Last night B and I went to the final dress rehearsal of Aida, and I can not tell you what an incredible revelation it was for me.
There is a lot of talk around NYC and around the blogosphere these days about traditions in opera and new productions and the vices and virtues of each. I don’t really want to weigh in on that aspect (especially considering that much of the buzz is centered around my current place of employment), but last night was my first real exposure to “grand opera,” and it was amazing.
It sounds strange to say this about an opera that boasted 200 extras and five horses and ballet dancers and lavish costumes, but there was something so pure about what I saw on stage last night. The singing was spectacular! The principal artists used their voices and talents to serve the music, and in the end I was moved to tears. People started applauding before the curtain closed or the music ended, but I could only sit there, stunned by how I was feeling.
I felt like I had really seen “an opera.” Not a movie, or even a play. The music - and , therefore, the singing - was the most important thing on that stage last night. As someone who came to opera through my love of theater, I’m embarrassed to say that I think I forget that sometimes.
This is not to say there was no acting last night; far from it! But the singers’ energies were so focused. They weren’t flailing about onstage trying to show us how upset or happy they were; they just sang. They had a quietness of body* that I find elusive at times.
I worry that with a part like Marguerite, a character who is tormented by the devil while praying in church and who sings an intense trio (at the end of the night) after losing her mind, my body will get so wrapped up in the emotion of the moment that my singing is impaired. I need to remember what I saw last night, and how moved I was by the end of it. The music will move the audience, will make them feel tense and scared and relieved and sad. I am merely a vessel.
This reminds me of what a coach said to me years ago at Tanglewood: “I want you to be a singer who dances, not a dancer who sings.” With the projects I have on the docket this season, maybe it’s time I start shifting from an actor who sings to a singer who acts. A slight difference, to be sure, but after what I experienced last night, I think it is paramount.
So, how to do it? Stay tuned...
*Some people call this “stand and sing.” After what I saw and heard last night, I no longer think S&S is an entirely bad thing...
Showing posts with label stagecraft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stagecraft. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Bullet Points, August 08
Ok, wow. When I said I wasn’t going to be blogging much this summer, I had no idea that I would go weeks without even a peep! I’ve had a couple of blog-related dreams this week, so maybe it’s time to check in. Rather than try to put the past month in any kind of order, it’s time for... you guessed it: bullet points! Maybe I’ll follow up with a Picture Pages post...
* It’s been a summer for blasts from the past. In Cleveland for my Symphony gig, I was reconnected with FD, with whom I first worked three years ago in Atlanta. Also in Cleveland, I recognized one of the flute players from my days at Tanglewood. It’s so cool to work with these top orchestras and discover colleagues who have won those fiercely competitive jobs. Congrats, SSC! Another blast (in more ways than one) has been working with TS here at Wolf Trap. I first met him in Santa Fe in 2006 where he directed my scene on the Apprentice program, my first encounter with Lucia... He’s been our director for Ariadne here, and his creativity and enthusiasm have been contagious. See below for more.
* The next blast from the past came a few weeks ago, in an email entitled “10 years ago.” GH, a fellow student at the University of Georgia, is now the director of a top choir in Texas. He was also one of the first people to encourage me to switch from education to performance, saying “I think you might just have something there.” We will catch each other up on the events of 1998-2008 when I sing with his group in December. How cool is that?
* Ariadne rehearsals are over; we open tomorrow night. You can see a bunch of pictures on Kim’s blog. You will see that my costume for the first act (The Prologue) is, well, a bit on the skimpy side at times. It has been my first experience with semi-nudity onstage, something I knew I’d face sooner or later, so I’ve been really happy to do it here, at a very supportive company with a great professional (read: mature) cast and a director I admire and trust. I was free at any time to draw the line, but this always felt like the “right” thing for the scene/character/world we’d all created onstage. But, in any case, I’m kind of glad my folks aren’t at this one... Wait until I’m naked in Germany and come make a vacation out of it!
* One more plug for TS: it was pretty wonderful to look out at the director’s table during rehearsals and see him smiling and laughing or intently focused on the drama. It felt great to have a director who was excited every day to make some magic! Before we started one of our final days of initial staging, he started rehearsal by saying, "I couldn't sleep last night 'cuz I was so excited to come stage this!" That, my friends, is what you want to meet when you come to work! It’s been a pleasure, TS; can’t wait to do it again.
* The biggest thing I’ve learned during this show, however, is that Zerbinetta is not in my cards. I’ve been trying on and off for an hour to try and sum up why, but I don’t think it’s a bullet point topic. I’ll try to get some thoughts down about our parting soon, but for now, it was a very amicable separation.
Some non-singing bullet points:
* New tunes I’ve been digging this summer: Chromeo, St. Vincent, She & Him (fantastic album), Fleet Foxes, Jason Mraz, Regina Spektor. (Many thanks to Maury for that last one; I, too, was late on the bandwagon...)
* The Olympics are awesome and all-consuming. But this is not news.
* I’m way behind on updating the blogroll, but for now, check out Sestissimo at Trying to Remain Opera-tional. She’s a great writer, and she’s about to travel to South America to sing Musetta in Boheme. Expect some great stories!
More soon. Well, soonish. But not three weeks, I promise!
* It’s been a summer for blasts from the past. In Cleveland for my Symphony gig, I was reconnected with FD, with whom I first worked three years ago in Atlanta. Also in Cleveland, I recognized one of the flute players from my days at Tanglewood. It’s so cool to work with these top orchestras and discover colleagues who have won those fiercely competitive jobs. Congrats, SSC! Another blast (in more ways than one) has been working with TS here at Wolf Trap. I first met him in Santa Fe in 2006 where he directed my scene on the Apprentice program, my first encounter with Lucia... He’s been our director for Ariadne here, and his creativity and enthusiasm have been contagious. See below for more.
* The next blast from the past came a few weeks ago, in an email entitled “10 years ago.” GH, a fellow student at the University of Georgia, is now the director of a top choir in Texas. He was also one of the first people to encourage me to switch from education to performance, saying “I think you might just have something there.” We will catch each other up on the events of 1998-2008 when I sing with his group in December. How cool is that?
* Ariadne rehearsals are over; we open tomorrow night. You can see a bunch of pictures on Kim’s blog. You will see that my costume for the first act (The Prologue) is, well, a bit on the skimpy side at times. It has been my first experience with semi-nudity onstage, something I knew I’d face sooner or later, so I’ve been really happy to do it here, at a very supportive company with a great professional (read: mature) cast and a director I admire and trust. I was free at any time to draw the line, but this always felt like the “right” thing for the scene/character/world we’d all created onstage. But, in any case, I’m kind of glad my folks aren’t at this one... Wait until I’m naked in Germany and come make a vacation out of it!
* One more plug for TS: it was pretty wonderful to look out at the director’s table during rehearsals and see him smiling and laughing or intently focused on the drama. It felt great to have a director who was excited every day to make some magic! Before we started one of our final days of initial staging, he started rehearsal by saying, "I couldn't sleep last night 'cuz I was so excited to come stage this!" That, my friends, is what you want to meet when you come to work! It’s been a pleasure, TS; can’t wait to do it again.
* The biggest thing I’ve learned during this show, however, is that Zerbinetta is not in my cards. I’ve been trying on and off for an hour to try and sum up why, but I don’t think it’s a bullet point topic. I’ll try to get some thoughts down about our parting soon, but for now, it was a very amicable separation.
Some non-singing bullet points:
* New tunes I’ve been digging this summer: Chromeo, St. Vincent, She & Him (fantastic album), Fleet Foxes, Jason Mraz, Regina Spektor. (Many thanks to Maury for that last one; I, too, was late on the bandwagon...)
* The Olympics are awesome and all-consuming. But this is not news.
* I’m way behind on updating the blogroll, but for now, check out Sestissimo at Trying to Remain Opera-tional. She’s a great writer, and she’s about to travel to South America to sing Musetta in Boheme. Expect some great stories!
More soon. Well, soonish. But not three weeks, I promise!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Focusing the Body
During an early staging rehearsal for Figaro, after I finished up a scene I sat back down next to a member of the cover cast. A singer I’ve admired for a while, she said, “So... how long did you dance?”
It seems my dancing days are still evident, not just when I’m dancing, but in the general way I “act” on stage. I’m not talking about having a good carriage or being graceful; she could see my “inner dancer” in the way I flitted about on stage, in the way I was always moving. In this case, not necessarily the best thing.
