Showing posts with label Metropolitan Opera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Metropolitan Opera. 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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Tuesday, April 10, 2007

"La Maja de Kansas " -El Pais


(Photo: Ken Howard; Metropolitan Opera)

8 down, 2 more to go. Is it July, yet? I’m getting there! Someone told me a few weeks ago that there was definitely a light shining brilliantly at the end of this long, concentrated tunnel, and while I still may not actually see it’s welcome ray of relief, I sense the darkness is somehow giving way slowly, but SURELY! I’m counting on it. Now, because my seat on the train is facing backwards, lending itself towards a sense of nostalgia, let’s work that way as well:

Last night I stood in front of a near-capacity crowd in Madrid singing the great (and I do mean GREAT) songs of their Masters, selling myself as a “Maja dolorosa”, and it was quite nearly one of the most intimidating things I have ever attempted! I knew it was quite an astute audience, and a simple caricature of my “idea of a Spaniard” just wouldn’t cut it here (nor anywhere, of course!). I did trust very much in my passion for this music and in my feeling for it, but knowing I was daring to walk in the hallowed grounds of Teresa Berganza and Victoria de los Angeles (one of my true idols), hesitation gripped my throat just a bit in wondering if they would get any of the words or not, if they would find my presentation genuine, and if they would be accepting of my contribution to ‘their’ music. Nerves crept into my head a bit as I inverted the odd phrase here and there, inventing several words that I can only pray did not have a ring of “Taco Bell” about them, but overall I did my best to embrace every syllable and evocative emotion. The result? I can’t say that it was my most carefree performance to date, but I gave it everything I had, and throughout the evening they gave me a reception muy caliente, calling for 3 encores in the end. Few “Brava’s” have meant as much to me as those I heard after the de Falla and Montsalvatge pieces – truly, words to be cherished!

Previous to Madrid, it has been quite a dense and fulfilling tour. It was most special to sing a recital in Paris; as I said during the concert, I have always considered Paris my “European home”, as it was here that I really got my big breaks on the operatic stage, and I have had the opportunity to sing so many varied and rewarding projects there. The time had come to sing a recital for this warm public, and seeing so many friends and longtime supporters attend was such a gift to me.

Amsterdam was such a thrill, I cannot say. (But, naturally, I shall try!) The recital hall there must truly be one of the best (if not the greatest) in the world: it pulsates with a profound history and significance that cannot be feigned, and from the walls the unmistakable sense of a rich and noble legacy bleeds through each nook and cranny. I found myself overwhelmed with tears as privately I took my 30 minutes to warm up and feel out the space: to find yourself completely alone at a piano, ready to make music in such a hallowed space is an experience never to be taken for granted and always to be cherished. Wow. And that was even before the public arrived! Happily, they welcomed me with the warmest of Dutch arms and I was reminded once again of what a distinctive, extraordinary city Amsterdam is!


(The Concertgebouw)

What can possibly be said about the experience of singing on the stage of the Wigmore Hall in fair London Town? Yes, the hall is magnificent, if only for that grand dome alone; however, it is certainly the audience that furnishes the air of magic and possibility. Such a thing can never be manufactured and certainly it is rare, for they engage so directly in the performance, that a true duet is performed between artist and listener. The silent, electric hush that settles over the hall when the quietest passage is being sung intoxicates me beyond words. I think I told them I felt as if I was having a mad love affair with them – don’t tell my husband!


(The famed "Wigmore Hall Dome", cradled high above the stage, working it's accoustical magic)

Speaking of my husband, let’s talk about Moscow! Maestro Leonardo Vordoni and I made our debut concert together as the “Maestro and Mezzo Show” on April 3 in Moscow. I had chills as my plane touched down, for the thought that I could pass freely into Moscow and perform for this eager public in what was once a cold war enemy to my country dumbfounded me. What an experience to see such a colossal change in our lifetime. Now as I’ve said before, I try not to make this journal too weighted with things personal, as there is rightly another diary for that; however I cannot help but brag about what a fabulous job my husband did bringing Handel, Mozart and Rossini to a Russian Orchestra, eliciting them to play with real style and life. I know I’m duly biased, however, he was beautiful to watch and to make music with. It just flowed out of him. We made the very easy and singular decision early on that we would not entwine our professional and private lives more than we ever felt comfortable doing, and as a young conductor, it is the only option for him to start his career completely on his own and not ‘via’ my career (which is one of the gazillion reasons of why I love him!), however, this was a golden opportunity on which to capitalize and I’m so happy we did. I was just so very proud of him, and found him a brilliant conductor to make music with. Bravo, Amore Mio!!!


