ON DECEMBER 25, ONE SILVER FLUTE SPOKE BEFORE THE VOICE DID. Andrea Bocelli has spent a lifetime letting his voice lead the way. But this time, he didn’t rush it. Before singing Dolce è Sentire, he lifted a silver flute and played the opening himself. Soft. Unhurried. Almost like a breath. The moment came during a Christmas concert on December 25, inside the Basilica di San Francesco. Stone walls. Masked musicians. Sacred quiet. The flute set the mood long before the first lyric arrived. It didn’t feel like a performance meant to impress. It felt like an offering. Gentle. Reverent. Unexpected. As if he was reminding us that sometimes, music begins long before the voice.

Andrea Bocelli Performs “Dolce è Sentire” — A Soothing Flute and Voice Masterpiece

Andrea Bocelli, the world-renowned tenor celebrated for his unforgettable voice, offered fans a rare treat in a stunning performance of “Dolce è Sentire (Fratello Sole, Sorella Luna)” — this time accompanying himself on the flute. Known for his powerful vocals, Bocelli also showcases a delicate touch with the silver flute, adding a personal and graceful layer to this beloved Italian hymn.

Translated as “Sweet is to Feel (Brother Sun, Sister Moon),” the song draws inspiration from the famous “Canticle of the Sun” by Saint Francis of Assisi. In this performance, Bocelli brings new light and warmth to the melody, beginning with a sparkling flute solo that gently ushers in his rich tenor voice.

A Christmas Gift from Assisi

This breathtaking rendition was part of a live Christmas concert broadcast from the historic Basilica di San Francesco in Assisi, Italy, on 25 December 2020. Backed by an orchestra of masked musicians, the setting added a reverent and spiritual atmosphere to an already moving performance.

“This sung prayer of Franciscan inspiration is a small masterpiece, set to a tune by my dear departed friend, Riz Ortolani,” Bocelli shared in the video’s description on YouTube. “A piece that is intense and moving in its melodic simplicity, that speaks to the wonder of creation.”

With his flute in hand and heart in his voice, Bocelli transforms this timeless hymn into a balm for the soul — a gentle reminder of peace, creation, and the beauty of simple moments.

Watch the Full Performance

As we continue navigating through uncertain times, Andrea Bocelli’s performance offers light and comfort — a musical embrace reminding us of our shared humanity, faith, and hope. Thank you, Maestro Bocelli, for this timeless gift.

HIS ASHES WENT INTO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. NO GRAVE. NO HEADSTONE. THERE IS NOWHERE FOR FANS TO STAND. Fourteen gold albums. Eight platinum. Poet Laureate of Colorado in 1974. In 1975 the Country Music Association named him Entertainer of the Year — the genre’s highest honor. The man reading the winner’s name onstage was Charlie Rich, the previous year’s winner. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, set the card on fire, then announced “my friend, Mr. John Denver.” Denver was watching by satellite from thousands of miles away. He accepted graciously, with no idea what had just happened. On October 12, 1997, he took an experimental Rutan Long-EZ up over Monterey Bay. Fifteen minutes later it went into the water. Investigators concluded he had likely caught a rudder pedal while twisting in his seat to reach an awkward fuel valve. He was 53. Police had to fly his fingerprints in from Colorado to identify the body. Then came the part Nashville had no say in. Colorado ordered its flags to half-staff. His service was held five days later at a Presbyterian church in Aurora, led by a retired Air Force chaplain, and his ashes went into the mountains he had built a career singing about. In 2007 “Rocky Mountain High” became an official state song. In 2011 he became the first person ever inducted into the Colorado Music Hall of Fame. The Country Music Hall of Fame still hasn’t called.

HE SPENT HIS LIFE SINGING ABOUT THE SKY — AND ON A CLEAR OCTOBER AFTERNOON, THE SKY IS WHERE HE WENT. He was the man who made an entire generation homesick for a place they had never been. “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” “Rocky Mountain High.” “Annie’s Song.” A voice so bright and unguarded that critics sometimes mistook the warmth for simplicity — and millions of listeners knew better. Flying was never a side interest for him. He held a pilot’s license, he collected aircraft, he came from a family of Air Force flyers. The open air was not a metaphor in his songs. It was where he actually lived. On October 12, 1997, he took an experimental Long-EZ aircraft up over Monterey Bay, California. It was a plane he had recently acquired and was still learning. He was 53 years old. The aircraft went down into the water. He was killed on impact. The cruelty was in the details that came out afterward. Investigators found the fuel selector valve had been placed in a position nearly impossible to reach from the pilot’s seat — he would have had to turn and twist his body to switch tanks. The NTSB concluded he likely ran a tank dry and lost control while reaching behind him for that handle. A design flaw. Inches of reach. That was the margin. The contrast was almost unbearable. The man who had written the most joyful songs ever recorded about mountains and open air, who had sung for presidents and testified before Congress about the environment, died in seconds in the element he loved most. But what he left behind was never confined to those final moments. “Take Me Home, Country Roads” is now sung in stadiums in countries he never toured, by people who have never seen West Virginia. His environmental work outlived him by decades. The story of what he built — and what it cost him to live that fully — is still being told.

DOCTORS TOLD JOHN DENVER HE’D NEVER BE A FATHER. TWO YEARS AFTER HIS DAUGHTER ARRIVED, THE MARRIAGE THAT GAVE HER TO HIM WAS OVER. He met Cassandra Delaney in Australia in 1985, married her on a mountaintop above Aspen in August 1988, and by the time Jesse Belle was born the following May, he had a child he’d been told he would never have. Cassandra called her their miracle baby. The wedding made magazine covers around the world. By 1991 they were living apart. The divorce came through in 1993. What happened in between, Cassandra didn’t talk about publicly until 1996 — and when she did, she said she was finished protecting his image. She described bullying, jealousy, threats, and heavy drinking. She said John had tried to destroy the relationship himself. The custody fight that followed ran to millions. Denver’s version, in his memoir Take Me Home, was a single hard sentence: before their short-lived marriage ended, she made a fool of him from one end of the valley to the other. Two people who fell in love at first sight, in the same house at the end, writing each other notes because neither could say it out loud. He kept singing about home to sold-out rooms the entire time.

WILLIE NELSON GAVE AWAY “THREE DAYS” BEFORE HE EVER SANG IT HIMSELF. In 1961 he was a Texas songwriter in Nashville with more songs than luck, and the fastest way to eat was to hand your best work to somebody with a record deal. Faron Young recorded “Three Days” that year. It charted for Young. Willie didn’t cut his own version until 1962, on his Liberty debut …And Then I Wrote — the album that also carried “Crazy,” “Hello Walls,” and “Funny How Time Slips Away,” all songs that had already made other singers famous. His own recording is the quiet one. No push, no big finish. He sits just behind the beat the way he always has, and the song turns from a breakup into something closer to a man counting what’s left. Sixty-four years later he’s still singing it. Willie turned 93 in April. He’s on the road through the summer with the Outlaw Music Festival, performing seated, managing emphysema with a nebulizer on the bus and rest days built into the schedule. Lukas takes the heavier vocals now. Willie takes the guitar solos and the closing verses — every night. The songwriter who once had to give his songs away to be heard is now the last man standing who can sing them the way they were written. Sixty-four years on, he still gets the last verse.