Cortona Opera House/Bohemian Club/ Harlan Crow Tuscan Arts Retreat - Spring 1997

Wonderful memory 
of singing with the world famous soprano

Carol Neblett

In spring of 1997, I was asked to join a private group for an arts and culture appreciation trip to Tuscany, Italy. Six of us were chosen to stay at Castello di Gargonza, and to perform for a night of special importance at the Cortona Opera House. As the broadway singer, I was teamed up with an opera singer to do some duets from our favorite musicals. Neither of us had met each other before. I was a bit worried because my broadway/cabaret style was not very disciplined, and I had an off color interpretation of many standard songs. I was worried that singing with an operatic soprano would be absolute misery due to the clash of styles. And my lord, I thought what could be a more tempermental coupling than a tenor and a soprano in Italy, then I met Carol. The first time I heard her sing I was physically stunned. Her voice moved through my body like a spirit of force. In the world, there are few voices of her quality, and gifted to such charisma.

A tall and beautiful woman, buxom and sexy, she was full of good humor, quick wit, and a love of music of all kinds. We snuck away with our awesome pianist and tried to cram for the show later in the week. I found out that I had been assigned to partner with Carol because she was a big personality and it was believed I could "manage" her.  The truth is, she was so much fun, so naughty, and very into making it clear that she was her own person, and that her spirit was free. We got along well, and I felt like I was her courtier. I really liked her energy. When she performed she wore an outstanding blue dress adorned by a jeweled pin she had been given by Prince Charles after a command performance. It suited her. She let me touch the pin, and I could see she loved her life as an opera star, and realized how rare an experience it was.

For that week Carol and I spent a lot of time together making fun of some of the other guests, talking about our love of music, and drinking red wine late into the evening. One night she pressured the restaurant's kitchen into feeding us extra dessert but singing to them in Italian. She told me she would show me how to get tiramisu from a closed kitchen. She stood up in her blue gown, adjusted her ample bust, gave me a look of mischief, and marched through the serving doors, shocking the chef and his staff.  After 2 arias, we had tiramisu and limoncello at our table. 

In the castle where we were staying, there was a small ancient church, and Carol and I would walk by it every evening on our way back from rehearsal, then dinner and wine drinking. I would drop her there and she would go up to her room for the evening, and I would go to mine. It was not hard work, and it was nice to be one of 6 guest performers who were paid handsomely, fed well, treated with adoration and respect, and given first class lodging and travel. 

Carol and I had dressing rooms next to each other at the Cortona Opera House, a cold stone cave of a building in use since the early 1600's. The dressing rooms were damp and chilly, and the late spring in Tuscany was full of blooming flowers and trees. I got through the rehearsal, and tried to adjust to performing in such an odd mausoleum-like space, but as my sinuses and throat swelled, I felt increasingly worried about singing anything. 

That night at a lovely dinner in a field of some Tuscan family farm, Carol and I were bored to tears by the dull crowd, and so we started to act inappropriately. Eventually we were got tipsy and spanked each other with sticks of pepperoni on a folding lounge chair. Oh the looks we got, but no one would ever say a word to Carol. Well, I got an earful later that night. I was told that it was in poor taste to spank famous opera divas with cured meat, in public. I looked like I took the words seriously, but could not wait to tell Carol so we could laugh about it.

So, the day of our show, my allergies began to kick in with full force. I was afraid I might not be able to go on stage and hit any notes whatsoever. I went into Carol's dressing room to check on her and she how our costumes looked and if the hair was done correctly, and we were looking great. I told her I was struggling vocally, but I might have to act more than sing and to be prepared. I think she could see how disappointed I was feeling. Carol then tells me not to worry, digs in her purse and pulls out one small pill, hands it to me, and gives me a warning. She explains that if I take the pill I will be able to sing like usual in about 45 minutes, that it will last 2 to 3 hours, but the next day I will be totally vocally shot. I did not know what it was, but I figured if it was good enough for Carol then it was fine for me.

And she was right, we sounded fantastic that evening. I adjusted my sound to be more operatic and she relaxed hers to be more broadway. Hearing our voices in that famous concert hall was thrilling, and we had a lot of fun. Of course Carol had heard her voice fill the greatest halls of the world, but this was my first 17th century Italian opera house experience. What was great about Carol was that she treated me with care, respect, and affection. She really loved singing with people because it was her special way of sharing herself with others. Her artistic and emotional generosity impressed me. When we sang together it felt like two singers who loved to perform, who were listening to each other with appreciation. She could have taken it all, dominating the duet, but she chose instead to sing with me as Carol, not as a Diva. It reinforced to me the idea that true talent and genius is kind and inclusive.

The last day I saw Carol, she waved me over to the chapel in the Castle where a wedding was being set up for the next day. This tall statuesque blond woman was trying to sneak into the wedding rehearsal, past the photographers, to get a look at the betrothed couple. I was thinking she was going to get yelled at for trespassing on the event, or pull focus by doing such a bad job of being subtle with her movements. The cars were waiting for us to go to the airport, but no Carol was to be found. I was asked if I knew where she was, and I said, of course, no. But, I knew exactly where she was. She was spying on the couple in the chapel. 

She was standing in the back of the church, on the other side of the main doors. I watched her from the side as she blessed the couple and sang the most incredible aria as they practiced walking down the aisle to the alter. Her amazing voice brought the old cold chapel to life filling it with warmth. The couple were shocked and had no idea that one of the most famous sopranos of the last 100 years had basically broken into the church to sing for them. Carol knew that when you sing Italian opera to italians about to be married, no explanation is needed. It seems almost normal, or what you would choose if it was affordable.

I remember Carol's face as she ended her aria and began to leave through the church's main doors. In a grand exit, followed by the beaming couple who likely thought an angel had been sent to sing to bless their love and future, she showed that mischievous smile again. With her voice, her love of life, and her vivacious spirit, she had created another lovely moment of inclusion and generosity. 

What good is a voice if it is not used to lift others up? Why not sneak into places and sing to people? Singing is not about the concept of place, it is about harnessing intention and passionate human connection. 20 years later, I sometimes look Carol up online to hear recordings of her voice, and I remember to be generous with my spirit, to not care about appropriateness, and to follow my instincts and intuition. I miss singing,  and some singers like Carol, and I have to reconnect with my now mature voice. 

I am sure Carol still bursts into song for anyone and everyone, and I am forever grateful for being made her "handler" that warm italian spring in 1997. 

This is a recording of her in her prime. Just remarkable.