Three stupendous tenors dominate top-class opera: Luciano Pavarotti is the larger-than-life extrovert, Placido Domingo is popularly characterised as broody, while José Carreras takes the honours as quite the best-mannered of the superstar singers, and as a man of rare courage and determination. In Barcelona, he talked to Queste's editor, DAVID TAYLOR

He was having the whole of August off, declared José Carreras: four Weeks without any engagements. Marvellous. He could not remember the last time he had a month's holiday; maybe it was 20 years ago, maybe it was never. Where was he going? Nowhere. He would stay right here in Barcelona. He would go to the beach, he would have lunch with his kids - and he'd drive his new present to himself. "I had never considered such a motor-car, until I was in London in the summer for the Hampton Court Festival and I had the opportunity to drive it and, well, we got along very well. I thought we should stay together, this motor-car and I, because we were becoming the best of friends. Now, for a whole month here in my beloved Barcelona, we shall have the best of times. Maybe - I don't know- you can say I deserve the special pleasure of this marvellous present to myself."

The marvellous present is a shimmering new Rolls-Royce Corniche IV convertible and there is no doubt that its new owner is decidedly excited by it. Nor can there be any doubt that José Carreras deserves what he repeatedly calls his "delight". His extraordinary vocal talent has brought pleasure to millions of opera-lovers and, along with Luciano Pavarotti and Placido Domingo, he is rated as the world's top tenor. But, besides that, his extraordinary personal courage has earned him many more admirers. Six years ago, at the age of 40, he fell ill during a performance of La Boheme, in Paris and shocked doctors diagnosed leukaemia, He was given only a ten per cent chance of survival. But after a bone marrow transplant and months of gruelling chemotherapy, he not only beat the disease, but returned triumphantly on stage with his voice unimpaired.

The comeback concerts

His first comeback concert was in front of an enthusiastic audience of 150,000 fellow Catalans, but the real confirmation of his professional return came three years ago when in Rome he joined Pavarotti and Domingo for the globally televised Three Tenors Concert, staged on the eve of the World Cup Final. The rich timbre of his stupendous voice was there for all to hear as he trilled his way effortlessly up to top C, the big stretch of a note which always guarantees thunderous applause. "A tenor who sings a high C," Carreras says, "is like a circus trapeze artist going for a triple somersault without a safety net. It's always a risk, but that risk will thrill the crowd." Moreover, when Carreras puts his all into a real virtuoso weepy like Sorrento, or Granada, there tends not to be a dry eye left in the house. The audiences love it.

But for all that "media events" like the Three Tenors Concert have turned opera stars almost into pop stars, with record sales and appearance fees to match, José Carreras has remained quietly unaffected by popular success and his manner is full of old-fashioned courtesies - the perfect gentleman. He has the svelte good looks and the smouldering eyes of a matinee idol, but he is the least showy of the big-name singers, determined to maintain his musical integrity and to sidestep the more vulgar blandishments of the media circus. Not that he is entirely without commer-cial savvy. Like Kiri Te Kanawa, Carreras is now managed by Mark McCormack's IMG.

No histrionics off-stage

The image of the Spanish nobleman of classical music nevertheless prevails. If the rumbustious Pavarotti is larger than life in more ways than one, and Domingo has a reputation for broodiness, Carreras is universally seen as the "Mister Nice Guy" of the top tenors. He is well able to turn on the drama and emotion whenever the sentiments of a song may demand it, but eschews any histrionics off-stage. He lives quietly in an apartment in the centre of Barcelona, while his wife (from whom he is separated) and his 20-year-old son and 15-year-old daughter live in a house about 20 miles out of town. They often meet for lunch and, after we had talked, Carreras was off to surprise them with his new car.

The story of his rise to stardom is the stuff of fairy tales. Carreras was born in a poor district of Barcelona. At the age of six, he was taken to see Mario Lanza in the film life of The Great Caruso and he was entranced. A year later, his parents found the money for him to take music lessons and the story goes that his teacher was reduced to tears when first she heard the astonishing clarity of his treble voice.

