With a 300 pound frame and a personality as powerful as his vocal chords,
Luciano Pavarotti had one of the world's finest voices, which he delighted in sharing with the masses.
Pavarotti's own life story compared with those of the most colourful operatic characters he brought to life. His great loves included food, football and family.
The son of a baker and a cigar factory worker, young Luciano was raised just outside Modena, the first boy born in the apartment block for 10 years, and thus treated like a young prince by a flock of adoring women.
His mother recognised the quality of young Luciano's singing voice and, in 1955, Pavarotti began his musical studies under the guidance of maestro Ettore Campogalliani. In 1961, he won the prestigious Achille Peri prize for singing.
International superstar
The same year saw his professional debut in Italy, as Rodolfo in a widely praised performance of La Boheme, and soon his soaring tones could be heard in opera houses across Europe.
Pavarotti enjoyed a fortuitous introduction to British audiences in 1963 when his idol Giuseppe Di Stefano fell ill, and Pavarotti replaced him at the London Palladium.
The performance was broadcast to 15 million viewers and the young star was signed by Decca, heralding a prodigious recording career.
His La Scala debut took place in 1965, the same year he went on tour with Australian soprano Joan Sutherland. Pavarotti remained forever grateful for what he learned from her about vocal technique and breathing.
He made his debut at his beloved Metropolitan Opera House in New York in 1968, and was an international superstar within five years.
For more than 40 years, Luciano Pavarotti cut a most distinctive figure in the operatic world. His rare combination of power and quality marked him out from his peers.
U2 frontman Bono has paid tribute to the late tenor Luciano Pavarotti on the band's website. Here is his full message.
Some can sing opera, Luciano Pavarotti was an opera.
No one could inhabit those acrobatic melodies and words like him.
He lived the songs, his opera was a great mash of joy and sadness; surreal and earthy at the same time; a great volcano of a man who sang fire but spilled over with a love of life in all its complexity, a great and generous friend.
Great, great fun, The Pavlova we used to call him. An emotional arm twister if he wanted you to do something for him he was impossible to turn down. A great flatterer.
When he wanted U2 to write him a song he rang our housekeeper, Theresa, continually so we talked about little else in our house.
When he wanted U2 to play his festival in Modena, he turned up in Dublin unannounced with a film crew, and door-stopped the band. His life and talent was large but his sense of service to the weak and vulnerable was larger.
We wrote Miss Sarajevo for him. He had worked on the humanitarian crisis that was the war in Bosnia.
We travelled together on a UN air force flight to Mostar... all of us earnest in hard hats, just about strapped into this industrial aircraft with the big man handing out parmigiano from Reggio Emilia, "the best cheese in the world" he kept saying, deadpan, to make us laugh.
In Pesaro, in his summer house, he lived an almost bohemian life with a recording studio set up in an out house - but did all his vocals in his bedroom... there was a hammock hung between two marine pines for a siesta.
He liked to eat, sleep and then warm up his vocals, though I remember more eating than warming up. When we first recorded with him I left a stone heavier than I arrived.
ntellectually curious, couldn't stick to his own generation - loved new ideas, new people, new song forms.
A sexy man whose life lit up again when he fell in love with Nicoletta and as he watched Alice play in the yard. He loved all his daughters so much.
The sadness of losing his only boy his only silence.
I spoke to him last week... the voice that was louder than any rock band was a whisper. Still he communicated his love. Full of love.
That's what people don't understand about Luciano Pavarotti. Even when the voice was dimmed in power, his interpretive skills left him a giant among a few tall men.
Comment:
His obituaries omit a couple of facts of his life worthy of mention.
During the Second World War, when his family lived in a small village, Luciano almost starved to death as a result of the German occupation.
After the war, he played football and was a very good goalkeeper.
Luciano singing with his father.
