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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!

Madness in Brooklyn

Everyone should have the chance to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge one time in his or her life. Having stayed in Manhattan countless times, I’ve never viewed it from that perspective before, and it’s seems to be a completely different island when seen in near sub-zero temperature, wind blowing, with a crescent moon peaking over the skyline. It’s beautiful. Makes me believe all the more in the necessity of looking at things from different angles.

Happily, I’m getting the chance to take another look at a character that I simply love, as complicated as she may be. I had the incredible pleasure of performing Dajanira, the rather tortured wife of Hercules, in a masterpiece of the same name by Handel in Province and Paris just over a year ago. Putting the role away for that time and bringing it back out has taught me an enormous amount, and I find that I can dig even deeper into her journey. I think time may be one of the greatest interpretive tools we have at our disposal.


When I first opened the score to this piece, to say that I was a bit overwhelmed would be an understatement. Not only is it an enormous musical undertaking, but also more than that, it is a true challenge to make her a flesh and blood woman, skirting the risk of making her into a mere characture. Dajanira starts the opera in a state of depression, and essentially goes downhill from there. The beauty of having 6 weeks of rehearsal on a piece like this is that I really had the time to flesh out what is hopefully a genuine arc of emotional truth, so that when she ends up at the mad scene in the 3rd act, it’s true, and it is inevitable. I think the key is to keep finding the humanity in the music (which Handel delivers in spades every time), and believe in her journey every step of the way. The time between performances has given me even more chance to find her depth and to tell her story a bit more strongly with each performance.

This is what I hope, anyway! The other wonderful benefit of coming back to a production is reuniting with your colleagues! One of the most difficult adjustments I first had in this career was the experience leaving a close group of friends when the show came to an end. You see, in this business of intensive rehearsals, emotional performances, and exploration, you can form very close bonds with your colleagues; and yet at the end, you simply say goodbye and everyone goes back to their daily lives in the next city. At first I used to question whether these quick and concentrated friendships where actually genuine. Then, after a few years’ learning curve, I’ve learned that in fact they ARE real, they are genuine, but they are definitely unconventional. This cast came back together after a year’s break, and it’s as if no time has passed. For example, there is the brilliant and dashing bass baritone, Simon Kirkbride*, singing our Priest of Jupiter, who insists on calling me a ‘mezzo-buffo’; that aside, it’s still lovely to work with him again and a pure musical delight to hear his mad scene in the 4th act. (wink!)

Anyone who has had the chance to experience a Les Arts Florissants performance live will understand what I’m about to explain, but it truly is an incredible event to behold. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt an orchestra’s commitment to the drama as palpably as I do with this group. It feels as if every single player is living the drama with us onstage, and that makes all the difference in the world to those of us ‘living out’ the roles. The same must be said for the chorus, which inhabits a very difficult ‘role’ in this piece: each singer invests so much of themselves into their winding fugues and tricky harmonies making the chorus an absolutely vital and integral part of the drama.


Can you tell I’m a fan?

Honestly, this is one of those experiences where I can only pinch myself. It was always a dream of mine to be able to make music in one way or another in my life. And while in all honesty I never believed I would have a biography that reads as it does, to be given the chance to do a role such as this, by a composer I love more by the day, with a group and cast that make music with such commitment, excellence and integrity? It is one of the greatest privileges I can possibly imagine.

I’m not one to do too much self-promotion (although since you’re reading this on my website, that may seem a bit ironic), BUT that aside, I will say that if you are at all inclined to indulge in Handel the least bit, and if this piece is unknown to you, I HIGHLY recommend that you go out on a limb and either get to Brooklyn very quickly, (or to the Barbican next month) OR find our newly released DVD to watch at your leisure. I don’t know that all opera works well on video, as sometimes you miss the larger scope of the production, but I have to say that genuinely I think this one works masterfully, (perhaps even slightly better than on the stage?), because it is intensely subtle and intimate. To my thinking it is one of Handel’s least known and yet greatest masterpieces.

So there! It’s your chance to not only see Hercules from a different perspective, but definitely to see and hear Handel from a different angle. I say don’t miss it.

(Photos: Getting into makeup for the mad scene; Les Arts Florissants on their homey tour bus after the performance -- BRAVI!)

