LUCIANO PAVAROTTI, TENOR, OCTOBER 12, 1935

‘I want to reach as many people as possible with the message of music, of marvellous opera.’ Luciano Pavarotti

‘When it comes to singing, Luciano Pavarotti had as good an explanation for being “special” as any I ever heard. He said that his vocal cords were “kissed by God.”’ Marilyn Horne

These two quotes epitomise Luciano Pavarotti the performer. The first describes, what Luciano Pavarotti’s mission statement was and remains as the Luciano Pavarotti Foundation’s own mission; and the second, the sheer wonder of a singing colleague for the man’s vocal gifts. What they do not reveal is the generosity of the human being, his tireless support of charities, worthy causes and young singers.

2025 marks the ninetieth birthday of this great human being. His legacy lives on in the Luciano Pavarotti Foundation, which is based in his home just outside of Modena. The Foundation has the mission to promote young talented singers. This continues the generosity of the Maestro himself who ‘gave free singing lessons to many students he considered promising. He loved teaching, he used to say that sharing his experience and passion with young people was his way of thanking for the great gift he received, namely his voice.’ Today, the Foundation carries on Maestro Pavarotti’s activity following the same path he has traced, offering opportunities and visibility to the young up-and-comers of opera, also trying to make the course of study and training accessible to all.

Cognisant of the great gift he had received in his voice, with the immense professional success and recognition achieved through his art, and these had created a public stature like no other classical singer, he spread his charitable work further and wider through the Pavarotti and Friends series of concerts beginning in 1992 until 2003. Proceeds from the events were donated to humanitarian causes including the international aid agency War Child and the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. He also performed for immediate emergencies, such as benefit concerts to raise money for victims of tragedies such as an earthquake in December 1988 that killed 25,000 people in northern Armenia. All in all, Luciano was larger than life as a personality and yet a simple man concerned with the well-being of all people.

And what of bringing opera to the people? The English vocal connoisseur J.B Steane perhaps summed up Pavarotti’s achievement most poignantly, for the “(people who would never go near an opera house if they could help it), Pavarotti was the embodiment of the Italian tenor. ‘Pressed they might say, ‘Yes, you have to admit it, it did send a bit of a shiver through you when he sang that “Nessun dorma” thing at the World Cup.’ They might even, if pressed further, acknowledge that quite probably no other sound on earth could have been there and then, at that moment, so right and so thrilling. They like the look of him too: the generous size, the comfortable shape, the beard, the teeth, the feeling that there may be ‘something in it’, a feeling they have probably never entertained before.” A perfect testimony to the man’s appeal and effect.

Finally, how did Pavarotti himself feel when performing? The most moving description is given by the great American bass, Jerome Hines. Hines was singing with Pavarotti at his Metropolitan Opera debut in 1968in Puccini’s La bohème. Pavarotti had been suffering with a throat infection but knowing it was “now or never” decided he had to sing. Hines words then: ‘Our tenor’s voice held up very well to the end of the opera and he was very simpatico on the stage, but he was not happy about his performance. When the final curtain fell and it was time for Luciano’s solo bow, he took a deep breath, mustering his courage to face that ultimate critic – the public. As he stepped in front of the curtain, he was greeted with a roar from the audience, and deservedly so. At first, he did not bow, but stood there looking dazedly at the people while slowly the overwhelming accumulation of nerves and tension manifested itself in the tears which began running down his cheeks. He remained immobile amid the storm of applause for at least half a minute – just crying. Then, after one quick, humble bow, he hurried into the wings to find us all waiting with tears in our eyes too.’ The final part of the text is italicised for emphasis. Here, truly was a singer who moved others with his art, and had himself a great heart.

FERNANDO DE LUCIA, TENOR, OCTOBER 11, 1860

‘His career was triumphal, but brief. Too often he destroyed his heart [and] martyred his body in living the characters whom he felt as though [they were] beings woven with his own nerves. Few artists loved their own region [and] the theatre of the native city as did this highly sensitive embellisher of melody.’ Saverio Procida writing upon the singer’s death in 1925.