She went on to talk of her own experience (she also had a dance background), including the time a director encouraged her to rein in her physicality, to explore a physical stillness that would allow her voice to do more of the work telling the story. With opera, we can trust the composer (if s/he’s a good one) to help us express character, including silliness or flightiness; we don’t necessarily need to do it all with the body. For example, it was amazing to watch and listen as Susan Graham worked her way through the Iphigenie rehearsals. Talk about acting with the voice! She is a wonderful actor, period, but the emotions that come through her voice as she stands there and sings can blow your mind. She’s not “showing” us how she feels; she’s feeling it, and her voice is expressing it. She simply lets her voice deliver the emotions that Gluck captured in his music. It’s inspiring.
Granted, Barbarina is a flighty girl, probably a bit high-strung. Think of the line from Act I, when the Count describes finding Cherubino in Barbarina’s house: he describes her as being paurosa fuor dell'uso, “flustered more than usual.” So it was interesting to think about economy of movement, especially thinking ahead to performing Susanna. Barbarina’s aria was a good exercise is doing less, in letting the anxiety of the music tell the story: minor key, undulating triple meter, those repeated c's in the orchestra. It's all right there. Of course, in the recit after the aria, she is quick to try to hide her anxiety, back to her flighty ways while talking with Figaro and Marcellina.
In another early rehearsal, I noted how well Terfel handled the physical interactions that were blocked. I was kneeling down on the floor, looking for the pin, and when he came to lift me up by the arm, he barely touched me. His voice and the rest of his body acted as if he were taking out his frustrations on me (“What do you know about these things?!”), but his hand was practically limp. A grimace on my face and a movement of my arm as if trying to get out of a grip, and voila! Stage violence.
As I described in an earlier post, he changed up this blocking one night, but all he did was touch the back of my neck. It was up to me to (quickly!) figure out what he was doing (lifting me up by the scruff of my neck) and react accordingly. It was fun to struggle against his non-existent grip, to make it look like I was a kid getting dragged off to the principal’s office.
There were all kinds of interactions like this in Figaro: the Count pulling Cherubino by his ear, various “romantic” entanglements, Susanna’s slaps of Figaro, and the physical face-off between the Count and Figaro in Act III. Simon also did a huge pratfall every night, taking a swinging kick at Bryn and going flying. Fantastic physical comedy, focused and carefully planned.
This post may seem to contradict a lot of what I wrote in the previous post, but I’m pretty sure it’s all of a piece. I’m not saying I need to be more still on stage by being more cerebral, less physical; I just need to focus the energy. Trust the music. Be present in my body, tell the story with my voice - which is part of my body - and not with my head. As always, it’s a balance.
It seems my dancing days are still evident, not just when I’m dancing, but in the general way I “act” on stage. I’m not talking about having a good carriage or being graceful; she could see my “inner dancer” in the way I flitted about on stage, in the way I was always moving. In this case, not necessarily the best thing.
She went on to talk of her own experience (she also had a dance background), including the time a director encouraged her to rein in her physicality, to explore a physical stillness that would allow her voice to do more of the work telling the story. With opera, we can trust the composer (if s/he’s a good one) to help us express character, including silliness or flightiness; we don’t necessarily need to do it all with the body. For example, it was amazing to watch and listen as Susan Graham worked her way through the Iphigenie rehearsals. Talk about acting with the voice! She is a wonderful actor, period, but the emotions that come through her voice as she stands there and sings can blow your mind. She’s not “showing” us how she feels; she’s feeling it, and her voice is expressing it. She simply lets her voice deliver the emotions that Gluck captured in his music. It’s inspiring.
Granted, Barbarina is a flighty girl, probably a bit high-strung. Think of the line from Act I, when the Count describes finding Cherubino in Barbarina’s house: he describes her as being paurosa fuor dell'uso, “flustered more than usual.” So it was interesting to think about economy of movement, especially thinking ahead to performing Susanna. Barbarina’s aria was a good exercise is doing less, in letting the anxiety of the music tell the story: minor key, undulating triple meter, those repeated c's in the orchestra. It's all right there. Of course, in the recit after the aria, she is quick to try to hide her anxiety, back to her flighty ways while talking with Figaro and Marcellina.
In another early rehearsal, I noted how well Terfel handled the physical interactions that were blocked. I was kneeling down on the floor, looking for the pin, and when he came to lift me up by the arm, he barely touched me. His voice and the rest of his body acted as if he were taking out his frustrations on me (“What do you know about these things?!”), but his hand was practically limp. A grimace on my face and a movement of my arm as if trying to get out of a grip, and voila! Stage violence.
As I described in an earlier post, he changed up this blocking one night, but all he did was touch the back of my neck. It was up to me to (quickly!) figure out what he was doing (lifting me up by the scruff of my neck) and react accordingly. It was fun to struggle against his non-existent grip, to make it look like I was a kid getting dragged off to the principal’s office.
There were all kinds of interactions like this in Figaro: the Count pulling Cherubino by his ear, various “romantic” entanglements, Susanna’s slaps of Figaro, and the physical face-off between the Count and Figaro in Act III. Simon also did a huge pratfall every night, taking a swinging kick at Bryn and going flying. Fantastic physical comedy, focused and carefully planned.
This post may seem to contradict a lot of what I wrote in the previous post, but I’m pretty sure it’s all of a piece. I’m not saying I need to be more still on stage by being more cerebral, less physical; I just need to focus the energy. Trust the music. Be present in my body, tell the story with my voice - which is part of my body - and not with my head. As always, it’s a balance.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Out of Your Head
I’ve been planning a post for weeks, maybe months, about the importance of getting out of your head and into your body as a singer, and, well, here it is. (Ed. Note: It’s true; I started this post in July...)
The idea first came to me while watching “the big stars” in rehearsals at the Met this past year. Singers who have extensive backgrounds in physical arts - like Diana Damrau (dance) and Rolando Villazon (clowning), for example, two folks I got to see in action – are such a joy to watch onstage! They are not only more comfortable with crazy stage actions like lying down to sing or running or dancing, but they are also able to use their full instrument (it’s more than just the voice!) to engage the listener and to tell the story. Their minds were were completely present on stage, or, at least, so it seemed from the outside. Which, ultimately, is what you want.
It’s as if they’re not actively “thinking.” Singing for them is a physical act, not a cerebral one. Of course, of course: the mind is involved, and the hours of “armchair work” studying languages and rhythms and endless drilling of memory are not unimportant. But when it comes time to get a character on her feet? It’s physical. Not to mention the fact that our actual instrument is located in the body, not the mind...
I can add now, in December, Bryn Terfel: I don’t know what his dance/movement/sports background is, other than rugby, but he is a great physical actor, someone who definitely just goes and there and plays. He has obviously put a lot of thought into his performance and practice and character, but the cerebral brain is turned off on-stage. More on physicality and my Figaro experience in another post.
One night this summer, over at RM’s for dinner, LB and I started waltzing in the kitchen (doing our best to get in the way as much as possible). It began just kind of silly (sillily?), but it didn’t take me long to realize that he actually knew how to waltz! So, instead of just playing around, I had to actively turn of the thinking part of my brain and just give over to the physical act of dancing. When I could let go and let him lead, it was smooth sailing. (It’s so nice to dance with a tall man who knows how to dance, right?) But as soon as my head got involved again, we were at odds (but only slightly). I’m not saying you shouldn’t think when you’re on-stage; obviously, you have to. But it is possible to get in your way.
When students ask me what they should do with themselves while they are building their voices, waiting the 5-10 years between finishing school and being ready (maybe) to work, I encourage them to dance. Take any kind of dance class - ballroom, modern, jazz, ballet, hip-hop, whatever. Or take martial arts or fencing. Anything that gets you out of your mental, analytic, judgmental self and into your physical, instinctual, visceral self. Get out of your head and into your body. Your voice will thank you for it.
The idea first came to me while watching “the big stars” in rehearsals at the Met this past year. Singers who have extensive backgrounds in physical arts - like Diana Damrau (dance) and Rolando Villazon (clowning), for example, two folks I got to see in action – are such a joy to watch onstage! They are not only more comfortable with crazy stage actions like lying down to sing or running or dancing, but they are also able to use their full instrument (it’s more than just the voice!) to engage the listener and to tell the story. Their minds were were completely present on stage, or, at least, so it seemed from the outside. Which, ultimately, is what you want.
It’s as if they’re not actively “thinking.” Singing for them is a physical act, not a cerebral one. Of course, of course: the mind is involved, and the hours of “armchair work” studying languages and rhythms and endless drilling of memory are not unimportant. But when it comes time to get a character on her feet? It’s physical. Not to mention the fact that our actual instrument is located in the body, not the mind...
I can add now, in December, Bryn Terfel: I don’t know what his dance/movement/sports background is, other than rugby, but he is a great physical actor, someone who definitely just goes and there and plays. He has obviously put a lot of thought into his performance and practice and character, but the cerebral brain is turned off on-stage. More on physicality and my Figaro experience in another post.