An excursion to "Venice" via Wigmore Hall

If anyone has Martha Stewart’s private email address, could you please send it immediately? I desperately need her expert advice on how to pack into 2 suitcases (limit 25 kilos per each, thank you very much) a wardrobe and supplies for 4 months abroad, traveling from New York in the dead of winter, straight through to Barcelona in the almost full glory of summer, and including gowns for 3 different types of concerts, scores for 4 different operas, and a stack of copied music for a full recording as well as a separate recital. Martha? Anyone? I would also love to throw in just one or two of the novels I’ve been dying to get into. But, each one of those? That’s another half a kilo! Ouch. Help.

Well, I have 3 full days to address that problem when I get home, which gives me the time now to reflect on what has been a truly amazing period in London. I wrote last time of how much I adored working with “Mosh & Posh”, as they are affectionately referred to, and what a beautiful environment the Royal Opera house maintains, making it a true joy to sing there, so I won’t drivel on about it anymore. The one thing that came to my mind as I was finishing the run there is how valuable it is, I’m discovering, to sing a role over and over. If you had asked me how well I knew the role of Rosina after my Paris debut 4 years ago, I would have said “incredibly well. Inside and out.” And it would have been right to a certain degree. But there really is no substituting living in the shoes of a character over and over, and presenting it in vastly different approaches. (Especially when the shoes are such a fabulous fuchsia!) I find that now I have a much larger kaleidoscope of colors to choose from as Rosina, and those are colors that I have found simply by singing her in so many performances.

I sometimes am asked if I get bored singing this opera. The honest truth is that I do not, but that’s for several different reasons: first, I sing a wide variety of repertoire, so to return to Rosina feels like popping open a bottle of very fine champagne. Do you ever get tired of a great glass of bubbly? Perhaps only if you had it every night of the week, but because I can go sing Elisabetta in Maria Stuarda, and then maybe Sesto in Clemenza, there is a sense of joy to return to the impetuous Rosina. I am happy to say I still welcome it. The other reason is that I feel I grow with her through each performance. I find new things, try different phrasing, play against different casts (which can change my interpretation drastically, by the way!) and it feels wonderful to stand in front of an audience completely confident in this character. I truly think that is one of the most valuable lessons we ‘younger’ singers can take from the ‘golden age’ ones: to value the importance of role repetition. Call me a convert.

The other momentous event for me in London was my Wigmore Hall recital on Monday. It was my 3rd time singing on that breathtaking stage. The first time was as part of the Inaugural Song Competition back in 1997. (Not to repeat the same story over and over, but this was the competition where the head judge told me, rather matter-of-factly, that (and I’m quoting here)

“We just felt you had nothing to offer as an artist.”

Yes. That one hurt. But it taught me a lot, as I’ve said before, and I will certainly never forget it – it fuels me to always be certain I HAVE something to say, and that I LET myself offer it freely. But, I’m digressing.

The second time was for an evening recital just over 2 years ago. I was a complete unknown here in London then, and the fact that they sold any tickets at all was a bit of a miracle. However, it ended up being one of those truly memorable evenings on the stage, and the sense of returning to that incredible venue feeling a bit vindicated from the now infamous comment, well I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel damn good!

And so this past Monday I found myself in that same, familiar groove of that gorgeous Steinway, under the hallowed blue and gold dome, and this time, it was a complete sell-out. Finally I was able to bring out a program I had been formulating in my head for some time, and it felt simply marvelous to finally ‘give birth’ to it. It was an all-Venetian program, and it very nearly made me feel that amazing, hazy light of Venice on my face as if I were standing on a bridge overlooking the Grand Canal! The beautiful thing, again, thanks to technology, as that my parents woke up early, and while in their pajamas sipping their morning coffee, were able to tune into the live internet broadcast, and I was able to sing for them directly from the Wigmore Dome to the Flaherty kitchen table. How incredible!

