So glad I didn’t stay home...

I’m not at all sure how to put into words the experience I had tonight at the M6 concert at Symphony Space.

First of all, I remembered Sid’s post about memorizing Boatman, and I realized that my little charts for the Barber ensembles are child’s play. The nuance in the performances tonight was exceptional. And it was all memorized! And had a feeling of improvisation and freedom and joy that can only come from knowing something inside and out. I was humbled!

I was also proud to be witnessing the beginning of something new, something “next.” A legacy in progress. Congratulations to all involved.

But mostly I left with an incredible excitement to sink my teeth into... The Barber of Seville!! When I said this to TM, he replied, “That’s like me going to an Eliot Carter concert and saying I can’t wait to get to work on a Mozart Flute concerto!” I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but hear me out.

There were two specific elements that inspired me, things that I needed an infusion of passion for before I could be the Rosina that I want to be. This role is iconic. Everyone knows her, there have been so many incredible interpreters of the role, and I feel like I need six more months to fully understand her character and the musical world Rossini created for her. But, obviously, I don’t have six months! I’ve been learning and studying and singing, but I think I’ve been really scared.

Tonight the things I learned from the M6 performers have given me courage - and excitement! - to sink my teeth into this role in a new way.

One was virtuosity. Nothing says “virtuosity” like Rossini, or is it the other way around? And I’ve been approaching all of these melismas (runs of fast notes) with serious trepidation, knowing I could sing them but unsure how to “sell” them. What was the point? Isn’t it just about showing what cool things you can do with your voice? What’s exciting about that?

Nothing, really, if your only goal is show off the cool things you can do with your voice. Virtuosity for virtuosity’s sake is gross. But tonight I saw virtuosity with intent - musical, dramatic, emotional, intellectual. And it was moving! Exciting! Beautiful! This seems like a no-brainer, but I’d become blinded by all the little black dots and flags. All I could see was the music. I’d completely forgotten what the music is there for.

Which leads me to the next thing I saw on that stage tonight: communication. These performers were TALKING to each other. Sharing ideas, having arguments, loving and consoling and laughing with each other. And yet not a single “word” was sung or spoken. It was all gibberish, “nonsense” syllables. But I saw more true communication between people tonight than I’ve seen on many an opera/theater stage, where there are actual words in actual languages.

This incredible openness and communication paired with virtuosity created, as you can imagine, an unparalleled performance. Truly inspiring. I was sorry it was so late when I got home, because I wanted to do nothing more than launch into “Una voce poco fa” at full volume! Tomorrow...

Oh, and another thing I took away from the concert tonight? I now have a new requirement for my future boyfriend: he must be willing to learn Monk’s Facing North with me and sing it as we walk down the street.

A party

Today I’ve been repeating to myself a line that I heard in several acting classes: “Self-pity doesn’t read onstage.” Or something like that. The idea being that if you are going to choose an emotion (or, preferably, an action) to play onstage, no one wants to watch you be sorry for yourself. This little lesson had nothing to do with Susanna or Rosina or any character studies, but rather with the little pity party I kept trying to have today. (In truth, it started yesterday; ask my colleagues…) I talked myself out of it eventually, but it was rough going for a while.

It was a hard day, I’m not going to lie. Last night we did our first (and final before tech rehearsals) run-through of the show, wrapping up at 10:30. I came home to try to calm down the brain and sleep; I think was out by 1am. I then got up at 6:30 this morning to drive to Ann Arbor (two-ish hours away) for a rehearsal with the orchestra there, our only rehearsal before the recording sessions on the 17th & 18th. I left at 12:30 to get back to Grand Rapids by 3 for one last working rehearsal. I made it to all my rehearsals on time, mostly (I got a little lost in Ann Arbor), but I was not at my best at the orchestra rehearsal. No where near it.