Born on the 11 October 1860 in that city that seems to be a veritable nursery of vocal marvels, Naples, Fernando de Lucia was the last great tenor of a long-lost era where the singing artist was expected to embellish the composers’ scores. Indeed, he stands right on the cusp between two eras and his career reflects this dichotomy.

He began as a tenore di grazia undertaking the bel canto roles of the early nineteenth century in which his vocal flexibility and inventiveness were supreme, and finished as a masterful creator and interpreter of verismo roles in which his performances have been described as ‘unforgettable’. ‘He is always the God of tenors. He drew miraculous effects from his part and enchanted listeners with his celestial voice.’

Going back further, we find there was music in his immediate family. His father, Giuseppe, was ‘credited with proficiency in the clarinet, the guitar, and the double bass.’ Initially he trained as a double bass player, at the Royal Conservatory in Naples, San Pietro a Maiella; where his elder brother Federico had trained as a violinist and was already in the Orchestra at the Teatro San Carlo. Fernando was described later as ‘first among tenors, last among double-bass players’. The regime at the conservatory needs to be mentioned; as it likely played a huge role in the Neapolitan ‘factory’ of great musicians and singers; ‘In addition to music, students at San Pietro a Maiella received a sound general education: they learned arithmetic, calligraphy, geography, national history, and the Italian language, with opportunities to study Latin, declamation, mythology, Italian poetry and literature. The working day, …, was still a long one. From 6.30 am until the students retired at 10 pm, only meals, the two half-hour periods of recreation, and the daily walk relieved the succession of lessons and religious activities, both in college and in city churches, and the continual traffic between practice rooms, college theatres, and library.’ The result was a thoughtful, well-rounded performer, who would give due consideration to interpreting the role to its fullest.

His career began modestly enough with salon and house concerts for the well-to-do Neapolitans. His first performance was on September 23rd 1883 at the age of 23. An observer wrote: ‘De Lucia (tenor) has a beautiful voice. He sings with sentiment [and] has all the qualities [needed] to become a distinguished artist,…’ The following year he made his debut at the San Carlo in Faust. At this stage he was considered primarily as a singer of Bellini and Rossini. His capacity for work and developing the power of his voice during operatic appearances in Buenos Aires and Montevideo resulted in a stronger, deeper and more dramatic sound. The critic Uda wrote concerning his I pescatore di perle, upon his return to Naples: ’In the glorious uproar, everyone must have thought of the tenorino whose dèbut we heard and encouraged … in a Faust of indulgence. To me … the transformation … seemed truly miraculous. The voice has been extended and strengthened, has acquired timbre and colour and, while the exquisite art of the singer remains, the cold virtuosity of the concert has already become sentiment and almost, passion. One could not believe one’s own ears, hearing those warm, baritonal tones contrasting with the ringing top notes and the tender sighs of the middle range.’

By the 1890s he became associated with heavy dramatic tenor roles such ad Don Josè, and he wrote in his score of Carmen, which he first sang in Florence: ’Here [is] my great career. Fernando De Lucia’ He was courted by the two intense rival music publishers of Milan, Ricordi and Sonzogno, as his vocal power, acting and stage presence was a beacon of commercial success. Such was his fame by then, that despite the fervent desire of Puccini to have De Lucia perform the role of Rodolfo in the world première of La bohème, Ricordi simply could not afford to meet the high fees demanded by the artist. But, ‘De Lucia later created Rodolfo in several major theatres, including La Scala and the San Carlo, where his fees may have been more moderate than for a world première. It seems both he and Ricordi eventually realised the mutual benefits of compromise.’

Despite the wish of the composers to have the services of so fine a singer and actor, the composers and publishers, occasionally expressed frustration too, with the liberties he would take with the new scores. Perhaps the most notorious incident took place in 1898, with an equally fiery composer conducting his own work. Pietro Mascagni was slapped by De Lucia during a rehearsal for Iris. The performance still went ahead two days later, and the two continued their professional association in the years that followed. It was in the nature of their flamboyant temperaments. It is also well-known that many of his roles were transposed. Unkind critics in Naples made derogatory comments about this, but it cannot take away from the fact that he was a consummate artist and interpreter, blessed with a sweetness and a baritonal quality. His greatest roles were perhaps Canio, Don Josè, and Almaviva, through which he set a standard that has been used as a yardstick ever since.

