Showing posts with label Ariodante. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ariodante. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Closure

It seems next to impossible that the year 2007 came to a close yesterday. I know I'm not alone in pondering where the year vanished to, how quickly it dispersed seemingly without leaving a trace, or how unlikely it seems that we should be inching closer to this new century's second decade! I should no longer remain shocked when it's time to add a single digit to the end of the year, but I always feel caught off guard, astonished at how quickly the time passed.

To make an all-too convenient analogy, I feel a bit like Octavian wanting desperately to cling to what he knows, unable to grasp the need to change, mixed with the Marschallin endeavoring to stop those insistent hands of time from purging forward. Oh, I don't mean to sound too melodramatic or distraught here - not at all, it's simply that I would prefer to receive the equivalent of a 'get out of jail free' card, only along the lines of 'get one free week to process your life' pass, then I would happily, eagerly, even enthusiastically, jump into '08 with gusto and not a look back.

Why does this year feel a bit heavier than usual to process and catalogue? I suppose it's simply because of the sheer magnitude of change which presented itself to me, combined with the enormous volume of work. Even as I type this, it is dawning on me that 2007 was a truly pivotal year - how it plays out over the course of my life remains to be seen, but there is no doubt that it will be personally, and even perhaps professionally, monumental.

From a purely business standpoint, how could I argue with the past 365 days? I started what will hopefully be a long and rewarding journey with some of the premiere operatic roles: Octavian, Ariodante, and Alcina. Each one proved to be an immense lesson about my craft simply from tackling such demanding masterpieces, about artistic integrity from the exemplary work of my colleagues, and about the kind of work I want to do as an artist - but more on that later. I feel so enriched from these professional experiences, and while they left me quite drained, the amount of energy and insight I gained from plunging full force into them was worth every moment. I also had the joy of returning to two roles that have served me quite well: Rosina and Cenerentola. Returning to these effervescent characters shows me the value of role repetition, serving as a guidepost for how much work goes into getting a role ready to debut.

In some ways it feels as if this was the year of my 'arrival' in New York, if it's necessary to flag that sort of event. Taking part in Peter Gelb's innovative and colossal project of bringing live opera into cinemas across the world, and therefore, astoundingly into the popular culture - a venture that no one in their right mind would have conceived of as feasible a year ago - proved to be an undeniable high point of my career to date. I only give it such importance because I continue to hear from people who tell me what a memorable experience it was, and how it has single-handedly changed their perception of opera. I think those of us that love this craft so much have always believed in the power of opera to captivate and on occasion, truly move people in significant ways, and I'm certain that this new venture of the MET's will go miles and miles to make that possible.

Capping off my time in New York was an encounter that I never could have predicted would have taken on such importance, for I was most fortunate to meet Beverly Sills before the world lost her - one of the pillars and true champions of the American cultural scene. I wish I had more time and opportunity to soak up each of her countless pearls of wisdom, but I will happily take the little time I did have with her, turning to her example of enthusiastic dedication as a role model in using your gifts to, dare I say it, better the world.


One of the more exciting events of the year for me was walking into "Wolf Camera" on Van Ness Street in San Francisco, and meeting Joe, the friendly, knowledgeable, neighborhood camera guru. He introduced me to the magic of a single-lens-reflex camera, and now my husband is calling himself a "Canon Widower". I had no idea the photo bug would capture me so completely, but it has, and I'm loving every minute! I find that I see the world around me differently, that the weight of being away from home is eased a bit as I gain a deeper appreciation for the places I travel to, and that I can chronicle the beautiful encounters with colleagues and friends around the world. (Who knows where it will take me, but if anyone has an 'in' with National Geographic, I'm all ears!)


Speaking of National Geographic, there is no denying that the highlight of my year was our adventure to South Africa. In scoping out the itinerary, I really had no clue what a life changing experience it would be for me, in the sense of seeing the 'real world' in action, of getting a severe 'reality check', and simply being reminded one more welcome time that balance is essential to all that we do. Nature has a way of driving home that point loud and clear, and in the end nature always wins. Any time we upset the natural balance of things, whether on the stage, in our homes, in our hearts or heads, nature is there to provide the needed check and balance. That has been my food for thought ever since stepping foot in that beautiful country, and I truly cannot wait to return.


The final piece of the puzzle of 2007 for me, was the loss of my Mom, compounded by being so close in time to my Dad's passing. Looking back, it seems as if they went out side by side, hand in hand with no time lapse at all - but then I remember the painful, difficult 6 months my Mom spent missing my Dad after he was gone. The last time she saw me perform was at the Cinemark movie theater in Lenexa - and truth be told, that's the reason that event will be a highlight in my life - not because of the professional gains. That was my Mom's chance to shine and revel in the experience of seeing one of her children shine in something they love to do. Countless friends told me at her funeral, just a month after the broadcast, that their last image of my Mom was seeing her cheering with her arms waving over her head, saying, "That's my daughter." I wish I could have been there to see that, but I can only hope that she knew that her influence on my life was one of the singular reasons I was standing on that stage that day, and the applause belonged to her.

While I know it's not the nature of things, I do wish that time could stand still every now and again. What I wouldn't give to see my Dad and Mom standing at their front door waving hello with open arms after a long stay on the road, eager to hear about all the adventure. Even though I love being a world traveller, independent from a very early age, how much I wish that I could ring their doorbell and know that I was home. What I wouldn't give to hear my Dad's voice one more time providing comfort as only he could give, providing guidance and assurance along with the perfect dose of humor.

But time marches on and nature stubbornly stakes its claim on the natural rhythm of things. We seven children all had to say goodbye to our childhood home and carry on without having a clue as to what would come next, or how in the world we could stand with the ground shaken so terribly underneath our tentative feet. I don't profess to know how singing opera ultimately figures into the scheme of things; I still get very upset when a colleague's last thought in the world is generosity or sincerity; I don't begin to pretend that I understand what makes one singer a star, and another disposable; but I'm not sure these are answers I need to find just yet.

