When he was six, or perhaps seven, Ken Lavigne had a dream. He imagined he could craft a parachute and float ever-so-gently down to earth.
“He was convinced he could parachute off the top of the house if he just sewed a couple of sheets together,” said Lavigne’s sister Andrea Cornish, who lives in Sydney, Australia. “My parents stopped him before that happened.”
Today, Lavigne is a 40-year-old singer living in Chemainus with his wife and three young children. As for the dreaming, well, that never stopped. Not really.
Five years ago, the Victoria-raised tenor realized a lifetime ambition by singing at Carnegie Hall. It was a self-produced concert that cost him as much as a starter condo. This year, Lavigne plans to sing at the Sydney Opera House. As before, he’s not being hired by a big-time promoter; he aims to do it on his own. This project, which he hopes to film, will cost three times as much as Carnegie Hall.
It’s a gamble — still, the Sydney gig could be a significant career boost. Although Lavigne performs regularly across Canada and the United States, he’s far from a household name. This could change, because Detroit Public Television has taken a particular interest in Ken Lavigne and the Sydney Opera House.
All going well, the Sydney concert will be filmed and aired on PBS, said Jamie Westrick, vice-president of local and national productions for Detroit Public Television. Viewers throughout Canada and the U.S. would experience the singer’s mix of pop and classical, as well as the down-home stories he likes to tell in performance.
Lavigne invited Westrick to hear him last fall when he performed a concert in Niagara Falls. She was impressed.
“I thought he was great. He had a nice stage presence. And a really good repertoire for what PBS audiences would connect with,” she said in recent phone interview.
In particular, Westrick believes the PBS target audience, aged 45 and up, will adore Lavigne’s story, that of the selfmade singer journeying to the world’s top concert stages. This narrative — the “bucket-list” tenor chasing lofty goals — is almost as important as the quality of performance.
“His unique asset is, he’s a star who’s making his own path. Making it happen, with his story about Carnegie Hall and how he incorporates that into his show,” she said. “I just think people will be attracted by that message. It’s exciting to see somebody making their dreams come true.”
PBS would not only air Lavigne’s special, it would also sell DVDs and CDs produced in conjunction with the project. Also, he would tour North American cities that receive Detroit Public Television.
This, says Westrick, is how PBS stars are made. It worked for Il Volo, the Italian opera-pop trio. And it worked for Daniel O’Donnell, the Irish crooner who’s a PBS favourite. Although, truth be told, those acts were better known than Lavigne when they got their public television breaks.
He’s not famous, but Lavigne does appear to have a lot of what it takes: good looks, a naturally beautiful voice, a personable way of relating to an audience. Right now, the big question mark is money. Sydney will cost as much as $750,000, not only for the hiring of the hall and an orchestra, but the cost of the concert film — which falls mostly to Lavigne.
“Even the rental of those cameras [for the shoot] comes to $20,000 each with operator, which seems obscene. It’s totally crazy,” said the singer, who has discussed filming with a Vancouver production manager.
As with Carnegie Hall, making Sydney happen will require a Herculean effort. Lavigne says his immediate goal is garnering money for the hall, which rents for $40,000 a day. He will raise it, in part, via an Indiegogo crowdfunding campaign via his website: kenlavigne.com.
Westrick is well aware of the financial hurdle Lavigne must overcome.
“It is,” she notes, “early days.”
The Sydney Opera House, which opened in 1973, is not just a concert hall; it’s a multi-venue performing arts centre. Operas are staged in the 1,500-seat Joan Sutherland Theatre. That venue is not available for outside productions, however. So Lavigne has opted for the 2,700-seat Concert Hall, previously host to the likes of Janet Jackson and Kanye West.
If the PBS project does go ahead, he’ll perform in Sydney over two nights: July 6 and 7 (two shows are needed to complete the filming). If PBS falls through, he plans to sing in October.
Lavigne has contacted Sydney Opera House about renting the Concert Hall, discussing potential dates and technical requirements. For renters, the Sydney Opera House’s requirements are not as rigorous as those of Carnegie Hall, which required that Lavigne submit audition recordings.
