Trying to make sense of, face up to, surmount an obsession. The kind of obsession where you find yourself on imaginary scabby knees, praying for deliverance because you know your emotional state has tossed luxuries like sanity aside. It makes no sense, there’s no logic behind it. It is. His age is completely wrong. His personality is completely wrong. It’s his body. It’s his voice. You’re lost. You know you’re lost and you can’t find your way back.
You know now what love at first sight means; except, this isn’t love. Love makes some sense. Love makes you happy. Love doesn’t leave you with yawning chasms in your chest where your heart used to be. Love is reciprocated. This isn't, nor should it be, because of the wrongness of it. It's not his beauty or his personality, although you're mesmerized by those too, as perfect as he is. But that isn't it. It’s his voice.
You focus on that, something outside of your own mind, your own sanity, something you can’t control. He can’t control that either, for the most part; he was born with it, his voice; the voice that vibrates inside of you and makes you stumble in shock when you hear it.
You stop in your tracks and say, “Oh my god, oh my god.” You’re sure it means something important; it has some relevance to your life, your purpose, your destiny, but you find no connection or meaning that makes sense. You don’t want to come to the realization that you are this obsessed to no good purpose, but that probability is looming at you over the speakers. You’re lost. You’re hopelessly lost. You feel … stupid. No worse than that. You feel pathetic.
MAKE IT STOP.
You grow to hate You-Tube, that formerly innocuous medium, now your own lever to push. You’re the caged mouse, seeking water to satiate your thirst, seeking drugs to satiate your ache for pleasure. This is worse. You push the You-Tube lever and it feeds you his voice, your own “personal brand of heroin”, because you can’t go even a full day without it – without him – the voice that coils inside of you, vibrating, vibrating against things which had been dormant, best left dormant, but no, awakening them.
You push the lever. This time it’s “Tous les visages de l’amour", and his voice swells and swells and reaches a note that plunges directly into your heart (2:21 - 2:36), quivering. Or it's "Grenada". He holds that note so long (2:30-2:41) it brings tears to your eyes, although you're sure others have held it as he did, and even longer, it's HIS voice holding the note, and this makes it sacred.
The “love at first sight except it isn't love" moment: Amazon.com sent me an e-mail: “Based on your previous purchases, you might like …” I’ve received e-mails like that before from Amazon.com, and was not expecting much. But I read the e-mail and wondered, “Who or what is ‘Il Volo’?”
I went over to You Tube and hunted for “Il Volo”, finding a link to the video, the same one I embedded in my previous entry – their guest appearance on “American Idol”. Obviously I’d missed it on the night they actually performed – that was sometime last year. I hadn’t watched “American Idol” since Bo Bice appeared in the third season.
From the first opening instrumental notes, I was looking at Piero Barone, on my left and Gianluca's right, who was swaying back and forth in time to the music. I thought, “He's really cute.” And he really was. I would later learn that he was 17 years old at the time, but even so, he initially looked on screen to be almost small and fragile and even younger than 17, so I knew my reaction had dipped into “cougar” territory. (But unless he has a habit of reading American blogs, how was he going to know? If you don't tell him, I sure have no plans to.)
Gianluca Ginoble was the one who sang the first few introductory couple of lines, but, as talented as Gianluca was and is, from the very first note of music, it was always Piero who caught my eye. I wasn't obsessed with him at that point; I just thought he was a cute kid. But the obsession was seconds away. Because then it happened - Piero opened his mouth, and the incredible voice that came out of it knocked me flat.
In the video, there is a reaction shot of the three semi-finalists listening to the opening bars of Il Volo’s performance, and one of them is sitting there in shock with her mouth hanging open at the unexpected power and beauty of his voice. It would have been funny if I hadn’t done the exact same thing. I had gasped, clapped one hand over my heart and was staring at him on the computer screen in astonishment with my jaw dropped. That was the moment when the awe-filled obsession took hold, full-blown, instantaneously. All of a sudden, if I couldn't listen to his voice at least once a day for the rest of my life, I just knew I wouldn't survive. As retarded as that sounds (and believe me, I KNOW how retarded that sounds), that's exactly what it felt like. If he hadn't sung another note, I would have stalked him all the way to Sicily, just to hear him speak a word or two. Just hearing him snarl, "Stop following me, you're getting annoying!" would have been heavenly. Fortunately for the both of us, I didn't have to resort to that. Instead, I was able to stalk his voice on You-Tube, because Il Volo was performing all over the world and still is and probably will be, for decades to come.