The drive home was pretty miserable, as I was berating myself for not delivering a flawless product at the rehearsal. I did a lot to prepare, but there is always more that I could have done. I left feeling like I had to make excuses for myself, and that is not a feeling I am used to. I was tired, weary, and wondering how I managed to so overload myself. Um, well, I said yes! And so I have to deliver. No one wants to hear me complain about having too much work to do, and none of my employers want to feel that my work for them is less important than my other work. If I say I’m going to do something, I have to do it. If I over-commit, I still have to figure out a way to get it done.

My colleagues were very sweet to ask how my rehearsal went, and I told myself going in that I could be honest but that I had nothing to complain about. I got myself in this situation, and I’ll do my best, but no one needs to hear how tired I am or how many entrances I missed. (Well, I guess you’re hearing it now, in a sense…) We managed to have a fun afternoon, putting finishing touches on some complex scenes (there are one or two in this opera), and then we all went our separate ways for quiet nights in our TH's.

Getting the job done starts with making sure my voice is healthy, so tonight I’ve rested: lots of water, a steamy shower, and I haven’t talked to anyone except to get briefed on the laundry by my hostess (who is a singer and voice teacher) and get some tips on streaming tv shows online from MR. (That’s four...) Tomorrow afternoon we have our Sitzprobe, an important rehearsal to be healthy for, and then we start tech week.

All of our rehearsals next week are in the evening, so during the day? I will be studying.

Youth Without Youth

A few weeks ago, as I was dreaming of my birthday party even in the middle of holiday merriment, I had an idea. My birthday only happens once every four years (February 29, Leap Day!), so when a Leap Year comes around, as it does in 2008, I tend to get a little giddy with the prospect of throwing a great big party!

This year, the 29th is on a Friday, so I immediately started thinking about a blow-out bash: rent a room in a bar or club, invite every single person I know in NYC… you know the kind. This will be my 8th birthday, and I know from experience that I will get more than a few “gag” gifts: Barbies, stickers, etc.. So, I thought, why not ask my friends to intentionally bring a gift suitable for an 8-year-old? Clothes, books, toys… We could then donate everything to a children’s charity here in the city.

And then the idea grew: why not do more? Why not ask my friends to join me in a benefit concert? I recently joined the roster of Sing for Hope, an incredible non-profit organization that “supports artists who create events that benefit humanitarian causes.” With a motto of “Uniting Artists, Uniting Communities” and a roster of singers, actors, dancers, composers, pianists, and even acrobats from Cirque du Soleil, all of whom donate their time and talent, SFH “facilitates the connection between artists and charities, and provides a network of support.” Over the years, SFH has raised over a a million dollars for HIV/AIDS charities alone.

After doing a little research into children’s charities in the city, I found one that I felt I connected with, and I sent off an email to the director of SFH, asking for her help in facilitating with the charity. She loved the idea, and immediately set to work! It’s amazing working with a group that has ground-work very well laid and with people how know how to make ideas become realities. We all - representatives from SFH, the benefiting charity, and me - are hoping to meet tomorrow for a chance to talk over the idea and the program and the details. As soon as we meet, I’ll update here to let you know the organization. We are even hoping that one of their choirs of children will be able to join us on the concert!

Last week I also sent out a message to my friends, and as of now I have more participants than I know what to do with! We’ve had to shift the date to Sunday, March 2nd, instead of doing it on the 29th, because a good friend is making a big debut that night! Many of us want to attend her recital, and I wanted her to be able to join us in the concert, so we just made a slight adjustment. Stay tuned for concert rep information, but you can rest assured that we will all be singing "Paradox” from the Pirates of Penzance!

If all goes according to plan, I’d like to see this turn into the way I celebrate my birthday (or un-birthday) every year. We’re starting with a small no-fuss Sunday afternoon concert at a church; maybe by my 9th or 10th birthday we’ll be hosting a $10k/table gala ball!! This could turn into a major relationship with this charity, or we could rotate through several that feel like a good fit. What an exciting prospect, what a way to give something back...

Shake Up, and Shakin’ It

Via Chris at CPB, because I read Bloglines before I read my Sunday Times, this article about “audience practice” over the years. (How did that grammar error in the first sentence make the final draft?!) My favorite paragraph: “Another time, late on a Spanish evening many years ago, I heard a village band competition at the bullring in Valencia. The playing was astonishing, and as a particular performance gradually took hold of the audience, low hums of approval would grow into something approaching wordless roars. It was the most profound concert experience of my life.”

