In my lifetime I got to see many recitals and prefer this form of vocal art to any other, yes, even to an opera production. It gives an artist the opportunity to connect to the listeners on a very personal and intimate level, and, in all actuality, to expose his or her soul to us. It always fills me with such excitement and even nervousness that I get stage jitters myself. Imagine, I get to look inside this person's mind, so to speak and rediscover something of me that identifies me with these works and with what they are about. The sorrow of lost love, the ardency of new feeling, or even the love for the landscapes awaken one by one with each song and your heart goes on an ethereal journey, and by the end of it you are practically exhausted with these concentrated experiences.

José Carreras always does just that for me. Whatever vocal faults the purists claim might have been there, they were completely erased from my notice due to the artistry and emotion that swept the whole audience in a powerful tidal wave, causing tears in people's eyes and sighs in their breaths. I sat in the most central position in the audience: row Y, neither too close (too intimidating) nor too far. The sound swam over me like a stream. For some reason the row in front of me was practically empty in the center (most likely reserved no-shows) so I had an unrestricted view of the center stage and since I am pretty tall, moved quite a lot and vocalized even more, I dare to think Mr. Carreras noticed me and smiled several times seemingly looking straight at me. (Or is it my impression? I was happy nonetheless).

Right off the bat everybody noticed the limp that he tried to hide by moving quickly to the piano and using it a bit for support. We were all concerned, and I am sure all of our thoughts went out to him, trying in some small way to give him strength. But whoever thought his voice would be somehow affected by this problem were in for a surprise. Denver's Buell Theatre is where the Colorado Opera stages its "big" numbers, e.g. "The Flying Dutchman" or "La Traviata". It can accommodate 2,000-plus people. Yet the sound that Carreras produced with seeming ease filled the room with more resonance than most ensembles in these operas. How a lyric instrument can do that without a microphone is a mystery, and extraordinary to observe.

The recital began with "Il Cardellino" by Mercadante "I am training a little goldfinch," a melodious little tune that also helped José to warm up his voice, then moved to more serious pieces including Bellini's mournful "Fenesta che lucive" and a beautiful tango by Nacho that we heard in his memorable Salzburg concert. Spanish, Italian, and French languages are the most suited for singing, and José's customary clear delivery was a delight to hear. By the time we got to the evergreen Tosti favorites, the audience was completely mesmerized. I saw many intent faces and not a sound (so common in live concert recordings) was audible. We held our breath, literally. Most songs selected were in the comfortable liquid mid-range. However, there were a few strong and ringing B's and C's. For example, Tosti's "L'ultima canzone" has two verses where a singer has no way out but to go for these demanding sustained high notes. It is my pleasure to state here that they came out steady and strong, beautifully ringing through the hall. There were a very few notes taken in soft falsetto, but not because José could not sing a full chest B or a B-flat, but because they suited the song, came out very well-controlled, and only intensified the emotion. Remember, just like with the "Flower Song", most of these selections fall under category of melancholic love songs, so a screaming singer would only ruin them.

Unfortunately the program did not provide translations, so the majority of the audience could not understand the meaning of the words, even though they did understand the language of emotion and poignancy. Many songs crossed into the territory of lieder, e.g. the Leoncavallo and Puccini selections. The latter particularly impressed with their aria-like structure and, therefore, made me content with the absence of familiar morsels, such as "E lucevan de stelle" or "Lamento di Frederico". Carreras is not the only opera singer who chooses to bring the songs of familiar composers to listeners' attention rather then their well-known arias. Renato Bruson, Nicolai Ghiaurov, Cecilia Bartoli and many other notable singers choose to do just that. After all, transcription of arias to piano format sometimes causes unfortunate losses in melodic flow (even though they may originally have been composed on the piano) and often makes the listener wonder what's missing. Thus, Puccini's or Leoncavallo's songs, written for piano and voice, are more suitable for recitals. Of course, while melancholy-flavored intimate songs are ideal for this format, conversely, songs like "Marecchiare" only benefit from orchestral arrangements (listen to José's Tosti album with Eduardo Muller). Lorenzo Bavaj provided wonderful support. As a former piano student, I could tell what a master he is. I would love to hear him on Liszt or Mozart. His flowing passages, timely placed accentuation, and, as necessary, ringing fortes were exquisite. Mr. Bavaj deserves the highest praise, no less than his predecessor Vincenzo Solera.

There was only one encore, alas, but it was "Musica Proibita" sung wonderfully as always, even though it tends to make a larger impact with the orchestra taking up the voice part of the second "Vorrei bacciare…" We all gave a standing ovation. José seemed happy, smiling and waving to us. I thought he'd sing another encore and secretly hoped for "Granada". But partly because of his leg problem (I can't even imagine what an effort it took to stand the whole time) and, perhaps, partly because of our extremely dry climate we had to be content with one. But be that as it may, we have the memories to last a lifetime.