Il Divo @ The Wang - 2/2/06
- Scott Kearnan

"I just have to say... that this is one of the most beautiful theatres I've ever been in," proclaimed Urs Buhler of the singing group Il Divo. Taking a moment mid-performance to commend the Theatre District's crown jewel, Urs was met with raucous applause and a hearty helping of Beantown pride. And from my center-stage mezzanine seat I had to agree: "Wow, this place is beautiful!..."

"... Imagine having to change all the lightbulbs?"

If you haven't heard of Il Divo, you're not out of the loop quite yet. Though they can count a current #1 Billboard album (Ancora) amongst their credentials, they've yet to become a household name. Unless, of course, your household contains an older, stay-at-home matriarch who gets her pop culture 411 from Live! with Regis and Kelly. If that's the case (and my own mother is amongst their legion of fans), you've probably been introduced to this talented - if all too slickly marketed - singing quartet. And you might have been amidst the throngs of people who showed up for last night's sold-out show, only the second on their very first world tour (not a bad distinction, Boston).

For the uninitiated: Il Divo is a suave singing group comprised of four handsome lads... each representing a different country of origin. There's Sebastien, the resident Frenchman, David, our homegrown American boy, Carlos from Spain, and the aforementioned Urs, hailing from Switzerland. Assembled by media mastermind Simon Cowell (yes, that Simon Cowell, the one who sits dourly beside Paula Abdul on your TV screen every week), Il Divo sings standard, sweeping pop ballads with Opera-lite flourish. Outfitted in handsome suits, these well-groomed gentlemen will regale you with Mariah Carey's "Hero"... in Italian. Sounding like Pavarotti.

Think Sarah Brightman meets *NSync.

Whether or not they're taken seriously by opera aficionados is irrelevant... their real fan base is older women. Moms. Moms who want to pinch their little Sinatra-singing bottoms and eat this stuff up with a spoon, like a Yoplait after yoga. And let me tell you something based on what I observed last night: You know those screaming, brace-faced girls who have clamored after The Monkees, New Kids on the Block, and The Backstreet Boys through their respective generations? They never go away. They just get a little older and start shopping at Talbots. The child inside? She's still chomping at the bit for a suave voice and dreamy eyes.

My mother was one of their adoring fans last night. I bought her tickets as a Christmas gift, though the real present (or so she told me, in an occasional break from gentle maternal criticism) was "a night out in Boston with her handsome youngest son."

Together, now: "Awww!"

Like many young professionals in this city, I grew up in a small suburban town off the 495 belt and made Boston my home after college. So I hopped in the car, made a round-trip to pick up mom (at least it was an excuse to indulge my new favorite gadget - XM Radio), and braved the rush hour traffic and overpriced parking garage. It's always wonderful to see the reaction of someone who doesn't visit the city too often; Bostonians often take for granted how charming (and occasionally, dazzling) this city really is. It had been a quite a while since my mom saw a Wang show, and the beauty of the place - striking even as a frequent visitor - is even more impressive after some time has passed. However, mom and I agree... we're still partial to the newly renovated Opera House. There's something about those decadent red hues that's so... well, decadent.

Regardless, it was an excellent show. Pretentions be damned, the boys of Il Divo are impressive singers. Opening with a sweeping Italian rendition of Toni Braxton's "Unbreak My Heart" and closing with a multi-lingual interpretation of Sinatra's "My Way," they were everything their audience wanted to see: Talented, handsome, wholesome.

Unfortunately, they were also too obviously packaged. The chummy, jokey banter between members was embarassingly scripted... here's hoping it will get more comfortable with subsequent performances. Song choices occasionally faltered; During a costume change (which consisted of trading one rack of suits for another) the band vamped "Live and Let Die" by Guns 'N Roses... accompanied by rapid-fire lighting effects. For a moment, we were all one pair of acid wash jeans away from a laser light show. By the time the guys were sitting, staggered and slightly disheveled (in that Vogue advertisement way) on a set of stairs, crooning along to an accoustic guitar, I half expected a booming voice to proclaim:

"Il Divo... the new fragrance from Calvin Klein."

As if the sea of estrogen and salt-and-pepper hair wasn't enough evidence of their contingency, they even dedicated a song to "all the moms in the audience." Oh yes, they did go there.

Though I wasn't quite able to move past the blatant marketing of it all - you could visualize a metrosexual svengali primping their hair just right during vocal lessons - I had to appreciate the showmanship, the spectacle, and the genuine talent. In a world where Paris Hilton can have a record deal, it's refreshing to see some really gifted singers - whatever their breeding - hit the top of the charts, touch some hearts, and give Wang-theatregoers a reason to be proud.

"Don't you wish you could sing like that?" my mother asked unassumingly on the way out.

What's a mother-son night on the town without a little of that gentle maternal criticism.