2008 will mark the start of my 10th year as a professional opera singer. Could I have predicted ANY of this? Not a chance in hell. But I'm finding my own voice throughout this journey, and while searching for closure is inevitable at this time of year, at the end of this ENORMOUSLY LONG ENTRY, I find that I'm happily looking forward and thrilled at what lies ahead.

And in a final (I swear!) wish for a beautiful New Year in 2008, here's something to start the year off with a perfect, infectious, spontaneous and GIDDY smile - I dare you not to love it!

CHEERS!
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Thursday, November 22, 2007

Gratitude - Day 9


Part of the fabulous tech crew of "Ariodante"; this was my 4th time at the opera house, and now it truly is like coming home to family which makes performing here a joy. To steal from a contemporary advert: that, my friends, 'is priceless'.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

(I think technically I've fallen one day behind, but on transatlantic travel days, I'll cut myself a little slack!)
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Monday, November 19, 2007

Gratitude - Day 7


"Comfortable shoes"

It's lovely to be able to wear shoes like this on stage and not worry about tripping over stiletto heels for once. (Sadly, I have a bit of a reputation as a 'tripper', as I can count 4 sprained ankles from the role of Rosina, alone!) But these 'tea-stained' tennis shoes, along with my khaki pants and bomber jacket complete my transformation of feeling like Ellen Degeneres singing Ariodante! (And I love Ellen, mind you! I'd love to see her dancing to "Dopo Notte"!)
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Sunday, November 18, 2007

Note to self:

"Treat every show as if it were a broadcast!"

Last night we sang our 4th performance of "Ariodante" here in Geneva, and conventional wisdom would probably say it was our best show: what is it about the thrill of knowing your voice is going out live into the Universe, no re-takes, no 'patch session', just live, direct, immediate theater? I think I stumbled upon one of the reasons why I love this new technological wizardry last night: there is absolutely nothing else to rely upon to convey the story - simply the voice. Of course, this is the 'old-fashioned' approach to singing, which some might reasonably argue is a lost art - the art of text painting, vocal coloring, heart-breaking phrasing. Today a great deal of emphasis seems to be on furniture acting, trench coats, and the all-too-quick dismissal of 'literal interpretations of the text' which somehow has become 'banal' or 'passè'.

Hmm.

Don't call me a convert to that approach. I survived 3 years of studying under one of those (gasp!) old-fashioned Maestros who, for sport it seemed, used to send singers (like me) home in tears because they wouldn't open or close their vowels enough, or because they were too preoccupied about making a 'pretty sound' and couldn't take a white or black color far enough to truly express the devastation of "son MMMMmorta". It was not a unique experience for me to recoil in rage or frustration because I couldn't get all that he was asking for, professing all the time that he expected "too much". Those were 3 of the toughest years in my musical life. But his is a voice that now, in the heat of the moment, continues to echo in the hollows of my head; when I know a broadcast is coming up, I can see his white-hot eyes burning 3 inches from my face, wider than a Michelin tire, screaming, "MEZZO!! OPEN THAT VOWEL! I DON'T HEAR IT IN THE VOICE!!! QUIT AAAACTING AND LET ME HEAR IT IN YOUR VOICE." (He probably couldn't hear it, because all I could think at the time was "Don't cry. Joyce, don't you DARE cry!")

Perhaps I remember it harsher than it actually was (however, I'm pretty sure that's not the case), but isn't it ironic that years later, his is the guiding voice I return to for how I approach roles today? All the little red marks under the text in my score are what I would imagine he would scream for. And the longer I do this, the more I believe in his philosophy, the more I realize I have to learn, and the higher I set the bar for myself. A broadcast like last night serves to remind me that someone listening in Akron, Ohio (or, literally, in URUGUAY!) should be just as involved in the dramatic action, as someone sitting in the front row of the Grand Theâtre here in Geneva. It's not that I don't give my all for a perfomance without microphones at the front of the stage - not at all; instead, it's the knowledge that the folks tuning in on their PC's and MAC's at home have ONLY the voice to tell them the story, sadly without the aid of those character-revealing trench coats. (Sarcasm intended.) THAT is real acting, me thinks.

In the meantime, got this photo of our soprano with the famous, fire-red hair getting into makeup:

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Friday, November 16, 2007

The show will go on. Oh YES. It WILL go on!

I once wondered out-loud here in my blogging world (or should that by 'typed' out loud?), what listeners would think if they knew what was going on in the minds of performers at any given moment during a performance; the mental cacophony would challenge even the most atonal of 21st Century composers!! But last night the backstage area buzzed and bustled with intrigue and exceptional happenings, making for a challenging, "I'm glad this one is over" performance!

First up: the weather change: a very stubborn and insistent northern wind took up camp in Geneva yesterday, playing havoc with vocal cords, temperaments, and over-all mood. It was the kind of blustery, gray day straight out of Winnie the Pooh's playbook that seemed intent on squelching all energy, trying in vain to seduce you to remain under the covers wasting the day away, eating junk food -- the furthest possible thing from princes, betrayals, and da capo arias.


Next up: a mini-cancellation. Sadly one of our singers had been fighting a cold since the opening night (although no one listening in would have been privy to that annoying obstacle!), and during our second performance, the cold won out in the third act, claiming victory over the singer's vocal cords. A quick visit to the doctor confirmed the assessment that the prudent decision would be not to sing the third performance in order to be back in the game for the rest of the shows. (No singer EVER likes to be in this position - but we are all susceptible at any time, any where.) The solution for this 3rd performance was to have our singer deliver the recitatives, while an imported singer (from Magic Flute, currently in rehearsals) sang the role from the stage. That singer had 1 day to learn the role. And so here you have the original singer 'walking the part' to a voice which is not her own, the substitute essentially sight-reading and trying to fit in with a staging/setting she has never seen before, an orchestra accompanying a new singer with no rehearsal, and an audience seamlessly processing everything as a finished performance. (Perhaps the impromptu nature of this staging was actually enhanced by these improvisations?) For the record: BRAVA to both singers for pulling off a very difficult situation with incredible bravura and committment!