(Celebrating in Red Square -- what beautiful thing to be able to do!)

And finally, my bid for the Academy Award (eh hem!): As I flew home HIGH as the Russian Space Station from the final performance of Rosina at the MET, transmitted live across the world via radio and screen, I knew I should have sat down then and there to chronicle the events of the day; but as I said, I was simply too high. Melancholy actually set in not too long after the final cut-off, for it was hard not to think: “Well, that’s it then. That’s as good as it will ever get!” But I absolutely choose not to think in that direction. Instead, I choose to celebrate every single thing that brought me to that moment in time, and as fate would have it, most of those ‘things’ had purchased tickets to watch the show! I made a few phone calls as I was getting into makeup (my brother was pulling into the parking lot of the packed theater in Seattle, a sister was tailgating with girlfriends in KC, a friend was running late in Houston, and a husband, almost more nervous than I was gave me the pep talk of a life), but those nerves I felt were quickly settled by knowing that so many supporters were cheering us on from every corner imaginable. The buzz backstage was off the charts, as every cog in the MET wheel was set on hyper-alert, and we singers were all doing our best to not let the nips and tucks, notes and tweaks, cameras, microphones and overall frenetic chaos infiltrate our concentration.


(with John Relyea, Juan Diego Florez, and Peter Mattei)

From the opening chords of the overture I can usually tell what kind of show it is going to be, and I knew right from the start of this particular trip to Seville that everyone would be on top form, leaving nothing back in the dressing room. It was thrilling to watch my colleagues soar with such prowess, to feel the exhilarating energy from the audience pervade the theater, and to be so completely into the story and into the moment that the ubiquitous presence of those cameras and boom mikes seemed to simply melt away. Magic ensued. The fact that I was performing for so many people in such a larger-than-life way felt, on the one hand, completely natural, and on the other hand, beyond the wildest dream I could have ever dared to visualize. How beautiful to be given a moment such as that: one that united so many of my loved ones across so many miles, one which challenged me as a performer as never before, and one that will live in my memory for so many years to come. Profound gratitude is the only way to describe what I feel.

So, my train is nearly pulling into the land of the exhilarating Jota and of the inspired painter, Goya, and my once invincible laptop battery is drained, so it must be time to say adios. Not only Zaragoza calls, but also, alas, still begging for my attention is that pesky Octavian, not to mention a looming tax deadline (the extension has now become a celebrated ritual!), and the myriad other things that tend to eternally hover on my to-do list! I best get right to it, as I think it’s the only way to witness that burning, brilliant light at the end of this tunnel first hand – I sure hope it was worth waiting for!
Besos!
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Monday, March 5, 2007

"Dear March, come in"

Is it July, yet? How about May? How can it ONLY be the start of March? (However, having said that, thank GOD it’s only the start of March!) I must apologize to all of New York City, for I fear that the high, lusty, gusty winds we're experiencing are strictly the fault of this whirlwind traveling vocalist. Once I catch my breath here, I'm sure they’ll die down! At the close of Saturday night's recital at the thrilling (and I DO mean THRILLING) Spivey Hall in Atlanta, Georgia, I turned to the poor guy opening and closing the stage door for us and nearly screamed, "Remind me NEVER to program 4 recitals in 7 days EVER again!" To which he looked at me quite sheepishly as if to say, "Um. OK. Don’t do that again."

Now mind you, I’m the very first person in line to say that the singer's schedule, repertoire, career, etc. are no one's responsibility but their own. It's far too easy to blame everyone in the world before looking at yourself for answers. So naturally, I'm the one holding the buck for the scheduling of this tour. But starting out earlier meant less time at home, and there wasn't one venue I wanted to omit; so I 'squeezed' the timing a bit. I do have the sensation that I 'squeezed' rather successfully, but I learned a valuable lesson: too much squeezing of the calendar is a dangerous thing if one values their vocal and mental health. Lesson dutifully learned.


