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!)

Gratitude - Day 8

I'm grateful for actually being able to celebrate someone's birthday on their actual birthday-day!

Normally I miss all the big occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, bar mitzvahs, you name it) and so to be a part of the celebration in a non-belated fashion is a real treat. It was also a nice way for our cast to have a final outing before heading our separate ways on Thursday. The gathering was at "Carosello", and if you're ever in Geneva, I can't recommend their pizza enough - particularly the "Pecorino/Rucola" pizza.

In the meantime, "Happy Birthday, girls" - it has been a joy sharing these long, 8 weeks together!

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"!)

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:

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)

Gratitude Journal - Day 1

So in a risky move, I am going to mix two of my cyber worlds even more, and post more pictures from my photo blog here on my 'whatever this is' blog. In theory, however, they do cross-polinate in a way, so I should be OK with the CBP (Cyber-Blog-Police).

I know I'm not alone in this (at least I pray I am not) but for all the travelling musicians out there, life on the road can be quite difficult. Don't misunderstand me - I am well aware that I am not shoveling coal for a living, or doing hard labor under a scorching sun for $.48 a day -- I am without question living out a dream, and I'm well aware of that each and every day. But I'm also aware that my lifestyle challenges me on many, many levels: how to maintain balance in my professional and personal life (HA!), how to navigate through the pressures of new roles and openings and constant demands on your time and energy and talent, how to keep perspective amongst the pursuit of perfection and idealistic, unreachable goals, all the time being good to your psyche, knowing you'll never reach that utopian perfection you strive for, etc. I found years ago that it all comes down to what I choose to see, what elements of this life I choose to focus on: the good or the bad.

Since coming to this realization, I've been successful more often than not in focusing on the positive, but God knows there are still periods of true difficulty and struggle in this business, and through those ghastly moments, we still have to breathe in and "turn it on" for a public that deserves our everything and, rightly so, could not care less about how hard it was for us to get into makeup and warm up that particular night. I consider it a LARGE part of my job to keep healthy mentally so that these difficult moments happen less and less. (In part, it's wishful thinking, I know, but it's my goal!)

In a slightly unrelated topic, for the moment only, I've recently taken up a hobby of amateur photography, relishing how it takes me out of the world of music for a moment or two, but how it also fulfills part of my desire for art and beauty. I've got loads to learn still, but here's the beautiful part -- I'm not a pro, so I don't have to be perfect or brilliant! I was thinking recently, "what do I actually want to do with my photos?" I don't HAVE to do anything, but then again, that's not exactly my nature -- my mind is often going in the direction of, "what do I hope to accomplish with this", as I tend to be a bit result-oriented! Well, last night, I hit on it: I can use photos not only as a way to chronicle my travels, but I can use it as a type of "diary of gratitude". (I think I may be stealing this idea in some form from Oprah!!!) I know it sounds horribly cheesy, but I have found that when I start thinking about looking through a lens to capture a moment in time, I look very differently at the world around me - my observation takes on a much deeper, slow-motion quality, and I LOVE that! I thought, if I can attempt to take ONE photo a day, to show something that I am grateful for or something that brings beauty into my life, then my search for balance and perspective will surely have a better chance for success!

So, that's a big prouncement, and considering my procrastinating tendancy, I will STRIVE to make this a "365 day" project, but you know, I will give myself a lot of latitude on that front -- it sounded like a great idea at 4:00 am this morning, we'll see how I feel about it in 2 months!

So, my first submission:


"Opening night rose"
I think Geneva florists must do some of the most beautiful arrangements in the world. This is from opening night of "Ariodante" here in Geneva, and the colors in this bouquet are amazing!

"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

"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

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

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

I'm neutral now

Welcome to Geneva! This is my 3rd long stay in the lovely city, and this means an air of 'coming home' wafts about it, which is always welcome in my line of work. I know the grocery stores, I have my favorite Boulangeries, and the cost of things no longer sends me into cardiac arrest, for I know what to expect to pay for a measly "Coca Light"!

There are 2 things I love about being here: first, the crosswalks. Pedestrians are nearly worshipped here, for when one saunters across any of the numerous cross walks, EVERY car politely STOPS! No impatience, no gunning of the engine -- you just WALK! It's so civilized and decidely SWISS! I would like to thank all the courteous drivers for the stress-free walk to work each day!

