I were talking backstage and he mentioned that he’d just seen the new HBO movie Norma Jean & Marilyn, about the life of Marilyn Monroe.
“The girl in the Norma Jean role, for her younger years, was phenomenal!” Mickey said.
Ashley had walked up to join us just as Mickey offered that praise out of the blue, and I said, “Well, Mickey, here she is!”
He hadn’t recognized that the actress he was so impressed with was Ashley. She blushed at his words and I was thrilled for her to have this legendary performer praise her. She deserved it, of course. She was nominated for both a Golden Globe and a Daytime Emmy Award for her performance in that movie, which received five Emmy nominations altogether. I was very grateful that Ashley also appeared in my 1997 “Best of Love” music video, bringing her beauty and grace to that production, too.
Ashley and I had some wonderful times, and I remain friends with all of the Judds. It’s been great to see her thrive in her career and become an international activist for many great causes. One of the things Ashley told me that has stayed with me is that “success isn’t anything without a life behind it.”
She was encouraging me to find more of that elusive “balance” in my own life, something that continues to elude me.
HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW
I did undergo one major change while seeing Ashley. I finally cut my hair. I took a lot of flak over the years because of my long hair. The harassment began in grade school, when everyone else had crew cuts. Then as a teen I took a lot of grief from construction workers and drunks in bars. The eighties was the Big Hair Decade, so things weren’t so bad, but by the mid-1990s, the time had come for a change. In October 1997, my stylist, Gemina Aboitiz, and my assistant, Ronnie Milo, who is still with my team, suggested that I go to Hollywood’s “Mane Man,” Chris McMillan, whose résumé includes Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, and legions of other stars, male and female. I figured I couldn’t go wrong. You can imagine my shock when I woke up the next day, looked in the mirror, and realized I still didn’t look anything like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise! The good news was that we auctioned off my big bag of hair to raise money for charity.
Credit: www.celebmagnet.com
Chapter Fifteen
Singing On
I was ten years old when my older brother, Orrin, slapped a single with the name Little Stevie Wonder on the label onto the turntable.
“You gotta hear this!” he said.
The song, “Fingertips,” was released in 1963 after being recorded live at the Regal Theater in Chicago a year earlier. Hearing it for the first time took my understanding of a singing performance into entirely new realms. The song was written as a jazz instrumental to showcase Stevie’s skill with the bongos and harmonica, but “the twelve-year-old boy genius,” as he was called in the introduction on the record, shocked the world with his passionate and soaring call-and-response improvisations. Stevie also may have been inspired by the fact that his drummer on this song was fellow Motown singer Marvin Gaye.
“Fingertips” was Stevie Wonder’s first hit single, and of course there would be many, many more to follow. I heard him perform recently, and it’s amazing how the quality and range of his voice are still as strong as ever. His voice is superior on every level—in its range, flexibility, and power. Stevie’s singing also has an ethereal, inspired soulfulness that may be beyond the reach of most mere mortals.
After Orrin introduced me to “Fingertips,” I couldn’t wait to hear more of Stevie’s music. I spent a lot of hours over the years singing along with those records, trying to match his notes. The biggest challenge was following him as he bent and turned words while still keeping the primary melodies of his compositions accessible to any listener. That ability is one of the keys to his success, and a major component of his greatness as an artist.
Stevie is also a fantastic songwriter. He has created melodies and lyrics that have become indelibly imprinted on our minds and hearts. He played a big role in the rise of Motown as a powerful presence in the music industry. It’s usually late into his songs, after the first two choruses have won us over and established “the hook,” when he soars into his own musical universe. His variations on melodies are always inspired and nearly impossible to reproduce. Technically, Stevie is acknowledged to have the greatest range of any singer in the history of popular music. His top notes in full voice are well above high C.
Stevie’s musical compositions are as complex as they are fascinating and entertaining to hear, an opinion shared by more than one hundred million fans around the world. I learned much about the nuances of the voice from listening to his records. More than once it has occurred to me during these sessions that if God wanted to choose a voice with which to communicate with humankind, it would be Stevie’s.
From what I’ve heard in his recent performances, Stevie has taken very good care of his voice. He still hits those high notes. I was with this amazing and enduring talent at a Fourth of July concert in Washington, D.C., in 2006. I stood backstage listening to his set and I was transformed into a ten-year-old fan again. I remember thinking, My God, he’s singing that song in the original key forty years after the original recording. His ability to still perform at that level was inspiring and promising for me. We spoke shortly after the concert, and I asked him what techniques he was using to preserve his amazing vocal range. I was pleased to hear he’s still using the techniques of Seth Riggs, the sought-after vocal coach for more than 120 Grammy winners. I work with Seth, too.
I first met Stevie in 1995 at the Thirty-Fifth Motown Anniversary concert. I was performing a medley of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell duets with Patti LaBelle, another singer with an incredible voice. I saw Stevie from afar backstage and begged for an introduction. A few seconds later, I was standing in front of him. Stevie knocked me out by launching into “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You.”
After all those years of singing along with his records, to hear his unique voice wrapped around one of my own songs was thrilling. He made it his own, just as he does with everything he sings. Still, Stevie’s greatest gift is the joy he expresses so eloquently when he sings. Watching and listening to this unique and beloved performer always lifts my spirit. Every time he sings, Stevie bares his soul and shares his joy with his audience.
JOY IN SONG
A vocal coach once told me that a true singer is happiest when singing. If you are born with the gift of music, you express yourself most completely through the expression of that gift. I know for a fact that it’s true. My singing releases the accumulation of my life experiences; the joy and the sorrow, the hope and the despair; all of it flows from me through song. In other areas I guard my heart, but when singing I feel no inhibition. Instead, I feel compelled to give full voice to all that is inside me.
Singing allows me to express my full range of feelings.
Most of the time you
are performing from a place of great exhilaration. You’re doing something you’ve always wanted to do. But sometimes you must perform even though your heart is in pieces. The iconic aria “Vesti la giubba,” which Pavarotti made very famous, is about the fact that the show must go on no matter how much pain you’re in. That’s something that applies to all professionals, in all arenas—the show must go on. Put on your makeup: people have paid and you must entertain them. If I close the door on my feelings, I still may hit the right notes, but I won’t bring anything compelling to the music that connects me to my audience and resonates with them. They demand that connection and they deserve it. As Khalil Gibran says, “The self same well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.” We all drink from the same well, and we all experience sorrow and joy. I sing to express what lies within me in hopes that others who feel the same will relate to my experiences and to me, a fellow traveler.
My passion for singing energizes me in ways that seem miraculous at times. I recently flew with our touring group to Singapore for a two-hour performance. The flight time was about seventeen hours. We were starved by the time we reached our hotel, so twelve of us went to dinner. But after we were served, the jet lag and our exhaustion kicked in. I could barely lift the food to my mouth. Even the youngest members of our troupe were falling asleep in their soup and laying their heads on the table between servings. (Ah, the glamorous lives we lead!)
Then a strange thing happened. The next day we took the stage for rehearsal. Most of us were still a little jet-lagged and weary, but as soon as the music started you never would have known that we were the same bedraggled souls who crawled off the airplane. My fellow travelers and performers weren’t just being “professionals.” Music lives in them. No burden of exhaustion, fear, sorrow, or despair can erase that magical, compelling force once they hear a few bars of a song.
The Soul of It All Page 25