(The ice storm cometh!)

With that tired disclaimer on the record, I want to shout from the rooftops that I've had the most extraordinary time with the first part of this tour! (After a run of Rosina’s at the MET, I'll revisit the program in six cities throughout Europe, and I can't WAIT to get back to it.) I began dubbing it the "Power Outage Tour", because at the start in Iowa, we were drenched in hours of freezing rain, followed by inches upon inches of falling snow, all of which led to power failures throughout the entire campus and town. The concert organizers galvanized their resources and gathered countless candles to prepare for the inevitable candlelight concert. Sadly, the power came back on just in time for the program, for I would have loved to have had the experience of singing the program surrounded by burning wicks and dripping wax. Happily, I’m sure the audience was much more comfortable not listening to a vibrato made all too quick from chattering teeth! It was a glorious way to kick off the tour, due to the fervent students and faculty there at Grinnell College.

Washington, DC was next, as I was guest on the prestigious Vocal Arts Society Series. What a warm, knowledgeable, enthusiastic audience. It's one of the only active series in the US that programs strictly vocalists, and I'm thrilled to see their gallant efforts paid off with a sold-out audience jumping to their feet. It also astonished me to feel how much a single program can grow from one concert to the next. I could feel an enormous leap in confidence and command between the two inaugural concerts, solidifying my strong belief for singers to repeat, repeat, and repeat. (And then, yes, repeat it once again.) On a personal note, the beautiful Evelyn Lear, a legendary American soprano and teacher, was in attendance and went out of her way to speak with me at length. She lost her husband last fall, a legendary man in his own right, Thomas Stewart, and both were very supportive and influential in my early years of training in Houston. I was deeply touched by the passion and fortitude she exuded. My heart goes out to her for her loss, and my gratitude is great for her tenacity and directness. I hope all 'young' singers get the chance to talk with some of the legends along the way; I know we are the future and we are moving forward in exciting ways, but we also work in an art form that must never lose the precious links to the past. It is yet another tightrope to walk.


How does one get to Carnegie Hall? Well, I took a taxi. (And I'll admit it: I LOVED saying to the driver, "56th and 7th Avenue, please. That's Carnegie Hall. The artist's entrance, please!") I am quite certain that if my career goes another 10 years or so, I'll still be like a little girl on Christmas morning thinking, "I'm at CARNEGIE HALL!" It is a dream come true, and I'll never pretend otherwise. That having been said, I felt as if I belonged there, and when it came time to warm up and make my entrance, I was there to sing. Weill Hall is the 'small hall', (and yes, you can believe that I vowed to return to the bigger hall next time!), and it dawned on me very quickly that it would be a VERY exposed place to sing – meaning there was no room for error. Looking out into the hall I could see and recognize many faces, knowing all the time that they could hear every single rasp or cheated breath because of the proximity of the seats and the somewhat dry acoustic. That's a most disconcerting feeling for a singer. I think most of us prefer some 'cushion' between the audience and us, either of space, or reverb, or blinding lights. It's astonishing how much more naked you feel in a space like that, both physically and vocally. However, going back a few journal entries, when I spoke about how aiming to be 'right' for an artist is deadly, I quickly took mental hold of my nerves and just went for it. Again, I felt we took another colossal step forward in the artistic content of the program, and that is a tremendous feeling as an artist – knowing that growth is transpiring. The celebration across the street afterwards with my dear friends was the delicious icing on the cake.