I was reminded again in a very passionate way of how much I love to sing a recital. It’s such a challenge to stand there completely alone and deliver a song simply as yourself – no costumes, no scenery, no colleagues to play off of, and no time to recover. There is nothing to rely on but yourself and the music. How glorious! And how very SCARY! In the first of the Reynaldo Hahn songs I sang (which are all strophic) I’m not at all sure that I sang any of the right words, but I kept going and still tried to deliver the ‘feeling’ of the piece as best I could. But when that happens, the panic that sets in as a performer is INDESCRIBABLE! It feels as if one second of time becomes an HOUR, and that you’ll never find your way out of the dark tunnel. But we have to continue to perform as if everything is exactly as it should be – and then we have to pick up and go on to the next song! It really is the most vulnerable feeling. But I managed to get back on track and to genuinely enjoy every Venetian moment of it.

One special note: I will never forget during the first encore (Cara Speme), seeing numerous people wiping tears from their eyes. I only caught it peripherally, but it was unmistakable, and I wish I could describe the feeling of what it is like as a singer to FEEL that you are touching the audience. I wrote a few, journals ago, about the ‘dialogue’ between the stage and the public that I rely upon so much as a singer – I need the feedback of the audience to let me know that I’m reaching you. And in this case, it moved me to tears and I thank everyone there for being so involved in the journey with me. I will never forget it.


So now I have to do the hard part, which is say goodbye to a period that has been very special and remarkable for me; goodbye to a fabulous city, to great friends, a wonderful public, and to wonderful memories. I have to pack all of those up as well and stow them safely away. Happily they don’t take up much room, or add too many kilos, but I’d never travel without each of them.

(Photos: The breathtaking "Wigmore Dome", which envelopes and caresses the sound from the Wigmore Stage giving it the most sublime acoustic; the equally famous Savoy Hotel, where a cold bottle of Champagne was popped at the end of the recital in celebration!)

Pat-downs and Pick-me-ups

I have a new pet peeve. Ok, maybe it’s not so new, but I reclaimed it today. Anyone who has traveled of late knows how crazy airports can be, and anyone who is breathing also knows that traveling in the vicinity of Christmas could be used as a sweeps episode on any of those so-called survivor shows! If you make it to your seat in one piece, you win a million dollars. Well, as I traipsed through the metal detector shoeless and beltless, (pretty soon maybe I’ll do it topless); I set off the dreaded beeper. You all know that beep. Well, imagine my surprise when the beep went off and within 2 seconds I had hands all over me. But that’s not what surprised me. It was 5 seconds into the mauling that I realized I had been given no "speech". You know the speech. It starts with "Sit down, please, ma’am". (They lose points right away with the ma’am talk!) Then the SPIEL comes. "Please stay seated until I have finished the explanation of how I am going to explain where my hands will go as I gently pat you down searching for the lonely coin, the forgotten hair pin, or (God-forbid) that nagging underwire." And then, sure enough, they talk you through the whole procedure TAKING TEN TIMES THE TIME IT WOULD TAKE IF THEY WOULD JUST SIMPLY GET TO WORK AND PAT YOU DOWN. Well, happily, that is precisely what happened to me today. I set off the BEEP, and a lovely Englishwoman (calling me "luv" and not "ma’am" which earned her bonus points right from the start!), simply, easily, just patted me down. Basta. Her hands went everywhere, rather coarsely and abruptly, and you know something? I wasn’t the least bit offended, mistreated or shocked. Instead it was a beautiful relief to just have her get down to work, do her job, and let me go on my way. It was heaven to have a glimpse of the good ol’ days where folks just did their job, interacted with each other without that insane fear of being sued or causing harassment, and saved loads of time! (Thank God I didn’t have to endure THE SPIEL, because it might have caused me to miss my plane!)

Am I digressing? My sincere apologies! I just miss the days where people weren’t afraid to just move forward without constantly looking over their shoulder, you know? I suppose this is a great reason I’m in theater and not the corporate world – I’m not at all sure I would survive all those spiels!

Happily, the Royal Opera House gives a proper holiday break to its entire staff, and so I have the luxury of actually going home for Christmas, which is a rarity in my calendar! We’ve done 2 performances so far, and come back on the 30th for a live televised performance on the BBC 4. I think we’re all a bit anxious about the idea of having nearly 9 days between shows and returning to walk straight into the living rooms of numerous Brits, however I think we’ll be fine. We rehearsed in such a comprehensive manner, so thoroughly and intensely, that I think we’ll snap right back into gear. Personally, I’m a bit more worried about eating too many Flaherty Christmas Cookies so that I don’t fit back into my corset, however, I think we’ll all manage.


