Day 1: Alcina

So I thought it might be interesting to chronicle here the experience of actually making a recording. Yesterday was the first day we met the microphones for this “Alcina” recording, to be put out on Deutche Gramophone’s Archiv label, with Alan Curtis and his band, Il Complesso Barocco. This is my 4th collaboration with them, and it’s lovely to walk into the first day of rehearsal and see so many familiar faces, knowing that the awkward ‘getting to know each other’ period has passed, so we can get right down to the business of making real music. An element of familial ‘safety’ permeates our rehearsals, assuring me that I’ll be able to afford to take a lot of risks – this is a most welcome thing!

We’ve spent 4 days rehearsing the arias, but quite a lot of time has also been put to dissecting the recitatives – for you see, we sit at a bit of a disadvantage in recording this opera because as a cast we have not had the chance to perform it together on the STAGE, where a real dramatic chemistry would have had the chance to develop. Some of the singers have performed their roles on stage, but in my case, I have not had the privilege (although I did cover the role of Ruggiero some years back). Ideally, I believe you should have performed the role you’re recording many times on stage before daring to preserve it on disc for eternity, but I have a history with Alan of recording roles that I have not inhabited before, and I trust that the two of us will find a very compelling and real character together. I spend a lot of time preparing the recitatives, because I believe it is THERE that you really flesh out the psychology of the character – you cannot simply rely on the arias to inform you of all the different facets and turns of the persona. If the character fails to come alive in the recits, the arias will never catch fire, as they need to.

So the first day of recording roles around, and everyone’s adrenalin is pumping and there is palpable excitement pulsing through the air. I have to say that in my years working with Alan, his orchestra has never sounded better, and his casting seems spot on (maybe that makes me the weak link of the cast!). We started with some of those telling recitatives, and drama flew in with brilliant Italian fervor – one would never have known that we had not previously performed many times together. And what DRAMA! Alcina is such a fascinating character on so many levels, and I’m LOVING getting into the marrow of her character. For example, in her opening recitative, she makes a very interesting word choice in describing the ‘love’ between her and Ruggiero, proclaiming it a “scambievole amor”, meaning a “mutual” or “reciprocal” love. In fact, it is anything BUT, for Ruggiero is simply under her spell, (and she well knows this) but her pronouncement is for all to hear, perhaps to erase any lingering doubt, or simply to try to persuade herself. Her love for him is real (in her eyes), but what a fragile thing it is, because it is false on his side. Her desperation quickly begins to show. See? One little word choice like that makes all the difference!

We recorded her first aria, “Di, cor mio”. Truth be told, I’m quite nervous about this recording, because it’s a bit ‘outside the norm’ for me. Historically, it has been conquered by such icons as Joan Sutherland and Renee Fleming to brilliant effect. And now it’s my turn? Why not, I say! Well, ok, in all honesty, it wasn’t quite that simple:

When I was approached by Alan to record it, I assumed he meant to sing the part of Ruggiero. He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then said, “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of ALCINA.” Pause. [Cue the loud and raucous laughter] He ignored the outburst and simply said, “Joyce, just take a look at the score – the highest written note is an “A”. And don’t forget – we record at baroque pitch.” (Which means a full tone lower than what modern orchestras play in today.) After a quick dismissal I slowed down and began to think a bit. Then I began to think a lot more about it, and said, “Alan, are you really serious? You’re a brilliant scholar and Handel specialist, and this is universally considered one of his GREAT masterpieces: you get only one shot to record it, and you really want the title role to be sung by a mezzo-soprano????? I know you’re a little crazy, but are you INSANE????”

Well, hopefully he’ll explain more of his reasons for this unorthodox choice in the CD booklet, but in the meantime, I had a decision to make. I looked long and hard at the score, factoring in the lower pitch. I listened to Joan. I listened to Renee. (I even eyed the part of Ruggiero with a bit of lust, thinking, “I know this role, it fits perfectly, it’s such beautiful music, why bother stretching myself as Alcina?” Well, never one to shy away from a challenge I decided to go for it. Were I a legitimate soprano, I honestly think I would have passed, because I feel those two have said so much about the character as a soprano, and have sung it so exquisitely, so sublimely – what more could I do? Their interpretations are completely different, but equally engrossing, if for very different reasons.