By this time in the 'tour', I was exhausted. It's an emotional exhaustion more than anything, but surely the traveling every other day contributes to the rubberband-y feeling in your muscles! But there was one more recital to get through, and I couldn't wait, for everyone in the business was warning me, "You just wait until you get to Spivey Hall. Just WAIT!" Well, the wait was worth it, as it's quite truly a marvel. Maybe it seats 400 people? It's only 15 years old, and yet it already had the feeling of history about it. Maybe it's the hundreds and hundreds of photos of all the great musicians of the past 15 years that drown the hallways with their veneers and strings, or maybe it's just that unspoken magic that ignites itself in the odd, rare hall, but I sensed it immediately. I was also moved to read that the legend himself, Robert Shaw, gave the dedication when the hall opened. ("Spivey Hall is to music what light is to painting," he said.) If my Father had to name one musician that was his all-time favorite, it surely was Maestro Robert Shaw. His recordings of all the great choral music served to announce the Christmas Season for my family (and still does to this day), was played at my Father's funeral, introduced me to the glories of Bach and the soul of the spirituals, haunted me with so many of the great Requiems, and is on the most-played playlist on my ipod. He is the pinnacle of musical genius for me. And here I was in what was more or less 'his' hall. I was honored, to say the very least.


(A sigh of relief shared with Leo, as the first leg of the tour finished up!)

My head is still spinning with thoughts from the past week; so much music is still running rampant and unleashed through my mind with thoughts of what I could do better, how I can find better pacing or make a greater impact, and I’m wondering how it is that music can continue to speak to you with greater force and color when you simply continue to sing the same notes and words over and over again. This must be the magical power of music. The other element that is so clear to me is that the recital platform is perhaps the single, greatest teacher for a singer. You simply cannot fake it. Surely it can be the most intimidating as well, but I feel as if I have learned so much from these four evenings of music. I'm finding that the less I ask to receive from an audience, ("Did you like me?" "Did I sound ok?" "Do you think I'm OK as a singer…as a person?"), the more free I am to simply give.

Coming off the cloud of recital-land, today was the 'first day of school', as we singers sometimes lovingly refer to the first day of rehearsal on a new show. It does sum up the feeling quite well, as you're meeting a whole new class of people, as well as catching up with those you haven't seen for a few productions. It’s wonderful. I found out that for my role debut of Rosina at the Metropolitan Opera, I will see NEITHER the stage NOR the orchestra before my opening night. Gulp. (Insert "singing requires a thick skin" analogy here!) I'm just thrilled that Rosina is a role I know backwards and forwards and that I'm doing it with a world-class cast that I know and adore. As incredibly nerve-wracking as this could be, and while I'm sure the ensemble may have a few intriguing moments, I guarantee that it will be an EXHILARATING night: personally I think an opera like Barbiere benefits from excitement like that, when the singers are on the very tips of their toes, alert and full of anticipation. Naturally I would love a full run-thru in costume with orchestra, etc, but I'm jumping into this with everything I have: it is a true honor to sing Rosina at the Metropolitan Opera and I plan on enjoying every electrifying moment, hiccups and all!

There. You see? If it were May already, I'd be missing out on all that excitement. Happy March, everyone!
"There came a wind like a bugle…"
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Sunday, December 4, 2005

I lost my asterisk


I no longer get an asterisk! When you debut at the Metropolitan Opera House, your name appears on the infamous poster outside the entrance in the Lincoln Center Plaza, and on the ONE and ONLY occasion that is the evening of your debut, you are given a delicate, beautiful, perfectly proportioned asterisk, signaling that you will appear on the stage of the Met for the very first time that evening. My asterisk was for November 2, 2005. It was my one and only shot to have that little star by my name. And I loved it! I had set the goal for myself to find a way to truly enjoy the event, knowing that if I could manage that for myself, the audience might just come along for the ride; and in fact, I think they did. I truly had the time of my life, and will certainly not forget it for quite some time.

Perhaps the best part of the evening was being able to share it with so many beloved people – in some ways it felt as if it was a night more for ‘them’ than for me. As I’ve mentioned before, it takes an enormous amount of support and encouragement along the way for someone to be given the chance to have that asterisk by their name, and during the entire evening of chasing Barbarina and various chorus girls, I felt as if each one of those many people in my life were on the stage with me. Throughout the run I had numerous people make the long trip to share in the experience with me, from my parents, to 2 of my sisters, to my little brother, old school friends (Mark and Robi, hello!), to my college accompanists, several people in the ‘business’ who really took risks with me and gave me incredible opportunities, previous sponsors (now dear friends), so very many special, wonderful people. And even though it felt like a 3 weeklong wedding, it was glorious. I felt very warmly welcomed by the discerning NY Audience, and can guarantee that I will never forget my Asterisk Evening at the Met!