One night this summer, over at RM’s for dinner, LB and I started waltzing in the kitchen (doing our best to get in the way as much as possible). It began just kind of silly (sillily?), but it didn’t take me long to realize that he actually knew how to waltz! So, instead of just playing around, I had to actively turn of the thinking part of my brain and just give over to the physical act of dancing. When I could let go and let him lead, it was smooth sailing. (It’s so nice to dance with a tall man who knows how to dance, right?) But as soon as my head got involved again, we were at odds (but only slightly). I’m not saying you shouldn’t think when you’re on-stage; obviously, you have to. But it is possible to get in your way.
When students ask me what they should do with themselves while they are building their voices, waiting the 5-10 years between finishing school and being ready (maybe) to work, I encourage them to dance. Take any kind of dance class - ballroom, modern, jazz, ballet, hip-hop, whatever. Or take martial arts or fencing. Anything that gets you out of your mental, analytic, judgmental self and into your physical, instinctual, visceral self. Get out of your head and into your body. Your voice will thank you for it.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
On and off
In tonight’s Figaro, I had both a big “oops” moment and a big “wow, this is awesome” moment. Sometimes you’re on, sometimes you’re off, sometimes even in the same show.
For my first recit in the wedding scene, when presenting the flowers to the Countess, I heard the chord in the harpsichord and just plain didn’t know what my note was supposed to be. I started high, but still in the key, and found my way back to the correct melody by the third word or so. But whooboy!! was that a scary split second! Kim, that’s truly where the improv opera came in handy!
The rest of the scene was fine; fun, even. The Act came to an end and I went back on for the aria, looking for the dang pin. (Side note: on Saturday, when I came into the scene to start looking, what should I see on the floor in front of me but an actual bobby pin! I thought, “Oh! here it is! No need to sing the aria, Maestro!”) I finished up, and we started the recit in which Figaro chides Barbarina for playing these grown up games all too well. We never do the scene exactly the same way twice, and today it was particularly fun.
Bryn usually lifts me by my arm off the floor, where I am crouched looking for – what else? – the pin. But today, I was in a bit of a different position, and he essentially grabbed me by the scruff of my neck! Like a cat, as JB said. He is a master of physicality onstage, so he never hurts me; but this was so different and unexpected that I think I squealed! When it was finally time to say my next line (“What? Are you mad at me?!”), I know that the pitches were approximate, ‘cuz I was speaking/singing as if I were getting picked on my big brother, which, in fact, was kind of what was happening. It was a little whiny, a little pouty, very like a little brat who’d gotten herself in a tricky spot. (Did anyone happen to record tonight’s Sirius broadcast? I’d love to hear it, if you did.)
The moment is hard to describe, but the whole scene was so much fun, as it always is. I never know when Bryn is going to actually let me have the pin that he’s holding; we play keep-away until he gives it up. We are six shows into this run, and every night I learn something new about my character, every night we all make things new. I am thrilled that I’m becoming comfortable enough with recit and Italian that I can “play” like this in performance. I only get two chances with Susanna in February, so I’m going to need to be ready. Ready to play!
For my first recit in the wedding scene, when presenting the flowers to the Countess, I heard the chord in the harpsichord and just plain didn’t know what my note was supposed to be. I started high, but still in the key, and found my way back to the correct melody by the third word or so. But whooboy!! was that a scary split second! Kim, that’s truly where the improv opera came in handy!
The rest of the scene was fine; fun, even. The Act came to an end and I went back on for the aria, looking for the dang pin. (Side note: on Saturday, when I came into the scene to start looking, what should I see on the floor in front of me but an actual bobby pin! I thought, “Oh! here it is! No need to sing the aria, Maestro!”) I finished up, and we started the recit in which Figaro chides Barbarina for playing these grown up games all too well. We never do the scene exactly the same way twice, and today it was particularly fun.
Bryn usually lifts me by my arm off the floor, where I am crouched looking for – what else? – the pin. But today, I was in a bit of a different position, and he essentially grabbed me by the scruff of my neck! Like a cat, as JB said. He is a master of physicality onstage, so he never hurts me; but this was so different and unexpected that I think I squealed! When it was finally time to say my next line (“What? Are you mad at me?!”), I know that the pitches were approximate, ‘cuz I was speaking/singing as if I were getting picked on my big brother, which, in fact, was kind of what was happening. It was a little whiny, a little pouty, very like a little brat who’d gotten herself in a tricky spot. (Did anyone happen to record tonight’s Sirius broadcast? I’d love to hear it, if you did.)
The moment is hard to describe, but the whole scene was so much fun, as it always is. I never know when Bryn is going to actually let me have the pin that he’s holding; we play keep-away until he gives it up. We are six shows into this run, and every night I learn something new about my character, every night we all make things new. I am thrilled that I’m becoming comfortable enough with recit and Italian that I can “play” like this in performance. I only get two chances with Susanna in February, so I’m going to need to be ready. Ready to play!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
A dream
Last Saturday felt like a dream, in more ways than one! It was a dream to up on that stage at the curtain call, surrounded by incredible artists (who are all, to a one, fun and fabulous people, too) and hearing the rush of applause from the audience when each of them would enter for their bow. My cheeks hurt from all the smiling!
But it also felt like a dream on Sunday morning, when I woke up and thought, “What happened yesterday?” I had vague memories of seeing Bryn Terfel on a darkened stage; I remembered seeing the Maestro out in the pit (so far away!) with a full house behind him; I kind of remembered singing an aria… But I am not exaggerating when I say that Wednesday night’s performance was full of moments that I just plain did not recall from the first show on Saturday!
At one point, I’m supposed to take off my hat and leave it backstage for G, my dresser, to come collect. As I was getting ready to go on Wednesday, I conferred with her about when, exactly, that was supposed to happen – because I absolutely could not remember. There was zero memory of taking off my hat!! She was pretty sure it happened before my aria, so I said I’d take if off in the very short interlude that I’m offstage after the wedding and before the aria.
So, I go on, sing the recits in the wedding scene (having much more fun and getting a bit more flirty with the Count this time around), exit the stage with Kate (Cherubino), and am met by M, a stage manager, who says, “Bend down.” She then proceeds to take off my hat! Honestly? As far as I know, that didn’t happen on Saturday. Of course it did, but the memory has been completely blacked out, along with the dancing in the wedding scene, and any thing that happened between my dressing room and the stage. It’s just gone.
Why? I usually have the ability to take in a lot of what is going on around me while I’m performing and still stay focused on doing my job. In school productions, I always found my parents in the audience without even trying; my scope was just wide, and I knew their faces well enough to spot them in a crowd without much effort. But on Saturday? That scope, that focus, was so close in, I’m surprised I even saw the audience. There is always a lot going on “behind the scenes” of a show, things other than the stage action, but at the Met, it’s off the charts. In order to make it out alive, I had to tune out all the unnecessary stuff. It’s kind of amazing, really, the brain’s ability to do that…
By Wednesday, I was able to have much more fun, to open my focus a little bit more. This time around, I knew what the orchestra was going to sound like (I didn’t get the chance to sing my aria at the Sitzprobe…), I knew what to expect from the harpsichord and continuo, and I knew my way around the set a little better. I knew where my colleagues were going to be, so I didn’t have to worry about stepping on them like I did with a chorus member during the wedding dance on Saturday! I could relax a bit into my aria, since I knew my way around the stage and I knew when and where and how to connect with the Maestro.
All this, and I had a TINY role!! I can’t imagine how Susanna or the Count or any of them did what they did on Saturday. It’s a testament to their skills as stage creatures, as professionals who thrive under less-than-ideal conditions. A long rehearsal period is a luxury, I’m learning, and these folks know how to get it done under pressure.
In other news, my cold was very short-lived; two days of rest and lots of water and yin qiao knocked it out. My parents have been having a great week in NYC: a fantastic dinner at Telepan before the show on Wednesday (thanks for the rec, JSU!), the NYFOS concert and swank party afterwards, a trip to the American Girl store with the birthday girl (6!), sitting in on ESL classes at a local middle school (Mom) and tiling the Brooklyn Birds’ kitchen (Dad). I’ll meet up with them again tonight, after today’s matinee and an audition at 6. This audition requires some scene reading – in an Irish accent! Fortunately, my dear PM was in town still, and we met up over hot chocolate yesterday to talk soft T’s and closed O’s.
It’s been an intense few weeks around here, but I wouldn’t change a bit of it. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
PS: This is my 500th post! What's the gift for 500?
But it also felt like a dream on Sunday morning, when I woke up and thought, “What happened yesterday?” I had vague memories of seeing Bryn Terfel on a darkened stage; I remembered seeing the Maestro out in the pit (so far away!) with a full house behind him; I kind of remembered singing an aria… But I am not exaggerating when I say that Wednesday night’s performance was full of moments that I just plain did not recall from the first show on Saturday!
