Column: Angelo

"If I hadn't been stupid enough to refuse that permanent contract, I would have been as big as Pavarotti and Di Stefano." Even though he tells me for the thousandth time, I smile at him again and answer dryly, “But they're both dead and you're still alive. Did you do something right? You're 93, man!'

He laughs: 'Yeah, that's right, I'm actually an oldie, even though I'm really not like my peers. The 'Giuseppe Verdi' (a retirement home in Milan for retired famous musicians) has already called me several times to say that they have room for me, but I thank them very much and live on happily.'

My wonderful tenor teacher, Angelo. Even though he is 93 years old, he looks like a spry sixties. On the street he walks in a smart leather jacket, winks cheerfully at the ladies who walk past and drinks his coffee in the bar where he immediately takes the lead. "It's the music, boy, the music keeps me young."

How it all started

When I was at a networking event at the very beginning of my Tuscan adventure, I spoke to a psychotherapist and communication trainer who absolutely loved the Netherlands.  She works on the Milan – Florence axis, had studied in Amsterdam and, in addition to her work, was also a not without merit. After our first conversation, I knew I needed to see her again and did everything I could to make an appointment with her. That appointment took place a year ago, after repeated e-mails and calls from my side.

It was mid-October when the phone rang. 'Well, Reinout, tomorrow I have half an hour. Come to my office. You really have to have something in mind, otherwise you can explain the 31 emails and 15 phone calls to me.' The next morning I sat in the chair opposite her. She listened to my stories and ideas and thought for a moment. '

Hmm, yes, nice, but if you want to be a trainer, I think you should also be an artist, because that comes close. Are you an artist?' I proudly told that I am a street artist and have a tenor voice. 'Well, she says, then I have something else nice for you. My father-in-law, Angelo, is a famous tenor and still teaches. Do you want me to make an appointment for you?'

Buongiorno ragazzo inlandese, mi chiamo Angelo!

And so it happened. The appointment was made and the following Friday I walked into Angelo's living room. Or well, living room… More like a museum with dozens of photos and reviews on the walls, piles of sheet music and scores by La Traviata and the Bohème. He makes me sing some lines and frowns at me.

'Yes, you have a tenor voice, but how you were able to sing is beyond me. You're not even breathing!' I laugh. 'But,' he says, 'you do have talent. There is something that triggers me. you may stay; I'm going to teach you.' And so we start on the road to a professional singing career, because even if you don't see it yourself, Angelo already sees you on stage.

Giuseppe Verdi always said…

And the road to the stage in the opera is a road of a thousand and one anecdotes. About how he stood with Renata Tebaldi in the San Carlo and how she explained to him what an equal collaboration means. Or when I forget to breathe he explains to me how Pavarotti did it and we then look to the Pagliacci to study his technique. Together we are moved to tears as we read the Bohème (one of Puccini's masterpieces) and then focus again on my breathing and technique.

'Reinout, position and parola, so said Giuseppe Verdi. You must place all value on the spoken word. Those words were written for a reason and are an obvious expression of what is supported by the music,' he then says. "Breathe, and talk about your breath support, and the words will come." (By the way, I understand that this may sound like abracadabra to you. Sometimes it's nice for me too, but with more than 4 hours a week it goes smoothly.)

For example, we sing entire operas every week. Sometimes a few lines, sometimes only the high notes and often whole arias: Traviata, Bohème, Madame Butterfly, Elisir d'Amore and so on. Plus all the stories and the text interpretation. 'Reinout,' he then says, 'check it out… you know what that is; a Dolce Bacio? Have you ever had one? Well, go back to that moment, how her lips gave you that kiss…and keep in mind that it's the very last one you'll ever get, because the next day they'll shoot you dead.' (It can only be clear, by the way, this is the interpretation of And the stars were shining from the opera Tosca). 

The weird twists in the opera and the angel

Sometimes I wonder why I went to Italy and risked the nosedive again. After all, it didn't work in the past and luckily it seems like it now. Apparently it really means something, because this great 93-year-old source of inspiration is more than just a singing teacher for me. He is a nestor, a great coach and not only knows how to bridge the generation gaps between him and me, but also to translate the stories written more than 150 years ago into the here and now.

And now quickly back to the study because the maestro is waiting with new suggestions to make it all even more beautiful and better. Angelo is rightfully mine Angel.