Thirdly: a pain the back! During the second intermission I heard calls over the PA for doctors, nurses, staff, you-name-it, and immediately alarm bells go off. Another of our singers had been fighting terrible back pain over the past few days, (undoubtedly made worse by Old Man Winter) and it managed to hit a crescendo during the 2nd Act, so the prospect of singing another act was apparently coming into question. Evidently the brilliant Swiss doctors worked their magic, because the 3rd Act went off without a hitch, and certainly the audience had not a clue that anything was amiss. Again - what a pro, singing through pain like that. BRAVA!

Finally, a sticky topic, which I probably should avoid altogether, but like a grotesque, firey car wreck, I just can't avoid it: If someone asks me, "Do you read your reviews?", I'm 100% honest and respond, "Why yes, I do." But the next thing out of my mouth is that I take EACH and EVERY ONE of them with a LARGE grain of salt. If they are good, I will use them liberally and purposefully, for it is simply part of the business. If they are bad, I'll *try* and honestly assess if I think there is a grain of truth in it, or at least attempt to understand what the critic's point of view was, hoping there is something constructive at the heart of it from which I can learn.

But in the end, it is simply and uniquely ONE person's point of view, and the reality is that in no way, shape or form do I sing for the critics -- their tickets are free, after all. I sing for the folks who fork out the cold, hard cash. Period. However, it would be naive to think that reviews, whether written well or not, whether educated and informative or not, do not still hold a place of importance in our business. (And let it be said, I'm always grateful for the kind word - no mistake about it!) Anyone following our performances of "Ariodante" here in Geneva will discover that we have not received stellar reviews for this production. (I'll reserve my opinon on whether I agree with their point of view or not for my unauthorized biography when I'm long gone from the stage.) But right or wrong,I can feel the effect of those reviews on the cast, and I think, even on the audience, for overall, I sense a feeling of disconnect from the public. (In fairness, even the Genevoise public will admit that perhaps they are not the most likely audience to break into a frenzied ovation at the drop of a hat - but they are an educated, appreciative bunch of whom I have grown very fond.) If the cast senses that the show will not be a HUGE, ROUSING, OFF-THE-CHARTS success at the end of the evening, it's a bit of a trial to find the energy to zip up your costume and emerge from the wings ready to dazzle the audience.


However, here at the bottom line there is indeed great news: the music is the unquestionable winner in this, and THAT is no small victory! We have a very special cast in this show from veterans to newbies, and even when the morale-meter has wavered a bit on the low side, we come together, sing this music with great respect and enjoyment, and play the staging for all it is worth, relishing the interactions on stage and the glorious, challenging, profound music that was written nearly 250 years ago. Any chance to see or hear "Ariodante" is not one to be missed, and I think having weathered a tough, up-hill performance like last night will serve to lift us all up for The Big Broadcast tomorrow, and we will have an outstanding remaining three performances.

In the end, little hiccups such as these simply serve to make my job all the more interesting, and make me smile at the end of the night thinking, "The audience had no idea!"

Photos:

*The blustery north wind coming in to bring a beautiful sunset view outside my window

*Getting into make-up while discussing life's dilemas
(photo by Leonardo Vordoni)
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Gratitude - Day 4


One of the most haunting, complex, rich arias in all of opera: "Scherza infida" from Handel's "Ariodante". To say I'm 'grateful' to be able to sing this piece of music seems a tad 'trite', perhaps, but it is the unadulterated truth. As with most Handel arias, the range of interpretive possibilities seems endless, so one can employ countless colors, shades and meanings that change with each performance. Perhaps the opportunities are even greater with this particular collection of notes and words centered on Ariodante's learning that his love has seemingly betrayed him, for being the victim of such perfidy can morph into so many different colors: red hot anger, bitterness, despair, devastation, white-hot pain, black emptiness, the list goes on and on.

I marvel at how opera can freeze a moment in time (in this case, the freezing takes about 10 minutes!): often Handel is berated because "they keep repeating the same text over and over", but silly dismissers, this gives the opportunity for such rich exploration - the ten times I utter "infida" ("unfaithful one") in this aria can each carry a different weight - different percentages of venom, loss, rage and even love. The complexity of human emotion takes a long time to sort out, to sift through and to digest - yet another reason I love singing Handel.

Yep - gratitude abounds in this opera score!!
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Saturday, November 10, 2007

"Live from Geneva, it's Saturday Night!"


In the hopes of giving a bit more advance notice than we gave for the "Rosenkavalier" broadcast a few weeks ago, the new production of "Ariodante" from Geneva Opera will be broadcast live on Saturday, Nov. 17th on Radio Swiss Romande at 8:00 pm in Europe. (2:00 pm EST, 1:00 pm CST) If you can tune in, I certainly hope you will enjoy it! Cheers!

Photo: "Scherza infida" by Pierre Antoine Grissoni
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"Quick Change"

In the theater, when a character must change their costume (or wig, or makeup, for that matter) very quickly, we call it a 'quick change'. My fastest quick change to date took place not quite 10 years ago in one of my first professional productions: I was singing the Muse/Nicklauss in "Les Contes d'Hoffman" for Houston and the staging required that I step off stage as the Muse (clingy gown, leafy crown and all), and return SEVENTEEN SECONDS LATER as Nicklauss, dressed in business suit and tie. My all-star dresser, Larissa, pulled off the minor miracle with great aplomb, and I was ready to try and keep Hoffmann from making yet another feminine-inspired misstep. Many other quick changes have followed, but that one was perhaps the most harrowing.

