"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…"

Fender-benders, tirades and Spanish sunshine!

I truly did have the strongest of intentions of getting a journal (or even two!) written during my time in Houston, chronicling the multi-faceted events that kept me more than busy for these past 6 weeks, but alas, I’m in nearly the same, identical place on the highway as for my last entry, simply headed in the other direction. (Ah, and yet how sweet that it is the direction of home!) I suppose it’s another example of life coming full circle giving us a golden opportunity for closure!

(In rehearsal for Cenerentola at HGO)

Were it not for the fender-bender which we encountered just north of Dallas yesterday evening, (ok, let’s be honest…can a ‘fender-bender’ accurately describe an accident that breaks your radiator, power steering and air conditioning all in one swipe? I didn’t think so.), I’d still be riding an enormous high from the magical experience of this Cenerentola at the Houston Grand Opera. From the first moment of the first rehearsal, I knew this would be a special experience. The directing team, El Comediants, from Barcelona Spain (the very same squad responsible for creating the Opening Ceremony to the Barcelona Summer Olympics!), arrived on the scene bubbling over with creative ideas and a contagious, positive attitude, feeding their imaginative concepts by the minute. They had a very clear idea of the ‘look’ they wanted for the show, and yet were still completely flexible in letting us throw our thoughts and impulses into the fire. What we ended up with was a VIBRANT, intelligent, funny, heartbreaking, fresh approach, full of traditional as well as new ideas, wild costumes, rambunctious rats, geometric makeup, and an audience standing on its feet every night!

I cannot stress enough the importance of having a positive working environment where the singers not only feel free to contribute and take risks during the rehearsal process, but are encouraged to do so, as well. I think with this approach you arrive at the opening night with a cast that isn’t preoccupied with being ‘correct’, but instead are busy CREATING on the stage. I never want to work any other way!

I was able to steal away just before the opening night to receive an award from my Alma Mater, Wichita State University, where they generously bestowed on me the honor of “Young Alumni of the Year”. To say I was honored and deeply touched would be quite an understatement, not only because of the number of distinguished graduates the University consistently produces, but also because of the number of old friends and supporters that came to share in the evening. In seeing the faces of the influential professors beaming with pride, the committed members of the first church choir to hire me as their conductor and leader giddy with excitement, and some of my oldest, dearest friends reducing me to tears of laughter with the never tiresome recollections of Madrigal Feasts and choir tour escapades, I realized once again how many people have had a hand in guiding and preparing me for my life. I was quite emotional receiving the award, as thoughts of my Dad’s numerous trips to hear me try out the odd choir solo or my first Hansel were still quite fresh, as I suspect they will remain for quite sometime. What washed over me as these smiling faces listened to every word of my off-the-cuff acceptance speech was that each of them is with me every single time I take the stage. I looked out on their familiar faces and realized that they all contributed to the building blocks of my foundation – NOT ONLY as a performer, but more importantly, as a person. I’m so proud to say I am “Shocker”, and their continued recognition and support mean so much to me. It served as a beautiful reminder that you never know what contribution a solitary person just might bring to your table, nor what kind of effect you just may have on them. How thrilling to know we are always contributing!


(As Hansel at Wichita State University, 1991-2)

A great opportunity happened upon me just before the final dress rehearsal, in that I was invited out to a local high school to sing and speak with them about ‘what I do’. I insisted that they attend the final dress rehearsal before I visited them so they could see me in the context of ‘what I do’, and I think it was a roaring success, judging from the ‘whoops’ and ‘woo-hoos’ resonating from the hall that night! Come to find out, even though it was the first opera for every single one of them, they LOVED the show, and when I walked into their classroom, their enthusiasm and excitement bowled me over. I was mentioning this visit to Anthony Freud, HGO’s General Director, the next day, and I said, “Who knows if any of them will grow up to sing in opera, or run a company, but MAYBE they’ll buy a ticket in the future, or contribute $100 down the way.” And he simply looked at me, shook his head, and replied, “but Joyce, that’s not why we do it. That’s not what outreach and education are about: they are NOT a means to an end. We do it simply because we must.” I knew in that precise moment that Houston is an extremely fortunate city to have this man of vision at the helm, and that the world of Opera in general has hope, knowing there are people running it who have such a committed, focused belief in what we do.

