Jim Laurienti brings with him a depth of musical experience that spans decades and several cities. His background includes seventeen years with the Olinger Quartet in Denver, participation in chorales in Denver, Tucson, Las Vegas, San Luis Obispo, Santa Maria, and the Inland Empire, as well as opera productions in both Denver and Tucson. Wherever he has lived, he has sung. It is less a hobby and more a lifelong pursuit.
He was drawn to the Choraleers by our director, Lorilee, and what he found here surprised even him. Jim has shared that the opportunities for expression within this group feel unprecedented in his life—a remarkable statement from someone with such an extensive résumé.
There is something of Atticus Finch blended with the dignified musical bearing of Captain von Trapp in Jim. Quiet authority. Deep conviction. Calm under pressure. He does not need volume to command attention. His confidence is rooted in preparation and principle. During rehearsal, he listens, adjusts, and proceeds thoughtfully—never rattled by the necessary starting and stopping that refines a solo. That steadiness reflects both humility and strength.
For our Christmas production, he offered a beautifully rendered Adeste Fideles in Latin—measured, resonant, and reverent. A masterful soloist, yes—but also deeply coachable, receptive, and disciplined. In a world where soloists can sometimes guard their interpretations fiercely, Jim welcomes refinement.
And yet, he carries a delightful self-awareness. As he jokingly describes himself, “‘Signor Rubato,’ ego the size of Mount Rushmore’ might be an apt summation.” The line lands because it is delivered with a wink. The theatrical flourish is playful; the dedication is entirely sincere.
Perhaps the clearest window into Jim’s heart came years ago when he told one of his vocal coaches, “I don’t care where it leads, or what it brings to my life. I just want that voice. I want to sing like that.” That statement says everything. Not ambition. Not applause. Simply the pursuit of beauty in sound.
At the center of that pursuit stands Barbara, his wife, whom he credits as the one person who continually fanned the embers of music when they lay dormant and refused to let them fade. He sees her as the one who knew who he was long before he fully realized it himself. It is a rare gift to be known that deeply—and an even rarer gift to be encouraged so faithfully.
Jim, we are grateful that the embers were kept alive—and that the voice you have sought so earnestly now enriches ours.