I get my deep-seated contentment on the island of Gran Canaria, around 150 kilometres off the Atlantic coast of Africa. My connection to the island is thanks to two very special people: the mezzo-soprano Elīna Garanča and her husband Karel Mark Chichon, Principal Conductor of the Orquesta Filarmónica de Gran Canaria. A few years ago I was covering for a colleague at short notice and found myself singing opposite Elīna under the baton of Karel, and one of the places we performed at was the Auditorio Alfredo Kraus. The three of us hit it off immediately. I’d recently signed with Deutsches Grammophon, so I asked Karel if I could record using his orchestra and he loved the idea.

Not long afterwards we recorded my first album, »Arias«, in the main hall of the Auditorio Alfredo Kraus. The orchestra spent a full ten days on the stage of that extraordinary hall. The exterior is ultra-modern but the auditorium has warm wooden panelling with the great acoustics that go with it. The highlight is the expanse of glazed frontage giving directly onto the Atlantic. While I sang, the waves would be rolling in and the sky would gradually change colour – such a breathtaking backdrop. I’ve never had anything like that in any other concert hall. When the recording was in the can, we gave another two concerts, performing the material that we’d just finished recording. It was a really intense period.

And Gran Canaria is not just balm for my soul; it’s got tight connections to my heart, too. I proposed to my wife during the sessions. Since then, we come back here whenever we can, preferably with friends and family. My parents have been here, and my sister and brother-in-law, and a good friend is visiting at the moment. It’s one of the places I feel at home. That may be because I’ve never considered one particular place to be »home«. I was born in Chile but was adopted at an early age by my American parents. It’s never been up for debate for me that home is not a particular place but rather the people I’m attached to. My current life is very peripatetic – but as long as family or friends are visiting, I feel at home.

Tetelman outside the Auditorio Alfredo Kraus. The main concert hall has hosted world-famous orchestras such as the Wiener Philharmoniker © Rubén Plasencia

 

There’s another reason the island fascinates me: it’s a place – especially the capital, Las Palmas – where the centuries rub up against each other: colonial facades, glass skyscrapers, and in between a 300-year-old fisherman’s house. Lining the Playa de las Canteras you’ve got huge hotels towering alongside tiny old beach houses, as if no one had heard of town planning. That’s what’s so charming.

The climate is unique: always nice, never too hot, never too cold, ideal for recharging your batteries. Yet I don’t think of it as just a place to get away. Here, too, surrounded by sun, sea and sand, I work on new roles. As we speak I’m preparing for my debut as Don Carlo in Berlin. It’s a part that I’ve been involved with for almost four years now.

My process always starts with the libretto. I hit the lyrics hard until I can recite them in my sleep. The words are the core for me – when I’ve cracked them, I’ve cracked the music, too. The music is part and parcel of the words, especially with Verdi, who composed with the natural sound of the language in his head. Don Carlo is a tricky part to sing, and the opera is one big ensemble work. I’ve got one aria at the beginning, quite a technical challenge with a dominant wind section and a tessitura that keeps you on your toes. From then on, there’s no let-up: scene after scene of duets, ensembles and the like. The role requires you to be unremittingly present – in an emotional as well as physical sense. For a tenor that’s tough going. The pitch we sing in is quite unnatural and we need periodic breaks.

However much I practise for a role, I don’t inhabit it fully until the first night. Not until I’m on stage, with the orchestra here and the audience there, does the character show its true depth and breadth. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle that isn’t completed until the performance is well underway. That’s why, for me, a debut is only the beginning; a lot of my understanding comes from the first airing in public. So there’s always something wondrous about the big night. Wherever I am in the world, when I’m onstage singing, I feel at home.