The second thing I love, (at least for the first part of my stay): the quiet. The calm. The tranquility. The ease of life. Geneva sometimes gets a bad rap for being 'boring', but again, when you keep a rather hectic schedule, there is something calming and rejuvenating about being able to relax in clean air and beautiful surroundings. It gives you time to do inane things such as watch the following:



This was sent courtesy of a beautiful singer in San Francisco -- thanks, darlin'!

ENJOY!

Digesting Sesto

Before I jump into my latest entry here, let me warn you that the following may not be very pretty, folks! If you aren’t used to being around singers much, you’ll probably be shocked to learn how freely (and sometimes joyfully) we talk about certain bodily functions considered taboo to the rest of society; it’s not at all unusual for us to have a very civilized and dignified conversation about the color of our mucus (yellow = good, green = bad), or to what degree the acid reflux affected so and so, or how a certain food played havoc on one’s digestive system. You see, our instrument doesn’t just involve two little pieces of gristle, which vibrate to produce sound on any given note – au contraire, my friends. To produce a listenable tone requires quite nearly everything in a singer’s body: back muscles, lungs, diaphragm, firmly planted legs, balance, not to mention a sense of relaxation over all the tension producing mechanics that occur, just to highlight a few things. The bulk of the ‘work’ feels as if it’s happening in the torso, or the core of your body, for you pilates fans out there.

Now, imagine if you will, your entire digestive tract (housed in aforementioned torso) being in a state of complete and utter state of distress, and with each breath you take in, a slight sense of panic fills you. This, dear friends, is how I debuted the role of Sesto here in Geneva 4 nights ago. I can completely and indisputably state for the record that I never, ever wish to sing in this state again, nor could I ever wish it on a single one of my colleagues. It was horrible.

Now, why do I bring this up? I’ll admit, it’s not a very pretty topic to bring up, and I’m sure it would be easier reading to only say what a huge success it was, etc. However, I walked away from that performance with two enormous pieces of knowledge – two things that I have always felt were incredibly vital to a career, but this was the first time I truly had to put it into practice; and my purpose for writing about it, is that in case there are any younger singers out there who want to know what it takes to have a career, these are two of the finest pearls of wisdom I can offer:

*Consistently rehearse in a completely committed and full manner.
*Be certain your technique is working for you.

My body was not up to the task of singing particularly brilliantly on my opening night; however, it knew exactly what to do because I had engrained into my muscles and into my ‘psyche’ the role. As a result, the manner in which I rehearsed carried me through those 2 ½ hours. Had I not prepared as thoroughly as I did, I’m certain I would have been MUCH more nervous about my physical state, and would not have arrived at the end in one piece. I also knew that vocally I had worked out the problem areas, and I had a confidence that I knew even if I wasn’t 100%, my voice would respond strictly out of muscle memory. It certainly wasn’t any kind of miracle or magical force that carried me through – it was simple fundamentals, and I’m so relieved to know that I could lean on those basic, essential tools.

I wish I could take credit for that philosophy, but I definitely owe my having learned it to several folks:

George Gibson, my first Opera Instructor and true mentor. He preached many things, but one of the fundamentals was always the discipline of preparation. (That, as well as the old adage, “Less is more, Sweetie!”)

Judy Christin, whom I first had the privilege to watch work when I was an apprentice in Santa Fe. She was rehearsing the role of _____ (now it escapes me), but it was a comic part with a lot of dialogue and dancing and singing, and to this day remains one of the funniest performances I’ve ever seen on a stage!! I was in the chorus, and we were constantly called to rehearsal, so we were ‘forced’ to stay on the sidelines while many of the principals rehearsed their scenes. It was such a gift to watch her work. Before we got onto the actual stage, we worked in a rehearsal space where things like steps and walls weren’t available to us, and I will never forget that each time Judy did her scene where she was to walk down a few steps in her long gown, she would hold up her rehearsal skirt and mime walking down the steps – every single solitary time she did that. Spot on. She never did it halfway. It was such a tiny thing, but she rehearsed every single element of her role in that manner, and as a result, when she stepped on for opening night, she had already accounted for any and all interference, and without fail she would steal the show from the actual “leads” each and every single night. I will never forget her example, and while I certainly don’t replicate it as well as she did (I’m usually too busy cracking jokes in rehearsal!), her lesson stays firmly with me.