When Enrico Caruso died in 1921, it was De Lucia who came out of retirement to sing. He had not sung consistently on the stage since 1909. He sang a memorable Pietà Signore on this occasion.

When he died on February 21st 1925, he murmured some lines from Act IV of La Bohème relating to the death of Mimì.

By all accounts, Fernando De Lucia was a superb actor, a vocal wizard, and a generous personality. But a legacy of 400 recordings survives. George Thill, his most famous pupil wrote: ‘What I can tell you is that it is impossible to appraise the singing, as it was, of De Lucia. The records give no idea of his voice, nor of his vocal art. One had to have heard him!’ This combined with the sure attestation of his contemporaries – singers and critics – about his remarkable acting (one Carmen, ‘even backed off the stage and only the camaraderie of the curtain calls proved to the audience that the quarrel was not a real one. He so lived the part that one soprano is even said to have reminded him, before the opera, that he was only acting, and to be careful not to hurt her.’) only makes the loss even more poignant. And finally, we know that in the words of Desmond Shawe-Taylor he was ‘the last singer of the rococo age’ , the last link with a tradition of bel canto singing that stretched back centuries. And for his recordings which give a glorious afterglow of this lost art, we must be thankful.

FERNANDO DE LUCIA, TENOR, OCTOBER 11, 1860

‘His career was triumphal, but brief. Too often he destroyed his heart [and] martyred his body in living the characters whom he felt as though [they were] beings woven with his own nerves. Few artists loved their own region [and] the theatre of the native city as did this highly sensitive embellisher of melody.’ Saverio Procida writing upon the singer’s death in 1925.

Born on the 11 October 1860 in that city that seems to be a veritable nursery of vocal marvels, Naples, Fernando de Lucia was the last great tenor of a long-lost era where the singing artist was expected to embellish the composers’ scores. Indeed, he stands right on the cusp between two eras and his career reflects this dichotomy.

He began as a tenore di grazia undertaking the bel canto roles of the early nineteenth century in which his vocal flexibility and inventiveness were supreme, and finished as a masterful creator and interpreter of verismo roles in which his performances have been described as ‘unforgettable’. ‘He is always the God of tenors. He drew miraculous effects from his part and enchanted listeners with his celestial voice.’

Going back further, we find there was music in his immediate family. His father, Giuseppe, was ‘credited with proficiency in the clarinet, the guitar, and the double bass.’ Initially he trained as a double bass player, at the Royal Conservatory in Naples, San Pietro a Maiella; where his elder brother Federico had trained as a violinist and was already in the Orchestra at the Teatro San Carlo. Fernando was described later as ‘first among tenors, last among double-bass players’. The regime at the conservatory needs to be mentioned; as it likely played a huge role in the Neapolitan ‘factory’ of great musicians and singers; ‘In addition to music, students at San Pietro a Maiella received a sound general education: they learned arithmetic, calligraphy, geography, national history, and the Italian language, with opportunities to study Latin, declamation, mythology, Italian poetry and literature. The working day, …, was still a long one. From 6.30 am until the students retired at 10 pm, only meals, the two half-hour periods of recreation, and the daily walk relieved the succession of lessons and religious activities, both in college and in city churches, and the continual traffic between practice rooms, college theatres, and library.’ The result was a thoughtful, well-rounded performer, who would give due consideration to interpreting the role to its fullest.

His career began modestly enough with salon and house concerts for the well-to-do Neapolitans. His first performance was on September 23rd 1883 at the age of 23. An observer wrote: ‘De Lucia (tenor) has a beautiful voice. He sings with sentiment [and] has all the qualities [needed] to become a distinguished artist,…’ The following year he made his debut at the San Carlo in Faust. At this stage he was considered primarily as a singer of Bellini and Rossini. His capacity for work and developing the power of his voice during operatic appearances in Buenos Aires and Montevideo resulted in a stronger, deeper and more dramatic sound. The critic Uda wrote concerning his I pescatore di perle, upon his return to Naples: ’In the glorious uproar, everyone must have thought of the tenorino whose dèbut we heard and encouraged … in a Faust of indulgence. To me … the transformation … seemed truly miraculous. The voice has been extended and strengthened, has acquired timbre and colour and, while the exquisite art of the singer remains, the cold virtuosity of the concert has already become sentiment and almost, passion. One could not believe one’s own ears, hearing those warm, baritonal tones contrasting with the ringing top notes and the tender sighs of the middle range.’