Which makes for a lovely segue to a truly horrid article that recently polluted my inbox: there is a ‘journalist’ who writes for the El Paso Times, Mr. Muench, and he saw fit to berate and bully the El Paso City Council for passing a grant to help the El Paso Opera bail itself out of dire financial times. Actually, he saw fit to ridicule the art form with outdated and offensive stereotypes, proceeding to chide the children of the town warning them that they would surely rather take their “TAKS” tests than attend an opera! Well, I love a good fight, and adored registering my response (along with hundreds of other singers), and adored being handed the opportunity to defend my passion to this idiot. I suppose there always have been idiots afloat out there, spewing venom and poison against things that make them think and which challenge their comfort zone, but I for one am thrilled there are also intelligent, passionate individuals who do not let bullies like this man intimidate them into veering away from their vision. We have people like Anthony Freud who believe in committing to a community and reaching out to young people, simply because ‘we must’.

We face many obstacles, as have all the great artists of the past, but we are strong in the fight, and we are winning one small classroom at a time! I don’t know how much I can truly affect on my own, but I can say that my commitment is to bring honesty and conviction to all that I do.


(With the committed and always brilliant Cathy Cook: a fellow WSU alumni, as well as a beautiful person and singer)

So we’re almost to the end of the journey. I get 10 days (whoops, make that 9 days, thanks to my fender…ok, to my accident!) at home to: file my 2006 taxes, spend 2 days doing master classes at a local college, memorize the final stubborn songs for my recital, figure out my gown situation for said recitals, have a birthday party, catch up with family and friends, bake a little, or maybe bake a lot, chop away a bit more at stubborn, glorious Octavian, dry clean my stale, luggage-bound winter clothes, get some face time with my squirmy, boisterous, brilliant nieces and nephews that are growing by bounds and leaps, sort through the heaped up mail and bills, throw in a few interviews to promote my new disc, address the nasty leak in the master bath that was rearing its ugly head on my last 2 day stay at home, squeeze in my unwelcome dental exam, and maybe, just maybe take in the current episodes of 24. (JACK! Your DAD!!!!) Wait. Is that all? OH. Looks like constant shoveling may be in the forecast as well!

Here’s to a beautiful Valentine’s Day for you all, and let’s hope the fender-bender quota has been met for the next several decades!

Happy New Year!

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


(Celebrating with Leo and Simon, my manager)

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

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

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

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


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

My professional highlights:

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


I met Johnny Depp!

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

Here’s to life!

Goodbye to my Dad

I suppose I will start out with a polite apology, asking for pardon for what will likely be a most personal entry. I really promised myself at the start of my ‘website adventure’ that I would strictly adhere to things pertaining to my career and to the stage, but I’m afraid in this business, the two too often co-mingle, and so late this night, I’m here with my most personal thoughts, and here lies a big part of me that wants the world to have a glimpse into my past few weeks. Glimpse away:

Last Thursday, in the early hours of the quiet morning, my Father passed away. I suppose it’s quite audacious of me to attempt to write about him, for how do you sum up a life? A death? A moment? I think the geniuses I represent on stage (Mozart, Handel, etc.) have come the closest to capturing something so delicate, so I know my attempt here will be most feeble, but it will be honest, as I would like to try and express a tiny bit of the great influence my Father had on my life and how grateful I am for his loving guidance.

I grew up going to Mass on Sunday mornings watching my Dad conduct his prized choir. The Vienna Boys Choir had nothing on my Dad’s group. They sang Byrd, Thompson, Bach, Handel and Palestrina like no other chorus possibly could. As a 10-year-old girl, I wasn’t yet old enough to join in the festivities, but I sat on the sidelines waiting MOST anxiously to be old enough to take part, breathing with all his cues as if they were meant just for me. And when I finally stepped in, able to take direction directly from him, having him look at me while he cued the altos, well, I thought I was the greatest singer to ever live, knowing that he needed me to “help keep them in tune” (or so he led me to believe!). I was on top of the world.