Steve Smith, my trusted teacher. One of the first things he said to me in our lesson was “my goal is to get you OUT of my studio”. (If only all teachers thought in this way!) And the only way to do that was to have a solid technique that would serve you well under any condition. I continue to work on the fundamentals of technique all the time (like watching a basketball player practice his free throws, I practice my nee-nay-nah-noh-noo’s religiously.) But it really does give me a sense of freedom when I arrive on the stage.

So, all this having been said, and delicate stomachs aside, I thoroughly enjoyed having the privilege of singing Mozart’s music on opening night. I could be quite misled, but it certainly seems to me that Mozart had a special place in his heart for Sesto, as I don’t think he wrote a single extraneous note for him. And the second act aria, “Deh per questo” is a pure masterpiece. Period. We also have a fantastic cast assembled here, (Anna Caterina Antonacci is FIERCE singing her first Vitellia), and the production of Yannis Kokkos is beautiful to be a part of: simple, elegant, and enables the focus to stay on the singers and the intimate nature of this piece. It’s a joy.


(Photo: With the brilliant and genuinely beautiful Yannis Kokos)

Meanwhile, I have a PILE of music stacked up on my piano, with very little energy between shows to work as intensely as I need to on it, as our shows are every other day here. But, it’s all glorious: a stack of brilliant Spanish music for a recording that is 3 weeks away, Cendrillon – which I’m falling in love with each passing day, recital music for Kansas City, and that behemoth of roles clutching at my brain, Octavian. It’s just over a year away and I know that I’ll need every second I can get on it! (Not to mention preparing my one and only Fenena for quick concerts in 2 weeks!)

So my head is swimming with notes and languages, but I’m MORE than happy to say that at least it’s no longer my stomach!

From Madness to Mozart

For those of you keeping track, I am now, officially, at the halfway point of my 4-month long excursion overseas! So far, my Martha Stewart-inspired packing job is serving me well, apart from a newly torn pair of jeans (thanks to a day of staging Dejanira’s mad scene), and I think I may just make it to the end! However, after having spent 2 (TWO!) months in various hotels, getting into an actual apartment here in Geneva felt like winning the lottery! Each time I start a new job, it usually means a new apartment, and there is always a sense of dread as to whether or not it will be clean, stocked, manageable, and perhaps, hopefully, as a bonus: comfortable. I would say I luck out about 60% of the time; the rest of the time I try to simply grin and bear it. However, this time I’ve lucked out – a piano, BBC, lots of light, and (best of all) REAL VIRGIN OLIVE OIL direct from the owner’s B&B in Tuscany! The very first thing I did was to rip open a loaf of crusty bread and tear into that green aromatic heaven!! Just what a tired body and soul needs to get recharged!

I’ve arrived here to begin my very first attempt at the role of Sesto in La Clemenza di Tito. Back in 1995 I first learned the aria “Parto, Parto” for my apprenticeship in Santa Fe. It was an incredibly difficult undertaking at the time, and I know that I was simply trying to stay afloat with it for quite a while. It’s been in my head for over 10 years, (as well as his second aria) and I have been ANXIOUSLY awaiting the chance to actually turn those tiny nuggets of music into a real flesh and blood character. Finally, I’m getting that chance, and it just feels incredible. Is there one single excessive note in this score?

I have been very relieved to see that the production could be truly stunning and incredibly moving, as the director has such a deep and loving approach to these characters and to telling the story simply, yet compellingly, always in accord with the music that Mozart gave us; and the conductor seems to be a superior musician eager to use the music to theatrical effect. (Yannis, the director, began as a set and costume designer, and found himself drawn more and more to opera; his approach to making contemporary audiences engage completely with these ‘old stories’, is to keep a modern look at them, but always in conjunction with the music – I think his approach is completely on the money.) It feels wonderful to walk into a staging and have my ideas of the character be very much on the same page as every other person in the room. It’s not always the case, and I find that it makes me feel much more free to risk and attempt a lot of different options for the character, which I think is essential to fleshing out the details of the dialogue and the character’s sub-text.