“I was waiting on tenter hooks [for Carnegie Hall], like: ‘Oh, am I going to get rejected for this?’ But they said, ‘Yeah, you seem like the real deal.’”
For Carnegie Hall, Lavigne was responsible for hiring the New York Pops orchestra, as well as paying for lighting and set design, a production manager and marketing. The total cost was $250,000, which he raised partly through concerts and CD sales. Vancouver Island residents also helped with donations. The singer recalls that Victoria publican Matt McNeil was responsible for raising $80,000 alone. Despite this, costs were $40,000 higher than anticipated — Lavigne ended up having to take out a loan.
His booking agent, Margot Holmes, said that one of the most astonishing aspects of Lavigne’s story is the support he attracts, financial and otherwise. People are inspired by his determination to follow his dreams. Lavigne’s voice teacher Selena James agreed, adding: “What I was very amazed at, he captured the imagination of the businessmen when he wanted to go to Carnegie Hall.”
Lavigne possesses a likability factor that makes people root for him. Of half-a-dozen people interviewed, not one could recall him ever losing his temper, or saying something mean.
“Ken is the typical great Canadian guy, the type of guy you want to invite to your barbecue,” said Philip Grant, who sang with Lavigne in the original incarnation of the Canadian Tenors.
His sister, Andrea, said: “I know it’s weird, but we never, ever fought as kids.”
Added Holmes: “What you see is what you get.”
It’s one thing to be likable, it’s another to be able to convey this quality in performance. Lavigne has a rare ability to do this, partly by telling folksy stories, sometimes about his family, sometimes about his one-man-against-the-world Carnegie Hall quest.
At his concert at the Royal Theatre last Christmas, he brought his 11-year-old daughter Gracie, dressed in a pretty frock, on stage to have her sing Away in a
Manger. When it concluded, he kissed her on the top of her head.
The audience loved it.
Ken Lavigne’s father worked in construction. His brother still does. Early in his music career, the singer made ends meet by helping out his dad — often doing drywalling.
“It was,” Lavigne says, “a struggle in the beginning.”
In his last years at St. Andrew’s Regional High School in Victoria, Lavigne’s grades were not exceptional. When he was 17, he sang for several weeks with a rock band named (by him) Death on a Stick.
After graduation he was unsure what to do with himself. A music teacher suggested Lavigne, who sang in choirs and musical theatre, might want to enrol in the music program at the University of Victoria. Lavigne, who “knew nothing about classical singing,” auditioned with the only two songs he could remember the words to: Danny Boy and O Holy Night.
Soon after his university studies began, he had an epiphany of sorts. Someone lent him a recording of the Three Tenors: Placido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti and Jose Carreras. Lavigne took it home and played it on a “little ghetto blaster.” He was struck by the sheer beauty of Pavarotti’s voice.
“I was absolutely gobsmacked … It was one of the incredible, galvanizing moments where you realize, I gotta learn how to do that,” Lavigne said.
Previously, he had imagined taking music courses but ultimately taking a degree in history or philosophy, perhaps going into teaching. Now Lavigne realized singing was what he really wanted to do.
He completed the course work for his music degree, but did not receive it because he didn’t fulfil the final requirement: performing a formal recital. Lavigne says he was too busy; his professional career was taking off. He was singing regularly with symphony orchestras in Portland, Victoria and Vancouver, as well as Pacific Opera.
In 2004, he was recruited for a project that had a profound influence on his future. An instructor at the Victoria Conservatory of Music, Jill Ann Siemens, decided to found a singing trio called the Canadian Tenors. The “Three Tenors” craze had become a global phenomenon — this was Canada’s chance to make its own bid.
Lavigne, then 30 and keen to establish himself, jumped at the invitation. He joined two other singers: Vancouverites Philip Grant and Paul Oullette.
Certainly, the concept — three handsome young tenors singing operatic and popular favourites — had commercial potential. The Canadian Tenors would evolve into the Tenors (without the original members), who ultimately recorded platinum- and even double-platinum-selling albums. But after a year, the original group had broken up. Lavigne (who today refers to the trio as a “boy band”) was the first to exit.
