Dame Joan Sutherland, one of the world’s most famous and beloved opera singers – and my favorite opera singer – died yesterday at the age of 83. A friend of mine from church, Steve Smith, texted me at the radio station the instant he heard the news (which I deeply appreciated) and I in turn picked up the phone to call my best friend Marshall – an even bigger Joan Sutherland fan than I am – with the news, which he had not yet heard. Once I had hung up the phone, I went to the station’s one shelf of LP’s and found the 2-record set of an amazing 1981 concert at Avery Fisher Hall which featured Joan Sutherland, Marilyn Horne and Luciano Pavarotti in what was billed as the Concert of the Century – a concert I vividly remember watching on TV. I put one of the records on the turntable, listened to that magnificent voice roll out of the speakers, and started to cry.
That may sound foolish to you; it seems even a little foolish to me as I type those words and read them with my own eyes. But her death struck me as a much more personal kind of loss than I ever expected it to be, almost as though I had lost a friend. Of course, we weren’t friends or even casual acquaintances. The only words we exchanged were maybe two sentences when I got her autograph after a performance at the Lyric back in 1985. Otherwise, I was just one of the millions of people who loved and admired her from a distance. And yet, I think a lot of us felt very close to her…. so much so that both Marshall and I have always referred to her in conversation as “Joan” – almost as though she were a friend. (Lots of her friends referred to her by her first name.) And in fact there are some interesting ways in which she actually was a friend, if a friend is someone who never fails to brighten your day…. and influences your life in a powerful way….. and inspires you and makes you glad to be alive …. which Joan most certainly did.
First of all, I should say that my friend Marshall has been a devoted Sutherland fan since (I believe) the age of 12; He was so enamored that he wrote a lengthy fan letter to her- one which I’m sure she enjoyed, even if went on and on, page after page, with innumerable details about his house, his neighborhood, his family, etc. Marshall looks back on that letter with some chagrin, but I am sure that over the course of her long career Dame Joan never got a fan letter that gave her greater pleasure than that one did. And several years later, he had the incredible thrill of actually meeting her when she sang a recital in Iowa City. O to have been a fly on the wall for that encounter!
When I got to Luther as a freshman in 1978, I had seen my first opera and had sung a couple of arias in my voice studies with Cherie Carl, but opera was still a bit foreign to me, in more ways than one. It was Marshall who really awakened me to its wonders as he played for me some his favorite recordings, including “Lucia di Lammermoor” starring his favorite singer, Joan Sutherland. I can still remember the first time he played for me her astounding, stupefying performance of the act one aria “Regnava nel Silenzio.” Its blazing final measures, with Sutherland’s huge, opulent voice flying through a flurry of sixteenth notes with effortless ease, left me slack-jawed with wonder.
Then a few months into our freshman year, Marshall and I went over to his house to watch a concert on PBS featuring our favorite operatic soprano and a certain rotund tenor by the name of Luciano Pavarotti. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced. Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center was buzzing with a very special electricity that night, and the audience gave the singers one thundering ovation after another. . . and the evening was crowned by what felt like an endless stream of encores. (In fact, each of them sang a solo encore, and then they sang one more duet. But at the time, it felt like it would never end- and I didn’t want it to end!) This was my first taste of the delirium that is sometimes a part of opera, when you have two titans at the height of their powers, blowing the roof off of the place with one magnificent performance after another. That night, I was hooked- and over thirty years later, I am still hooked with no sign of ever wriggling free!
After that, I never missed a chance to watch Sutherland in action on television- although those opportunities were relatively few and far between. One came during spring break my junior year, 1981, when she sang in the aforementioned Concert of the Century with Mr. Pavarotti and Ms. Horne. I was home on spring break and knew about this concert- and absolutely HAD to find a way to watch it, even though my folks did not get PBS. (We lived in the country just outside of Orfordville, and it was still the era of rabbit ears and rooftop antennae, and we were lucky to pull in two or three channels at best.) I’m not sure, but I somehow screwed up the courage to call the pastor of the Lutheran church in nearby Orfordville and see if there was any way I could watch the concert on their television. (Someone must have told me that they had a daughter who was a voice major in college.) Anyway, Pastor Nielsen and his wife were willing to have me come over and watch the concert- except that they insisted on being able to watch M*A*S*H* – which meant that about halfway through the concert they switched channels to CBS and we watched Alan Alda & Co. (I recall trying my best to paint a fake smile on my face for those 30 minutes of agony as I was forced to watch Hotlips Hoolihan and Corporal Klinger when I knew that three of the finest singers of the century were singing gloriously on another channel! Needless to say, this was decades before DVR’s- and even VCR’s yet to reach the typical American home.) But I got to watch most of the concert, and the lengths to which I went to be able to watch it at all was a pretty good indication of just how rabid a fan I had become. In fact, earlier today I put on my pirate videotape of that concert and cued it up to the spectacular trio from Bellini’s Norma which ended the first act- and found my arms covered with the same goosebumps as I did all those years ago.