This fueled a post I’ve been building for a while about the “indie classical” movement and what exactly we’re trying to shake up here. Folks like the admins and performers at New Amsterdam Records, composers like Nico Muhly and Caleb Burhans, bands like Secret Society, Alarm Will Sound, Brooklyn Rider, and Ljova and the Vjola Contraband: I think all of these musicians have “shake up” as part of their mission statement. Heck, I'd even add Andrew Bird to that list. Secret Society is a “steampunk big bang” and Vjola Contraband is “chamber-jam music for the "remix generation".” Brooklyn Rider says they want to “invite audiences into a greater shared dialogue.” Liszt seemed to have a similar mindset: “When Liszt did his solo acts, there was none of the march-on, march-off stage ritual of today. Liszt greeted patrons at the door, mingled in the audience and schmoozed with friend and stranger alike.”

So what are we trying to change?

Last weekend, TM was here for the CMA conference and we took in a few other sites and sounds around town. Friday, I watched the second half of the CMA opening concert; I heard three works/groups/performances and had three very different reactions. The first was piano trio by Leon Kirschner. A piano trio is already a very traditional ensemble (piano, violin, cello), and the young ladies playing the work sat in the usual set-up and wore very traditional attire. A little too traditional, if you know me, which you do: floor-length, jewel-toned satin gowns, each a different style and color but obviously very coordinated. The women looked beautiful, and they played even more beautifully, but it was just a bit… I don’t know. Safe? Done? It wasn’t boring, because the music took care of that. But how could it have been “newer?” Does it matter? The work was written in 1998, but if I’d just been watching and not listening I would have assumed it was from 1898. How can performance practice reflect the music? Should it? Does it matter?! It obviously matters to me, ‘cuz I can’t stop thinking about it...

The second piece was the first part of Pierrot Lunaire, performed by eighth blackbird and Lucy Shelton, who I adore. This performance rocked. First of all, it was from memory, which freed up the performers to move and to interact with each other. I loved it. They were all over the place: kneeling, changing positions to play with each other as the ensemble changed, turning their backs to the audience. It was a lot, but it never felt “busy.” Their movements never felt affected or showy because their attitude was one of ease. This was simply their performance, their gift to the audience, and they weren’t wasting energy worrying about how it was going to “go over.” They were being, not doing. And even with no “doing,” or rather, because there was no “doing,” there was a long, breathless pause after the final movement, as the audience slowly freed itself from the spell the performers had cast. It was magical.

The final performance of the night was by So Percussion, whom I have loved since I saw them last year at the Whitney Museum. Four guys, each with his own style, comfortable, casual. Their performance of Reich’s “Music for Pieces of Wood” absolutely blew. my. mind. It was the most visceral reaction I’ve had to a performance in a long time: my palms were sweaty, my heart raced. Was it the performance? The piece itself? The perfurme of the woman next to me? Who knows. But they got something right. I was again under a spell. When I saw them at the restaurant after the performance, I went to say hello and thank them; I felt like a girl talking to her high school crush…

That’s how I want an audience to feel. Know what I mean? Excited, turned on, drawn in, breathless… not unlike the feeling I had seeing The Shins or The New Pornographers, now that I think about it. Or Die Walkure...

So, what about a “recital” at a place like Webster Hall? How would I feel, as a performer, if people were coming and going, drinking beers (spilling beers), talking on their cell phones, etc.. How much is a rock band aware of that stuff? They are up on stage, removed, listening to their monitors, maybe unaware of most of the activity beyond the footlights. Is amplification the key? Things are loud enough that the audience doesn’t have to sit quietly, afraid to talk for fear of missing something, and the band can tune out what they don’t want to see/hear/know. Is it a respect thing? Why do we respect classical concerts (showing it by sitting still and being quiet and clapping where “appropriate”) more than rock concerts?

CT the DT tells of a performance of a jazz group (I can’t remember who, a pianist-led group, I think) where, at the end, when people started clapping, the pianist looked up and seemed to be almost surprised to see that audience there. The band had been so into the music, into working together, that they had almost forgetton about the “performance.” Is this good? Part of me says yes, that it can be just about the music, but then part of me wonders if it is disrespectful to the audience to “forget” about them. How does the performers’ relation to the audience affect the overall feeling of the performance? How can performers focus on “being” and still give the audience a show worth the price of admission (or more).

Man, the more I write, the more questions I come up with.

TM and I also saw a concert at ICO Music (formerly VIM: Tribeca). There were several elements that indicated “we’re trying to shake things up here:” the venue, free booze, the dress of the performers. And yet. As TM said, it was still musicians with stands and an audience that sat quietly until it was ok to clap. So what are we shaking up here? How can we do more? What will we sacrifice? What will we gain?

Devotion Evolves

In the last couple of months, I’ve had several meetings, usually over tasty dinners, with people who have been my advisors on The Bhakti Project. This fall was a bit of an incubating period, I think, as we all - performers, organizers, composers - thought about what was created this year and how we wanted to move forward. And so we are moving. And shaking and scheming and planning and hoping...

Funny, but just a few months ago, I was really discouraged, even using the word “failure” to talk about The Bhakti Project. All I could see were the goals I hadn’t met, the things that hadn’t worked out just as I planned. Here’s what didn’t work:

1. We didn’t raise $18,000 or complete the three phases (commission, recital, recording).
2. My idea of blog-generated “micro-financing” didn’t really get off the ground.
3. I still owe my composer 80% of his fee.
4. The attendance at the initial recital was terribly disappointing.

Then last month I had to file my end-of-year report for Fractured Atlas. This, together with the above conversations and the clarity that comes with time and distance, made me realize that there were many, many things that did work:

1. We raised $4000, most of it in six weeks, and successfully completed Phase 2 (the recital) under budget.
2. Not including proceeds from recital tickets, 20 people made donations - including six whom I have never met, some of whom have never heard me sing in person.
3. The recital program itself was a success, even the risky elements like a silent meditation and reciting texts and singing Leonard Cohen.
4. We got a fantastic review that will be great material for future press releases and donor materials.

It’s easy to forget that projects evolve, that things change. This doesn’t mean that the first idea failed. It just changed. I bit off WAY more than I could chew when I started this project, naively hopeful that “everything would just work out!” Heh. And things are working out in their time, and along the way I’ve learned a lot and made some wonderful contacts that will aid in the future of the project.

So what’s next? Well, I think JD and I agree that the recital we presented last May, “I have some light: Songs of Spirit,” was unique to that time and that our original idea of presenting that program repeatedly doesn’t feel right. It feels proper that the first Bhakti Project recital was so personal, such an intimate expression of our spiritual relationship with music, but I think we both feel that we said what needed to be said. Now we can use the structure of The Bhakti Project to present new programs.

Hillula is still on the table, of course, and in our last meeting with Judd he mentioned a work that was a major influence as we was writing. The idea came to pair the two pieces on a program, and then those two works together made us think of another cycle (one that was briefly considered for “Songs of Spirit”)… And all of a sudden we had a new program! Three works, each about twenty minutes long. No titles yet, but I will say that it will be a challenging program, both for us as performers and for the audience. We hope to take our audience on an exhausting emotional and spiritual journey. The program feels very “grown-up,” very professional, and we think it would make a killer CD...

We’re also talking about the bigger picture, or “life past Hillula.” We would love to be able to present one recital program a year, maybe touring it, and we plan to include one premiere on each program. Rather than focusing exclusively on new music, we’re hoping to find new works that will stand side-by-side with works that have become “standard” recital repertoire. It’s easy to present new stuff all the time; it’s a bit more of a challenge to show an audience that new music can fit seamlessly with works they already know and love.

That is the new mission of The Bhakti Project. If that interests you, it’s never too early to make a donation for the 2008 program.

(Hmmm… one “new” composer each year. Should it also be one new dress designer each year? I think it should.)

Miscellany for 11/2

Sorry for the quiet times here! It’s been a crazy week. Here are some of the many things I would write more about if I could get my brain to function well enough to write during my downtime.

• Little SB made it through all three hours of The Magic Flute dress rehearsal! She spent most of it on my lap, and there were quite a few whispered conversations about what exactly they were saying up there (it was all in German). My favorite moment was in the Act I quintet: when they ladies had given Tamino his flute, S turned to me and said, “When will Papageno get his magic bells?” She made some friends in the Met cafeteria during intermission (including Richard Stillwell, my step-father from Santa Fe’s Cendrillon, and Arthur, the friendly giant of a stagehand), and is very much looking forward to coming back for Hansel & Gretel.

• The recital with Djordje went very well, despite a very small audience. Judd and I had some good conversations about audience building and programming ideas; more on all that soon. I’ve now got two big program ideas running in my head, one of which will be the perfect “second stage” of the Bhakti Project.

• Lots of conversations about story-telling these days. After last week’s recital, someone made the correlation of recital compared with opera being like a book of short stories versus a novel. I totally agree, 100%. I’ve been kind of collecting quotes and thoughts about story-telling (in my gorgeous new Moleskine!), so I think I’ll turn all of this into it’s own post.

• Last night’s 5 Boroughs Music Festival concert was a smashing success. I’ll write more about the rehearsals for this; we all agreed that Tuesday night’s first run-through of the Brahms was quite possibly the best rehearsal experience of our lives! I also need to write a bit to figure out why I stress myself out so completely about my preparation (to the point of tears an hour before the show), only to get on the stage and totally deliver. What is that all about?

• I’ve been in Iphigenie rehearsals all week. I hope the Met Blog does some behind the scenes things for this show, too, because the rehearsal process is fantastic. Great people, great atmosphere, thrilling product, even after a week of rehearsal. Very, very exciting.

• But you know what’s even more exciting? Tomorrow I get to sing Barbarina! We have our first musical rehearsal tomorrow afternoon, and even though I am thoroughly exhausted, I am positively giddy. And, yes, “Elvis” is in the building… I’m a little giddy about that, too!

More soon! Today and tomorrow are also long, full (deliciously full) days, and Sunday I will be a blob on the couch watching the Colts v. Patriots game, but hopefully I’ll get some of these thoughts fleshed out soon. Busy times, fun times!

I got rhythm

Yesterday’s lesson from our recital rehearsals - maybe even the week’s lesson – was this:

“That’s what he wrote, but that’s not what he meant.”

I don’t remember which song Steve said it about (maybe the Berlin duet), but this idea seems to be an over-arching theme this week. What is rhythmic vs. what is musical? What is accurate vs. what is stylistically right? Fine lines, lots of gray…

A lot of songs on this program aren’t “classical art songs,” so they shouldn’t be sung as such. There’s a freedom implicit in styles like musical theater and jazz that we as classical performers might have trouble wrapping our heads – and voices! – around. The four of us are getting there, but it’s hard to soften years of rigid accuracy overnight. The fact that we get to dance our way through rehearsals is helping! Well, at least I’m dancing… can’t seem to get anyone to join me yet…

I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea of “rhythmic integrity” and how its definition changes from genre to genre. The rhythms of my Ricky Ian Gordon song are fairly particular, at least on the page, and I spent a good amount of time subdividing the beats and making sure I was getting them exactly right. “One and two ee and-tie and four and” And, well, it sure sounded correct! The notes were right (mostly), but the feeling of the piece was all wrong. We found the same to be true with the Berlin, the Sondheim, the list goes on.

Today, as always, I think, contemporary composers are being influenced by non-classical genres: RIG, Musto, et al, have jazz; Golijov, klezmer & flamenco; Greenstein, Muhly, et al, pop and rock styles (cough Radiohead cough). These elements color their musics beautifully and make them the exciting modern pieces that we all get jazzed up about (no pun intended). The difficulty comes in how to translate the freedom of those influencing genres onto those five little lines we call the staff. Performers are trained to read the music, to recreate it as written on the page. So composers put down some semblance of the idea on the staff, using 8th’s and 16th’s and ties and dots. Then the difficulty for us performers comes in how to recreate not only the notes on the page but also the stylistic ideas behind the notes. We have to make it “swing.”