He insists he doesn’t regret the Canadian Tenors breakup, even though the current incarnation of the Tenors — rejigged as a quartet — is an international success. Lavigne has remained friends with Grant and Oullette, who regrouped in 2005 after the breakup as Romanza, singing a similar crossover mix of pop and opera. The trio did well, singing more than 150 concerts in Canada and the U.S.
When Romanza started to peter out, Lavigne ventured out as a solo artist. He has done this full-time for the last five years.
In 2009, opportunity seemingly came knocking when record producer David Foster invited Lavigne to sing at a private party in Beverly Hills. Foster has a deserved reputation as a star-maker; his protégés include Josh Groban. Lavigne says the producer did express preliminary interest in his career, inviting him to sing at a private event (“the crowd went bananas”). Afterward, he said to Lavigne: “We need to talk.”
It went no further. Lavigne suspects the style of Foster — renowned for his glossy production and take-charge attitude — wouldn’t have suited him.
“His brand is, ‘I’m the Kingmaker, I go out and find these people.’ ... I have a little bit of a problem with that. I think I’m a little more folksy,” he said.
Foster remembers Lavigne well: “Very nice voice, nice vibrato, married, put a lot of his own money in his career.”
However, the Victoria-raised producer, who has collaborated with such stars as Andrea Bocelli, Michael Bublé and Barbra Steisand, is not convinced a PBS deal would be a game changer.
“PBS doesn’t have the reach or the money they used to have,” he wrote in an email.
“If he’s planning on putting in some of his own money, I wouldn’t recommend it. The business has changed drastically, and CD and DVD sales are one-10th of what they were a decade ago.”
As for Romanza, Grant — who was best man at Lavigne’s wedding and is godfather to one of his children — carries one vivid memory of that time. In the trio’s early days, they travelled to New York City to perform. Grant recalls walking down the street with Lavigne, discussing the fact Romanza was working hard, but making little money.
Lavigne, then already supporting a wife and children, replied: “We have to figure this out. Because I can’t not do this.”
“That just speaks to it, you know,” Grant said. “It wasn’t about drive. It was about no other options … It was: ‘This is who I am, and I won’t be happy if I don’t do it.’ ”
James is similarly struck by Lavigne’s determination, noting: “His desire to sing is very great.”
Now in her 90s, James is a respected voice teacher credited with discovering internationally acclaimed tenor Richard Margison. Like Margison, she says Lavigne has an “individual sound” — something every great singer must have. And he possesses another essential gift: the ability to convey the emotion and meaning of lyrics to an audience.
Above all, she says, Lavigne is risktaker.
“He seems to take climbing mountains just in his stride; he has a great sense of adventure,” said James, who compares Lavigne’s Carnegie Hall quest to “somebody trying to climb the Himalayas.”
Lavigne has two stories he likes to tell about Carnegie Hall. They’re polished anecdotes; he tells them onstage. One is about Pavarotti’s nail. The other is about defective dress shoes.
Story No. 1: Before he left for New York, Lavigne bought a $200 pair of patent-leather Italian shoes. On the night before he was to leave, he noticed the heels were falling off. There wasn’t time to get them repaired, as his plane was to leave at 6 a.m.
The singer was worried about the impression he’d make at one of the most famous concert halls in the world. “I would basically be wearing these clown tuxedo shoes that’d be flopping all over the place,” he said.
After arriving in New York, he popped into a Duane Reade drugstore and made a purchase. Duct tape. He made “little donuts” with the tape. And the heels held. A typical Canadian guy coming up with a typical Canadian solution.
Story No. 2: Before the night of the concert, Lavigne was understandably nervous. Minutes before curtain, he waited backstage with the conductor, musicians from the New York Pops orchestra, staffers, backstage crew members. The vibe, he said, was weird.
“It’s dead silence. They’re all sort of up against the wall, eyeing me suspiciously.”
After the show, Lavigne asked the conductor what “that kind of weird energy” had been all about.
“He said: ‘To be honest, it looked like you couldn’t decide whether to cry or vomit. And nobody wanted any of that on them.’”