He came to every choral concert I had in high school and nearly every one in college. His approval was the only applause I looked for or ever needed. He attended the “Seven Last Words of Christ” concert I gave as a sophomore in High School at a local church, and the entire way home our conversation nearly exploded with spiritual fervor. He taught me in every single moment that we were together through treasured conversations about faith, about doubt, about life, about music, about fear, about joy, and about staying young at heart.

The last 2 weeks were spent at his bedside, as he was hooked to a machine that took each breath for him. Such a far cry from the man I remember building our house, hiking Byer’s Peak, working at his drawing board, or reading over my term papers. Because there was a breathing tube planted in his throat, those precious, cherished conversations were no longer possible. The million questions I still have for him will have to remain unanswered, and ‘faith’ will have to be my companion, as I trust that all I really needed to inquire of him was already asked and answered. After a lifetime of connection and conversation and experience, our time was limited to hand signals, blinking of eyes, and my simple, unqualified attempt to help him die. But I must take solace in the fact that we did live so many moments so fully together. However, had he passed away 100 years from now, it would have been tragically too soon.

Infinite thoughts rip through my mind in these days, more than seem possible to process, but I think my attempt to write tonight, is simply to have ‘the world’ know that a truly great man walked this earth, touched my life, and left me much richer than would seem practical. I can say unequivocally that I would not be the person that I am without his loving, and unending guidance in my life – in every possible way.

I could talk about the numerous musical experiences we shared: in the choir loft with him at the helm, on his first trip to Europe to listen to me sing in Notre Dame, in Hamburg to hear me sing with Domingo, sitting around the TV watching Don Giovanni from the MET, my high school choir performing Bach’s “Crucifixus” to his astonishment – but none of these moments capture all that he was. I have to talk also of the letters he would send me when I was so far away from home giving me comfort as nothing else could, of the stolen moments on our front door step watching the spring storms roll in while he assured me tornados could never actually hit our house, of watching the most spectacular electrical storms in the night skies of Colorado while he spoke of the vastness of the Universe and God’s design for all of us, of how he could reduce his 7 children to piles of giggles with the mere mention of “The Big Mouth Frog”, and of how he never missed an opportunity to look deeply in my eyes and tell me how proud he was of me – not only as a singer, but as a person. How persistent he was that I knew the difference between the two.

In a million years I could have never asked for a better compliment.

I’ve never watched anyone die before. My Dad certainly wouldn’t have been my first choice to learn the ropes with, but this was the plan – and ultimately, completely out of my control. How truly powerless we are in the face of death. And yet, through it all, my Father was teaching me. Teaching me how to surrender and how to let go with dignity. In one moment I held his hands as he looked at me to say he couldn’t breathe, and all I could tell him was, “Imagine you’re breathing in that fresh mountain air, Dad.” And his breathing would slow down and he would catch it – for that moment. And then I’d pray with him, and he would mouth the familiar, soothing words along with me, "Hail Mary, full of grace..."

I was his voice for those few, precious moments.

His last day will most certainly serve as fodder for great reflection for the rest of my life. We took him off the ventilator around noon (he had told us he was ready), and the following 3 hours were spent deciphering and following his orders: “get me a new room (out of the ICU), sit me up, put me in a chair at a table, with a glass of white wine and let me drink.” We actually accomplished it all, including the most genuine of toasts, 'Here's to your life, Dad!" The drinking of the wine took all the energy that he had, but the smile that came across his face was truly priceless. He was now ready.

We’re not sure when he actually took his last breath, as his final moments were so serene and peaceful. I watched this man, my beloved father, orchestrate the laying down of his life during his last day, and with his dying breaths, he was teaching us all how to let go. He could never have done that if he hadn’t lived his life with such integrity, joy, service and faith. But his welcome reward for a very hard life of struggle and uncertainty was the most beautiful of deaths.

My sadness is profound and so very deep, but an unbridled joy is waging a great battle against it, trying hard to smother the pain. That’s because in a million years I never could have asked for a better father. I marvel at the man I knew my whole life, and surely will never know the extent to which he influenced and shaped me. The joy and faith he passed on to me will always be the defining goal that I strive to attain. My sadness feels endless, but I believe my infinite gratitude and joy of sharing in his life will win out over time.

Ironically, through his final hour, his death will always serve as the most brilliant example of how to LIVE.