At one point, I’m supposed to take off my hat and leave it backstage for G, my dresser, to come collect. As I was getting ready to go on Wednesday, I conferred with her about when, exactly, that was supposed to happen – because I absolutely could not remember. There was zero memory of taking off my hat!! She was pretty sure it happened before my aria, so I said I’d take if off in the very short interlude that I’m offstage after the wedding and before the aria.
So, I go on, sing the recits in the wedding scene (having much more fun and getting a bit more flirty with the Count this time around), exit the stage with Kate (Cherubino), and am met by M, a stage manager, who says, “Bend down.” She then proceeds to take off my hat! Honestly? As far as I know, that didn’t happen on Saturday. Of course it did, but the memory has been completely blacked out, along with the dancing in the wedding scene, and any thing that happened between my dressing room and the stage. It’s just gone.
Why? I usually have the ability to take in a lot of what is going on around me while I’m performing and still stay focused on doing my job. In school productions, I always found my parents in the audience without even trying; my scope was just wide, and I knew their faces well enough to spot them in a crowd without much effort. But on Saturday? That scope, that focus, was so close in, I’m surprised I even saw the audience. There is always a lot going on “behind the scenes” of a show, things other than the stage action, but at the Met, it’s off the charts. In order to make it out alive, I had to tune out all the unnecessary stuff. It’s kind of amazing, really, the brain’s ability to do that…
By Wednesday, I was able to have much more fun, to open my focus a little bit more. This time around, I knew what the orchestra was going to sound like (I didn’t get the chance to sing my aria at the Sitzprobe…), I knew what to expect from the harpsichord and continuo, and I knew my way around the set a little better. I knew where my colleagues were going to be, so I didn’t have to worry about stepping on them like I did with a chorus member during the wedding dance on Saturday! I could relax a bit into my aria, since I knew my way around the stage and I knew when and where and how to connect with the Maestro.
All this, and I had a TINY role!! I can’t imagine how Susanna or the Count or any of them did what they did on Saturday. It’s a testament to their skills as stage creatures, as professionals who thrive under less-than-ideal conditions. A long rehearsal period is a luxury, I’m learning, and these folks know how to get it done under pressure.
In other news, my cold was very short-lived; two days of rest and lots of water and yin qiao knocked it out. My parents have been having a great week in NYC: a fantastic dinner at Telepan before the show on Wednesday (thanks for the rec, JSU!), the NYFOS concert and swank party afterwards, a trip to the American Girl store with the birthday girl (6!), sitting in on ESL classes at a local middle school (Mom) and tiling the Brooklyn Birds’ kitchen (Dad). I’ll meet up with them again tonight, after today’s matinee and an audition at 6. This audition requires some scene reading – in an Irish accent! Fortunately, my dear PM was in town still, and we met up over hot chocolate yesterday to talk soft T’s and closed O’s.
It’s been an intense few weeks around here, but I wouldn’t change a bit of it. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
PS: This is my 500th post! What's the gift for 500?
Monday, July 23, 2007
Instant Opera
Kim posted a better wrap-up of Instant Opera than I ever could, so head on over there and read what she has to say. (Second half of the post.)
I will reiterate two points:
One: generous colleagues! Kim used the word ‘gracious,’ but I think generous works, too. Through this crazy project, we learned lessons in how to help someone out on stage - or how to ask for help! While we may never again have to help each other actually make up the story on the spot, we’re always going to be working together to tell a story. And we may have to feed a line or two. Mostly, we learned how to just play together! And you know how I love to play…
Two: recitative. Before we started Instant Opera, I was really nervous about tackling all the recit in the role of Susanna. I’ve somehow managed to get to this point never having sung a Mozart opera with recit, and I’ve been terrified! Recit seems so daunting, all set out there on the page in perfectly equal eighth- or sixteenth-notes which you somehow have to turn into something that sounds like speech. But, but… what about the rhythm? “Just speak it,” everyone always says. That concept has totally perplexed me, but now, after making up recit on the fly, I get it. A few more weeks of just speaking the Italian (hopefully soon with the help of FG, our Italian coach here at Wolf Trap), I think I’ll be ready to add the notes! That’s going to be incredible.
(I guess this is my first true “Susanna” entry. I plan to blog pretty extensively about learning this role, since it’s a big one, both in and of itself and in terms of my career. Stay tuned…)
So, yes, Instant Opera was an absolute joy and a thrill. I’ll write tomorrow about my final Wolf Trap assignment - the upcoming recital with Steve Blier at the helm - but first, a restful night at home after a delicious weekend back in NYC… (One word: Epoisses...)
I will reiterate two points:
One: generous colleagues! Kim used the word ‘gracious,’ but I think generous works, too. Through this crazy project, we learned lessons in how to help someone out on stage - or how to ask for help! While we may never again have to help each other actually make up the story on the spot, we’re always going to be working together to tell a story. And we may have to feed a line or two. Mostly, we learned how to just play together! And you know how I love to play…
Two: recitative. Before we started Instant Opera, I was really nervous about tackling all the recit in the role of Susanna. I’ve somehow managed to get to this point never having sung a Mozart opera with recit, and I’ve been terrified! Recit seems so daunting, all set out there on the page in perfectly equal eighth- or sixteenth-notes which you somehow have to turn into something that sounds like speech. But, but… what about the rhythm? “Just speak it,” everyone always says. That concept has totally perplexed me, but now, after making up recit on the fly, I get it. A few more weeks of just speaking the Italian (hopefully soon with the help of FG, our Italian coach here at Wolf Trap), I think I’ll be ready to add the notes! That’s going to be incredible.
(I guess this is my first true “Susanna” entry. I plan to blog pretty extensively about learning this role, since it’s a big one, both in and of itself and in terms of my career. Stay tuned…)
So, yes, Instant Opera was an absolute joy and a thrill. I’ll write tomorrow about my final Wolf Trap assignment - the upcoming recital with Steve Blier at the helm - but first, a restful night at home after a delicious weekend back in NYC… (One word: Epoisses...)
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Ch-ch-changes
Often in the rehearsal process, just when you think you’ve got your character / staging / interpretation nailed down, another element is added to the mix that throws everything out of whack. And sometimes that means completely rethinking what has come before.
At tonight’s rehearsal, I’ll be presenting an almost completely different character than the one I’d grown into over the past couple of weeks. Not entirely different, but different enough that it feels like I’m starting over. The creative direction staff (director, conductor, composer, costumer, etc.) is with me on the change; in fact, I wouldn’t be making the change if it weren’t for them! But, essentially, they’re the Boss. Who knows if this incarnation of Celia will be what audiences see on Friday night; we might go back to what we had last night or come up with something that’s between the two or even find something different altogether! It’s all part of the process…
A very tough part. “Flexibility is the key to airpower,” and all that, but eek!! Time for some visualization and mental focus. I’ll report back…
At tonight’s rehearsal, I’ll be presenting an almost completely different character than the one I’d grown into over the past couple of weeks. Not entirely different, but different enough that it feels like I’m starting over. The creative direction staff (director, conductor, composer, costumer, etc.) is with me on the change; in fact, I wouldn’t be making the change if it weren’t for them! But, essentially, they’re the Boss. Who knows if this incarnation of Celia will be what audiences see on Friday night; we might go back to what we had last night or come up with something that’s between the two or even find something different altogether! It’s all part of the process…
A very tough part. “Flexibility is the key to airpower,” and all that, but eek!! Time for some visualization and mental focus. I’ll report back…
Monday, June 11, 2007
Physical, too
One specific area that’s been a challenge so far is the above mentioned physical intimacy. Without getting too specific, I’ll just say that my character gets a bit overzealous in her attempts to heal Volpone through the “laying on of virgin hands” and ends up with his head under her skirt. Ahime! My partner, JJ, is wonderful, and it’s been a fun scene to work, but not without its challenges!
When we first blocked the scene we had no one in the room except directors and stage management so we could explore the staging without the added pressure of our colleagues sitting around and sniggering. (Most intimate scenes are staged like this, out of simple respect for the actors. I still remember rehearsing my first stage kiss – as Hope Harcourt in Anything Goes in high school – in a closed rehearsal. We must have gotten something right, because my boyfriend complained that I kissed Billy “just like” I kissed him!)
There was lots of laughing and blushing and “Oh god”-ing in the first few runs that day, but also lots of “You ok with this?” and “What do you need me to do?” Great colleagues and a great rehearsal environment. By the time we left that rehearsal, it was just a series of moves, not unlike a dance routine.
