In the Olympus of Opera

90 minutes before the start of the performance. Final preparations are being made backstage, props makers are getting utensils ready, the smell of make-up and hairspray can already be detected on the solo aisle. Somewhere, a singer is singing, an evening director is buzzing around, the tension is rising by the minute like a fever curve. Is everyone healthy? How will the evening be? Final touches. In the midst of all this excitement, there is a moment of calm, almost a moment of transcendence: a leading international tenor stands at the stage door and chats with an autograph hunter. Relaxed, calm, at length. Is there no nervousness? "Actually, I'm like a racehorse before a competition. I'm all excited inside and want it to finally start. Although - 90 minutes before the start, I'm still relaxed." That's what he once told me. He: That's the star tenor Piotr Beczała, chamber singer, honorary doctor, world-traveling master interpreter.

There are many stories like this. And even more Beczała fans. These can be divided into two groups. Some know him on stage and love him as a singer. The others know him on - and behind - the stage and love him as a singer, but also as a person. Because hardly anyone else is as approachable as he is. Uncomplicated. Cordial. And people like his peculiarities: before premieres, for example, he regularly bakes a cake, a kind of ritual. It's all part of his personality and people like to talk about it. But the focus is always on the big picture: the singer, the performer, the tenor, the voice.

But let's start at the very beginning. Beczała grew up in Poland, born southwest of Krakow - the nearest music theater sixty kilometers away.

It was a happy youth, which he likes to talk about: about family cohesion, about moments such as cherry picking, about his love of nature. But these stories reflect more than just small experiences, as many of his generation have. They tell of a time behind the Iron Curtain, of empty shelves in the stores, of a "big prison", as his wife calls it. And they tell how someone dreams of freedom.

Being a captain was a declared career aspiration of their youth, because of course: far away, traveling, setting off - that wasn't possible. But above all, they tell how someone works their way up and has to earn everything themselves. "Some things may have happened later than others - but I accept that too and it was the right thing to do," he once said in an interview for the State Opera. Of course, all of this has also shaped him and made him a star without airs and graces. And as high as he is in the opera Olympus, a healthy realism is always noticeable. What does he say today? "I try to live intensely every day, I look forward to every performance. I don't expect anything." Pause. And then with a wink: "Well, a bit of applause isn't bad." It goes without saying that the "little bit" usually lasts for minutes and is deafening.

The deep cohesion in his family is also reflected in his life: "I always talk to my wife about how we were shaped by the social commitment we learned about as children. It was natural to give older people a seat on the bus, to listen, to approach other people without expecting anything." And, he notes critically: "Unfortunately, this is unpopular today, at a time when egocentrism and selfishness are rampant."

Beczała finds his way to music, learns the joys of singing as a teenager. And a few years later, he belts out his first great arias. It is up to Sena Jurinac to steer him and his voice in the right direction. The young tenor is not supposed to sing Cavaradossi, but Mozart. A direction that is as correct as it is clever, allowing the tenor a secure and crisis-free career.

Well, and then the Vienna State Opera comes into play. Beczała travels to Vienna, initially works on a building site and discovers street music. About three hundred steps away from the Haus am Ring, he makes his Vienna debut. He stands on Kärntnerstrasse, sings arias - and earns more than on the building site. But that is only a pleasant side issue. The main thing: he learns that you can get standing room for very little money. Here he enters a new world, experiences Éva Marton as Turandot - and decides to come back. He visits the Haus am Ring for three weeks, listens to the icons of the time and is spellbound. "A kind of singing lesson," he later called it. "And when you sometimes noticed that even one of the stars was getting a little tired at the end of the evening, it was almost reassuring for me - because I learned that even the greats are only human ..."

Little did he know at the time that he would switch sides a few years later, from the standing room to the Staatsoper stage. He entered the stage for the first time on May 18, 1996, as a concert singer in Anton Bruckner's Te Deum, conducted by Carlo Maria Giulini. And two and a half years later, on December 29, 1998, his operatic debut followed: Tamino in The Magic Flute. An adventurous stand-in with just one rehearsal. Four months later he is back, now as Belmonte in Die Entführung, then a break - and from 2008 he is a permanent guest: Beczała is now Beczała, with appearances around the world; in 2006, for example, he makes his debut at the Metropolitan Opera in New York as the Duke in Rigoletto, a "new era" for him.

The State Opera becomes and is one of his special homes. We can let the images pass by like a panopticon:

Don José in Carmen - a role he will perform again and again at the Haus am Ring. Faust in Gounod's opera of the same name. Manrico in Trovatore: breathtaking, most recently in June 2025. Before that, of course: bel canto, as Edgardo in Lucia di Lammermoor. Duke in Rigoletto - a premiere production that he ennobled. In between, small highlights such as the singer in Der Rosenkavalier. Then again: Prince in Rusalka, a showpiece role that can now be experienced again in January. Lohengrin - a "rather Italianate role". And always, above all: Cavaradossi in Tosca. What vocal beauty one experiences there, what a perfect Puccini style, brilliance in the voice, melting, ideal timing, musicality. E lucevan le stelle: no wonder the audience won't stop clapping. And no wonder critics praise his voice to the skies.

But, speaking of his voice. How would he describe it himself? "Not an easy question," he hesitates. "Difficult, because I don't hear it the way the audience does. Someone who listens 'from the outside' has to provide this answer." And then, although not a poetic description of color, a technical definition: "I am simply a lyric tenor - and I will always remain a lyric tenor. This means that I work more from color and less from a metallic tone. So I always try to retain the lyrical component, even in the dramatic outbursts, because that's my DNA as a singer. Of course, I can now allow myself to experiment a little and approach the notes differently. But I still always stay on a lyrical basis."

And because we were talking about the outer ear: Incidentally, his wife, also a singer, who decided against an international career after great success, is one such ear. She listens, can advise, can even criticize: a tremendous support that makes many things possible in the first place.

There is another aspect that defines and characterizes working with Beczała: a high degree of professionalism. This starts with things like the costume - his mother was a dressmaker, so he is also well versed in this genre and has sound judgments - and of course ends directly on stage. "Preparation is needed in advance, and it has to be top-notch!" he once told me. "No ifs, ands or buts. When you come to rehearsal, everything has to be right and you have to develop and put together the performance together with your colleagues. Very precise and professional. Anything else is unthinkable." No misunderstood looseness, then, but a focus on serious work, concentration and dedication in actual stage life.

That's one side, the craft. But there is another, an innate "theater gene": does one exist? A talent that draws you into the spotlight? "Well, you have to have a pronounced theatrical inclination, otherwise it won't work. You need this joy of being on stage, this feeling of: I'm drawn to it! And you have to get to the point where acting becomes second nature to you. If, on the other hand, you feel uncomfortable in the spotlight, if you don't get behind the cause or if you want to get off the stage as quickly as possible - then the audience can sense that. In short: you have to love the theater - otherwise it won't work!"