By the 1890s he became associated with heavy dramatic tenor roles such ad Don Josè, and he wrote in his score of Carmen, which he first sang in Florence: ’Here [is] my great career. Fernando De Lucia’ He was courted by the two intense rival music publishers of Milan, Ricordi and Sonzogno, as his vocal power, acting and stage presence was a beacon of commercial success. Such was his fame by then, that despite the fervent desire of Puccini to have De Lucia perform the role of Rodolfo in the world première of La bohème, Ricordi simply could not afford to meet the high fees demanded by the artist. But, ‘De Lucia later created Rodolfo in several major theatres, including La Scala and the San Carlo, where his fees may have been more moderate than for a world première. It seems both he and Ricordi eventually realised the mutual benefits of compromise.’

Despite the wish of the composers to have the services of so fine a singer and actor, the composers and publishers, occasionally expressed frustration too, with the liberties he would take with the new scores. Perhaps the most notorious incident took place in 1898, with an equally fiery composer conducting his own work. Pietro Mascagni was slapped by De Lucia during a rehearsal for Iris. The performance still went ahead two days later, and the two continued their professional association in the years that followed. It was in the nature of their flamboyant temperaments. It is also well-known that many of his roles were transposed. Unkind critics in Naples made derogatory comments about this, but it cannot take away from the fact that he was a consummate artist and interpreter, blessed with a sweetness and a baritonal quality. His greatest roles were perhaps Canio, Don Josè, and Almaviva, through which he set a standard that has been used as a yardstick ever since.

When Enrico Caruso died in 1921, it was De Lucia who came out of retirement to sing. He had not sung consistently on the stage since 1909. He sang a memorable Pietà Signore on this occasion.

When he died on February 21st 1925, he murmured some lines from Act IV of La Bohème relating to the death of Mimì.

By all accounts, Fernando De Lucia was a superb actor, a vocal wizard, and a generous personality. But a legacy of 400 recordings survives. George Thill, his most famous pupil wrote: ‘What I can tell you is that it is impossible to appraise the singing, as it was, of De Lucia. The records give no idea of his voice, nor of his vocal art. One had to have heard him!’ This combined with the sure attestation of his contemporaries – singers and critics – about his remarkable acting (one Carmen, ‘even backed off the stage and only the camaraderie of the curtain calls proved to the audience that the quarrel was not a real one. He so lived the part that one soprano is even said to have reminded him, before the opera, that he was only acting, and to be careful not to hurt her.’) only makes the loss even more poignant. And finally, we know that in the words of Desmond Shawe-Taylor he was ‘the last singer of the rococo age’ , the last link with a tradition of bel canto singing that stretched back centuries. And for his recordings which give a glorious afterglow of this lost art, we must be thankful.

FRITZ WUNDERLICH, TENOR, SEPTEMBER 26, 1930

On 26th September 1930, Friedrich ‘Fritz’ Karl Otto Wunderlich was born in Kusel Germany. It was just short of his thirty sixth birthday when tragically, he was found dead after falling down a stone staircase whilst staying at a friend’s castle on a hunting trip. The world had lost one of its brightest stars in the tenor repertoire and now we must rely on the recordings of his vocal brilliance, which were thankfully many, in his brief ten year career to wonder at the talent of this great Opera and Concert artist. His untimely demise sent shock waves throughout the music world and is still difficult to comprehend to this day.

Both Fritz’s parents were musical. They ran an inn which needed major repairs to be able to keep the building from being condemned. On the day of his birth his father posted a sign on the pub ‘Fritzchen (Little Fritz) has arrived today, Pub Closed.’ Eventually the family had to move out and soon after this move, he lost his father. It was then left to his mother to make ends meet. Both he and his sister helped out. Fritz learned to play the accordion, piano and the French horn which he mastered particularly well and his remarkable breath control that became one of the hallmarks of his singing has been attributed to his prowess with the latter instrument.

