October 21, 1994
So Pavarotti sang at the Civic Arena for 9,000 fans who paid up to $195 per ticket. Where’s he going next? The Orange Bowl? The Astrodome? Maybe they could set up chairs in the Grand Canyon at $200 a pop.
It’s quite obvious that the Fat One is no longer just a singer, but a Money Machine. A few years back, his team of hucksters suckered me into paying $125 each for two tickets when he played Philadelphia. It turned out the opera hall was a sports dome of some sort, with acoustics to match and two seats a football field away from the Great One. It was like watching Dr. Thomas Starzl doing a heart transplant at K-Mart’s automotive department.
In Pittsburgh, that “certain arrogance” as Robert Croan so succinctly put it (Oct. 12), included flute solos from a nobody, an anonymous orchestra and a hockey scoreboard.
We laugh at teenyboppers who pay $100 to hear some fried-brained rock star, then we front page the exploits of a truly talented person sacrificing technique and tradition for box office receipts.
Caruso must be turning over in his grave.
JACK O’NEIL
Sewickley