Maestro Pavarotti's eyes still sparkle for women

Luciano Pavarotti in Auckland yesterday. Picture / Brett Phibbs

The maestro leans forward, brown Italian eyes glistening as the lissom young TVNZ reporter gets to her feet to ask the first question of his 2005 Farewell Tour: "Maestro, what do you think of our country?"

"You are so beautiful ... and it ees a beautiful country ... "

At 70, Luciano Pavarotti has lost none of his passion - or his sex appeal. He sits there in his black pants and shirt, a startlingly bright shawl of orangey-yellow, purple, green and pink round his neck, and answers with care and respect the questions put to him.

Despite his massive "figure", his huge shoulders and crossed muscled forearms could belong to a much younger man. And like the passionate Italian he is, his eyes sparkle for the women.

The tension, the lineup of men in expensive suits, show this is not a wind-down apology for a tour. The maestro is flanked by young soprano Simona Todaro and master conductor and pianist Leone Magiera, with whom he runs a teaching faculty at Modena for young opera students.

Through his thick accent, Pavarotti confesses he still feels that sense of anticipation, the nervousness, the dread that makes a great performer.

As he explains, "Until now I am singing the first performance of my life. It doesn't matter what is the past. It doesn't matter what is the future, and I am working like before, very enthusiastic, no complaints, no regrets."

Todaro, though a newcomer, has received excellent reviews.

"We have the same blood," says the maestro. "The sister of my father was her grandmother."

Pavarotti arrived at Auckland's fanciest new hotel, the SkyCity Grand, a few hours before and is said to be in the Grand Suite with its king-sized bed, study, sitting and dining rooms, kitchen and guest bathroom.

The going rate is $3200 a night, but the maestro, whose minders thank SkyCity for their support, is unlikely to be paying the full rate.

He does not travel light. There is his wife, Nicoletta Mantovani, and 2 1/2-year-old daughter Alice, plus a 16-strong entourage of friends, physiotherapists, cooks and colleagues. Some of them, presumably, joined him on the private plane from Brisbane.

Three lifelong friends, Luciano Ghelfi, Georgia Maletti and Guilio Bonacini, who grew up with Pavarotti in Modena, come on tour to keep him company. Every morning, and especially before concerts, the four pass the time playing a card game called Briscola.

" Which is good," says the publicist, "because it doesn't require him to use his voice."

Preserving his voice, his instrument, is something Pavarotti takes ferociously seriously.

Concerts are three days apart to allow time to rest. Flowers are not allowed backstage or near the concert stage and there is no smoking anywhere near him. He rarely goes outside in the wind or dust.

"I don't even know why I am going to sing outside," he says. "The day after tomorrow we really need good weather. I am thinking about the concert the day after tomorrow, I begin to panic!"

He sees his voice as a genetic gift from his father, who died at 90 - "and he sang 15 days before with a beautiful fresh voice".

"When I was a boy I jump on the table, ask everyone to turn the light because I was shy and then I say, 'My father is a tenor, I'm a little tenor'. And then I say 'La donna e mobile'."

He breaks into the famous song for a second. "That was my debut."

The first time Pavarotti threatened to come to New Zealand was as a side trip on his 1997 Australian tour with then-mistress Mantovani, aged 26. She had visited in 1993 and found New Zealand unbelievably friendly. In 1996 it must have seemed beguilingly distant from the scandal surrounding her affair with Pavarotti and the end of his 35-year marriage to Adua.

The maestro finally made it to Auckland in November 1999, when he performed at Ericsson Stadium, commanding the then-highest ticket price ($450) for a single artist in New Zealand.

He has already said goodbye to full opera.

"With my figure they don't generally want me in new productions," he says. "So you have to find your own way. And my own way to be myself was to get out from the opera house and try with the concert."

Now, at 70, with a daughter "who is enchanting but very, very alive", the concert circuit is also drawing to a close.

"I want to say goodbye to everybody and thanks, thanks, thanks, because it was very lucky to meet such good people."

His critics say Pavarotti is a vain man who darkens his hair and eyebrows with charcoal, has tried to hold back the years with face work, and has done something to his teeth. But all is forgiven by anyone who has heard that pure, fresh, so-passionate voice.

As he says, "A person working at these levels is very lucky. Sometimes it's bad, sometimes very bad. Twice they boo me. No, they were not right, but I gave them the possibility to boo me. So I say to myself, 'Sing better'.

"[When it all ends] I will suffer, I don't know how much. And I don't want to think how much."

He smiles at the young woman who asked what he'll miss most. Quick as a flash: "You!"

* Pavarotti at North Harbour Stadium, Saturday, 8.30pm. Tickets: Grandstand premium $235. Bronze field $175.