Their very first appearance together came about when they were all in their mid-teens, 14 and 15 years old. They were all contestants in an Italian song contest, and hadn't even known each other before the competition, which was something like an "American Idol" for kids. On the fourth episode, the show's producers decided to combine the voices of the "Three Tenors" as they were called on the program, and the very earliest incarnation of "Il Volo" was born. They were asked to sing "O Sole Mio" together and did so, earning themselves a riotous standing ovation. A mere two years later, now close friends instead of mere acquaintances, they appeared on the real "American Idol", singing the same song that had garnered them a standing ovation in Italy. The spectacular changes in their appearance and delivery were partly due to an equally spectacular growth spurt in Piero and Ignazio and a comfort level onstage and with each other and an audience that you hadn't seen two years earlier. Their voices had matured and they had been through two years of voice lessons. Once again, even more spectacular and awe-inspiring than they had been the first time we saw them, they brought the house down.
"American Idol" (no longer available on You Tube) was not their first program in the United States. I never watch daytime television either, so missed their first-ever appearance on American television, on "The Talk". The appearance on "American Idol" hadn't happened yet. Even then, you can still see them all changing, growing, developing. Piero lost a few pounds more between "Talk" and "American Idol" and was becoming more and more irresistably handsome by the minute.
Two things happened in October of last year: I learned what “égrégore” meant, learned a bunch of stuff from Damien Echols and started researching the art of traveling in dreams. At the same time, on the 18th of that month (and unbeknownst to me because AMAZON.com – those slow-moving idiots - hadn’t yet sent me their notice) – my newest obsession - by which I mean the lovely Piero Barone of Italy – had arrived in Boston, performed magnificently for a theater of love-struck girls (not including me, naturally) – and bolted quickly for parts unknown. Not that anyone could blame him. His Boston performance of "Non ti scordare di me" was inspirational.
Time marches on. This month (March of 2012), they returned to the United States to promote a PBS special, but more importantly, to rehearse the South American start of their 2012 tour, and record portions of their new album. More importantly for me, they'll be returning to Boston in September. More importantly for THEM, something had changed, as far as their public was concerned. The time for shock and awe had passed; now was the time for hormone-fueled hysteria. Their appearance at Barnes & Noble in New York had them unexpectedly reacting to a room filled with screaming girls - which began during "Il Mondo" and continued into their signature "O Sole Mio". Their appearance in Los Angeles the following weekend was equally as astonishing in its noise and hysteria levels. The expressions of pleased and startled surprise on all of their faces was touching to watch.
Compare this relaxed and comfortable performance of 'O Sole Mio" to their first performance of the song in Italy in 2009. Il Volo really has taken flight.
The Los Angeles version. Turn the volume waaaaay down, or the screaming will deafen you.
After two weeks, I finally transfered all of my cd’s into my i-Pod. Some of the cd’s went back to the Stone Ages – iTunes didn’t recognize them, that’s how far back they went - but at least they’re all accessible now. Now … what to do with the CD’s themselves, so they don’t take up so much space. Put them in storage? Buy a media tower?
As to why my search is suspended AGAIN … it’s another medical disaster. I’m sure those of you who have read along have some idea as to why I’m bone tired of medical disasters. My First Official Medical Disaster of 2012 is sending me into surgery within the next couple of weeks; my brother is again arriving from out of state to oversee the recovery, and there you go. Word of advice: NEVER take bus rides when you‘re in danger of being broadsided by a jeep. That one accident has darn near killed me.
Meanwhile, until the surgeon waves a scalpel over my unconscious body, I can do little except obsess over … well, who I’m obsessing over goes without saying. Love you, Piero.
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