Now, the Italian tenor — described by Anthony Tommasini in The New York Times as “perhaps the most dependably exciting singer in opera” — is getting ready to return to the Royal Opera stage in May as Cavaradossi in a revival of Puccini’s “Tosca.” It’s an opera he knows well. At 13, he played the shepherd boy in a 1990 Rome Opera production of it that starred Luciano Pavarotti. By then, young Vittorio already had a few years of singing under his belt, having been a soloist in the Sistine Chapel Choir.
Grigolo, 42, has tried other genres, too. In his 20s, he briefly gave up opera for “popera,” recording a CD, “In the Hands of Love,” that reached No. 6 on the British pop album charts.
The tenor is known in opera circles for throwing himself into his roles. He’s also a daredevil offstage, with a passion for sports cars and motorcycles. The following conversation, translated from Italian, has been edited and condensed.
Q: How old were you when you realized you wanted to be a singer?
A: I was 4 or 5. I heard my uncle sing “O Sole Mio” in a holiday village in Puglia and was stunned by the powerful, booming sound coming out of his chest. My heart was pounding. I said to my mother: “Uncle has supernatural powers. It’s as if he was a superhero. I want to be a superhero like him.”
Soon afterward, I started singing with my dad, who sang opera arias at home, in the bathroom or in the car.
Q: What was it like being in the Sistine Chapel Choir as a little boy?
A: It was an incredible gift to train in such beautiful surroundings, with statues everywhere and beautiful ceilings. It was particularly special to sing in private concerts, private Masses attended by the pope, moments of special prayer. It was like being a singer in a painting. I was conscious of the grandeur of the place.
Q: How important was Pavarotti in your life and career?
A: For a little boy like me, hearing him sing live and singing with him was incredibly moving. He would always give me advice and encouragement. He would say: “Vittorio, I can teach you all the tenor parts you like, but I can’t teach you charisma. You have it — that extra ingredient in the magic potion that will allow you to touch people.”
Q: A decade or two ago, singers such as the Three Tenors — Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo and José Carreras — were household names. Why are there no opera celebrities on that scale today?
A: Opera doesn’t have the same platform that it used to have. In the past, radio and television broadcast it a lot more.
I’m convinced that things are changing now, with opera broadcasts in movie theaters. They give people an introduction to opera. The tickets are cheaper, it’s easier, and if people like what they see, they can buy a ticket to experience opera itself.
It’s also important for singers to perform outside of opera houses. I was one of the first to sing “La Traviata” in a train station in Zurich and “L’Elisir d’Amore” at Malpensa Airport in Milan. These might seem like crazy projects, but they make people realize that opera and classical music are part of our history, and that they have to be part of our life.
Q: Why did you give up your crossover career?
A: I realized that it wasn’t going to be my future, because I would’ve ended up being forgotten by the opera world. So I had to go back into opera.
Now that I’ve sung in all the major opera houses and been recognized all over the world, I can allow myself to step out and communicate again in a more popular musical language, meaning with a pop song rather than an opera aria.
Q: You won’t abandon opera?
A: Of course not! How can I abandon opera at the age of 40? I only just got where I am, and I have another 20 years of opera in me. I’ll certainly be singing until I’m at least 60 or 70.
You have to preserve the voice. There are opera singers who sing for three years and are finished. So you have to know how to choose the right repertoire. Otherwise, it’s not you who will be deciding to abandon opera, it’s opera that might abandon you.
Q: Explain your passion for fast cars and motorcycles.
A: I’ve been motorcycle racing since I was a boy. To me, the sound of the motorcycle engine is like an orchestra. I love to hear it when I’m wearing my motorcycle helmet: that rumbling noise that makes me quiver and gives me as much emotion as a great voice singing at the top of their lungs.
Q: You have a taste for risk and danger?
A: I like to push things to the limit. As far as dying goes, you can die walking out the front door, slipping on a banana peel.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.