But! Add an audience back in, and all of that can go right out the window! As soon as my friends and colleagues were there, positively shrieking with laughter, I lost my focus. The next two times we ran the scene, on two different days, I ended up laughing so much that I couldn’t stay in character OR sing! Fun, and funny, but frustrating. If I can’t hold it together in front of twenty laughing people, what will I do with 400?
I asked PK if we could run the scene a lot, with people doing lots of things to try and distract me. Throwing Ricola lozenges, laughing, talking, etc.. He said I didn’t need that, that I would be fine, but when I balked at that idea, especially nervous about my laughing, he gave me great advice: if I (ACB) feel myself laughing, consider it my character (Celia) filled with the Spirit! She is performing a “miracle healing,” after all. Brilliant! That’s what a good director can do, fix a problem not with rehearsing, but with talking. With giving his actors more tools.
I went into the next run-through confident that I could keep it together. And I almost did… But it was my turn to get a bit of a joke played on me, since PK and I had orchestrated one on JJ a few days before. There was much laughing, and much breaking of character, but I think it will be for the best in the end. I feel like it needed to “go there” in order for us both to be totally comfortable; we needed to play with it. With something like this, it helps to treat it a bit irreverently in a few rehearsals, so that when those 400 people show up, we can concentrate on giving them the experience of the scene untainted by our own concerns.
Will they be shocked? Maybe. But I guarantee they’re going to laugh.
When we first blocked the scene we had no one in the room except directors and stage management so we could explore the staging without the added pressure of our colleagues sitting around and sniggering. (Most intimate scenes are staged like this, out of simple respect for the actors. I still remember rehearsing my first stage kiss – as Hope Harcourt in Anything Goes in high school – in a closed rehearsal. We must have gotten something right, because my boyfriend complained that I kissed Billy “just like” I kissed him!)
There was lots of laughing and blushing and “Oh god”-ing in the first few runs that day, but also lots of “You ok with this?” and “What do you need me to do?” Great colleagues and a great rehearsal environment. By the time we left that rehearsal, it was just a series of moves, not unlike a dance routine.
But! Add an audience back in, and all of that can go right out the window! As soon as my friends and colleagues were there, positively shrieking with laughter, I lost my focus. The next two times we ran the scene, on two different days, I ended up laughing so much that I couldn’t stay in character OR sing! Fun, and funny, but frustrating. If I can’t hold it together in front of twenty laughing people, what will I do with 400?
I asked PK if we could run the scene a lot, with people doing lots of things to try and distract me. Throwing Ricola lozenges, laughing, talking, etc.. He said I didn’t need that, that I would be fine, but when I balked at that idea, especially nervous about my laughing, he gave me great advice: if I (ACB) feel myself laughing, consider it my character (Celia) filled with the Spirit! She is performing a “miracle healing,” after all. Brilliant! That’s what a good director can do, fix a problem not with rehearsing, but with talking. With giving his actors more tools.
I went into the next run-through confident that I could keep it together. And I almost did… But it was my turn to get a bit of a joke played on me, since PK and I had orchestrated one on JJ a few days before. There was much laughing, and much breaking of character, but I think it will be for the best in the end. I feel like it needed to “go there” in order for us both to be totally comfortable; we needed to play with it. With something like this, it helps to treat it a bit irreverently in a few rehearsals, so that when those 400 people show up, we can concentrate on giving them the experience of the scene untainted by our own concerns.
Will they be shocked? Maybe. But I guarantee they’re going to laugh.
Physical
I know I’m involved with a physical comedy when my legs are covered by ugly purple and green bruises, many of which are of unknown origin. This show is no exception.
More so than in a drama, I’m asked to use my body in extreme physical ways in a comedy: entering from Stage Left and being “thrown” to the ground; running around to evade a lascivious embrace; a knee to the groin, stage-combat-style; or physical intimacy the likes of which could make a nun blush. Oh, and my character in this show? A former nun.
I love comedy for this aspect. It’s the most dance-like of my time onstage, unless I’m actually dancing. I’m learning a lot about physical comedy in this production, thanks in large part to PK’s love of the history of it. At the end of rehearsal the other night, we sat down and watch a YouTube clip of Ferruccio Soleri, a master of Italian commedia dell'arte (Harlequin). Such control over his body! Like a dancer, yes, but more of his intention was focused on being still. Everything still except an arm or a leg, which brought that movement into relief, which made it funny - especially when repeated over and over!
After this clip, we watched another classic: Bugs Bunny. Did you know that Bugs is patterned after Harlequin? I sure didn’t, but watching the cartoon with that knowledge, I could see the incredible connection, and Bugs became funnier than ever.
One of the leads in Volpone is being staged much like Harlequin/Bugs, but all of us have elements of commedia in our physicality. PK said “The key to physical comedy is stillness with intention.” Just as Soleri economized his movement to achieve the greatest comedic effect, so PK is trying to get us to focus our movements. Stylize, I guess, but all physical comedy is stylized. Manic movements contrasted with sharp stillness. It’s challenging, but I love the way I’m learning another way to use my body onstage.
I know I’m not getting the Big Picture of this across very well in this post, so I may ask PK to pop in as a guest blogger and share a bit more of the concept. Stay tuned…
More so than in a drama, I’m asked to use my body in extreme physical ways in a comedy: entering from Stage Left and being “thrown” to the ground; running around to evade a lascivious embrace; a knee to the groin, stage-combat-style; or physical intimacy the likes of which could make a nun blush. Oh, and my character in this show? A former nun.
I love comedy for this aspect. It’s the most dance-like of my time onstage, unless I’m actually dancing. I’m learning a lot about physical comedy in this production, thanks in large part to PK’s love of the history of it. At the end of rehearsal the other night, we sat down and watch a YouTube clip of Ferruccio Soleri, a master of Italian commedia dell'arte (Harlequin). Such control over his body! Like a dancer, yes, but more of his intention was focused on being still. Everything still except an arm or a leg, which brought that movement into relief, which made it funny - especially when repeated over and over!
After this clip, we watched another classic: Bugs Bunny. Did you know that Bugs is patterned after Harlequin? I sure didn’t, but watching the cartoon with that knowledge, I could see the incredible connection, and Bugs became funnier than ever.
One of the leads in Volpone is being staged much like Harlequin/Bugs, but all of us have elements of commedia in our physicality. PK said “The key to physical comedy is stillness with intention.” Just as Soleri economized his movement to achieve the greatest comedic effect, so PK is trying to get us to focus our movements. Stylize, I guess, but all physical comedy is stylized. Manic movements contrasted with sharp stillness. It’s challenging, but I love the way I’m learning another way to use my body onstage.
I know I’m not getting the Big Picture of this across very well in this post, so I may ask PK to pop in as a guest blogger and share a bit more of the concept. Stay tuned…
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
On my feet!
I finally had a few hours of rehearsal for Suor Angelica this week, and boy, did it feel good to finally get up on my feet and stage some scenes! I don’t know this opera very well, being one of maybe three sopranos in the world who has never been in it. (Since it has an all female cast, it’s very popular in schools and other training programs.) But let me tell you, there were at least two moments, even in this rough first rehearsal, where I was brought to tears. The story, the singers, the staging… it’s going to be an incredible evening.
At the end of rehearsal, I went up to Mr. O’Brien to let him know that I will also be the “Young Lover, Soprano”, aka YLS, (not to be confused with YSL, with whom, yes, I would love to work!) in Tabarro. He said, “Oh, wonderful! I hope you’re not afraid of heights!”
Gulp!
Just as I suspected, my YLT and I will be walking across the bridge that can be seen in mockups of the Tabarro set. And, apparently, it’s very high! I told Mr. O’Brien that, yes, I am actually afraid of heights, but being in this business, I’ve learned to get over it. I have to! It seems we’re always on ledges or wires or staircases that push the limits of our comfort zone. God help me if I ever have to sing a Rhine Maiden! They often fly on rigs in order to create the illusion of swimming, all while singing and trying to look like they do it every day. Thankfully, I’m not exactly a Wagnerian… I actually volunteered for the lighting crew in college to help with the fear, but after I got a concussion up in the catwalks, I was relegated to costume crew. As long as no one threatens to push me over, I’ll be fine…in time.
Since our staging for Tabarro is entirely on the bridge, it looks like we’re not going to be called until the rehearsals are on the mainstage! Makes sense, of course, as there is no bridge in the C-level rehearsal room (although there is the boat…). But how crazy is that?! With three operas to stage in the time usually allotted for one, they have to use the rehearsal time most efficiently, and this seems to be an easy 30 seconds to cut out of early rehearsals.
One good thing about it: the sound up there, high up on the bridge and fairly far upstage, will be very different that it would be in a rehearsal room. If I only rehearse it on the stage, my ears won’t get used to having the sound source (piano or orchestra) closer than it would be in performance. The bigger the stage, the harder it is to account for the fraction of a second it takes for the sound from the orchestra to reach your ears. It is very easy to get behind the beat! So, with this rehearsal setup, I’ll be relying on my eyes from the very beginning. Good practice.
