Three Tenors Strike A Different Tune

Any time I attend a symphony or concert, I marvel at how a tenor can appear on stage and move an entire audience with his voice.

I suppose the same could be said for any vocalist, no matter what the song, Sinatra, Springsteen, or Borceli for that matter.

But let’s talk tenor today—my own version of The Three Tenors—in a rather different light. Lights. Sound. Let the music begin.

The first was a man after my own identity. He was Armenian and ran a record shop in New York City that doubled as his home. He would sell his music in front and sleep out back with a tiny refrigerator, table, and a couple chairs.

Armen Guirag lived from hand to mouth and was in no hurry to move his records. He once told me that every one he sold was like “selling a child.” But did he ever have a voice, and became the greatest Armenian tenor of his generation back in the 1950’s.

He was recognized as a classic concert and opera singer, produced a number of recordings, and performed near and far, including an appearance at Carnegie Hall that gained rave reviews in the New York papers.

I met him during the tail end of his career when he gradually began to mellow and lived like a recluse. The last concert I attended of his was a pity.

He appeared in Boston, well into his 70s by now, and sang like he never sang before. His voice carried to the very last row of seats as people were on their feet applauding his every note.

And then, the unsuspected occurred. The record he had spinning in the background got stuck while the audience sat mortified. Even before lip-syncing became popular, Armen Guirag appeared well before his time.

He dashed off stage humiliated, never to appear again. Last I heard, he died in that little record store with hardly a whisper from the scores who embraced his music.

The second tenor was another man after my own heart. He, you may know—Richard Tucker—the greatest tenor of his time in the American mainstream. I listened to everything he ever sang, buying his records and tapes as if they were collectibles.

A day didn’t go by when Tucker’s voice wasn’t bouncing off my walls. He was scheduled to give a concert in Nashua, N.H., one evening and I just had to attend. Only one problem, though. What to do with two small children, ages two and five?

Efforts to get a sitter were futile. The only recourse was to have them join us. Two little ones at an opera recital could be suicide if they acted up. As luck would have it, the younger one fell asleep two arias into the concert and the five-year-old kept herself busy with a coloring book.

Tucker was immense that evening with only a pianist for accompaniment. I just had to meet him in person, given my editorial privileges as a journalist. Passing myself off as a critic, I banged on his door backstage with my wife and two kids beside me and out he came.

He saw the two kids and gave them each a hug. “Bravo,” he said. “I love seeing kids at my concerts. I wish more people would bring their children.”

Six months later, Tucker died. I recreated that scene in a tribute I had written for the Gazette that ultimately wound up at the Metropolitan Opera Society and in the hands of his widow who sent me a letter of gratitude.

The third tenor is Jose Carreras, one of the original trio with Placido Domingo and the late Luciano Pavarotti. We were visiting Florida this winter and saw his appearance advertised in a local paper.

Four tickets were purchased for a dear price and we got to sit in the second mezzanine. Thank goodness for binoculars.

Out came the tenor to deafening applause, accompanied by a keyboard artist. He sang one song, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket and went into a coughing spell.

A second song only intensified his discomfort as he quickly exited off stage. Five minutes later, he reappeared, clearly struggling with what appeared to be a chest cold. And then absolute disaster.

He stopped midway through the selection, waved his hands in the air with total resignation, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for the respect you have shown us tonight. But I don’t think you are going to enjoy this. I’m certainly not enjoying it myself.”

And with that, off the stage he bolted as a stunned audience sat motionless. No lip-syncing here. No interference from small children. Just an unfortunate moment caused by illness.

I did get my money refunded.

Tom Vartabedian

Tom Vartabedian

Tom Vartabedian is a retired journalist with the Haverhill Gazette, where he spent 40 years as an award-winning writer and photographer. He has volunteered his services for the past 46 years as a columnist and correspondent with the Armenian Weekly, where his pet project was the publication of a special issue of the AYF Olympics each September.
Tom Vartabedian

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3 Comments

  1. Tom’s articles are ageless. There isn’t one article of his I didn’t enjoy. When are you going to publish a collection of his writings for posterity? “Vee” Sookikian

  2. The article doesn’t mention the time the Three Tenors ripped off an audience at LaScala as well as the BBC which broadcast it. That’s when I quit watching or listening to those three.

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