But, it wasn’t all Cherubino for me during NY. 5 days before I was to leave for my first day of rehearsal, back at the end of October, I received a call from my agent, asking if I could get on a plane immediately, learn the staging of the Met’s Cenerentola in a day, and stand by for what was to be it’s opening performance of the season the following evening. I was in the Apple store trying to get my files transferred from my old PC to the new Mac (which I’m still not completely comfortable with!), thinking, “but if I leave KC now, will my computer be ready? can I still get the oil changed in my car? how will I possibly pack for the next 8 months in such a short time? what about my niece’s baptism? how can I get my prescriptions lined up in time? and where is my score of Cenerentola…oh, never mind, I don’t think I need it.” I don’t know that I’ve ever had a more hectic 24 hours. It wasn’t the prospect of jumping into the show that unnerved me (I actually was quite confident I could get through it and enjoy it a lot), but it was the prospect of not having the final 5 days at home to organize my life for the next YEAR. You see, I’m essentially on the road, more or less, roughly until the start of 2007! So that threw me into a bit more of a panic than all those notes Rossini wrote.

However, I just managed to pull it off, and I had a magnificent rehearsal the next day, where all the covers were called in to rehearse with me. I can’t thank them enough – it was probably the last thing they wanted to do on their day off, but they were incredibly supportive and the most generous of colleagues. I had a lovely surprise when I walked into “the office” for that crazy day: I saw on the podium Scott Bergeson, who was my conductor in the Merola performance of Cenerentola back in 1997. It was really phenomenal to walk into a nerve-wracking situation and feel the genuine support of such generous colleagues such as Scott. And you know something? It was an incredibly easy rehearsal, as if we had just sung together last week! I don’t think people that sit in the audience have any idea of the incredible talent that fills the halls and the underground rehearsal spaces there at the Met. There is an unbelievable abundance of people behind the scenes that make that place produce the magic on a nightly basis. My esteem for them is off the charts. In the end, the scheduled singer went on, I had a big dinner with dear friends, enjoyed a Cosmopolitan, (or maybe it was two), and tried to come down off the incredible rush of the previous few days.

But that’s not ALL! In the midst of Nozze rehearsals, I was asked to jump into the new production of Romeo and Juliette, which was a highly anticipated event slated for Natalie Dessay and Ramon Vargas. It’s a role I’ve never sung (and have since retired, in all likelihood!) and I had to think very hard about the energy it would require. Here I was, not yet with that coveted asterisk in my back pocket, and being asked to learn a completely new role for the Met? I definitely didn’t want to risk sacrificing my Cherubino to learn another role, but I was surrounded by incredibly patient and supportive people, and with a few sleepless nights, and a couple of incredibly long days, I did indeed get through, and managed, again, to really enjoy it.

So that was my New York Experience. I left that amazing city bursting with emotions, feeling wholly exhausted, spent by the energy that is New York City, and completely charged at the same time: after all, I had worked hard for that little, perfect, memorable asterisk!



(Photos: Losing my asterisk outside the MET; with my beautiful sister, Amy, my dear friend, Jana, and another of beautiful sisters, Emily, all helping me celebrate surviving the Lion's Den behind us; and with the love of my life, Leo, atop Rockefeller Center, enjoying the glory that is the Big Apple)
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Sunday, October 30, 2005

Countdown to "The Debut"

It’s nearly impossible for me to imagine functioning in this career without my well-worn laptop by my side. I know times are different from the olden days when penmanship was a value to be treasured and handwritten letters seemed to deliver the very person to your doorstep; however, I must admit this little guy keeps me on top of things. Being able to catch up on my work while flying from home to “the office” saves the day for me! So, while I enjoy the city lights of Chicago underneath me, let’s catch up.

I’m flying back to NY from a less than 48 hour trip home to catch my Goddaughter’s baptism, as well as to change my luggage out from the somewhat lean fall items to the bulky winter items (the former being the much more pleasing event of the two!), as well as trying to concentrate on the rather packed week ahead.