So Joan Sutherland influenced me greatly in helping to forge my interest in and devotion to Opera. And she influenced me in another way that I have told very few people about. In 1984, when I finished graduate school at UNL, I was at a loss for what to do next- more school? try to get a job, and if so, doing what? And where? Then at some point that summer my dad got word that the seminary student who was scheduled to come and be the pastoral intern at Luther Valley Church had changed her plans and would not be coming. To make a long story short, I was offered the chance to be a sort of Layperson Intern and I very happily said yes- and LOVED it. I felt so appreciated and comfortable. Anyway, later that fall, almost on a lark, I auditioned for the prestigious Lyric Opera Center for American Artists, a very exciting apprenticeship program. Between 400 and 500 aspiring singers from across the country were auditioning for a coveted twelve spots (and in fact there were less available spots than that because five of the singers from the previous year planned to return for another year and their spots were all but sewn up) – and I never thought there was the slightest chance that I would get in or even make the finals. This audition was merely for the experience, and perhaps to pave the way for a successful audition down the road ( I hoped. ) But wonder of wonders, I was one of the incredibly fortunate twelve. . . which left me confronted with quite a choice: stay with the church internship or accept this place in the Lyric apprenticeship, for which I did not feel adequately prepared at all. I was actually leaning strongly towards keeping the job at the church and telling the Lyric “Sorry, I can’t. Maybe later? Thanks!” What changed my mind was when I picked up the next issue of Opera News magazine and read that Joan Sutherland was going to be starring in one of the operas at the Lyric that next season. In an INSTANT, I knew that I had to fight back my fears and accept the amazing opportunity which the Lyric was extending to me. Now that choice seems entirely obvious – but back then, it took Joan Sutherland herself to tip the balance towards the Lyric! And that almost certainly changed everything for me from that point on. . . If I hadn’t done Chicago, I might not have moved from there to Kenosha, met Kathy, taught at Carthage, found Holy Communion, or done any of other things I have done over the last quarter century.
As it turns out, my encounters with Joan Sutherland and her husband, conductor Richard Bonynge, during my year at the Lyric were infrequent and negligible- although there was something pretty thrilling about Richard Bonynge and I sharing a mailbox. . . (they were allotted alphabetically) And when Donizetti’s Anna Boleyn opened that fall, I went to every single performance of it and stood in the wings to watch and listen and celebrate. All seven performances! And then there was that one night after a performance when I asked for her autograph. Otherwise, it was enough to just watch her from afar and marvel at her incredible voice wed to such a down-to-earth friendliness and kindness. If only all opera divas were wired the way Joan Sutherland was!
After that, the only other opportunity I had to experience her in person came a year or two later when she and Luciano Pavarotti decided to collaborate in a series of concerts, one of which was to happen at the Rosemont Horizon in Chicago. But then came that terrible Saturday morning at the radio station when my colleague and friend Playford Thoreson informed me that Joan had cancelled out of those concerts because she had suffered a ruptured ear drum or some such malady. (He had heard the announcement on the news. I was completely convinced that he was kidding, because it just seemed like the most absurdly bad news that anyone could have made up. So when I figured out that he was serious, it made it twice as painful.) Pavarotti did the concerts as a solo act- and we went and enjoyed it somewhat- but the whole time we were painfully aware of how pitifully empty that stage was without our beloved Joan.
I am glad that Joan had such a long and happy life which featured an intriguing mix of the ordinary (weeding the garden, doing cross stitch, babysitting her grandchildren) and the extraordinary (earning standing ovations in opera houses around the world, singing for kings and queens, becoming a Dame Commander of the British Empire.) Her story is also one of the most endearing Ugly Duckling stories in all of opera. Joan was a tall, big-boned woman – physically awkward – clueless about glamour – musically and vocally unsophisticated – and for the longest time seemed destined for a happy if utterly ordinary life as a thoroughly unremarkable singer. But then some key people, including renowned director Franco Zefferelli, husband/conductor Richard Bonynge, and others, were able to effect a truly astonishing transformation and Joan Sutherland became one of the most recognizable and beloved stars in the operatic skies. And although she’s gone now, she leaves behind her a legacy that will continue to bring us joy.
One last memory. . . Marshall and I still fondly remember a cloudy, rainy Saturday during our senior year at Luther when we were both in a crummy mood. But then we were able to sit down with our radio and listen to a broadcast from the San Francisco Opera of Franz Lehar’s “The Merry Widow” with Joan in the title role- and it was as though someone had opened up the blinds and let the sun shine into our room! It was glorious- especially her last “Love Live Forever” which brought the afternoon to such a triumphant close. I think that was a moment when I realized in a new way that “a song well sung” is one sure-fire way of bringing a little bit of New Joy into the world. And over the years, Joan generated more than her fair share of Joy for everyone- and especially for this particular fan and his best friend.
Thank you, Joan. We hope it was as joy-filled for you as it was for us.
pictured above: Joan Sutherland and Luciano Pavarotti singing the love duet from Donizetti’s Lucia on their Avery Fisher Hall concert from 1979 – the first time I witnessed a hall full of opera fans go BERSERK!