I have a Helena cover brush-up rehearsal tomorrow, and then rehearsals for the Gala start on Friday. I’m actually double booked on Friday, so I’ll be going back and forth between Angelica and Elisir. (Can I say that I’m terribly excited to be in the same room with Rolando Villazon? I’ve avoided much star-gushing here, but … eee!! I just know I’m going to blush.) I’ve had a fitting for my Gala costume, should I go on as Giannetta, but still no fitting for YLS’s sexy red dress! Next week, certainly.
Thoughts on last week’s MATA concerts and the big question of “image,” coming up.
At the end of rehearsal, I went up to Mr. O’Brien to let him know that I will also be the “Young Lover, Soprano”, aka YLS, (not to be confused with YSL, with whom, yes, I would love to work!) in Tabarro. He said, “Oh, wonderful! I hope you’re not afraid of heights!”
Gulp!
Just as I suspected, my YLT and I will be walking across the bridge that can be seen in mockups of the Tabarro set. And, apparently, it’s very high! I told Mr. O’Brien that, yes, I am actually afraid of heights, but being in this business, I’ve learned to get over it. I have to! It seems we’re always on ledges or wires or staircases that push the limits of our comfort zone. God help me if I ever have to sing a Rhine Maiden! They often fly on rigs in order to create the illusion of swimming, all while singing and trying to look like they do it every day. Thankfully, I’m not exactly a Wagnerian… I actually volunteered for the lighting crew in college to help with the fear, but after I got a concussion up in the catwalks, I was relegated to costume crew. As long as no one threatens to push me over, I’ll be fine…in time.
Since our staging for Tabarro is entirely on the bridge, it looks like we’re not going to be called until the rehearsals are on the mainstage! Makes sense, of course, as there is no bridge in the C-level rehearsal room (although there is the boat…). But how crazy is that?! With three operas to stage in the time usually allotted for one, they have to use the rehearsal time most efficiently, and this seems to be an easy 30 seconds to cut out of early rehearsals.
One good thing about it: the sound up there, high up on the bridge and fairly far upstage, will be very different that it would be in a rehearsal room. If I only rehearse it on the stage, my ears won’t get used to having the sound source (piano or orchestra) closer than it would be in performance. The bigger the stage, the harder it is to account for the fraction of a second it takes for the sound from the orchestra to reach your ears. It is very easy to get behind the beat! So, with this rehearsal setup, I’ll be relying on my eyes from the very beginning. Good practice.
I have a Helena cover brush-up rehearsal tomorrow, and then rehearsals for the Gala start on Friday. I’m actually double booked on Friday, so I’ll be going back and forth between Angelica and Elisir. (Can I say that I’m terribly excited to be in the same room with Rolando Villazon? I’ve avoided much star-gushing here, but … eee!! I just know I’m going to blush.) I’ve had a fitting for my Gala costume, should I go on as Giannetta, but still no fitting for YLS’s sexy red dress! Next week, certainly.
Thoughts on last week’s MATA concerts and the big question of “image,” coming up.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Blocking
Every singer has their own system for learning their staging. Some people write directly into the score, some on sticky notes or paper, and some don’t write down anything, trusting their memories or the director/assistant director/stage manager to remember for them. Some write down every nuance flick of the wrist, some include nuanced dramatic motivation, and some just write “sit/stand/walk.” It doesn’t really matter, in truth, how we learn it, just so long as we learn it well enough to make the same moves at every run-through. The nuances can change, but if your costar is expecting you to cross at a certain time, it’s good to get it right!
My system is an amalgam of things that I was taught in school and that I have observed over the years in practice. As I’ve mentioned before, I learned the basics of stagecraft from my Jr. High drama teacher, Ms. Stettler. I remember taking a test in which I had to fill in the diagram of the areas of the stage, using their abbreviations: USL (upstage-left), DS (downstage), C (center, where we all like to be), and so on. (Here’s a good diagram, although they use Corner # for USL/USR/etc..) I still use the abbreviations today; they’re part of the shorthand I’ve developed, I guess.
A few years ago, an artist I was working with suggested using sticky-notes to write blocking. This is a great idea, to my way of thinking, for three reasons. One, it keeps your music clean, so you can actually read the music. Two, blocking often gets changed several times throughout the rehearsal process, and the constant erasing can damage your score. This way you can just pull out a new sticky note and start over! And, lastly, you always hope to perform an opera more than once, in more than one production. If your score is filled with notes from your last production, there’s no place for your new blocking. But you can get a new color of sticky note and start afresh. (I just pulled my Midsummer score off the shelf and took a look at the sticky notes from that production. Even when I perform the role again, I’ll keep those notes as reminders of that wonderful experience!)
So, here’s a picture of a page in my Jenufa score:
and one in my Helena score:
(Click to enlarge.)
On most of my notes, I draw a diagram of the stage, usually just a three-sided box. The Jenufa note is a good example of this; I’ve even drawn in the big rock that was jutting up through the stage. In this diagram, I’ll write letters to represent the other characters (i.e., J for Jenufa) and an “x” for me. Arrows indicate movement, and numbers in circles correspond with numbers I’ve written into the score to indicate when I should move to or arrive at a certain spot. Of courses, now that I look again, there are none of those in that picture! But there’s an arrow, and a diagram of the stage, and a bit of “dramatic intention,” so hopefully you get the idea.
You can see numbers on the Helena note, along with their corresponding spots in the music. “M” in the direction for #3 is Menelas, the tenor, and the small stage diagram at the bottom shows the positions we all end up in by the end of the next page. This system is not an exact science, as you can see, because in this example, the x’s are chorus members, not my character. There are no arrows on this sticky-note, either, mostly likely because there is A LOT of movement in this scene! Arrows would get confusing. Arrows are good for simple, clean movements, like Jano’s exit up there on the pink note.
Is this clear at all?! Questions?
That’s about it, really, for my system. I use these notes to review before a rehearsal and refer to them before I sit to do any visualizing. I had to step into a couple of rehearsals last week (Elf #2 is also singing Jano; she had days off or days when she would have gone into overtime, so they called me in), and I was always grateful to have something to review before getting up on my feet.
Stuff like dramatic intention, character development, subtle prop work, stage “business, etc., rarely makes it onto my sticky-notes. That sort of detail is “living,” so to speak; it changes depending on the moment, so I hate to pin it down. Sometimes something works so well I’ll do it every time, but the little moves that make a character look real onstage can’t really be diagramed. Diana Damrau, who is singing Aithra in this production of Helena, is a master at bringing a character to life through subtle details, and I am enjoying watching her work. Maybe I’ll end up incorporating some of her “system” into mine!
My system is an amalgam of things that I was taught in school and that I have observed over the years in practice. As I’ve mentioned before, I learned the basics of stagecraft from my Jr. High drama teacher, Ms. Stettler. I remember taking a test in which I had to fill in the diagram of the areas of the stage, using their abbreviations: USL (upstage-left), DS (downstage), C (center, where we all like to be), and so on. (Here’s a good diagram, although they use Corner # for USL/USR/etc..) I still use the abbreviations today; they’re part of the shorthand I’ve developed, I guess.
A few years ago, an artist I was working with suggested using sticky-notes to write blocking. This is a great idea, to my way of thinking, for three reasons. One, it keeps your music clean, so you can actually read the music. Two, blocking often gets changed several times throughout the rehearsal process, and the constant erasing can damage your score. This way you can just pull out a new sticky note and start over! And, lastly, you always hope to perform an opera more than once, in more than one production. If your score is filled with notes from your last production, there’s no place for your new blocking. But you can get a new color of sticky note and start afresh. (I just pulled my Midsummer score off the shelf and took a look at the sticky notes from that production. Even when I perform the role again, I’ll keep those notes as reminders of that wonderful experience!)
So, here’s a picture of a page in my Jenufa score:
and one in my Helena score:
(Click to enlarge.)
On most of my notes, I draw a diagram of the stage, usually just a three-sided box. The Jenufa note is a good example of this; I’ve even drawn in the big rock that was jutting up through the stage. In this diagram, I’ll write letters to represent the other characters (i.e., J for Jenufa) and an “x” for me. Arrows indicate movement, and numbers in circles correspond with numbers I’ve written into the score to indicate when I should move to or arrive at a certain spot. Of courses, now that I look again, there are none of those in that picture! But there’s an arrow, and a diagram of the stage, and a bit of “dramatic intention,” so hopefully you get the idea.