Although his mother had plans for Fritz to be a public servant, he had his heart set on a career in music and was always willing to take on minor parts in the amateur choir that the conductor Emmerich Smola formed. Smola recognised his ‘glorious voice’ and it was arranged for him to study french horn and voice at Freiburg Conservatory. To assist with his tuition he received reduced tuition costs and he also played in a band to support himself whilst studying with his teacher and mentor Maria von Winterweldt.
After being noticed singing Tamino in Die Zauberflöte in a student production he accepted a contract to sing at Stuttgart Opera debuting as Ulrich Eislinger in Die Meistersinger von Nürenberg.
His international breakthrough came when Karl Böhm engaged him to sing at the Salzburger Festspiele in Richard Stauß’s Die Schweigsame Frau. So successful was his performance that Herbert von Karajan came to his dressing room after the performance and offered him a contract to sing at the Vienna State Opera which he had to turn down due to him signing with Munich Opera the week before.
He was and still is the quintessential Mozartian tenor, a voice that masters the necessities and rigours of the German language, expression and style with the exuberance, clarity and ease of the Italianate bel canto.
He was equally at home with Lied and Oratorio as indeed his recordings masterfully exhibit.
His accompanist, friend and collaborator on many of his recordings and performances Hubert Gieşen gives us an insight into Wunderlich’s character in his book, Am Flügel ( At the Piano)
’In the years of close co-operation with Fritz Wunderlich, I was sometimes overcome with a kind of fear: in spite of his carefreeness, in spite of his joy, confidence and coolness; he ‘burned the candle at both ends’. He drew on unlimited resources; he did everything with an enormous energy and intensity, as if he knew that he had only a limited period of time left. He bought cameras and became a colour photographer who developed his photographs in his own lab that he had specially furnished. That took him a lot of time and also cost him a lot of money. He had the village blacksmith forge a spit that he used for roasting meat on an open fire. He gave charming parties, often lasting half the night, where he drank and smoked quite freely, as if he was not a singer whose precious voice was a great asset. Sometimes one could virtually feel the stress he was living in.’
Then to demonstrate his friend’s vocal virtuosity and musical understanding Giesen wrote,
‘He had such a great comprehension of a song like “Die böse Farbe” (from Schubert’s “Müllerin” cycle) that he was able to afford letting the song be effective just on its own. The listener will notice that he sang it nearly unadorned, but in such a clarity that not a single note could be lost. Nothing was elegantly passed over; he did not put in any false emotionalism or sentiment, and thus he made the greater – one could even say the noblest – impression. The audience received first-hand what was Schubert’s will when he composed the song. They were not confronted with the singer’s emotions, his coquetry, his love of bel canto, but solely with the song itself. There were years of work underlying, years of a growing knowledge of precision, one could even say: work in the service of Lieder singing. Wunderlich had high notes that turned out well effortlessly, but he sang them without showing off, just as he sang all other notes that belonged to the song. This seemed to be severe and objective, but made a strange impression on the audience. Many years after his death, a lady told me: “I have heard ‘Die böse Farbe’ sung by many singers (and she named some really great ones), but it was only Fritz Wunderlich who made me weep, because I did not hear the singer anymore, I heard only the song. It was as if I had understood for the first time what it expressed…”
He was due to make his Metropolitan Opera debut as Don Octavio in Mozart’s Don Giovanni in New York before that fateful night and fall that cost him his life and silenced a voice and talent from the world rather like Mozart also dying before he reached his thirty sixth year.

FRITZ WUNDERLICH, TENOR, SEPTEMBER 26, 1930

On 26th September 1930, Friedrich ‘Fritz’ Karl Otto Wunderlich was born in Kusel Germany. It was just short of his thirty sixth birthday when tragically, he was found dead after falling down a stone staircase whilst staying at a friend’s castle on a hunting trip. The world had lost one of its brightest stars in the tenor repertoire and now we must rely on the recordings of his vocal brilliance, which were thankfully many, in his brief ten year career to wonder at the talent of this great Opera and Concert artist. His untimely demise sent shock waves throughout the music world and is still difficult to comprehend to this day.

