For those of you who aren’t familiar with the legendary José Cura, he is a famous international tenor whose career I have followed since 1998. He happens to be a heartthrob among tenors, and his female fans are especially loyal. (He also sings really really really really well. REALLY WELL.) As you can imagine, Soenke was not completely riveted at the idea of driving 3+ hours to Berlin in order to sit among the adoring women of the audience. To assuage his doubts, I assured Soenke that José was getting older, greyer, and significantly wider around the middle (crossing my fingers that this was, in fact, true). He begrudgingly agreed to go, if only to monitor my whereabouts and confirm that there were no tenors chasing me around after the performance.

I was slightly skeptical of the particular opera in which he would be singing – La Fanciulla del West – as it is a particularly silly creation of Puccini: an American-style cowboy-and-Indian opera, sung entirely in Italian. But I was willing to overlook this peculiarity if only to hear José’s voice live for the first time in a year and a half.

The performance coincided with the 10-year anniversary of José’s fan club, so there was a liberal sprinkling of old friends in the audience. Nettie & Sander, the happy Dutch couple who seem to never get older; Monique the really tall California girl; Chikako the Japanese club rep who routinely flies to Europe just to see José sing then flies back the next day; Heidi the redheaded German artist; and a gaggle of 60-something British women who keep me in stitches. A colorful group, fueled by champagne and great stories.

The performance itself? Pretty bueno. While the singing was excellent, Fanciulla’s music just doesn’t pack the same punch as, say, a Traviata. All the characters have standard cowboy names, so the script goes like this : “italiano italiano italiano DICK JOHNSON italiano italiano JACK italiano italiano italiano MINNIE italiano.” Further confusing things were the German supertitles above the stage, which were totally incongruous when men in Stetsons and spurs were prancing across the stage. But if you can look past all that, the performance itself was pretty flawless, and the main characters (José as cowboy Dick, Silvie Valkyre as cowgirl Minnie, and someone whose name I can’t recall as the Sheriff) did a splendid job.

The one small hiccup in the performance was José himself. I mean, I had represented to Soenke that he was getting old and, ahem, ‘filled out’. So about 20 minutes into the first act, his character marches on stage. I could practically feel Soenke’s eyes boring reproachful holes into my head as José appeared being the fittest I’d ever seen him, wearing tight leather pants and a very fitted knit top, sporting no grey hair, and clearly having spent some time at the gym. I cringed and tried to pretend not to notice.

It got worse.

During the 2nd act, there is a love scene. So as to demonstrate to the audience that he was still in his youthful “black belt” form, José REMOVES HIS SHIRT and practically flexes each muscle on his chest and arms. At this point I am choking back laughter because I KNOW I am in so much trouble. Soenke will NEVER believe a WORD I say ever again. I am seriously in danger of being kicked out of the auditorium as my shoulders shake with hysteria and I try not to snort. Soenke is telepathically confirming that “you are in SO much trouble, babe”. I’m trying to think of dead fish and root canals in order to quiet myself back down. It’s not easy.

Between the second and final act, I ran into José’s wife in the lobby – she is an absolutely gorgeous woman with an incredibly petite figure considering she has popped out THREE children. They must both spend a lot of time at the gym. I should try that.

Afterwards, the ardent fans queued up in the foyer for signatures (I don’t know why – who cares about signatures? We want photos!) and a brief hello. José charged out, still in costume, scribbled his name on about 100 pieces of whatever, then reached me. Soenke was off drinking a Coke and gnoshing on a pretzel, so he missed the big smile, enthusiastic cheek kisses and a “hey, are you guys coming to see me in New York in November?”. Uh, oops, um, NO… I’ll be vacationing somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere where it’s warm. But hopefully I’ll get a pirated audio version of the performance afterwards. You don’t mind, do you?

And with a smile, he was gone. I removed my look-marvelous-feel-like-hell silver pumps, and padded barefoot outside. Soenke breathed a sigh of relief that he had earned his release from opera hell for at least a few weeks. I prepared for a tongue lashing on the long drive home !

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My photos are terrible, and I apologize. It’s that damn auto-focus at high zoom…

A fifth curtain call for the approving fans:

Still with “blood” from a stage gunshot, José signs this & that for his fans:

Our group photo, with Chikako, Heidi, Sander (back), me, Nettie (back), and Monique: