Day 1: Alcina

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

For the Boys in Blue!

One of my sweetest childhood memories is of my sister and I sitting on our beds, having stealthily stolen the coveted sports page from my older brother, and breathlessly scouring over that morning's "box scores" where the stats from the previous night's game are listed. We couldn't wait to see how many singles Cookie Rojas and Freddie Patek had executed, if Amos Otis was that much closer to another Golden Glove victory that year, if Quisenberry scored another league-leading save, or how close George (Brett, that is, but we felt we could just call him, "George") was to capturing that elusive .400 batting average. They were the glory days of Ewing Kaufmann, Whitey Herzog, Dennis Leonard, Frank White, and actual WINNING SEASONS! OH, the youthful summertime BLISS!


Well, a dream came true for me on Sunday when I was able to 'take the field' (no longer the astro-turf of days gone by), and sing the National Anthem for the Kansas City Royals. It was a genuine rush to walk the halls underneath the stadium and see the retired jerseys of the great players who brought us the World Series in 1985, and then to walk up the long corridor to take my place on their field of dreams - distant dreams these days, it would seem, but dreams none the less! You see, my baseball team hasn't been exactly "competitive" for the past, um, let's say decade or so. But I'm still a loyal fan, and there is no mistaking the joy of being in that stadium, now dubbed "The K" in tribute to their legendary owner, and feeling the possibility of a win. (Incidently, the Kaufmann foundation, which he and his wife founded, is the main force behind building what will be the WORLD CLASS Performing Arts Center in downtown Kansas City!)

In this case the odds were against us as we were playing the EEI (Evil Empire Incarnate): those dreaded Yankees. (Shudder) The horrid Reggie Jackson, the sinister Craig Nettles, let's not EVEN talk about Goose Gossage -- OH how we loved to HATE them!! I miss those days, I miss being competitve, and I miss being able to brag about how we shut them down in the 9th inning of the play-offs. (But we DID strike out Alex Rodriguez twice on Sunday, so I'll take!)

What I love so much about baseball, is that it is the ultimate individual sport housed in the ultimate team sport: each player must excel, and each one has his chance to win the game, but it cannot be done without the effort of the 8 other players and the managers. I won't draw the obvious conclusions of how it parallels what I do (they're there in abundance), but I still learn mounds of things from watching athletes perform - it's all there in their eyes - and I relish each chance to take notes.


I was so happy to sing my country's National Anthem for the cheering crowd that day. I thought a great deal about each word I was singing, yearning to feel a sense of pride in my country again, and ultimately was left feeling quite small and humble in light of the sacrifices that my fellow countrymen have made in the name of America. It's not a small privilege (nor responsibility) to perform that song, and I hope that honor will always accompany it.

*Photos by my wonderful neighbor (and Cubs fan) Carly

Beauty

My sister recently asked me out of the blue, "What's your favorite part about what you do?". I'm not easily stumped or silenced, as most of you who know me can easily attest to, but this question prompted me to really stop in my tracks and search. I knew there couldn't be a wrong answer, but it wasn't a question I could take lightly. After pondering a bit, it was obvious:

I get to be surrounded by unequalled beauty: the beauty of the theaters in which I sing, the beauty of the music I'm continually immersed in, the beauty of the generous people I work with, and perhaps above all, the beauty of the unspoiled human voice, which every so often seems to connect to something unmistakebly divine.

Yesterday, the world lost one of those divine voices, one of those truly radiant souls: Luciano Pavarotti lost his fight with pancreatic cancer.

Was there ever a more beautiful, sun-filled, radiant, natural voice?

Some people love to get into the arguement about what is driving opera today - looks vs. voice, super-model physique vs. impeccable phrasing, size 4 vs. size 44. "It's about theater", we decry! Well, one look at this video, and you have all the theater you need, because it came direct and unflitered from the heart. You see it in his penetrating, haunting eyes, you hear it in his plangeant, melting legato, you feel it through his articulate, perfect diction, and you succomb to it with every fiber of your being:

Una furtiva lagrima

My first encounter with this larger-than-life man was on my Dad's old stereo, playing his favorite Christmas gift that year: a recording of "O Sole Mio". It was the record with Pavarotti smiling that unmistakable BEAMING smile of his on the cover, wearing a large white brimmed hat, and that signature scarf around his neck. It was all Luciano. And that beautiful voice soaring out of our speakers from the scratchy record transported us all to the exotic, distant shores of Italy any time we wanted to go. (And my Dad wanted to go all the time!) I didn't know then that technically this singer was impeccable, I had no clue what good diction or phrasing was, and surely I wasn't aware of the perfection his 'ah' vowel possessed. I only knew it was heartbreakingly beautiful and that it touched me. I also took note of how that single voice could bring the biggest smile to my Dad's face, not to mention to my older sister's face, as much as she rolled her adolescent eyes in protest; you see, we were all hooked.

How many people did he touch throughout his career? How many people did he cause to feel something they had shut off a long time ago? How much beauty did he dole out over the decades, not only through his voice, but through the kindness in his eyes? There are no tables or charts to measure such contributions, but each of us who loved him will attest to his lasting impact, and we shall continue to turn to his timeless, unrivalled recordings where he will live on, and smile with the profound gratitude that our lives are that much more beautiful for having known him.

Back to School

Saluting my 'inner geek', I'd like to confess that I really miss being in school. Not so much for the agony of my upper-class crush not returning my love-notes, (just a tinge of bitterness remains!), and not so much for the advanced and painful physics classes that blatantly did NOT contribute to my quest for mathematic success. Truth be told, I REALLY miss the thrill of the unscribbled notebook, the smell of the new binder waiting to be filled with my adolescent grafitti declaring my love for said 'upper-classman' (never relinquishing hope that he just might catch a glimpse of my ardent declaration for him and immediately issue an invitation to the Prom), or the heart-stopping endless wait to hear the announcement of what that year's musical would be. Oh, the DRAMA. It's August, and my vacation is ending, and I have traded in my Spiral notebooks for freshly copied scores and my yellow highlighter!


Officially I'm still on vacation, but I'm hard at work gearing back up for the coming season, secretly hoping I'll remember how to actually sing now that I've let down for a few glorious weeks. I've dabbled in photography (click here to sample my Safari photos), frolicked in the kitchen (how I love the internet's willingness to help you find new recipes!), and (again: inner geek alert), spent days filing the past 2 years' worth of programs and photos and cards and music. But the sense of accomplishment in seeing your life take on a quasi-organized quality is, simply put, BLISSFUL!

I'll still be a bit 'in absentia' for the next few weeks, but I just wanted to pop in, say hello, (brag about my Safari photos!), and share the excitement for the coming year. Granted, I'll miss the rush of opening my new pack of #2 pencils, but I have more than a sneaking suspicion that Handel will help bridge the gap!

Change of season

It has been quite a year for anyone associated with opera and our "Opera Family". Last year in Santa Fe we received the news of Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's all too early departure from us; we've lost 2 iconic figures in Beverly Sills and Regine Crespin; we've been hit with the news of 2 legends having to fight off the unthinkable opponent in pancreatic cancer; and now we've tragically said goodbye to Jerry Hadley, a story so fragile and heartbreaking, it has surely stopped every singer in their tracks to ponder the fragility of their lives.

As a family, it seems impossible to think of going forward without these great people among us, these immense presences in our lives. It almost seems perverse that we should still be able to hear and observe them in song after they've gone, but thank God we can. It makes me all the more grateful they gave so freely and willingly of their art so that we may have an eternal glimpse of their spirit here among us. And yet, it also amplifies for me how little we ever know about any artist that stands before us. How fragile, indeed.

I finished my season on Monday night by singing Rossini's Stabat Mater for the first time with the incredible Tony Pappano at the helm. In a way I wish the audience could have a tiny window into the thoughts that run through a performer's mind during any given night of music making, for my mind rushed with so many thoughts of my parents and where they might be now and could they hear the noise down here, of my "opera family" and it's search for the delicate balance between sanity and insanity, of life and death, of the glory of making music with such esteemed colleagues, of what must be racing through each audience member's mind as they are taken their individual journey, and more - and yet the only vehicle for expressing all of this are the preordained notes and ancient text which have been (divinely?) scribbled down by an old man over a century before. How ridiculous it seems on the one hand, and yet how rapturously sublime.

*Photo: from the San Augustino Church in Siena before the Concert

Home cooking!

Ah. Home sweet home! I'll admit that it is a touch Pavlovian, but the minute I fly across the geometric planes of Kansas, I start getting the distinct urge to bake! It's tricky trying to whip up something on the road, especially when in Europe, as I'll never trust myself to get the conversions just right, but here at home it's the thing that slows me down and takes me back to those memories of helping my Mom trim the excess dough off her heavenly apple pie, and getting my hands on that coveted spatula dripping with the leftover batter!

This time around it's ZUCCHINI BREAD, courtesy of my sister-in-law! I can't recommend it enough:

*Preheat oven to 350*

3 eggs beaten
1 C vegetable oil
2 C sugar (I can't resist using half brown sugar)

2 C fresh zucchini (peeled, grated, and packed firmly)

3 C flour
1 Tbls. cinnamon
1 1/4 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda

*Sift flour, cinnamon, cloves, salt and baking soda together.
*In a separate bowl, beat eggs, oil and sugar together.
*Mix grated zucchini in with egg mixture.
*Fold in sifted dry ingredients.
*Pour mixture into lightly greased 9x5 bread loaf pans.
*Sprinkle batter with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar.
*Bake @ 350* for 1 hour, or until done when tested

Makes 2 loaves.

(The only other caveat I might add is that I LOVE to add chopped walnuts and dried cranberries...use your imagination!)

There. I feel much better, now!

ENJOY!

May the road rise to meet you

The world has just lost an inspiring, vivacious, dedicated soul. May the example that Beverly Sills so generously set not only for singers, but for mothers and wives and philanthropists and lovers of life, truly pour over all of us, lifting us up, and causing us to constantly learn and grow and surprise all of those around us, as she did so tirelessly.

The beautfiul end of the tunnel!

This morning the dense fog hovers claustro-phobically over the city by the bay, and while it’s tempting to feel as if the day will stay dreary and overcast, one knows with authority that it will soon lift, and that the scorching, luminous sun will emerge to reveal the blinding cerulean skies above. Ah, the marvelous marvels of San Francisco!

Tossing aside any valiant attempt at a cohesive entry this time around, I offer instead the varied ramblings of a tired, yet energized, close-to-vacation singer with the soundtrack of “School’s out for the summer!” blaring through my head! It feels like decades since I’ve claimed this song as my June Anthem! Ramble away:

*What an unabashed thrill, and constant, on-going master class to watch Kristinn Sigmundsson craft his Baron Ochs every night. I’ve never been able to stomach that character much before to be quite honest, for it can so very easily cross over into a nauseating caricature that makes the 4-hour opera feel as if it is the entire Ring Cycle given without intermissions. My hypothesis on why his creation actually evolves to be so endearing and ultimately sympathetic: Kristinn respects and loves the character, never settling for the obvious choice. He truly thinks he is entitled to all he is demanding, and considers himself a true Don Juan in each of his encounters. It is an unabashed delight to watch. Throw in his majestic, malleable facial expressions and you have a masterful performance on hand. Oh, right – I nearly forgot: he also SINGS the bejeebers out of the role! Heilige Mutter von Maria Taferl he’s good!

Lesson learned: never take for granted that a character (or person, for that matter!) is decidedly, 100% worthy of being written off!

*What a lesson in humble artistry to share the stage with Soile Isokowski’s Marschallin. She has the unique ability, even in a 3,500-seat theater, to draw in the audience, inviting them to listen to her most intimate thoughts spun out in a refined, most delicately silver-spun line, breaking your heart with her honest, pure sound. Her perfect use of the text, her trust in the beautiful vocal writing of Strauss, her innate coloring of each phrase, and her ability to get out of the way of the music gives her Marschallin such a human, fragile life. And as far as I’m concerned, her voicing of the line, “da drinn ist die silberne Ros’n…” is all one would ever need to believe that a true paradise exists somewhere. It is “Desert Island” good.

Lesson learned: never miss the opportunity to hear this wonderful artist!

*Anyone concerned about the direction of opera in today’s media-driven climate need not worry if it produces singers like Miah Persson. What a vibrant, committed artist who sings beautifully and insists on never being less than 100% committed to the union between the music and the drama. She sings with a technique that serves her unbelievably well, even through dreaded allergies and other physical circumstances, she is impeccably and thoroughly prepared as a colleague and an immaculate musician, and she brings an instinctive, vital energy to the stage that makes Sophie a much more multi-dimensional character than she might appear on paper. There is no better scenario than to be on stage with colleagues that LISTEN to you, REACT with you, and CREATE the drama in real-time, and Miah does this in spades!

Lesson learned: look to singers like this to insure the future of opera!

*Kudos to any casting/artistic director who is committed to casting an entire piece from strength to strength, knowing that a truly breathtaking theatrical event thrives on every role being brought to vivid life and sung impeccably well. I don’t know that I’ve witnessed a better example of that than in this realization of Der Rosenkavalier. There wasn’t one sung line where the audience was asked to suspend its belief or exhibit patience with a sub-par performance. From the perfectly accomplished Faninal of Jochen Schmeckenbecher (best name in the world!), to the Duenna of Adler fellow Heidi Melton (watch out opera world, here she comes!), to the brilliance of fellow Wichita State Alum, Cathy Cook’s gloriously sexy Anina, it was a stellar cast from top to bottom, and allowed the audience, I think, to truly escape into and believe in this world. This gets my blood pumping! As a rich bonus, every single person in this cast was an unmitigated joy to share the front and back stage with, and made this experience yet another magical moment in time for me.

Lesson learned: there are no small roles. Well, OK, let’s be honest: there ARE, in fact, “small roles”, however, this lesson is that they don’t automatically or necessarily yield a small IMPACT! Bravi, tutti!



*This is the most glorious music to sing. Some people have asked me if I approach the singing differently, or question why my voice seems to take on different colors/timbres in this role. Honestly, I’m not smart enough to juggle separate techniques for each genre I sing – I have one ‘technique’ and sing in one “manner” (IF I’m behaving myself) and fully expect it to serve any type of music I may sing, be it Rossini, lieder or Strauss. I fully believe the answer simply lies in the fact that the language, the vocal writing and the orchestration all work together to inform the colors and phrasing in one’s singing. It comes down to singing what has been handed to us by the composer (in this case perfectly penned by Strauss), and staying out of the way of the music. If, for example, Rossini, Strauss and Britten were all given the same notes to play with, they would each come up with a completely different interpretation, set with different phrasing, unique text, and separate requirements – regardless of the notes being the same values on the page, the results would be light years apart in sound and impact. This is one reason I love exploring varied repertoire, and never find even a hint of boredom setting in.

Lesson learned: stay out of the way, Stupid!

*I love my job. I continue to pinch myself that I am continually given the opportunity to bring such masterful music to life. The fog that has hung over me this past year with the loss of my parents is undoubtedly real, profound and life changing, but through the midst of the mist I have had music to cling to. I endeavor to continually recognize that music is not the only thing in my life – it is simply a part of my life. But I have had the blessed fortune to be able to turn to it as a source of comfort and guidance and even therapy. In a most literal fashion, singing the role of Idamante seems almost cruelly ironic, but as I’ve noted before, Mozart’s music possesses a cleansing and healing quality entrenched in each phrase, and I know that it serves to be a guiding force through my grieving. While the words of the Marschallin can touch listeners in nearly any phase of their life, I know that listening to them each night on the stage has had a calming effect on me, and penetrates my heart deeply in my need to let go and not hold on to the past. It was as if my Father were whispering those very words into my heart to help me move forward.

Lesson learned: Leicht muß man sein mit leichtem Herz und leichten Händen halten und nehmen, halten und lassen…

(Light must we be, with light hearts and light hands, to hold and take hold, and to let go…)

Well, like the inevitable clock striking midnight, the fog has now lifted, inviting all to jump with abandon into the day here in San Francisco. It’s nearly time for me to clean out the refrigerator, clean up the rental unit, pack up my belongings and say goodbye to this rich city. I will surely miss the fresh air, the inventive, delicious cuisine and the “brisk” breezes, however it is the friends, the audience and the cast members that will leave the biggest imprint on me. Little do they all know it, but they have each helped me through a very difficult time with their patience, their enthusiasm, their artistry and their friendship. I began the journey of my first Octavian here, healed some of my grief here, walked through the light at the end of the tunnel, and quite simply, loved every minute of it.


Here is to brilliant azure skies, silver roses and letting go!

Production photos: ©Terrence McCarthy
San Francisco Opera, Der Rosenkavalier