Fast-foward a few years, and I feel like I pulled off a slightly less time-challenged quick change, but a no less harried or frenetic one: what about a 29-hour trip from Geneva to New York City and back? I'm certainly not the first singer to pull something like this off, but it was a first for me, and it was a blast! I received a call 2 hours before the piano dress rehearsal for my first "Ariodante" to see if there was any possibility of flying to NY the next morning to fill in for Susan Graham who had fallen ill. I told Barry Tucker, the initiator of this crazy idea, "If you can find flights that will put me in NY in time to shower and warm up, and back to Geneva the following day in time for my orchestra staging at 2:00, I'm game." 10 minutes later the fabulous Tucker Staff had me set up to go. And so go I did.

Yes. Perhaps I'm a little loony.


I'm thrilled that I was able to make the journey, because this year the Tucker Foundation secured invaluable funding to broadcast the event live to nine universities across North America, with plans to air it later on PBS, returning to a long tradition of Tucker Broadcasts which I believe has been sorely missed. I'm quite certain a connection exists between the revolution Mr. Gelb has initiated at his theater across the Plaza of broadcasting operas live, with the resurgence of the Tucker Gala on TV, for he has single-handedly given opera and music lovers a chance to show, in large numbers, that there is a definite appetite and desire for high quality arts and culture in this country. All of a sudden, I feel like don't live in such a culturally malnourished nation anymore, and that is a sublime feeling. To be a participant in such an endeavor is an honor.

Back to practical matters, how does a girl pack for such an occasion? THANKFULLY I had with me 2 gowns which I had just worn for my recent recital at La Scala, although they had not yet made their needed trip to the dry cleaners. God bless the two lovely dressers backstage who took them out of the bag to steam them, in all their "lived-in-glory". (Was that tactful enough?) But there remained a rather large obstacle: how in the world could I present the Silver Rose (actually, the "Tiffany" Silver Rose, courtesy of the MET Prop department, thank you very much!) in a rather form-fitting sequined gown? I thought, "I know it's not ideal, but it's a gala, I had no warning, sequins are better than jeans, and so surely people will get over faux-pas!" Well, when I told my poor Sophie, (the divine Diana Damrau) "Just avoid looking at my neckline when I bend to hand you the rose," she was rightly appalled, saying, "Well, there is no way we can have that!" And so for you opera trivia lovers out there, you'll be interested to know that the outfit "Octavian" was wearing for the 2007 Tucker Gala's 'Presentation of the Rose' was actually the outfit the "Sophie" wore to the theater that night! Diana actually gave me the clothes off her back, right down to her shoes, and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, was my first outfit!

While I was very happy with the way the concert went, there was no denying that I was quite proud that I could pull off 3 outfits on such short notice. See? That good quick change karma is following me! However, as thrilling a feat as that may have been on one level, to stand in front of such a warm public, singing with the stupendous MET Orchestra to Diana's delicate Sophie, and Renee Flemings exquisite Fiordiligi was a definite "pinch me" moment. Another opportunity to relish how much I love what I do. PS - kudos to Maestro Asher Fisch for talking through "Una voce poco fa" with me minutes before the start of his long evening, and leading the orchestra through the piece without any rehearsal - that was improv at its best!


Quick changing back to Geneva, I'm back to the world of Handel, chess boards, and khakis, very, very far away from the glittering sequins of Avery Fisher Hall! (I don't want to spoil anything, but Polinesso's "death" involves a chess board.) After a long week of final rehearsals (often referred to as "hell week" for the grueling hours and intense pacing required), we open tomorrow. This Prince has long been at the top of my list of 'dream roles', and in a way it's a bit sad to move it from the unknown, virginal stage of "maybe one day I'll get to sing it" to the reality of premiering such an iconic role, knowing that there is only one 'first time'. I have high hopes for this role, as artistically it feels like a perfect fit, and I am surely challenged in every single way with the demands of the role. But the hardest part as I go into Sunday's premiere is that I want it to be so, so good. I want people to breathe each breath along with Ariodante, to feel his naive and unfiltered jubilation at the start of the piece, to walk with him as the poison of doubt enters his veins, as his heart breaks in two when he believes his love to be untrue, not to mention when the realization erupts in him that ultimately he, himself, is the only one to blame for the betrayal, and finally coming full circle to joy again -- but this time, a joy which bares the wounds of his mortality, that shines through the scars of his all too human nature. I want people to take this journey with him, so that at the end of the (nearly) 4 hour evening, they will have experienced a rich odyssey of human fraility. I also want them to be completely absorbed by the almost painfully beautiful music Handel created for his masterpiece, for this is truly, a masterpiece.

That's all. Is that too much to ask?

Pierre Strosser, the stage director for this new production of "Ariodante", has chosen a look of very stark, clean and minimal theater. There is no denying that the music is the star of the show, as it becomes the central character, without question. I am still trying to find my way in all that he has asked of me, (and not asked of me) and will most likely continue to search for the balance I don't yet feel in all of the six performances, but in a way, that kind challenge is exciting, for you realize that your work is never, ever done. And this is only the first Ariodante, of what I can only hope will be many, many more.

So, here I am, nearly 2 months after finishing my beautiful vacation time this summer, having tackled 2 new and polar-opposite Handelian roles in as many months, basking in the joy of singing his music, with my head still spinning a bit from the enormity of the task, but loving every minute of breathing life into these jubilant roulades and aching, heartbreaking phrases.


Photos:

*The Tucker Gala simulcast live to Northwestern University/Credit: Eun Lee

*The "Ariodante" Chess Board

*Tulip from "Cafe Valaisanne", after our pre-generale
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Wednesday, October 24, 2007

I may be a bit cold, but am I insane?

One of the many elements of working in Europe that I relish is the relative proximity of things: the pastry shop just downstairs from my apartment that tempts each morning with the buttery smell of the freshly baked croissants wafting upwards as I hit the snooze button "just one more time", the park around the corner that announces the arrival (and soon enough, the departure) of a welcome autumn, and 'my office' which is either a 10 minute bus ride or a brisk 30 minute walk, offering the opportunity for a bit of exercise and solitary contemplation.