I want to tell you that this experience has been truly magnificent for me. I genuinely adore working at this company; there is a sincere atmosphere of ‘good will’, for lack of a better description. Everyone you meet, from the security guards at the stage door, to the marvelous costume crew, to the makeup staff and everyone in between, they are all truly happy to be working there. And it shows in their work. I don’t know if the average opera-goer is aware of how much it takes to get a show up and running. I spoke a bit about this in talking about the Met, and the same holds true here. If you are surrounded by people doing excellent work, creating a very positive atmosphere, you are MUCH freer to concentrate on your job, which is to go out and sing a hell of a performance, hopefully! Here, you really are treated like royalty, and it makes walking into the wings such a joy.

This production has been hard work, I must say. The directors, Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser, are officially at the top of the list of my favorite directors. They are PASSIONATE about music and opera, they love singers, they appreciate the difficulties we are faced with, but at the same time they are incredibly exacting and demanding. They truly DIRECT the singers. This was their first time meeting “The Barber”, and they dissected the piece from scratch, which meant anytime any of us would do a ‘stock gesture’ or anticipate a dramatic beat, or play a moment for a laugh, they would pounce on it and say “but I don’t understand what you’re doing. That makes no sense with what is in the score.” They did not allow any extraneous looks, movements, gestures or thoughts. Talk about demanding work. Sadly, we opera singers are allowed to get away with hollow gestures all the time, and when those are taken away from you, you have to lean more into the text, delve into the colors of the score, and then, the finishing touch: you have to trust it. If you’re not a singer, imagine the sensation of walking a tight rope from the top of Rockefeller Center to the top of the Empire State Building. No net.

The kind of work we did in rehearsal was heaven to me – sometimes I think the rehearsal process is my favorite part of my job, (but then I get to the opening, and I change my mind). But I do truly love to rehearse when it’s challenging and inspiring. We spent a lot of time finding the ‘beats’ or the dramatic punch in every single line of recitative. We searched for meaning through every coloratura passage. And while Moshe (the talker of the two) was laying the dramatic foundation with us, Patrice (the quiet whisperer of the two) would come and murmur in my ear, “Joyce, if you would only take slightly smaller steps during this aria, you’ll seem younger and more delicate, more vulnerable…now you’re taking very strong, large steps, and we feel like Rosina has already won. But she hasn’t: she’s still caged and very vulnerable. She doesn’t yet know HOW she is going to accomplish her goal.” This is the kind of direction I live for! We found a lot of physical body movements for Rosina that (hopefully) conveyed her youth and feisty spirit (pigeon-toed feet, a very bouncy costume, direct gestures), as well as striving to find that balance between someone who knows who she is and what she wants (thinking forward to the Countess in Nozze), with the girl who is just discovering it all for the first time (the volatile, impulsive Rosina). I just found it a completely fascinating, albeit draining process.


One last example of how special these two are: while Moshe would be seated in the middle of the orchestra section watching with a VERY keen eye every nuance and detail, Patrice would be gliding around the hall sneaking into the ‘cheap seats’ in the house, looking for any moments that might be covered or hidden from that spot in the back rear balcony. They care so deeply that everyone who has paid hard earned money to get to the theater is given a complete, total, heartfelt performance. And I hope with all my heart that this is what they’re getting!

I could right pages more about the work we did this past month leading up to the opening, but I know you have parties to get to, presents to wrap, or hopefully a great glass of wine to cheer with, so before this turns into an epic novel, I want to wish each and every single one of you a truly blessed Holiday, and that your New Year gets off to a brilliant start. It has been an incredibly hectic, rewarding year of growth for me, and I certainly look forward to many more of the same.

And if I had to make a list for what I wanted for Christmas this year? I suppose it would be more experiences like this Barber, and pat-downs at the airport with NO SPIEL! I’d also take health and happiness for all of us.

Happy Holidays!

(Photos: With Moshe Leiser and Toby Spence during a rehearsal at the Royal Opera House; with Antonio Cavalco, the BRILLIANT costume designer for the show, who slipped me into a costume that to this day remains one of the VERY BEST I've EVER had the pleasure of wearing. He's a magician!)

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)

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)