Pavarotti and the Onstage Dressing Room

by Drew Holmes

“Ugh, this show is going to be a pain to prep!” my assistant exclaimed when we heard. The Naples Philharmonic Orchestra had been hired to perform at the American Airlines Arena in Miami. The headliner for the performance? Luciano Pavarotti.

We had backed famous tenors before. My first season we accompanied Andrea Bocelli, and prior to that the orchestra had performed with Placido Domingo. Receiving the call to back Pavarotti while he was in Florida was not unexpected, but certainly an honor.

“Nah, it’ll be one of the easiest shows we’ve ever done,” was my confident reply. “Someone like that probably calls his people, says ‘Send Naples show number four’, and the parts will arrive prepped and in folders.”

A few weeks later, I got a call from the receptionist that there was a wooden crate from Pavarotti’s people. Inside was a set of folders with perfectly prepared parts. And stenciled to the outside was a number 4.

While I did not interact directly with Pavarotti (we were under explicit instructions not to bother him) I was struck by the spectacle that surrounded him. At rehearsal he entered with his entourage, one member of which seemed to have the sole job of literally guiding him from one place to the next by walking in front of the tenor who would in turn put his hand on the guide’s shoulder. This was for only short distances, since due to compromised mobility he walked as little as possible. For longer movements he would zip around on a motor scooter.

This lack of mobility also necessitated one of the strangest stage setups I have ever witnessed. Because the American Airlines Arena was a basketball arena first and a concert venue second, the stage was composed of risers set at one end of the basketball court. Pavarotti’s dressing room was a tent on the risers at the back center of the stage, dividing the percussion and the brass on either side. This arrangement allowed him to only walk a few feet to the front of the stage to perform, but severely inhibited the orchestra’s ability to listen to each other.

Despite the eccentricity of the situation none of that mattered. From the first notes he sang in rehearsal I was struck by the flawlessness of his voice, which was matched only by the ease with which he performed. When I first opened the folders and saw nine encores at the ready, I rolled my eyes assuming stories of his talent were overblown puffery. What I witnessed during our rehearsals and performance left me with only one thought: It ain’t braggin’ if you can do it.

In my time as an orchestra librarian, I worked with many amazing performers and a few whose press outstripped their abilities. Pavarotti was a consummate talent. Despite the quirky nature of his process, the results were superlatively excellent. Working the performance in Miami was a privilege and an experience I will never forget.