So I poured through the score, and the more I realized it wasn’t written with a million high C’s, (or E’s, for that matter!) the more seduced I was by this character – she’s a witch, for God’s sake! And that MUSIC! That MAGIC! That bewitching femininity! And how Handel must have loved her! I decided to jump in with both feet into that fire-y coven and not look back. Life is short, right? So I’ve been working my witch-y tail off, and yesterday I felt the first fruits of my labors. What a gift, a joy, a THRILL to sing that first aria of hers, which arrives like a sensual breath of fresh air on the first day of spring. Oh how I love the music of Handel. And you can tell that he penned this particular role with such care and tenderness – I actually feel it when I sing, this attention to each little phrase, each singularly placed note. The fragility and vulnerability she shows in her first aria is simply sublime – and it’s a rare glimpse into seeing this mighty sorceress with her guard down. The orchestra put itself immediately in the mood of the piece, which is a rare achievement on the first day of recording, for usually everyone is walking a bit on eggshells, searching for the rhythm, the groove.


Happily the producer from the Floridante recording is on board again, so I find it comforting to know that I’m in very good hands. The producer listens over headphones in an outside room (or chamber, in this case!), and tells us what we need to fix, until we get it right: a flat note here, an un-Italianate attack there, an ornament that isn’t fitting quite right, or perhaps most important of all – the drama is lacking. As always, it’s a question of balance, and how much to we emphasize vocal ‘correctness’, how much to risk dramatically, and where lies the mystical combination of the two. Happily, I’ve been privileged to do a number of recordings, and through experience I’ve found a way to trust that I don’t have to try TOO hard, but I have to give it everything I’ve got. Personally, I love the challenge of telling the story strictly through the words and the colors and vocal inflections – I hope it makes me a better performer.

That having been said, I do a huge project like this, and I’m immediately struck by the fact that I still have so much more to learn, and must constantly strive for more. What a wonderful sensation! I get the feeling that my enthusiasm for this project, at least on this first day, is overflowing, so I should sign off – there are 5 more arias to go, each one more difficult than the next. Stay tuned!

Photos:
*Inside the chuch where we record
*Alan Curtis
*View of San Pietro in Tuscania from my hotel window (I know, rough, eh?)

Heavenly Handel and Olive Oil

It's finished! We've just wrapped up a week-long recording of Handel's "Floridante" here in Tuscania (situated just outside of Viterbo, which is near Rome, and is famous for its hot springs, having been the 'hot spot' for numerous Popes and dignitaries along the way). The recording wrapped up at about 7:30 pm, with just 30 minutes to spare, and I'm exhausted! The recording process really is quite arduous, and doing it in a very remote place, in an isolated church that hasn't been used for over 20 years, full of wood worms leaving trails of sawdust on the old tile floor, well, it poses all kinds of challenges, to say the least!

Floridante is a really interesting work. It is one of the shorter of Handel's operas, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be considered his finest by too many people; however, it is full of these little jewels that come out of nowhere and carry you away for that fleeting moment or two. My character, Elmira, for example, has this short miniature arietta, with a longer accompanied recitative in the middle, and for lack of a better description, it is pure heaven. When Handel spins out one of his plaintive, lost, lamenting melodies, I want to sing nothing else for the rest of my life. He can capture time in a bottle and suspend your very breath with the simplest of passages. The text of this piece couldn't be more simple:

"Notte cara, deh reportami'l mio ben."

"Dear night, bring back my beloved."