After a month here in Geneva I've succeeded most of these mornings in avoiding the little evil, flaky temptations, I've enjoyed a few quiet photo ops in the neighborhood park, and more often than not, even though the blustery arrival of winter came out of the blue at the end of last week, I still use the walk to work to ponder many things, amongst which is often those little black notes Handel scribbled for his hero, Ariodante. (Remember those school fundraisers where the teacher would put a bunch of jelly beans in a HUGE container, and for $1 you could make a guess of how many there were, and the closest guess to the actual number, without going over, would win the entire calorie-ridden jar? I should do that with Ariodante: make a guess of how many notes Handel actually wrote for his hero, yes, including ALL those da capos, and the closest guess gets an opening night ticket! Hey, I may be on to something! But, then again, that would mean I'd actually have to count them up...)

Anyway, since my ipod is on the fritz (conveniently giving me the excuse to ponder the purchase of the new 'does it scratch your back, too?" i-phone), part of my walk these days consists of going through this many-noted role, especially the arias where I haven't quite determined which variations I want to employ. So I bop along, my steps fulfilling the role of the sturdy metronome, putting myself through the musical paces of this character. It's all well and good, except for the reality that I'm usually quite unaware that I'm not doing this entirely in the privacy and silence of my own head: in fact, the odd glances I get from Mr. Bankerman on the street quickly inform me that I'm giving a free concert to folks whether they wish to attend or not! I hate it when that happens.

Indeed, it happened yesterday. I didn't realize that I was 'quite' so close in walking just behind a lovely lady carrying her groceries as I was working my way through the tricky part of "Tu, preparati morire", and I became painfully aware that she was glancing nervously over her shoulder, and then, clasping her bags a bit closer to her side, dashed across to the other side of the street, continuining to monitor my 'behavior'. (Did she speak Italian? That might explain it!) I'm pretty sure she thought I was crazy!

I'm also pretty sure that this isn't the first time someone assumed I might be one F# short of an octave. I thought a bit more about it, and really, is there any difference between what I was doing, in my 'own little world', and the folks you might see talking to themselves in rapid fire dialogue around Times Square that make you clutch your bag just a wee bit tighter?

Hmm. Actually, let's make that a rhetorical question - I'm not sure I could handle the truth!

Photos:
*One of the last remaining signs of fall in Geneva
*My new best friend
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Thursday, October 18, 2007

Juggling

It's a good thing I welcome multi-tasking. Surely it's a trait I acquired from my Mom, who somehow was able to manage the rigors of a family of nine, (the laundry, the school lunches, the Brownie meetings, the grocery shopping alone!), and still manage to get her lipstick on for the evening's cocktail hour with her husband: the standard was a whiskey sour, but if she was lucky it would be an "Old-fashioned", with all the cubed bits of citrus crushed methodically by my Dad under the watchful supervision of his nosy 7-year old daughter.

My tasks fall into very different categories than hers did (although I still do like the occasional peanut butter sandwich, which often takes me back to the days of hoping dreamy Eric would come sit by me in the school cafeteria!), but the skill of managing the various facets of my life surely is due in large part to her expertise. I welcome this chaos, because the possibility of boredom simply doesn't exist.

Currently I'm in the trenches of rehearsing another new role, and you guessed it, it's real doozy. Just when I think I've discovered so much about Handel's genius and depth and BRILLIANCE, he goes and throws in a little "Ariodante". I'm tempted to don my sarcastic muscles and say, "No, seriously: ANOTHER heartbreaking, dissolve-me-to-blubbering-pieces, RIDICULOUSLY gorgeous aria from the cosmos?" I mean, sincerely, WHERE did this music come from? I've sung "Dopo notte" and "Scherza infida" a few times, and so those weren't real surprises to me (although they ARE, because to put them in the context of the entire opera brings an entirely different dimension to them.) "Con l'ali di costanza" is a constant surprise in the astounding technical demands it requires of the singer - but that's still a work in progress, and probably will remain so until long after closing night!

The real shocker for me? The one which in the early stages I would just sort of gloss over and think, "well, it's no 'Scherza infida', but Handel had to put something here, right?": "Cieca notte." We staged it yesterday, and it was as if a ton of "duh!" bricks fell on my head and slapped me upside it at the same time! The impression I have in the beginning stages of this piece (we still have 3.5 weeks to go, mind you) is that during "Tu, preparati a morire", in which Ariodante vigorously defends his love's honor, an odious poison begins to enter his veins - the poison of doubt and mistrust. He all too readily accepts Ginevra's apparent betrayal, which launches him into the famous paragon of arias, "Scherza infida". The poison now engulfs him, and in utter despair, he goes to end his life.


But this IS baroque opera, after all, and nothing is ever that simple -- that darn fate mercifully intervenes to keep him from dying, and consequently provide more music making opportunities. But herein lay the surprise for me, for in my quick dismissal of the next scene, I completely overlooked the necessary psychological conclusion of this wrenching poison. (OK, I'll be honest - in my preparation, by the time I turned the page on the 3rd act, most of my energy was being poured into the famous tune to follow, "Dopo notte!" Bad singer, I know!) So what did I uncover? With the crushing discovery that, in fact, Ginevra did not betray him, but instead he was the one who failed in his devotion and trust in her, the tragedy is actually far worse. Earlier he sings of her betrayal, of how he goes to die while the fault lies completely at her feet; instead, he now sees that HE is the one who has destroyed their bond. The anguish penetrates far deeper with this realization - and hence, Handel gives us a crushing, jagged "Cieca notte" for Ariodante to make this realization and collapse in shame and agony.

Luckily, he is the hero, so surely he will accept the responsibility and make everything better so we can have a cheerful, unifying chorus at the end, right? We haven't staged that part yet, so we must wait to see what happens...