Both Fritz’s parents were musical. They ran an inn which needed major repairs to be able to keep the building from being condemned. On the day of his birth his father posted a sign on the pub ‘Fritzchen (Little Fritz) has arrived today, Pub Closed.’ Eventually the family had to move out and soon after this move, he lost his father. It was then left to his mother to make ends meet. Both he and his sister helped out. Fritz learned to play the accordion, piano and the French horn which he mastered particularly well and his remarkable breath control that became one of the hallmarks of his singing has been attributed to his prowess with the latter instrument.

Although his mother had plans for Fritz to be a public servant, he had his heart set on a career in music and was always willing to take on minor parts in the amateur choir that the conductor Emmerich Smola formed. Smola recognised his ‘glorious voice’ and it was arranged for him to study french horn and voice at Freiburg Conservatory. To assist with his tuition he received reduced tuition costs and he also played in a band to support himself whilst studying with his teacher and mentor Maria von Winterweldt.
After being noticed singing Tamino in Die Zauberflöte in a student production he accepted a contract to sing at Stuttgart Opera debuting as Ulrich Eislinger in Die Meistersinger von Nürenberg.
His international breakthrough came when Karl Böhm engaged him to sing at the Salzburger Festspiele in Richard Stauß’s Die Schweigsame Frau. So successful was his performance that Herbert von Karajan came to his dressing room after the performance and offered him a contract to sing at the Vienna State Opera which he had to turn down due to him signing with Munich Opera the week before.
He was and still is the quintessential Mozartian tenor, a voice that masters the necessities and rigours of the German language, expression and style with the exuberance, clarity and ease of the Italianate bel canto.
He was equally at home with Lied and Oratorio as indeed his recordings masterfully exhibit.
His accompanist, friend and collaborator on many of his recordings and performances Hubert Gieşen gives us an insight into Wunderlich’s character in his book, Am Flügel ( At the Piano)
’In the years of close co-operation with Fritz Wunderlich, I was sometimes overcome with a kind of fear: in spite of his carefreeness, in spite of his joy, confidence and coolness; he ‘burned the candle at both ends’. He drew on unlimited resources; he did everything with an enormous energy and intensity, as if he knew that he had only a limited period of time left. He bought cameras and became a colour photographer who developed his photographs in his own lab that he had specially furnished. That took him a lot of time and also cost him a lot of money. He had the village blacksmith forge a spit that he used for roasting meat on an open fire. He gave charming parties, often lasting half the night, where he drank and smoked quite freely, as if he was not a singer whose precious voice was a great asset. Sometimes one could virtually feel the stress he was living in.’
Then to demonstrate his friend’s vocal virtuosity and musical understanding Giesen wrote,
‘He had such a great comprehension of a song like “Die böse Farbe” (from Schubert’s “Müllerin” cycle) that he was able to afford letting the song be effective just on its own. The listener will notice that he sang it nearly unadorned, but in such a clarity that not a single note could be lost. Nothing was elegantly passed over; he did not put in any false emotionalism or sentiment, and thus he made the greater – one could even say the noblest – impression. The audience received first-hand what was Schubert’s will when he composed the song. They were not confronted with the singer’s emotions, his coquetry, his love of bel canto, but solely with the song itself. There were years of work underlying, years of a growing knowledge of precision, one could even say: work in the service of Lieder singing. Wunderlich had high notes that turned out well effortlessly, but he sang them without showing off, just as he sang all other notes that belonged to the song. This seemed to be severe and objective, but made a strange impression on the audience. Many years after his death, a lady told me: “I have heard ‘Die böse Farbe’ sung by many singers (and she named some really great ones), but it was only Fritz Wunderlich who made me weep, because I did not hear the singer anymore, I heard only the song. It was as if I had understood for the first time what it expressed…”
He was due to make his Metropolitan Opera debut as Don Octavio in Mozart’s Don Giovanni in New York before that fateful night and fall that cost him his life and silenced a voice and talent from the world rather like Mozart also dying before he reached his thirty sixth year.

EPISODE 14 MEETING NIKO: MUSICIAN, ACTOR, FILM DIRECTOR AND ARTIST

Niko aka Nikolai Selikovsky is a multi-talented performing artist born in Vienna, Austria, and currently living and working in Rome.

