by Eileen

It is a beautiful cool October night in Washington, DC. This evening could not be any more different from the hot and sultry one in Philadelphia this past July, my first concert experience with Andrea. That night my seat was as far away from the stage as it could possibly be. The impact of his performance was greatly diminished by such a distance, and I have felt bereft from the experience ever since. This time I am truly blessed as my seat is on the floor, front and center. I have the most incredible feeling about tonight, that it will prove to be an extraordinary moment in my life.

The demographic of the crowd surrounding me is simply amazing: young, old, male, female, affluent, middle-class... Andrea attracts them all. The synergy among us is almost palatable as we await the start of the concert. During this prelude, I am dismayed to realize that I am actually thinking about Andrea's haircut! I have adamantly professed, both privately and publicly, not to care in the least about his appearance. But now I fear that I am not so sure and I brace myself for disappointment, feeling ashamed of my shallowness. But then he appears. There is without doubt an audible gasp from some in the crowd who, clutching glossy Aria programs in their hands, were not prepared for this sight. With minor assistance from Rota, he strides purposefully to the microphone and then stands so still for our review. How could I have considered for a moment that I would feel differently? When beautiful wrapping paper is removed from a beautiful gift, do we ever long for its return? Without the diffusion of dark hair, his face is now so clearly revealed. With each raised eyebrow, with each tentative smile, every nuance of emotion has a full canvas for display. He is just beautiful. Period.



Rota raises his baton, and so it begins. Starting with the haunting "E lucevan le stelle" the arias drift out into the arena and it just does not seems possible that it was only three short months ago that I had been disappointed by this repertoire. Then I had come for "Romanza," but Andrea had a higher purpose. Gently, resolutely, he has led me to his beloved opera and now I welcome each of these songs as old friends, so grateful for this second chance to receive them as he intended.

At first this Andrea seems different from the one in Philadelphia. He is fighting his demons again and appears to be uncomfortable. As accomplished as Rota is, perhaps the impish Mercurio is Andrea's better counterpoint, capable of dissipating his nervousness. My heart goes out to him and I am struck by this disparity of emotions, marked by a mere chasm of only a few feet. On the one side, singular suffering; on the other, collective euphoria. I wish him release from the anxiety he must constantly face, but in my selfishness I am glad that he continues to heed destiny's call.

Paola Sanguinetti is now on the stage. She is very lovely and Andrea seems to relax in her presence. As with each of his partners before, I am divided by feelings of shameless jealousy and vicarious joy. And as always, the former quickly fades, the latter prevails as both their voices entwine and I imagine just how right that must feel, to be in complete concert with another. With Paola I know that the Boheme sequence is drawing near, and my pulse quickens. Each of us has our Andrea song, the one that speaks to our soul. Mine is "Che Gelida Manina". At last the orchestra strikes the lone, introductory chord. Andrea begins his beautiful tale of cold hands, of poems and castles in the air, of love's first blush, and I know it's coming. I know it's coming and I close my eyes, like a lover awaiting a familiar kiss. His high C soars over the crowd... "Speranza" ... Hope! It enters my heart and, like each time before, renews all that is good within me and affirms that better still is yet to come.

He is so at ease now and the transformation is really quite incredible. I know that opera is his first love, but he brings a natural expansiveness to the Neapolitan songs that seems to transcend his usual reserve. The crowd instinctively responds to this openness, emanating back the love and appreciation that further serve to relax him. We have entered into a partnership with this give-and-take, a role we savor and willingly assume.

All sense of time and place has been suspended as the concert continues on, drawing too quickly to its inevitable close. In encore, Andrea lovingly presents his gifts: "O Sole Mio," "La Vedova Allegra" and, of course, "Time To Say Goodbye". The crowd roars its approval after each, applauding until we can no longer feel our hands. We have become of one mind, an incredible cohesion that brings tears to my eyes. When it is finally over, everyone leaves as if in a trance, feeling momentarily replete, but knowing deep in our hearts that we will never be fully satisfied.

It is a long ride home. In the dark I struggle, like many before, to encapsulate what it is that sets Andrea apart, and an image comes to me. A jeweler, wishing to display a flawless diamond, simply places it on a piece of black velvet. In contrast to that darkness, its perfect brilliance shines forth. And this is Andrea's magic. With his stillness of spirit, with his composure of body and countenance, there is nothing to vie for our attention, and so we receive the power of his song, full strength, straight into our hearts. And once having experienced such undiluted passion, we find ourselves simply incapable of settling for anything less, ever again.

And so my intuition about this evening has proven to be true. For tonight has been a crescendo to the ongoing symphony within my soul, whose first melody was composed many months ago, as if by magic, on a distant Tuscan stage. And the enormity of what I am feeling overwhelms me. For with all my secret pride in my ability to use language to paint a picture or to evoke emotion, I am humbled by this realization. This time my words cannot adequately express the gratitude I feel for this gift he has given me. And because my words fail me, I can say only this: "Grazie, Andrea. Grazie e addio"... until we meet again.