Unsolicited Talking Heads

(The magnificent Royal Palace in Madrid)

I apologize ahead of time for what may be an incoherent rambling (and in all probability, highly politicized) edition of my journal; perhaps no more disjointed than usual, but certainly if you tend towards seasickness, grab a life jacket and hold on! You have been warned.

I feel as if my head is swimming with so many ideas, thoughts, conflicts and wonderings, that I will simply start the process of free association and let’s see where we end up.

Today I did two interviews for local Spanish magazines. I was excited, for as I may have mentioned previously, I’ve fallen in love with Spain, and to contribute to the music scene here has been a joy. However, I got a bit worried when the first thing out of the journalist’s mouth was, “Why do you have such a horrible photo in the program here? It’s (and I’m quoting here) “a HORROR”. (Only you must imagine that with the Spanish accent it takes on an even MORE degrading and appalling tone, mind you, as if I have somehow offended every god in the black and white photo universe! I mean REALLY, how COULD I?) Politely defending myself and the gazillions of dollars I spent on that “horror”, we quickly moved on to the business at hand. However, it does bring up in my mind how open we singers are to a constant barrage of criticism, unsolicited opinion, and constant comparison. I’m not complaining, because I do believe it’s part of the job description we accept when going into this business; but I do believe it is a real challenge to keep a healthy perspective day in and day out, as every comment and censure hurled in our direction we must sort and sift through to see if there is a grain of truth buried in it, and then simply discard the rest as if we hadn’t heard the assault, when in fact, we have heard it loud and clear. Ah, I love a good challenge!

Berlin. What can I possibly say about this? When I heard the news that the Berlin Opera was canceling a production of “Idomeneo” because there had been terrorist’s threats against the theater should it go on, my first reaction was “GOOD! That director is a sham and a disgrace to the art form, and his shows shouldn’t ever make it in front of the paying public”. (The controversial part was Idomeneo, the King, coming on shore at the end of the piece with the severed heads of, now let me get this straight: Neptune, Jesus Christ, Buddha, and the starring protagonist in this uproar, Muhammad. Hmm. I’m preparing Idomeneo right now, and in scouring the score can’t seem to find a single reference to this particular stage action. BUT, then again, I don’t know the production in question and cannot justly condemn it strictly on hearsay and the absurdity of such a ‘concept’. How this crap gets in front of the public, I cannot comprehend. I say, if the director himself had actually written a play about such characters, then FINE, BEAUTIFUL, and MORE POWER TO YOU, but it simply and unquestionably is NOT “Idomeneo”. But I’m not the boss.

However, after a petite pause, I became sincerely startled at my gut reaction. If a threat from an outside group can stop the voice of an artist, inducing comprehensive censuring by the theater meant to uphold and promote ‘art’, even art so highly offensive, where will the censuring stop? To whom will we have to answer? What in the world has happened to our civilization that we so easily will crumble against what we believe to be fundamental? How will we ever find our way out of this jumbled mess? The world needs now, more than ever, people of courage to stand up and say, ‘this is not acceptable’, and it won’t come from political leaders or media egomaniacs: it must come from ordinary people, from artists not afraid to shed light on our collective failings, from the public who will strive to tolerate different ideas put in front of them to gain a shred of understanding, and from people of all different persuasions to simply let the others BE.


(A bright spot, with the charming Maestro Jesus Lopez Cobos)

Oh, I know I’m not alone in the confusion and the bewilderment of our times. I know I’m not the only one looking into the sky with such uncertainty, (bordering on despair) about the tenuous state of our civilization. I stand in union with people that are fed up by every misfired, misguided, and misled action of those people that are ‘leading us’. But now, it has hit quite close to home, and perhaps there will be a time when I have to either stand up for what I believe in, or fall into line with the rest of the people who are living in fear.

Would I go on if the theater I was performing in were threatened? Would I stand up for something controversial, simply in the name of artistic freedom of expression, not to mention freedom of speech? These are questions I need to ask myself. Did they do the right thing in Germany? I don’t think so. But in the context of the world today, what would anyone else have done? What would I have done?

I know! I would have stood out in front of the theater and sang the Composer’s aria from “Ariadne”!!! How’s that for a segue? Why yes, I just happened to debut in that role this week. I confess that I am no longer a Strauss Virgin. There is no turning back. I’m addicted. I love it. I find it staggeringly beautiful and deeply moving, and firmly believe that more people need to behave like this man: innocently, passionately, afraid of nothing.

Well, perhaps I’m a BIT caught up in the drama of it all, but truth be told, I don’t know very many people with his courage and conviction and openness to life. It’s incredibly refreshing, and it is a TRUE pleasure to sing. I certainly wouldn’t have predicted I’d feel quite THIS enthusiastic about him (despite other singer’s warnings!), but here I am – completely taken. The opening went quite well, and while it’s still a bit scary to swim over Strauss’s orchestral writing without the dependable, familiar Rossinian patterns I’m accustomed to, (and without a life jacket), it was an unabashed joy.



A gift really is laid at the feet of any singer who gets to sing the anthem of the Composer at the end of the prologue, to sing that “music is the holiest of arts, one which encompasses all that words cannot express, and all that humans can be”. If I can add my voice to his music today, in the midst of all this chaos and turmoil, I will gladly take those inappropriate comments here and there, and march out onto stage to sing at the top of my lungs, hoping that some sort of understanding can be born out of it.

In the meantime, as I see it, life is beautiful, and I continue to enjoy Madrid. We’ve taken in a real bullfight (and will go again this weekend…I walked into that ring, saw the strapping Torero’s and immediately understood Carmen. No question.) The food continues to delight, the people continue to shine and aside from a few purse-snatchings for the cast, we are having a grand time together. The beautiful colleagues and staff here make this theater one of my very favorites to work in. I’m keeping busy on other things as well, working away at Octavian, Idamante and Sesto (when do I get to be in a skirt again?), trying to juggle the schedule for the coming years, anticipating what will be the best and most interesting choices to make. I’m handling the heartbreak of missing out on a role that I would kill to do in a particular theater, which for one reason or another won’t be in the cards for me – again, we have to walk the tightrope of heartbreak very carefully in this business! And on top of all that, I’m getting to catch up on reading and museum hopping – things that have sadly had to be on the back burner the past few months. All in all, it’s a rejuvenating period full of joy and chaos.

Welcome to life, I suppose.

Wait! Better get my life jacket!

The heat of Strauss in Madrid

I’m making it! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel growing a touch brighter with each passing Germanic measure! I’m actually becoming nearly convinced that I may just get through this first German role! Never mind the sensation that German is spilling out of my head at an ungainly rate; never mind that I’m barely staying afloat; never mind that my retention rate seems to be that of a 5 year old the day after striking Halloween Gold! I AM managing to get the German to come out in a reasonably intelligible, coherent manner; I AM staying (just) at the surface of the water, even if I’m treading like crazy underneath; and finally things are sticking in my head a bit longer than in 10-minute stretches while we run a scene. Hallelujah, someone call the press corps!! Wait, don’t’ call just yet! Opening is still 2 1/2 weeks away!


(The world famous Bull Ring in Madrid)


(All I ever need to see, in order to understand Carmen!)

What am I jabbering on about? The Composer. Der Komponist: that lively, manic-depressive, heart-on-his-sleeve character in Strauss’s MASTERPIECE, Ariadne auf Naxos. First, let’s do set aside any pretense that I will be writing the following journal entry in the manner of a holier-than-thou Operatic Diva: the untouchable, the infallible, the one who walks on water. Anyone who knows me, knows that this behavior is just not my cup of tea. Anyone who is looking for his or her “Diva Worship Fix” can start looking elsewhere for the moment. (If I do my job well enough, there just might be enough interest generated simply on the merits of the performance alone!) Do stay tuned!

Enough preambles. This role has scared me to death, in operatic terms mind you – not literally. This is my first stab at a German leading role, discounting my professional debut in Houston as the SLAVE in Salome – the ‘if you blink, you missed it’ role. I’ve found that one’s first outing in such categories (i.e., your first Rossini role, your first French role, etc) holds the possibility to dictate how you will feel about future such roles throughout your career. My first Cenerentola was a rather big success, and ever since, I’ve looked forward to singing it with bated breath each time. I didn’t want to come into my first, of what I hope will be many, Strauss roles and not soar with it, in true Straussian fashion. But German is QUITE a different animal than Italian or French, and I must admit, has not held much interest to me before. I’ve much preferred to stay immersed in the comfortable, familiar surroundings of Italian and French, all the while thinking I’d leave the German to “them”.

No more! It’s sink or swim time. And I’m loving the challenge! I turned around to the veteran cast yesterday after a musical rehearsal, and just said, “This is a really brilliant score”, and they looked at me, in all sincerity, as if to say, “where the hell have you been?” It’s not that I didn’t know it was brilliant – I know it’s a masterpiece. But knowing it and discovering it for yourself is quite a different story. I’m still naïve enough to delight in the opening of a new score, pouring through it, and allowing the portal to open, slowly and majestically before my eyes. All summer, as I was sweating the impending calamity, all my colleagues were saying, “You’ll be fine, you’ll LOVE it, you’re perfect for the role!” And while I appreciated the support more than I can say, it’s still not the same as digging in and finding the center in your own way and on your own terms. This is the only way I can learn a role anymore. Perhaps it’s more time consuming, but I don’t want someone to spoon-feed it to me. I don’t want to be a slave to a recording to learn the in’s and out’s of a character. I don’t want to rely on anyone else’s interpretation. I need to find it through my own work.

Happily, I can report that the “Strauss Click”, for lack of a better term, happened this week. During the entire first week of our staging, I would do a scene, stumble, fall, collapse, and grind the entire process to a halt while trying to get through the phrase, “Ich habe mich über einen frechen Lakaien erzürnt, da ist sie mir aufgeblitzt.” (This is a phrase, by the way, that needs to trip off the tongue with Crosby-Hope-like panache!) Even for a German, I do believe, it can be tricky. Use your imagination!Speaking of family, I haven’t only been singing this summer (as the photos on this site suggest!)

However, I’ve been working my “heilige” tail off, and it’s finally starting to pay dividends, because now my mind can get out of the panic mode of “WHAT WORD COMES NEXT?”, and start concentrating on lovely, meaningful things such as the character, listening, the scene in general, and the beautiful, naïve, innocent, raw, sincere and earnest sentiments that this young man professes at every given opportunity. He is a joy to discover, as is this piece of music; and in case you’re wondering, my appetite is most definitely whetted for that other masterpiece on the horizon – Herr Octavian!



I’m enclosing a beautiful photo I took on the trek back from Santa Fe to Kansas City, going through the panhandle of Texas and Oklahoma, through historic cities, like Dodge City, and seeing the most vast skies imaginable. Sadly, western Kansas gets a bad rap, but I think that’s because people are too busy seeing what’s not there (there are no mountains, no ocean, this is obvious.) But if they would stop to actually look and see what majestically unfolds in front of them, it truly is a natural wonder, for as far as you can see, the world munificently opens to you a sky and land bigger and more enveloping than your imagination can envision. It is something to behold.

I’m enjoying these memories as well while I’m reading the novel by Truman Capote, “In Cold Blood”. It’s both horrifically chilling and terribly captivating. One element being how Capote, this arrogant animal of the high fashion and erudite literary world of New York, views and describes this other universe of small town gossip and molasses like pacing: as different from his world as could possibly be. It’s a wonderful read, and a welcome distraction from ich’s and sie’s!

Here is to Musik, eine heilige kunst!

My real life Prince Charming

It’s that time of the summer when the workers at the Santa Fe Opera are looking a little weary: we’ve all survived the famed PRESS WEEK, which finds countless international critics, as well as every major player on the domestic operatic team in attendance, waiting with bated breath to see what this season has in store for them. As much as I’d like to say I don’t pay any attention to that rigmarole, as I’m warming up for THE show where said attendees are waiting to pass judgment, I do feel an extra surge of “holy crap” pulse through my body. There is no getting around the fact that every thing you will do will be scrutinized up and down – not by an eager “Joe Public” type, but by THEM. The industry insiders that only seem to be out to get us all!!



OK, so I’m exaggerating, but if one isn’t careful, this is the mentality that can pervade your mind as you’re preparing to do your job. You just KNOW they’re going to hate you and say, “How in the world did SHE ever get hired for this role?” I really try to avoid this mind set, but it’s not easy, let me tell you. How do I approach such a daunting performance? I sincerely try to go back to the fundamental reason of why I do this: that it really shouldn’t be about ME, I want it to be about the public, and the fact that they’ve come to be carried away for a few hours. However, the reality is that ‘those insiders’ are the ones who have to keep hiring me in order for me to be in front of the public, so I want desperately that they ‘like’ me, but in the end, it’s just not about ‘them’ – it has to be about ‘you’. And that is what carries me through a show like that.

The other thing I count on is my rehearsal process; anytime I’m nervous for any particular reason, I can mentally go back and ‘see’ that I’ve rehearsed well, fully, and hopefully thoroughly, and that knowledge is what carries me through. I’ve had to rely on that a number of times, and if I’ve done my work in the rehearsal, it has yet to let me down.

Now we’re only 2 shows away from closing, and the cast is starting to look around and think, “we have to say goodbye in one week”. That is never easy, and it is one of the elements that make this life difficult: you create a sense of family in a very intimate and deep way, and then BAM! Everyone goes away to write the next chapter of their life, which may not include you. Luckily, experience is teaching me that this separation is never too final, because the opera world is small, and we always find a way to cross paths again, picking right back up where we left off. For this, I’m very thankful.


(My Cendrillon Family)

Speaking of family, I haven’t only been singing this summer (as the photos on this site suggest!) Given the proximity of Santa Fe to Las Vegas, Leonardo (who I have sometimes referred to as my ‘real Prince Charming’) and I eloped last week! I don’t normally like to talk about my personal life in great detail on this forum, because it’s not intended for that purpose, but I truly can’t help sharing the news. This is the closest thing I can find to shouting it from the rooftops! We were married on a Gondola at the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas (the closest thing to uniting his background with mine), and it was the most magical day of my life.

So for many reasons, it has been a truly magical summer. I’ve run myself a bit into the ground, which worries me just a bit. The idea at the start of the summer was to find vast amounts of rest and relaxation, time to recuperate. Well, with a role as demanding as this one (not to mention rewarding, I might add), numerous visitors (most welcome, to be sure), lots of recreational activities (not one of which I would trade in), countless social commitments (always a priority here in Santa Fe), and general amounts of responsibility, it adds up to a MOST hectic few months, leaving me at the finish line a bit run down. I’m still searching for that seemingly unattainable goal of perfect BALANCE. The idea that Spain is next on my travel itinerary gives me hope, knowing that the Spanish truly seem to know how to relax and take things at a slightly slower pace! I will be ready for them!

However, I wouldn’t change a thing, for it has been a summer of growth and experience and adventure! We’ve met truly WONDERFUL people, seen extraordinary sights, experienced the best in theater and dance, and, well, we got MARRIED! What else could I possibly ask for? While I might complain about being a bit run-down, I certainly won’t, for one millisecond, say that I am anything less than blessed!



Here’s to a wonderful close to the summer!

Magic which doesn't end at midnight

Well, we did it. The cast and crew and production team that the Santa Fe Opera assembled to pull together this rare gem of a piece, Cendrillon, figured out how it should go, and on Saturday night we breathed life into this magical fairy tale for a vigorous and incredibly enthusiastic audience. If I describe it as magical, I hope it won’t appear too naïve, but that is how I think we all felt when the non-existent curtain came down a few minutes before the stroke of midnight: magical.


(A backstage view of the Palace gates)

I’ve had a bit of experience presenting works that the audience has no familiarity with (Dead Man Walking, Little Women, Resurrection), but this is the first time singing a story that every audience member has known since childhood, but with such a different ‘spin’. Hearing the mostly adult audience gasp and applaud simultaneously at the humor and setting restored my belief that music can be magical and carry people away if only for a few moments. I will never forget that feeling.

Of course, it must be said, that it wasn’t strictly the opera that did this: in my estimation, Laurent Pelly, our esteemed stage director and costume designer, brought such imagination, humility, pathos, heart and soul to the table that it was infectious. I think the local review said something along the lines of “…the apprentice artists flocked to Pelly’s ideas like bees to a honey jar…” which is the perfect description of how we all felt. He knows how to give an artist an entrance which immediately signals to the audience who this character is and what they are feeling; he knows how to actually ENTERTAIN a modern day audience (and considering it’s a jaded old fairy tale, that’s not an easy task) whilst never pandering to them; he knows how to trust the music, so that in the most tender and simple moments of the piece, he is content to simply lets it BE; he knows how to USE the music so that the stage movement flows ever so fluidly with the colors and textures coming from the orchestra. To my thinking, he is our generation’s “Ponnelle”, and I say that not to draw comparison, but to illustrate that in a day of many questionable operatic directors, we have among us a man who isn’t afraid to jump feet first into the art form that has singing as it’s fundamental base, that requires the use of the music and the intention the composer gave to us, and finds a way to combine it all with a sensibility that modern day audiences can grasp and ENJOY.


(With the brilliant Laurent Pelly, taking in the GLORY of a true Santa Fe miraculous sunset)

THIS is why I do what I do.

But wait! I’m omitting a huge factor here! There is this extraordinary cast on top of it all! It’s such an amazing thing to stand on this stage with 2 (dare I say it) true veterans of this craft, Richard Stillwell and Judith Forst, bringing such rare artistry and professionalism with them; with a just-arrived-on-the-scene star, Eglise Gutierrez, spinning gossamer vocal lines with real attitude; and a second year apprentice artist, Jennifer Holloway, who stepped in at the last minute and, I’m pretty sure, just had her big break last Saturday night, playing any girl’s perfect idea of Prince Charming! It is a true kaleidoscope of experience and talent, and it’s breathtaking to see each person find their way to the opening night downbeat in such different ways! It affirms to me that real artists walk their own path and define their own ‘voice’. It is thrilling to witness, and as always, a huge learning experience for me. I felt such a sense of pride to hold this cast’s hand at the end of the show, as each single person put their heart and soul into bringing this piece to life, and I’m certain the audience could feel that. It’s not always the case in our field, so when it happens, I want to scream from the rooftops that IT IS POSSIBLE!!


(The girl with the golden opportunity, Jennifer Holloway, who made the most dashing Prince Charming!)

I don’t want to miss mentioning the outstanding chorus, either. This is a huge show, and many apprentices are stepping up to sing small ‘cameo’ parts, or larger elements, such as the fairies that do tremendous work in this show, all with tremendous aplomb and professionalism. I have a particular sense of pride for this, considering that I was standing in their very shoes 11 years ago. It seems as though only 2 seconds have passed, just a mere blink of the eyes, but reality tells something a bit more vast! My ‘big part’ as an apprentice was singing one of the bridesmaids in Nozze di Figaro, and it was my moment to shine! I will never forget it, and as I’ve written before, I learned so many priceless lessons during those 3 months of non-stop toil, and it warms my heart so much to see the latest group not only rising to the level expected of them, but surpassing it. I’m so proud of them all!

Well, that just leaves me. I am still having a hard time realizing that we’ve opened, and I’ve officially debuted this role. It’s a role that I feel was handed to me on a silver platter, simply because I just love it, and the opera so much. It’s my first ‘big French role’, and I have the chance to engage a lyricism that isn’t perhaps as apparent in my every day repertoire, and I love every second of it. It’s very telling to me, because I cannot relax in this role at all; it is new and it is enormous, so it requires that my concentration and energy be employed at 100% in every moment. Having performed roles like “Rosina” and “Cenerentola” so many times, I walk out on stage and I have the liberty of playing with them, because I know them so well, know my pacing of it backwards and forwards, and there is a sense of flirting with them all the time. Cendrillon may become that for me some day (after numerous more performances), but for now, I’m working my tail off. But, again – a lesson to be learned: it shows me that every moment on stage requires everything I have, at all times, and in all ways, and I embrace that challenge with everything I have! Tonight is our second show and it will be most interesting to see how it has grown over these 4 days. I’m a person that LOVES to rehearse, so I was very sad to see that process here come to close, but now we enter a new phase, and the experimentation, risk taking, and playing takes on a whole new meaning! It’s actually just beginning!


(Last but never least, with the legendary Richard Stilwell. He was the perfect Father in this show.)

So here is to all of the Cendrillon “virgins” having learned the show, pulling together probably the most beautiful spectacle I’ve ever been a part of, and to the Santa Fe Audiences getting a brilliant escape from reality for a few hours!! It just doesn’t get much better than that!

OLÉ!