(Photo: rehearsing with Anna Caterina Antonacci as Vitelia)

It is a huge help when you’re putting a character on its feet for the first time to have the support of everyone in the rehearsal room; the image of a newborn calf or colt taking it’s first steps is the most perfect illustration for what I feel like in the first days of staging for a new role: I’m incredibly self-conscious of trying things out, of taking emotions too far – or not far enough, of missing lines, or of simply over singing in the excitement. It feels like you’re falling down, over and over! But I do think one of the lessons I’m learning about the rehearsal process (which I love), is that the sooner you can start to risk things, the sooner you’ll find something very real and multi-layered. I simply adore the challenge.

There is no doubt that Clemenza is a masterpiece, and that Sesto is one of the most tortured characters in opera. There is a big discussion as to whether he is weak or not, and I can’t wait to search for the answer. **I think the fact is that he may appear weak in certain situations in the opera, but I’m quite certain that if I approach him as weak, my characterization will fall apart completely. After the first week of rehearsal (and over 10 years of singing his arias), I don’t think he’s weak AT ALL: I think he’s blinded by passion, completely torn between loyalty to the friend and ruler that he loves, and the woman that he loves.** I can’t wait to find out what happens.


(Photo: the owners of the best pizza shop in Geneva, AND they stay open late -- a real rarity in this town!)

If you’ll forgive me, I would like to also say one final thing about Dejanira, and my Hercules experience. It was quite funny, in a way, to sing this role in London so quickly after my appearance there in January as Rosina, in a role and production about as COMPLETELY OPPOSITE as you could possibly find. For me, it wasn’t any kind of special feat to pull off two such different roles, as I love them both and tried to do my best with each of them, but to people who have only seen me in one capacity, i.e. the “perky Rosina”, I could tell there was a bit of confusion on their faces. I’m sorry if it’s confusing, but I have to tell you, it’s deliberate on my part, and I LOVE it. I think there is a very dangerous trend in Opera (as well as in showbusiness, for example), where people are entirely too quick to put people into a tiny little box, and say “this is what X does.” And then before we know it, it’s the gospel truth. I think it’s so wrong. I RELISH singing such varied roles and varied styles of music, and the more I do it, the more convinced I am that the modern pieces I’ve sung INFORM the Rossini that I do, which informs the Mozart I sing, which informs absolutely everything else I do. I feel it makes me a stronger musician, and feeds my artistic curiosity. I don’t know that I sing everything perfectly and totally in the ‘correct’ style, whatever that means, but I DO know it feeds my need to stretch and explore and pursue different experiences. (I just saw Capote last night with the extraordinary Phillip Seymour Hoffman. What a shattering, perfectly crafted portrayal from an actor who CAN absolutely inhabit such a wide variety of characters. What a model of an artist who risks, and categorically refuses to be put into a tiny, repressive box!)

When my management first took me on in 1998, one of the very first things Simon and I talked about was that Rossini would probably be my ticket into a number of theaters. But we were VERY aware of the fact that if we only pursued the Rossini roles, my career would be very limited and short lived. (And that’s not even taking into account my desire and love of performing varied roles and repertoire.) It was a very conscious career decision from the start, and one I’m thrilled to be living. One goal that I have, is that when people come to the theater and see a performance of mine, they will sit down in the seat, take out their opera glasses and say, “I wonder what this is going to be like.” I can absolutely guarantee you that some of the time I’ll hit the bull’s-eye, some of the time I’ll miss the mark by a mile, some of the time it will be to some people’s taste, and other times not – but I’ll always give it everything I have, and in the end, I’m sure every experience will inform my artistic growth. For the time being, I’m in this for the long haul, which means I want every outing on the stage to teach me something and enlighten my development as an artist.

That all sounds very grand and a bit put-on I’ll admit, but it really is how I feel. The bottom line is also that I LOVE inhabiting such a wide range of characters, situations and musical languages. Certainly Dejanira will long be remembered in my mind as a cornerstone of my career in so many ways, and I was very sad to close the show, to say goodbye to all the extraordinary musicians around me, to the beautiful music, and walk away. But here’s the beautiful thing: I’m walking into Mozart’s Clemenza – actually sounds like heaven to me!