The freezer in the London flat we shared in West Hampstead with several other people was where my friend Derek Colley kept his vodka. From time to time he would take the bottle out and proceed to get woefully sloshed while listening to Ivan Rebroff on the BBC. He would expound upon the workings of the world and weep. South African by birth, if Derek wasn't the ethnic Russian he claimed to be, he channelled the Russian soul! This was my introduction to the astonishing, transcendent voice of Ivan Rebroff, born Hans-Rolf Rippert in Berlin.
After moving back to Los Angeles in 1981, I found a Rebroff vinyl LP in a hole-in-the-wall shop on one of those tattered little side streets in Hollywood. The shop owner and I played the album to check its quality. Probably to this day the owner will swear that more than one person was singing on the album.
Rebroff's voice was like that. He had a 4 and 1/2 octave range with total control and clarity. From a basso that made your chest vibrate like a drum, he soared into the stratosphere with his sorprano. The warmth and emotion with which he infused his music gave a sense of fun and affection. His voice, in my opinion as an opera fan, was the best I have ever heard from human vocal cords.
I had the privilege and pleasure of seeing him perform live in Los Angeles at the Masonic Hall on Wilshire Blvd. in the '80's. Since he was not well known in the United States, nearly every fan there was from Eastern Europe. Rebroff came on stage in a full-length mink coat, Russian hat and boots. He commanded the stage, yet he didn't stay on it. He took his microphone and came down to the audience, walking among his fans. He stood right in front of me (I could have reached out and touched him), filling the auditorium and my soul with the vocal range for which he was famous.
We sang along with him. We knew the songs. The others grew up hearing this music; I had only one well-loved and oft-played LP. Rebroff was not offended that we enthusiastically jumped in to sing with him. This was authentic humility. His ego did not match his voice, which he called "the gift."
He sang in Italian, German, Russian, English and Hebrew. He eschewed the operatic standards to sing folk music. This made him very human and approachable.
I will never forget the spirit and warm energy which infused his singing. God bless, Ivan. Thank you for brightening my life.
And yes, I listen to him sing and I sometimes weep at the beauty of this transcendent human being with the humble soul.
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