When You Can’t See the Applause

The spotlights burned my eyes. My heart was in my throat.

Vinceròooooooo... Vinceeeeeròooooooooooooooo!

Andrea Bocelli's voice echoed around the arena and as the orchestra's final note joined his vibrato, the house lights came up and the audience came into focus.

My own voice faltered as the emotion choked me, and I stopped singing, choosing instead to take it all in.

8,500 South Africans.

A sea of faces. Every shape. Every colour.

Every face was lit up with a mix of awe, wonder, and joy. Hands clapped mercilessly. Tears fell. Screams erupted from the rafters. And the entire arena basked in the transcendent finish to Puccini's masterpiece, Nessun Dorma, the song that put Bocelli on the map.

And then it hit me.

He couldn't see any of it.

Of course, I knew Andrea Bocelli was blind, I'd watched him being guided on and off stage all weekend. But until that moment, I hadn't really felt the full gravity of it.

He could hear the applause. He could feel the adrenaline rush. But he had no image of the people he'd moved. No idea of the electric joy on their faces. No view of the arena shining with awe and brimming with smiles.

He was singing in the dark.

Andrea Bocelli, at age 66, tours the world almost constantly, performing in Taiwan one week, London the next, and then Pretoria - where I had the privilege of singing with him as part of the Symphony Choir of Johannesburg. And yet despite delivering boundless joy for millions around the world, he doesn't get to see any of it.

We take our senses for granted. Sight, especially. It frames how we move through the world, how we know each other, how we feel seen. It is completely foundational to how we experience life and yet we are blissfully unaware of its miraculousness.

I can imagine that every step Bocelli takes comes with trepidation, every daily task more difficult, and every connection with another human more distant. He is escorted everywhere he goes, relying on the team of people around him to look after him and deliver him to stage, so that he can do what he does best - send his voice soaring to the rooftops.

Yet, his passion for singing is unwavering.

Some purists scoff at his crossover appeal - too pop, not pure enough for opera. But the snobbery misses the point. Bocelli moves people. His Italian charm and class combined with his transcendent tenor make everyone sit up a little straighter, dress a little nicer, and whistle the famous arias in the car on the way home. No matter your language, culture, geography, age, or predilection, his music seeps into your bones. It lights up your soul. It brings people together.

And that's what the best musicians (artists) do.

They break down boundaries and translate aspects of the human condition into accessible, emotive hooks that bind us together.

Bocelli reminds us to treasure the senses we so easily ignore. He reminds us how class and sophistication never age. He teaches us that timeless music crosses borders, outlasts cynicism, and sounds much better when performed live.

Singing with him is an experience I will never forget.

Not just because of the music, but because of what it means to keep singing, even when you can't see.

An unforgettable experience

Singing with Andrea Bocelli as part of the Symphony Choir of Johannesburg.