One of the men hanging about backstage was an elderly stagehand. It was his job to open the door to let Lavigne on when his cue came. The singer met the old New Yorker’s eyes.
“He said: ‘Hey, you’re that tenor guy. I heard you singin’ during the dress rehearsal. Pretty good.’ ”
Lavigne thanked him. The man asked if he had ever heard of Pavarotti. Yes, said Lavigne, Pavarotti was his greatest inspiration.
The stagehand said he’d worked with the famous tenor at the Metropolitan Opera. Because Pavarotti was superstitious, before a performance he’d routinely pick up a bent nail from one of the folding sets, say a prayer, and keep the nail in his pocket for luck.
Then the man walked over to a “really crusty-looking desk,” pulled out a drawer and produced a white silk handkerchief. Inside was a bent nail.
“‘This here? This here’s Pavarotti’s nail. I want you to have it. For good luck.’ And then he says: ‘Because you’re gonna need it!’” said Lavigne, chuckling at the recollection.
Few remember the Carnegie Hall debut better than Jackie Adamthwaite, Lavigne’s longtime production manager. Adamthwaite is also a close family friend — she introduced him to his wife, Alice.
“To be honest, when he first told me about Carnegie Hall, I thought: ‘Are you nuts?’” she said with a laugh.
In New York, Lavigne had attracted a wee ripple of media attention. Journalists played up the fact the singer was, as Adamthwaite puts it, “that crazy Canadian that rented Carnegie Hall.”
During the concert, she sat in a box seat with Lavigne’s wife. She recalled: “We were holding hands. I had my fingers crossed and my toes crossed and my ankles. I thought, he just has to hit that first note, and we’re golden.
“He took that stage. He planted himself. And he just did it.”
Like others interviewed, she’s an enthusiastic member of the Ken Lavigne fan club. Over years of producing his concerts, she’s never seen him throw a diva fit. Yes, Adamthwaite says, Lavigne has “bad days” like everyone else. But he never takes his feelings out on others.
Lavigne is the same onstage and offstage. And he’s the same in any concert situation.
“The minute he walks out on stage — and I don’t care if it’s Carnegie Hall or the Royal Theatre or some tiny little church in Chemainus — you get the same Ken at every show,” Adamthwaite said.
Why sing at the Sydney Opera House? After all, Lavigne’s already done Carnegie Hall — a keystone resumé entry that helps land concerts all over Canada and the U.S.
“That’s a good question,” he said with a grin.
Lavigne recalls the day after his Carnegie Hall debut, strolling streets of New York and gazing at skyscrapers. He felt adrift — he realized he no longer had a towering goal.
“We’d lived our lives for that moment. It was like: ‘What now?’ ” he said.
It was his sister, Andrea, who suggested Sydney. Today, she says it was a half-joking reference — mostly, she just wanted her big brother to come for a visit. But Lavigne took it seriously. The Sydney Opera House — with its unorthodox, layered roof design that resembles ship’s sails or waves — is one of the world’s most recognizable buildings. Researching it, Lavigne was intrigued to learn the architect, Jorn Utzon, struggled for more than a decade to get it built. The ground-breaking design caused unprecedented engineering challenges; meanwhile, politicians squabbled about soaring costs.
“You realized that space is that act of creation. That was somebody’s dream,” Lavigne said. “For me, reading up on its history and seeing some of the great performances that happen on that famous stage, it’s like a beacon.”
Some people have deemed Lavigne’s ambition — to sing in world-famous concert halls — a “bucket list.” His agent even uses “bucket list tenor” as a hashtag. He doesn’t see it quite that way.
“You could call it a bucket list,” Lavigne said. “But I think it’s more about that wonderful act of creation. You’re building something that hopefully will last.”
After a moment, he added: “I’m doing it because I like to do it.”
It all sounds terribly ambitious. Yet Andrea, who told the story of the little boy and his parachute, questions that choice of word. She recalls that, as a child, her brother was sometimes teasingly called “the absent-minded professor.” Often, his thoughts seemed to be far, far away.
“I don’t know if ambitious is the way to describe him,” she said. “More of a dreamer. He’s always been a big dreamer.”