This particular rehearsal process fascinates me, because the director has a very different method of working; aside from conversing in French, which is a small, but certainly surmountable hurdle, his language of theater and movement provides the bigger learning curve for me. My first instincts are never the reactions or impetus he is looking for, so I am relegated to a LOT of stripping of gesture and impulse (and I don't generally think of myself as being overly-dependent on operatic 'gesture'). The key element here is that while I may not initially understand what he is asking for, I do trust him - and without trust, we singers are flailing around naked on that cavernous stage -- we must have faith in what our directors are asking of us, else all coherence is lost. (Yes, this trust is rare, but that's a rather old story by now.) So this faith in Pierre is enabling me to take risks, and see where it leads. Finally, with our 3rd week of work I'm beginning to understand this language, and the challenge definitely intrigues me.

The juggling: while deep into the preparations for this role debut, I'm also performing a recital this weekend, working on new concert rep for the week after we close here, planning recital programs by sifting through piles of music, juggling the preparation of other new projects, trying to keep all the little black notes separate, all the while avoiding the pages of any calendar or scribbling of the date, for it reminds me there are still far too many days until I see my husband again. I plunged into the 21st Century with gusto this past weekend as I took a voice lesson with my teacher, Steve Smith, via SKYPE, the most brilliant invention ever for those of us that travel! It was a very needed lesson, as I can feel that there are some issues that need to be addressed, and via webcam he was able to see my problems in all their glory! This use of technology is a brilliant find.

Being a bit run down, it's hard to know whether to rest your voice, or vocalize attentively and work the new repertoire into your body. (It's that horrible singer psychology of: "I think I need to rest, but if I don't figure this out, I won't get it in time.") I'm in a bit of a quandry over it for the moment, but I'm certain that I'll find my way through it. My decision yesterday was to take the afternoon off and dive into the pleasure of my new photography hobby, enjoying a stunningly beautiful day here in Geneva. I finally snapped a photo of my favorite billboard ad I see on the walk to work each morning:

Loosely translated:
Guy on left: "I eat butter."
Guy (or probable steroid user) on right: "I don't."
"Butter. The rest isn't natural."

Fabulous.

On a side note, I definitely want to thank Alex Ross, not only for his mention of this blog in the latest issue of the New Yorker, but much more importantly for his upbeat and critical assessment of the state of classical music and it's true potential in our modern age. It's such an exciting time to be making music - scary, yes, for I think there are a number of questions about where we will actually end up, but this is a subject for another day. Meanwhile, I've got notes to juggle: while I may not be able to boast of tossing 5 rings of fire in the air simultaneously while standing on one foot, or juggling endless loads of laundry with the creation 7 peanut butter sandwiches (some with jelly, some without), my brain does seem to be attempting a similar 'virtual' feat these days, so "thanks, Mom" for the example!

Photos:
*Statue from Parc de Bertrand, just around the block from where I'm staying
*Park bench from Parc des Bastiens, in front of the Opera House
*Billboard ad, Avenue de Champel, and various other stratgic places in Switzerland, I imagine
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Thursday, October 11, 2007

Straussian Splendor & Lists

It seems like just yesterday, but in fact, it was months ago that I first walked in Herr Oktavian's shoes, and I miss him!! Just in time for the melancholy to settle in, New York's radio station, 96.3 WQXR FM will broadcast one of our performances recorded live in June from the San Francisco Opera this Saturday, October 13 at 1:00 pm, Eastern Standard Time. I haven't heard it, yet, so your guess is as good as mine if I was "on" that day or not, but I can promise that I gave it everything I had! (If you don't live in the Big Apple, you can listen via their web site anywhere in the world!) I'll personally be attending a Flamenco Festival here in Geneva, so I will have to stay in my current world of Handelian bliss and leave Strauss as a souvenir for the moment!

However, I can tell you that having the chance to hear Soile Isokowski, Miah Persson, and Kristinn Sigmundsson in the leading roles is an event NOT to be missed, and that's not even taking into account the spectacular playing of the orchestra under Donald Runnicle's baton. Oh, I miss them all!

The other loose end is to thank everyone who took the time to vote for me for the "Gramophone Artist of the Year". I extend hearty congratulations to Julia Fischer for taking home the prize, and if you're interested in seeing how each country voted, you can click here. (Needless to say I send up a big "shout out" to the US of A and Italy!!) In all sincerity, I completely get the old adage of "it's an honor just to be nominated", for when I look at the other names on the list, I am taken quite aback.

And so it's back to the piano for a bit more work on Ariodante; we are full steam into rehearsals, which means adapting ornaments to the staging, adapting preconceived ideas of the character, and discovering a true masterpiece. Not a bad day's work!

Photos: Leonardo Vordoni
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Monday, January 1, 2007

Happy New Year!

We’re driving from Kansas City to Houston: nearly 800 miles ahead of us, and it’s a bit like driving down Memory Lane, literally, as I’ve made this trip so many times over the past few years, whether going back and forth to college countless times at Wichita State University, or moving to Houston for the first time in a huge moving van packed to the rafters. It’s rather appropriate to be making a sentimental trip now, as it’s time to ring in the New Year, which naturally means a time of reflection, and for this I say, “Bring it on!” I arrived at the end of December feeling quite tired, and it finally dawned on me why: a complete new recital to the start off the year, revivals of the demanding and draining role, Dajanira, four new, extensive (and exhilarating!) roles back to back, with a ‘little’ recording (of nearly all new material!) thrown into the mix, adding in the thrill of a wedding and the agony of a huge personal loss – what a year!


(Celebrating with Leo and Simon, my manager)

I’ve had a big epiphany at the end of all this, (as I love to use the calendar as a welcome time of contemplation), and it’s a really good one. Through the demanding schedule, the extremely limited time at home, having to turn down dinner invitations because I need to study, not seeing my new husband for nearly 4 months straight, and dealing with the loss of my Father essentially all on my own, I found myself asking, “is this career worth it?” and, “Why do I put myself in the position of sacrificing so much of my life, singing for people I don’t know, in a world where the priorities of this ‘high art’ seem to be shifting in what could be an alarming direction?”