You can see numbers on the Helena note, along with their corresponding spots in the music. “M” in the direction for #3 is Menelas, the tenor, and the small stage diagram at the bottom shows the positions we all end up in by the end of the next page. This system is not an exact science, as you can see, because in this example, the x’s are chorus members, not my character. There are no arrows on this sticky-note, either, mostly likely because there is A LOT of movement in this scene! Arrows would get confusing. Arrows are good for simple, clean movements, like Jano’s exit up there on the pink note.
Is this clear at all?! Questions?
That’s about it, really, for my system. I use these notes to review before a rehearsal and refer to them before I sit to do any visualizing. I had to step into a couple of rehearsals last week (Elf #2 is also singing Jano; she had days off or days when she would have gone into overtime, so they called me in), and I was always grateful to have something to review before getting up on my feet.
Stuff like dramatic intention, character development, subtle prop work, stage “business, etc., rarely makes it onto my sticky-notes. That sort of detail is “living,” so to speak; it changes depending on the moment, so I hate to pin it down. Sometimes something works so well I’ll do it every time, but the little moves that make a character look real onstage can’t really be diagramed. Diana Damrau, who is singing Aithra in this production of Helena, is a master at bringing a character to life through subtle details, and I am enjoying watching her work. Maybe I’ll end up incorporating some of her “system” into mine!
Friday, November 11, 2005
In Athens
(I wrote this last night, but couldn't post until I got back to my Starbucks internet connection. I'll write tomorrow about today's class and tonight's concert.)
I’m writing this sitting on the bed in “my room” at my grandparents’ house; it’s my room because I lived here for my last year at UGA. Being here, in this room, is just one of many bizarre experiences that I’ve had today! Being back here after five years away is so strange. I lived in Athens for four years, longer than I lived anywhere else (next to the five years we spent in Utah when I was in jr. high and high school). So there are lots of ghosts hiding here! Much has changed, but, more suprisingly, much is the same. I could find my way around (driving my cousin’s car) easily as if I’d left last week, and my favorite brunch place is still open! Unfortunately, they only serve brunch on the weekends, so I’ll have to miss out. My favorite coffee shop is closed, but the Athens landmark, The Grill, is still there, right across the street. Oh, and DePalma’s is still there! A favorite spot for a solo lunch (spinach fettucine with alfredo sauce) and dates with my future husband. So many memories here…
I spent a few hours with some UGA voice students this afternoon. They were all members of the Opera Ensemble, a group I think I actually helped form. (I know for sure that I was the “founding president,” whatever that means!) Now it’s a regular class, one that they register for, whereas in the beginning I think it was a club. They’re working on a small scenes program, and after about an hour of questions and answers and talking about life after college, I got to do a little coaching. Whenever I’m faced with that situation – coaching or teaching or directing – I’m always afraid that I’ll have nothing to say. I did my first “masterclass” with high school students about two years ago, and I was terrified! But as soon as they start to perform, I recognize what I have to offer that they need. Some need technical suggestions, others stagecraft tips, and I seem to know how to present a new idea in a way that is easily assimilated. There are a few quick fixes, but also fuel for future discoveries and new thoughts to take away and digest.
Today I heard two young singers perform the Papageno/Pamina duet from Die Zauberflöte. They told me that it was still in the early stages of staging and so they were still working on memorization. No problem. I was happy to work with them at that level, as I knew they’d be open for new ideas. I listened through the whole thing once, mentally making a list of areas and ideas that I wanted to come back to. The first thing was directly connected to memorization: I could tell that one of them was unclear as to the exact meaning of the German text. She admitted that she was still “memorizing the German,” and I told her that unless she knew the meaning of each word, all she was doing was memorizing sounds. And sounds don’t convey a story, words do. It’s tedious to sit down with a dictionary and translate something word for word, but unless you have a libretto tool like Nico’s books, it has to be done. She promised to spend some time in the library!
It was also fun to work with the two of them to create a relationship between their characters. The first time through, they were two students singing a duet with some cute choreography. Nice, but not telling a story. So we spent some time talking about the characters and how they would interact with each other. One of my favorite things about this duet is that is all about love and finding your true love, but it is sung by two characters who are not in love with each other. Two friends, in love with other people, dreaming of the day that they get to be “Mann und Weib!” It’s imperative to find a way to indicate to the audience that P&P are not lovers, and the easiest way is by demonstrating their class difference, for lack of a better term. Pamina is a princess, Papageno is a blue-collar man. How do they interact? How do they stand? What do they think of each other? If there is physical contact, i.e., standing arm in arm or holding hands, how do you show that it’s playful and not seriously romantic? Fun questions, and I think the two singers enjoyed thinking about the answers.
One stagecraft issue that we discussed is eye contact. I believe that a true connection, on- or offstage, is impossible without real eye contact. But eye contact on stage can feel very unnatural! So you often see a bunch of shifty-eyed performers on stage together, with no real connections anywhere to be found. Once I encouraged the two to really look at each other, their relationship became honest and inviting. All the students noticed, and hopefully took note! It was really wonderful to watch.
Any anxiety I felt about “teaching” in front of my teachers was nowhere to be found. I can honestly say that just as I feel a call to perform, and therefore am very comfortable in that role, so do I feel a call to teach. I feel very happy after this experience, knowing that when the day comes that I stop performing for a living (hopefully a long time from now), I will find a rewarding second career as a teacher. Or maybe even as a director on some level. Who knows?
Tomorrow, more students and more discoveries. Both theirs and mine.
I’m writing this sitting on the bed in “my room” at my grandparents’ house; it’s my room because I lived here for my last year at UGA. Being here, in this room, is just one of many bizarre experiences that I’ve had today! Being back here after five years away is so strange. I lived in Athens for four years, longer than I lived anywhere else (next to the five years we spent in Utah when I was in jr. high and high school). So there are lots of ghosts hiding here! Much has changed, but, more suprisingly, much is the same. I could find my way around (driving my cousin’s car) easily as if I’d left last week, and my favorite brunch place is still open! Unfortunately, they only serve brunch on the weekends, so I’ll have to miss out. My favorite coffee shop is closed, but the Athens landmark, The Grill, is still there, right across the street. Oh, and DePalma’s is still there! A favorite spot for a solo lunch (spinach fettucine with alfredo sauce) and dates with my future husband. So many memories here…
I spent a few hours with some UGA voice students this afternoon. They were all members of the Opera Ensemble, a group I think I actually helped form. (I know for sure that I was the “founding president,” whatever that means!) Now it’s a regular class, one that they register for, whereas in the beginning I think it was a club. They’re working on a small scenes program, and after about an hour of questions and answers and talking about life after college, I got to do a little coaching. Whenever I’m faced with that situation – coaching or teaching or directing – I’m always afraid that I’ll have nothing to say. I did my first “masterclass” with high school students about two years ago, and I was terrified! But as soon as they start to perform, I recognize what I have to offer that they need. Some need technical suggestions, others stagecraft tips, and I seem to know how to present a new idea in a way that is easily assimilated. There are a few quick fixes, but also fuel for future discoveries and new thoughts to take away and digest.
Today I heard two young singers perform the Papageno/Pamina duet from Die Zauberflöte. They told me that it was still in the early stages of staging and so they were still working on memorization. No problem. I was happy to work with them at that level, as I knew they’d be open for new ideas. I listened through the whole thing once, mentally making a list of areas and ideas that I wanted to come back to. The first thing was directly connected to memorization: I could tell that one of them was unclear as to the exact meaning of the German text. She admitted that she was still “memorizing the German,” and I told her that unless she knew the meaning of each word, all she was doing was memorizing sounds. And sounds don’t convey a story, words do. It’s tedious to sit down with a dictionary and translate something word for word, but unless you have a libretto tool like Nico’s books, it has to be done. She promised to spend some time in the library!
It was also fun to work with the two of them to create a relationship between their characters. The first time through, they were two students singing a duet with some cute choreography. Nice, but not telling a story. So we spent some time talking about the characters and how they would interact with each other. One of my favorite things about this duet is that is all about love and finding your true love, but it is sung by two characters who are not in love with each other. Two friends, in love with other people, dreaming of the day that they get to be “Mann und Weib!” It’s imperative to find a way to indicate to the audience that P&P are not lovers, and the easiest way is by demonstrating their class difference, for lack of a better term. Pamina is a princess, Papageno is a blue-collar man. How do they interact? How do they stand? What do they think of each other? If there is physical contact, i.e., standing arm in arm or holding hands, how do you show that it’s playful and not seriously romantic? Fun questions, and I think the two singers enjoyed thinking about the answers.
One stagecraft issue that we discussed is eye contact. I believe that a true connection, on- or offstage, is impossible without real eye contact. But eye contact on stage can feel very unnatural! So you often see a bunch of shifty-eyed performers on stage together, with no real connections anywhere to be found. Once I encouraged the two to really look at each other, their relationship became honest and inviting. All the students noticed, and hopefully took note! It was really wonderful to watch.