Tomorrow morning we perform the final dress rehearsal of Nozze di Figaro. I can’t begin to describe how excited I am. I would not be telling the complete truth if I didn’t also admit my nerves are on “high alert”, (is that orange or red?), but in a very good way. I’m stepping into the shoes of a character that is revered and adored by all who love opera. That is a beautiful thing. But it also happens to bring with it, in this case, roughly 4,000 different ideas of how Cherubino should be played, which feels like a very tall order. However, I decided a long time ago that I would never step onto a stage and attempt to give the eager audience a bad imitation of a great singer who came before me. If I studied videos and poured through countless recordings to try and perfect an impersonation of Frederica von Stade, to me the quintessential Cherubino, I would never succeed. And I wouldn’t do her legacy any justice whatsoever.

So how do I approach stepping into the shoes of this, in my opinion, perfect character? I go back to the text. I try not to take one thing for granted that comes out of his mouth. I try to make his impulsive and desperate actions as spontaneous as possible, and to simply bring my voice to his words.

I have to say that rehearsing at the MET has been a dream for me. On Tuesday we went onto the stage for the first time, and the chills that went up and down my spine didn’t stop for nearly the entire rehearsal. Adding the orchestra (which is remarkable in every single way) to the mix on Thursday only upped the energy and the excitement I was feeling. I mean really, this is the dream of every American opera singer: to get that one chance to stand on that fabled stage and give it everything you’ve got. That having been said, however, while the environment is definitely thrilling, the thing I keep coming back to is what a masterpiece this opera is, and how privileged I am to breathe life into Mozart’s phrases and da Ponte’s words. That is the real joy for me. I am having the most wonderful time scrambling in and out of chairs, chasing everything in a skirt and jumping out windows, and I hope the magic will pour across the footlights tomorrow for the dress rehearsal, as well as for the entire run!


In the meantime, between chasing skirts, I’ll be jumping into the rehearsal process mid-way for the new production of Romeo and Juliette. It will make the next 2 weeks a bit chaotic to say the least, but if I can manage to stay rested and healthy, I think it will be a wonderful experience. I imagine during the coming weeks I will have many moments of wanting to pinch myself, but on the other hand, this is what I do, and for me, it always comes down to the fact that I’m there for the audience – the people with the season subscriptions that have been going to the MET for decades, as well as the students who are there analyzing every sound and consonant that comes out of ‘the pros’ mouths, as well as the one standing room ticket holder who grew up listening to broadcasts his whole life and finally got a ticket to THE MET to see and hear it in person for the first time, as well as those who have heard Figaro a thousand times, and the young aspiring musician who is experiencing Mozart’s magic for the first time. They all have their own story and will have their very individual opinions of the show that night – I love that!

On a technical note, I’m astounded at the machinery that is the Metropolitan Opera. You cannot begin to imagine all that is involved in putting on so many shows a week, countless productions a year. I marvel at the costume department that is constantly altering costumes for any number of singers, (there must be 6 name tags in my Cherubino vest!), building new pieces for the new productions, catering to the singer’s every need, as they truly want each and every singer to look and feel their best. The technical crew maneuvers around backstage with such mastery, moving enormous set pieces in and out in a way that appears effortless, always taking great pride in their expertise and their immaculate backstage. The music staff: I cannot begin to say enough on their behalf. This is a group of such consummate musicians who bring incredible proficiency to the rehearsal room, such dedication, and with very little reward. With all of these people, if they’ve done their job right, you will never notice their work, which I imagine could be a challenge to their morale. However, I notice, and I know that the dedication and knowledge of all the workers at this theater is an enormous reason it is called THE MET.

So after a week of long rehearsals, of tiring photo shoots, of beautiful baptisms, of learning a new role, and of jumping out that window at least 10 times, I’m ready for the opening, and I’ll be working hard to give the Met audience my best Cherubino. Enjoy!

(Photos: With my neice and goddaughter, Yalei, at her beautiful baptism; thrown into another world of costumes and makeup, as Cherubino with the "Antonio" of Patrick Carfizzi backstage at the Metroplitan Opera)
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