Big questions! The answer: because I truly love it and I believe in it.

I can’t flip the calendar forward 25 years and say that I’ll always feel this way, but at the conclusion of this year, 2006, I believe it more than ever. This career has showered me with innumerable opportunities: to travel and learn about the world and some of its diverse cultures, to work with brilliant talents and minds, to breathe life into the work of the greatest composers the world has ever known, to grant me the opportunity to explore at a deep level every imaginable emotion (and then some) we humans experience, teaching me at every step along the way, to be able to touch people, and communicate with them, helping open doors to their worlds for a few hours at a time. It’s a bit overwhelming, to tell the truth. This past stay in Paris has been a particularly difficult period for me, but looking back, having the incredible opportunity to sing through so many of the emotions I was dealing with personally, well it’s a lot cheaper than visit to a therapists office on 5th Avenue!

The bottom line is that I can look back on 2006 with great joy and gratitude for having experienced and ascertained so many different things, for having met so many wonderful, generous people, and at the end of the day, for having SURVIVED!


(A definite personal highlight: eloping with Leonardo!
Who does that?!?!)

My professional highlights:

*What a THRILL to sing for the Wigmore audience my one-off recital about Venice, a program I had been dreaming about doing for years, and finally the timing was just perfect to bring it to life. I was quite honored that they recorded it and that its release is being received very well! What a complete joy to sing for the Wigmore Audience!

*It was an incredible gift to revisit Dajanira again, and it wasn’t until reworking the mad scene at BAM that I felt I finally could sing it as I wanted to. (Which is another lesson in performing a role a number of times and letting it ‘season’ over time – I’m a BIG proponent of that!) I also found that because I knew the role much more intimately, I had to do less and less to achieve more effect: as the old motto continues to hold true, “LESS IS MORE!”

*MY FIRST SESTO! What can I say about this role? My perspective is quite interesting as I just finished a run of Idamante’s in Paris, and it is a role which is honestly at the very bottom of the list of roles I prefer to sing. I do think that Idomeneo is the superior opera, all things considered, but in my opinion the role of Sesto is unsurpassed in Mozart’s offerings for the mezzo. It was a great joy to finally sing the arias I had used numerous times in auditions in the context of the opera, and not surprisingly I found it to be an unparalleled joy to sing.

*¡PASIÓN! Three draining, exhausting, adrenalin-filled days recording this disc in the hills of the tiny, provincial Spanish town of Jafra, pushing ourselves amidst the intoxicating rhythms of Monstalvatge, De Falla, and company, and loving every minute of it! With the exception, maybe, of one track, I just adore every single selection on this disc, and having the chance to put my stamp on these pieces was an immense pleasure.

*MY FIRST CENDRILLON! Words are hard to come by to describe the experience of learning this role, and having the privilege of performing it in Laurent Pelly’s dazzling production in the magical setting of Santa Fe with such an outstanding cast, full or heart and soul. It was an enormous challenge for me, as it was my first serious French role, and I had my work cut out for me with not only the vast amounts of French, but also the dramatic vocal turn the role took as it progressed. It stretched me in many ways, and gave me memories to last a lifetime!


*MY FIRST COMPOSER! I had real reservations going into this role. I had been consumed with preparing Cendrillon, and the performances took so much of my energy that my preparation for Strauss’s naïve Komponist seemed to be way too slow. I had also been listening to the consummate artist, Tatiana Troyanos, a great deal, and I was thinking, “I just can’t do this role justice. I won’t be ready. I just can’t sing it like her.” (Another reason I’m not a big fan of relying on recordings to learn roles!) I even warned my manager, “Simon, I don’t know about this one…I don’t feel good about it. Maybe you shouldn’t come.” But I buckled down, kept myself at the piano, slowly pouring through it, and working very hard on the German. I arrived for the first rehearsals, and the memory wasn’t coming, the music hadn’t clicked into place for me, and I was feeling very far from the core of the role – something that is quite unusual for me, truth be told. But I kept working…and kept working. And BAM, I arrived one day for rehearsal, and it had clicked. I called it the “Strauss Click” where it just all of a sudden makes perfect sense, and could not possibly be set any other way. It was a beautiful day. And from that point on, I was able to revel in this character, and I completely fell in love with him. I hope I will have more opportunities to sing his anthem to music over the years, but in the meantime, my appetite is more than whetted for the coming Octavian!

I’ve worked with extraordinary colleagues in these productions, (as well with a few challenging ones), but over all, they have inspired me, pushed me, motivated and supported me, and as always, I have learned so much from them all. We’ve shared delicious meals, stimulating conversations, a few fabulous cocktails, and many great jokes. There has been personal tragedy along the way for many of us, and this remarkable family, spread out over many countries, time zones and languages, always pulls together and lets you know you are not alone.

Over all it has been a remarkable year. In a dream encounter over the summer I was able to meet one of my lifetime heroes, George Brett (the Hall of Fame Third Basemen who led the Kansas City Royals to their only World Series Victory in 1985!), and I took the liberty to ask him how he pushed himself to keep growing, even when he was already at the top of his profession. He answered with real fire in his eyes, betraying his fierce, unrelenting competitive nature, and said, “I was never satisfied. At the end of the season I never looked back at how great I had done, I looked back with the question of what I could have done better, and set goals for myself for the coming season of what I wanted to improve upon.” This, my friends, was the secret to his excellence. So in looking forward, I can say I have a healthy set of goals facing me:


*I return to my well-worn roles of Cenerentola and Rosina, but this time in high-profile AMERICAN venues, and I want to sing these roles better than I ever have, in more idiomatic Italian, with more fire and brilliance in the phrasing, and with ever more truthful characterization.