Neighbours would throw open their windows to hear him practising and by the age of 11 he sang for the first time in public at the Barcelona Opera House (he made his adult debut there, too, singing alongside Montserrat Caballe). But his was by no means a sheltered childhood with nothing but music to interest young José: he was a useful soccer player (he played once or twice for Barcelona FC ) and read chemistry at university. But whenever he sang (which was most days) anyone who was within earshot would stop what they were doing and gape in admiration. There was never any doubt where his future lay. As a child, he recalls, he was impressed by his parents' passion for "doing things right, without fuss, but with nobility" and critics have remarked that Carreras brings a rare intensity to heroic operatic roles. As Sir Colin Davis observed when he con-ducted Carreras as Don José in Carmen, "This man really means what he sings." Well, says Carreras, he is a romantic sort at heart and is inclined to sing the tear-jerking passages of romantic opera with all the stops out - and why not? He quotes his hero, the great Enrico Caruso, who once mischievously defined a great tenor as "a big chest, a big mouth, 90 per cent memory, ten per cent intelligence, lots of hard work and something in the heart."

The implied modesty is characteristic of Carreras. For all that he is idolised by his public (and it's quite an experience to drive through Barcelona with him at the wheel of his Corniche and to be all but mobbed at every traffic light) he prefers a courteous reserve in place of the more usual operatic superstar's preference for gregarious bluster, and he prefers to sing in an opera house; rather than for some TV spectacular. Carreras does not flaunt his stardom, or for that matter his wealth: Even the Rolls-Royce is far from being a status symbol: he sees it as a work of art and declares that he has "collected" it, much as he might collect a painting by his favourite artist, Miro.

Strength of character.

Natural strength of character must have contributed greatly towards his amazing recovery from seemingly terminal illness and now he devotes considerable energy towards fund-raising for the Jos6 Carreras International Leukaemia Foundation in support of less fortunate victims. Today, Carreras' schedule is as full and demanding as ever it was. After his month off in Barcelona, he was off to concerts in Greece and Turkey, is now on tour in the Far East, and next March he returns to London's Royal Albert Hall and to Covent Garden for a new production of Umberto Giordano's Milanese opera, Fedora.

London, he reflects, has become like a second home to him and is very much his favourite place to be, after Barcelona. He does not share other celebrities' relish for the bright lights and razzmatazz of cities. Certainly, London audiences have taken José Carreras to their hearts. Doormen at Covent Garden say they have their work cut out whenever he appears, keeping the adoring fans at arm's length (Carreras does not choose to travel with the usual army of minders). Last January, he was at the Royal Opera House taking the title role (for the first time on stage) in a new production of Verdi's little-known opera, Stiffelio, to rapturous acclaim. Before that, Carreras had appeared at the Vienna State Opera as Alfredo in La Traviata and in Seville (for the Expo celebrations) as Don José in Carmen. Now, as he confounds those who feared he might never regain his former strength, he says he feels fine and his voice "does all that I ask of her" so that he fully intends to return to some of the most demanding of Verdi's tenor parts, including Don Carlos, Aida, and La Forza del Destino.

There will no doubt be the celebrity concerts besides, even if Carreras does not choose to seek the limelight as much as arch-rivals Pavarotti and Domingo. Not that he sees them as arch-rivals to him: only to each other. Carreras actually does not mind a bit if critics choose to cast him as Number Three of "The Three Tenors". He considers himself highly privileged, he says with characteristic modesty, to have achieved the opportunity to sing in every major opera house or to have made more than 100 recordings. In any case, he adds loyally, both Pavarotti and Domingo are great friends of his. For Carreras at least, there is no quarrelsome rivalry: only respect for distinguished fellow artists. As ever, he's the perfect gentleman.

Copyright © 1993 Queste Magazine