And the melody simply descends, unfolding so melodically with such pathos and pain, reaching out over more than an octave as if one can't possibly let it end -- can't afford to endure the loss of hope. The day we recorded this particular masterpiece was just as the devastation from the hurricane Katrina was finally breaking into the news. The images of the wreckage and desolation were inundating all the news and internet channels, and amid all the loss and anarchy of the situation, I didn't know where or how I would find the ability to corral my energy to think of making an "authentic baroque recording" of a, perhaps, somewhat slightly inferior Handel opera. I find myself asking, "What does this really matter?" Instead, as ALWAYS happens, the power and potency of music overwhelms me, and immediately, in this damp, musty, moldy, noisy old church in this provincial, sleepy, creaky, little Italian town, with the opening chords of this piece, I felt as if Handel had been a witness to this devastation in the deep South of the United States first hand and had composed this piece in the very early hours of the morning on that very day, and brought it to us strictly to mourn the loss we were seeing before our very eyes. "Bring back our loved ones." With this short little piece, music captures the mourning of a nation, (and also, in my eyes, elevates this opera to a much higher level!) It is the absolute power and mystique of music that grabs you in that place you can't find on an x-ray, that absolute truth that words alone never seem to be able to identify. It is music. And it gives us the permission to weep, to laugh, to lament, and to simply be.

It also reminds me that humans have been suffering for centuries. That devastation happens. And that all throughout history, we have been struggling for relief, for understanding, for expression, for insight. There are a handful of people along the way who have thankfully preserved their insights for us, and this "Notte, cara" by Handel is definitely one of the masterpieces. I'm so privileged to have sung it. I hope when it arrives next spring, New Orleans and the surrounding areas will be well on the road to recovery.

For a bit of the lighter side of things, I have to say that singing with a baroque band is really such a joy. Now, I'm not one to give too much credence to stereotypes. However, there does seem to be a bit of a difference between baroque players and those in standard orchestras. For one thing, there is no union, no great contract fees for them, no health benefits, and they work many more hours. As a result, it is generally said to be true that they love this music very deeply, otherwise, they would simply get a better paying job. What I sense from this band, as well as William Christie's and the others I have worked with, is that each individual player cares a lot about the level of music making. It's a much smaller group of people, and through poker games at night and improvised volleyball matches on the 10 minute breaks throughout the day, you really get to know the members of the orchestra, and therefore there is a real camaraderie that develops. For me, this is priceless. You sense there is a real level of respect and collaboration between the singers and the band, which really excites me: I can tell if I really charge my vocal line, they will definitely react and counter with a great sense of drama and passion. I love that interplay and sense of improvisation! That is what this music is all about.


One of the downsides about this project is that we are housed and fed along the way as part of the deal. Being housed isn't a downside, and being fed in Italy sounds like a great thing, I know. HOWEVER, you must understand: being fed in Italy consists of pasta at EVERY meal. I'm not joking. I've been here for nearly 3 weeks and I never IMAGINED there were so many ways to prepare pasta. I don't think the cucina has once repeated a pasta, (except perhaps we had pesto twice, but that was with a different kind of noodle!) That's 3 weeks of meals, twice a day: 42 meals. 42 different kinds of pasta!! I know I shouldn't complain, but really, it seems nearly criminal to indulge in such reckless dietary abundance! I almost feel like looking over my shoulder at every meal to see if the Carb Police are staking us out! Then there is the problem of the olive oil. Definitely. There's a big problem with the olive oil. You see, here in this part of Italy, they use their own oil. By that I mean, the olive trees outside the window actually produce olives from which this oil is then pressed, and arrives at the table. Talk about fresh. You see, this olive oil is actually, honestly, truly GREEN. I've never seen oil this color before; even in the fancy stores in the States we get a watered down version. GREEN! Delectable, mouth-watering, "I can't believe my eyes" GREEN. And so of course, it is necessary to sample it at every meal. Naturally. On a piece of bread. With a bit of salt. 3 weeks of meals, twice a day: 42 (plus the occasional extra) slices of white bread with GREEN olive oil and salt.

Forget my complaints. I'm in heaven and I'm never leaving!!

The kind (persistent and demanding) folks at Deutche Gramophone tell me they are shooting for a 2006 spring release of our disc. It should be a very special one. However, if my fast arias seem a little bit more weighty than normal, don't blame me: I was sleepy from the pasta.



(Photos: The view from my window to the centuries old monestary of Tuscania - such a picturesque vision; the expert oboist from Il Complesso Baroco rehearses into the evening hours; the glamorous aspect of recording in an atmospheric little Italian church as the rains come in -- it meant suspending recording, as well as praying the equipment would survive!)