He is the frontman of the Hip-hop Soul Band N.I.K.O., who are releasing their new LP ‘Hello & Ciao’ at their upcoming album release concert this Friday 26th September at the B72 in Vienna, Austria.

Since the age of 19, he has been professionally active in both drama and music productions. His two streams of career encompass not only acting, but also film directing; and as a musician, he has worked with a variety of styles as a frontman on the one hand, and as a producer on the other.

His first major film, where he was producer, writer and leading actor was in the Austrian film Sturmfrei (Storm Free) in 2009. Although he has appeared in over 15 films since 1997, he achieved national recognition in his native Austria with the role of Thomas in Die Migrantigen (The Migrants) in 2017. He has honed his acting skills with the New York based acting coach Susan Batson. In 2020, he was nominated for best actor in the short film Anna at the Pigneto Film Festival and most recently in 2024, he has appeared in the Netflix hit of The Decameron.

His musical career has been marked by a willingness to find the most fitting expression of musical and poetic ideas through the most suitable genre. This eclectic approach has meant he has been at times a solo rap artist from 2007 and from 2014 working with an ensemble; the hip-hop and soul band N.I.K.O.

It is no coincidence that the 2009 film Sturmfrei included music composed by Selikovsky demonstrating the versatility and synergy of his artistic passions. His first solo album in 2010 was ‘Dichter der Großstadt’ (‘Poet of the Big City’). This was followed by ‘Zwischen Asphalt und Milchstraße’ (‘Between Asphalt and Milky Way’) which introduced the band N.I.K.O to a wider audience. In 2018, the band N.I.K.O released the album ‘Unter Strom’ (‘Under Power’). And their latest release fourth studio album ‘Hallo & Ciao’ includes the singles ‘Ballaci Su’ and ‘Lady Godard’.

The current band members are:

Nikolai Selikovsky – Vocals, electric guitar, keyboard
Leslie April – Vocals, Keyboard
Lukas Fellner – Drums
Eva Brandner – Keyboard
Sara Hoffer – Saxophone
Bernhard Fellner – Trumpet
Federico Torri – Bass
Markus Pagitsch – Saxophone

N.I.K.O. has the distinction of being the first band from Austria in 2015 to finance a tour through crowdfunding playing in Germany, Switzerland and Austria. This was followed by articles in ZIB, News, Salzburg24 up to Germany in Die Zeit, and many other media. In the same year the band performed in various locations such as the Mole West in Burgenland, Haus des Meeres in Vienna and in the Gschupften Ferdl.

In line with the stated eclecticism, N.I.K.O. is a collective of musicians from different musical genres, which varies in number during their performances. Sometimes four and sometimes up to eight musicians perform live.

For more information about the band, visit:
ww.niko-official.com

EPISODE 14 MEETING NIKO: MUSICIAN, ACTOR, FILM DIRECTOR AND ARTIST

Niko aka Nikolai Selikovsky is a multi-talented performing artist born in Vienna, Austria, and currently living and working in Rome.

He is the frontman of the Hip-hop Soul Band N.I.K.O., who are releasing their new LP ‘Hello & Ciao’ at their upcoming album release concert this Friday 26th September at the B72 in Vienna, Austria.

Since the age of 19, he has been professionally active in both drama and music productions. His two streams of career encompass not only acting, but also film directing; and as a musician, he has worked with a variety of styles as a frontman on the one hand, and as a producer on the other.

His first major film, where he was producer, writer and leading actor was in the Austrian film Sturmfrei (Storm Free) in 2009. Although he has appeared in over 15 films since 1997, he achieved national recognition in his native Austria with the role of Thomas in Die Migrantigen (The Migrants) in 2017. He has honed his acting skills with the New York based acting coach Susan Batson. In 2020, he was nominated for best actor in the short film Anna at the Pigneto Film Festival and most recently in 2024, he has appeared in the Netflix hit of The Decameron.

His musical career has been marked by a willingness to find the most fitting expression of musical and poetic ideas through the most suitable genre. This eclectic approach has meant he has been at times a solo rap artist from 2007 and from 2014 working with an ensemble; the hip-hop and soul band N.I.K.O.