Any anxiety I felt about “teaching” in front of my teachers was nowhere to be found. I can honestly say that just as I feel a call to perform, and therefore am very comfortable in that role, so do I feel a call to teach. I feel very happy after this experience, knowing that when the day comes that I stop performing for a living (hopefully a long time from now), I will find a rewarding second career as a teacher. Or maybe even as a director on some level. Who knows?
Tomorrow, more students and more discoveries. Both theirs and mine.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Showcase
The first scene program has come and gone, and now that my family has all done the same, I have some time to sit and write about it all. It’s a Barber night tonight, so I’ve been home all evening, enjoying the time and space to putz around and procrastinate writing the many blog entries I have backlogged!
All in all, I am very happy with the end result of the “Lucia experiment.” It feels like a great fit vocally and dramatically, and I’ve had several of my coaches here say that I will end up in this rep (and this role) in a few years. For now, it’s a little big, but it’s a great role to put on my “Five Year Plan.” I can start looking at it now, learning the first act aria, then the duets, and then s-l-o-w-l-y start working on the mad scene. I shouldn’t offer the aria (“Regnava nel silenzio”) at auditions for a year or two, but I can work on the role on my own and with coaches, “just for fun.”
What I think I loved best about this scene program, though, was that it was a showcase for all the Apprentices at Santa Fe Opera. I don’t think I’ve mentioned anything about the army of technical apprentices that keep things running here. For all the technical areas of the opera – stage management, costumes, wigs and makeup, lighting, audio/visual (think monitors, not miking: although we are miked for Ainadmar, that’s a special circumstance), sets and scenery – there are dozens of college students who indenture themselves for the summer! Seriously, they are some of the hardest working people I’ve met. Imagine having about five weeks to get two large operas up and running, and then two weeks after that having another opening every week for three weeks. That’s a lot of sewing, building, painting, and light focusing. Here’s the understatement of the summer, from the description of the Tech Apprentice program: “The production of The Santa Fe Opera season is rigorous, personally and professionally demanding and physically taxing.” Ha! These kids easily work 12-16 hour days six days a week, all summer. It’s amazing.
They get their chances to shine, though, in the scenes. The costumes, sets, lights, and stage management are all orchestrated and operated by the tech apprentices. My costumers were both undergraduates, 20- and 21-years-old, who have spent the summer hiding behind sewing machines. Can you imagine what it must be like to have the costume vault of the Santa Fe Opera at your fingertips at that age?! Emily was the designer for my scene, which meant she worked together with the director (Thaddeus Strassberger, the assistant director for Peter Grimes) to put together a “look” for the entire scene (six singers and about a dozen supers). Lucia di Lammermoor is based on a Sir Walter Scott novel, so the overall feel of the scene was to be very gothic.
The idea for my dress? Something you might have found on the Paris couture runways circa 1985, and not at all unlike what we saw this year at the Christian Dior show. (Is anyone else sensing a Galliano theme? Eeee!) Emily and Thad imagined that Lucia put up a real fight when they tried to get her into her wedding dress, so it got torn and dirty. You can tell that there’s a really beautiful dress there, but some things are just not quite right… I couldn’t believe my eyes when I had my first fitting: layers and layers of lace and ruffles and velvet and a corset to die for. And it only got better with each additional fitting. By show time, we had this:
Yowza!! What a dress. (And I NEVER thought I’d, um, look like that in a corset!) It was amazing. And heavy and a bit unwieldy, but I loved it. I’m also loving that hair color; I think I might go for a darker red when I get home. 
Here's a detail shot:
Oh, yeah, and I sang a little bit, too… I learned many lessons about bel canto singing that I’m now in the process of applying to my other rep (Norina, Adina, even Zerlina). My biggest hurdle was the sustained D at the end of the scene, but I feel like I managed it pretty well. I was very happy with the sustained D-flat at the end of the sextet, but what a difference a half step makes! A stagecraft lesson I learned was that I can’t get into my acting as physically when I’m singing as I can when I’m just acting. My breathing got a little high (in my shoulders rather than my ribs) as I threw myself around the stage. (In the performance, it only looked like the tenor was doing the throwing. In the dress rehearsal? He really did. Not fun!) Something to work on in the future, and I know I will have a future with this role. Stay tuned…
All in all, I am very happy with the end result of the “Lucia experiment.” It feels like a great fit vocally and dramatically, and I’ve had several of my coaches here say that I will end up in this rep (and this role) in a few years. For now, it’s a little big, but it’s a great role to put on my “Five Year Plan.” I can start looking at it now, learning the first act aria, then the duets, and then s-l-o-w-l-y start working on the mad scene. I shouldn’t offer the aria (“Regnava nel silenzio”) at auditions for a year or two, but I can work on the role on my own and with coaches, “just for fun.”
What I think I loved best about this scene program, though, was that it was a showcase for all the Apprentices at Santa Fe Opera. I don’t think I’ve mentioned anything about the army of technical apprentices that keep things running here. For all the technical areas of the opera – stage management, costumes, wigs and makeup, lighting, audio/visual (think monitors, not miking: although we are miked for Ainadmar, that’s a special circumstance), sets and scenery – there are dozens of college students who indenture themselves for the summer! Seriously, they are some of the hardest working people I’ve met. Imagine having about five weeks to get two large operas up and running, and then two weeks after that having another opening every week for three weeks. That’s a lot of sewing, building, painting, and light focusing. Here’s the understatement of the summer, from the description of the Tech Apprentice program: “The production of The Santa Fe Opera season is rigorous, personally and professionally demanding and physically taxing.” Ha! These kids easily work 12-16 hour days six days a week, all summer. It’s amazing.
They get their chances to shine, though, in the scenes. The costumes, sets, lights, and stage management are all orchestrated and operated by the tech apprentices. My costumers were both undergraduates, 20- and 21-years-old, who have spent the summer hiding behind sewing machines. Can you imagine what it must be like to have the costume vault of the Santa Fe Opera at your fingertips at that age?! Emily was the designer for my scene, which meant she worked together with the director (Thaddeus Strassberger, the assistant director for Peter Grimes) to put together a “look” for the entire scene (six singers and about a dozen supers). Lucia di Lammermoor is based on a Sir Walter Scott novel, so the overall feel of the scene was to be very gothic.
The idea for my dress? Something you might have found on the Paris couture runways circa 1985, and not at all unlike what we saw this year at the Christian Dior show. (Is anyone else sensing a Galliano theme? Eeee!) Emily and Thad imagined that Lucia put up a real fight when they tried to get her into her wedding dress, so it got torn and dirty. You can tell that there’s a really beautiful dress there, but some things are just not quite right… I couldn’t believe my eyes when I had my first fitting: layers and layers of lace and ruffles and velvet and a corset to die for. And it only got better with each additional fitting. By show time, we had this:
Yowza!! What a dress. (And I NEVER thought I’d, um, look like that in a corset!) It was amazing. And heavy and a bit unwieldy, but I loved it. I’m also loving that hair color; I think I might go for a darker red when I get home. 
Here's a detail shot: Oh, yeah, and I sang a little bit, too… I learned many lessons about bel canto singing that I’m now in the process of applying to my other rep (Norina, Adina, even Zerlina). My biggest hurdle was the sustained D at the end of the scene, but I feel like I managed it pretty well. I was very happy with the sustained D-flat at the end of the sextet, but what a difference a half step makes! A stagecraft lesson I learned was that I can’t get into my acting as physically when I’m singing as I can when I’m just acting. My breathing got a little high (in my shoulders rather than my ribs) as I threw myself around the stage. (In the performance, it only looked like the tenor was doing the throwing. In the dress rehearsal? He really did. Not fun!) Something to work on in the future, and I know I will have a future with this role. Stay tuned…
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Happy Thanksgiving
This has been my favorite holiday for a while now. What a great idea: get together with friends and family, have a wonderful feast – to which, ideally, everyone contributes – and take a day to notice how lucky you are. Not mention watching football and having permission to drink wine at noon!
This year, I am thankful for (in no particular order):
My loving and supportive husband
A marriage that is growing in strength and beauty
Good health (and the fact that I’m still the size I was in high school!)
An incredibly anchoring network of friends here in Seattle
My family, who, even though we’re spread across the country, love each other fiercely
My adorable dog!
Mamma Pabor’s Squash Casserole
A home that we own and can fix up (or tear down) at will
The fact that I sing for a livng! And am singing well.
That I am surrounded by beautiful music, and learning of more every day.
My piano students, who keep me excited about learning.
That Christmas is coming!!
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I hope you, too, will be surrounded with love. And good food!
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