*I take on my second major recital tour in a program I ADORE, and I want to devour it with great passion and joy, bringing some lesser known works to audiences, as well as finding more and more ease and comfort on the challenging recital stage.

*I jump into the trousers of my first Octavian, a real trek up the Mount Everest of mezzo roles, and I want to bring a fierce, unbridled energy and freshness to this irresistible character, all enveloped in a real honesty and exuberance.

*I tackle my first Ariodante in Geneva, and I want SO much for this role, it’s hard to put into words. I find that Handel is the most challenging and informing of composers, and it is such an incredible journey and JOY to sing his music – it will surely feel like ANOTHER hike up Mount Everest, which means I’ll be in great shape by the end of the year! It will be a tremendous amount of work, but I’m ready for it.

*My first real, bonafide, legitimate, GENUINE vacation in…I don’t know how many years. It looks like it will be a safari somewhere exotic, but the final details need to be ironed out. I cannot WAIT to be thrust into an environment completely void of anything resembling a vocal score! I will work very hard in the time surrounding it, but I will work VERY hard at letting completely down to recover and regroup! It will be paradise!

The final word I’ll say about 2006, with all its challenges and setbacks, disappointments and successes, encounters and near-misses:


I met Johnny Depp!

I wish each and every one of you every imaginable blessing for the coming New Year, full of health, contentment, peace and JOY, and I thank you for all of your support and enthusiasm over the past year!

Here’s to life!
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Monday, June 13, 2005

Not in Kansas Anymore


Talk about your change of scenery! Last I wrote I was in the upper Midwest in Chamber Music Heaven -- now? I am in Milan, Italy and my temporary apartment is situated just above Via Montenapoleone, perhaps the most famous (and possibly dangerous) shopping street in the world: home to Gucci, Versace, D&G and all the rest! Honestly? It's not a place I would call very 'homey', but for the next 5 weeks, I'll have the challenge of making it just that! I've had quite a busy time since Minnesota, and in a way, it sums up what my life as an singer encompasses.

My time back in Kansas City flew by, as it always seems to do, with never enough hours in the day to accomplish all I need to do with those few, precious hours actually in my home. Lots of family to see, lots of friends to catch up on, music to prepare, and thanks to my air conditioning breaking down in my car, 4 different trips to the mechanic to achieve an actual CURE for the cooling system! I also continued the painting project in my loft, and I'm happy to say that the final brush was cleaned out just in time to pack for my 3 ½ months abroad in Europe this summer! (The scraping of the baseboards will have to wait until I get back in the fall!)

I kicked off my marathon tour here in Europe with a challenging concert in Halle, the birthplace of Handel, and the host to a very vivid and busy Handel Festival each year. To sing some of Handel's great masterpieces in the Festival was indeed an honor. Among a mixture of arias and duets, it was my debut performing 'Ariodante' arias, singing "Dopo notte" and "Scherza infida" in public for the first time, and it was just enough of a taste to really excite me for when I will be able to perform the entire role on stage. It is quite a masterpiece! I must say, however, that this was a tough job. It seemed to be about everything else, rather than simply making music, and that is a tough position to be in when your goal is to move the audience emotionally through this music. Instead, it seemed to be about a lot of other things. (Side note: in defense of singers who sometimes make demanding requests: While I fully admit there needs always to be rationality and balance at play, often those demands are requested to keep the musician's mind on doing their job -- making music. I find that in instances where I need to do the jobs of other people, I arrive at the concert or performance with a great deal of difficulty trying to focus simply on the music at hand -- and this can be a great source of frustration.) This was one such experience. However, as they say, "the show must go on", and indeed it did, and in the end I think we did make beautiful music -- I just want you to know it's not always an easy path to forge! However, if you are anywhere near Germany, keep an eye out for it on your National Television, as we were filmed for broadcast! As soon as I hear of a broadcast date, I'll let you know!

Then I repacked my 2 enormous suitcases and headed towards Milan, ready for the next adventure. And it is La Scala, which naturally means adventures are waiting to be had! It is a theater which functions as no other I have ever witnessed. As is typical of this house, the second cast begins rehearsing (the first cast is generally allowed to show up quite late into the process), and we work very intensely and cohesively. The talk immediately turns to 'when are your performances?', and of course, no one REALLY knows. La Scala has the rather exasperating practice of delaying the doling out of information to the artist, instead, choosing to hold their exact plan of action very close to the vest. Luckily, I discovered all of this on my first trip to this theater 4 years ago, and I find that I can take it a bit more in stride this time around; however, not being able to set your pacing in rehearsals for your opening creates an incredible challenge. For example, we, as the second cast, have no idea of how many orchestra rehearsals we will be given, if any, and if or when we might get stage rehearsal time; how in the world do you gauge yourself in the rehearsal room with only the piano, not knowing when your next run-thru of the piece will be? It just possibly could be 12 days from now in front of a packed house at perhaps the most famous opera house in the world! You just never know.


The good thing to take from this, is that I approach each rehearsal now very seriously, singing nearly everything, and mentally preparing myself for my opening, whenever it may be. This kind of training, to my mind, is invaluable, as I attribute the majority of the success or failure of a given performance to one's mental preparation. I also treasure the collaborative time with my cast -- we are given the chance to really create a cohesive ensemble which will have a lot of chemistry come the opening night. Personally, I am not a fan of the 'add water and stir' approach to opera, and so I highly value this quiet time the seconda compagnia gets to slowly create our own version of Cenerentola!

It is definitely a challenge to stay focused on the task at hand, and to keep from being pulled into the many machinations which are simply put, out of your control. It is a juggling act. While balancing on a very tight wire. Singing. That is why after a concert such as in Halle, and a first week of tough rehearsals, I will be thrilled to get in front of the audience again, and just make music.
Even if it is on a high wire.
Juggling.
While singing a lot of fast notes!
Let the games begin!

(photos: Relaxing at Lake Como; In front of the coveted La Scala Poster for Cenerentola)
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