It is no coincidence that the 2009 film Sturmfrei included music composed by Selikovsky demonstrating the versatility and synergy of his artistic passions. His first solo album in 2010 was ‘Dichter der Großstadt’ (‘Poet of the Big City’). This was followed by ‘Zwischen Asphalt und Milchstraße’ (‘Between Asphalt and Milky Way’) which introduced the band N.I.K.O to a wider audience. In 2018, the band N.I.K.O released the album ‘Unter Strom’ (‘Under Power’). And their latest release fourth studio album ‘Hallo & Ciao’ includes the singles ‘Ballaci Su’ and ‘Lady Godard’.

The current band members are:

Nikolai Selikovsky – Vocals, electric guitar, keyboard
Leslie April – Vocals, Keyboard
Lukas Fellner – Drums
Eva Brandner – Keyboard
Sara Hoffer – Saxophone
Bernhard Fellner – Trumpet
Federico Torri – Bass
Markus Pagitsch – Saxophone

N.I.K.O. has the distinction of being the first band from Austria in 2015 to finance a tour through crowdfunding playing in Germany, Switzerland and Austria. This was followed by articles in ZIB, News, Salzburg24 up to Germany in Die Zeit, and many other media. In the same year the band performed in various locations such as the Mole West in Burgenland, Haus des Meeres in Vienna and in the Gschupften Ferdl.

In line with the stated eclecticism, N.I.K.O. is a collective of musicians from different musical genres, which varies in number during their performances. Sometimes four and sometimes up to eight musicians perform live.

For more information about the band, visit:
ww.niko-official.com

GYAAN LYON CONCERT IN SORRENTO AT VILLA CRAWFORD

For one night only, Gyaan Lyon will be performing in Sorrento on the Bay of Naples at the stunning Villa Crawford.
Performance on Wednesday 17th September 2025 at 5:30PM
See you there, Ciao For Now!

GYAAN LYON CONCERT IN SORRENTO AT VILLA CRAWFORD

For one night only, Gyaan Lyon will be performing in Sorrento on the Bay of Naples at the stunning Villa Crawford.
Performance on Wednesday 17th September 2025 at 5:30PM
See you there, Ciao For Now!

NICOLAI GHIAUROV, BASS, SEPTEMBER 13, 1929

‘He possessed a voice of unusually rich and varied colour allied to an excellent vocal technique and remarkable musicality. A vigorous and painstaking actor, as an interpreter he tended to express the strong and violent emotions rather than the finer and more intimate shades of meaning.’

The great bass-baritone Nicolai Ghiaurov was born this day in 1929 in Velingrad. He followed in a long and illustrious line of bass-baritones from his native Bulgaria. Indeed, Bulgaria seems to possess some quality that produces great bass voices! And one of the very greatest was Ghiaurov.

As a child he sang frequently at family gatherings and initially learned piano, violin and clarinet. He had thought to become an actor but while undertaking his military service, in what almost seems to be a time-honoured tradition, an officer heard him sing in the choir and recommended him for a singing career! Initially studying with Christo Brambarov at Bulgarian State Conservatory he then moved on to a Leningrad and Moscow. This period of study from 1950 to 1955 was with the assistance of a state scholarship . His career was launched with first place at the Concours International de Chant de Paris in 1955. His professional debut also came in 1955 in Sofia in the role of Don Basilio in Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia.

His Italian debut came in 1958 in the Teatro Communale in Bologna in Faust. By the next year he was at La scala in the roles of Boris Godunov and Phillip II – perhaps the two defining roles of his career. From the 1960s onwards he appeared in the major houses, including Covent Garden, Vienna Staatsoper, New York’s Metropolitan Opera, where he was established as a favourite with audiences in these roles. He continued to add to his repertoire of Russian and Verdi roles throughout his career. His most notable recording are Philip II under Solti; Boris and again under Karajan, and as the “sonorous bass soloist in Carlo Maria Giuliani’s recording of the Verdi Requiem”.

He died in Modena on the 2 June 2004 and is interred in the columbarium of the San Cataldo Cemetery next to his spouse and great colleague Mirella Freni.