This is why I think it’s so important to keep listening to other genres. Anytime I hear a singer say that they don’t listen to pop music (or jazz or indie rock or what have you), I die a little inside. Loosen up! Some day it’s going to be required of you in a “classical” context; will you have anything to pull from?

**Be sure to read DJA's great additions to this conversation in the Comments.**

For the Record

It is already way past my bedtime (or what should have been my bedtime tonight), but I’m about to head to Georgia for a few days to visit family and friends, and there is news!

Kim has finally announced on the Wolf Trap blog that we are going to be releasing a recording of Volpone! She’ll be giving a more detailed explanation of the process, and later I’ll share a bit of my experience (we recorded all four of the performances and did a two-hour touch-up session) from the stage side of things. It was an interesting element to add to the mix of performing this challenging and wonderful piece. We had a great final show today; really, a lot of fun. I’ll miss it!

This recording will bring my current “discography” up to four: Griffelkin with Boston Modern Orchestra Project while I was still in school, Ainadamar (which, um, in case you missed it, won a Grammy! I got my certificate just before I came to Wolf Trap. Eeek!), this recording of Volpone, and Long Road Home, the Parkinson’s benefit cd with Bill Barnewitz (we recorded it in Santa Fe last summer; read about it here.) That cd was just released last week, I think, and while it is currently only available through European distributors (including Amazon.co.uk), please consider buying one. All the proceeds from this amazing collaboration go towards Parkinson’s research.

Featured on Long Road Home are singers Joyce DiDonato (who is now blogging!), Jennifer Holloway, and Eglise Gutierrez (all Cendrillon cast mates); pianists Carol Anderson and Ursula Oppens; and Margaret Butler, oboe; Todd Levy, clarinet; and Ted Soluri, bassoon. Those last four join Bill (who plays horn on all tracks) for an absolutely beautiful performance of Mozart’s Quintet for Piano and Winds, K. 452. It is a gorgeous cd all around, and would be worth picking up even if it weren’t for such a good cause. As soon as I hear of a US distributor, I’ll let you know, but for now, all of you in Europe: buy one!

With two other recordings in the works for next year (including a recording of Hillula and other selections from the Bhakti Project – it’s not too late to make a donation!), I might need to add a Discography page to my website. How cool is that?

Song of the Lark, quotes

I finally finished this wonderful book, and I can’t begin to collect my thoughts about it, about what it means to me and what it suggests to me of my life. So rather than try, here are some passages from the dozens of pages with turned-down corners.

*****
“Every artist makes himself born. It is very much harder than the other time, and longer. Your mother didn’t bring anything into the world to play piano. That you must bring into the world yourself.”

*****
“…What you want more than anything else in world is to be an artist; is that true?”
She turned her face away from him and looked down at the keyboard. Her answer came in a thickened voice. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“When did you first feel that you wanted to be an artist?”
“I don’t know. There was always--something.”

*****
“You weren’t ready for it eight months ago.” Fred leaned back at last in his chair. “You simply weren’t ready for it. You were too tired. You were too timid. Your whole tone was too low. … You were fumbling and awkward. Since then, you’ve come into your personality. You were always locking horns with it before. You were a sullen little drudge eight months ago, afraid of being caught at either looking or moving like yourself. Nobody could tell anything about you. A voice is not an instrument that’s found ready-made. A voice is personality.”

*****
“…To go back to your question, Dr. Archie, you can believe I keep my mind on it! That’s the whole trick, in so far as stage experience goes; keeping right there every second. If I think of anything for a flash, I’m done for. but at the same time, you can take things in – with another part of your brain, maybe. It’s different from what you get in study, more practical and conclusive. There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm. You learn the delivery of a part only before an audience.”
“Heaven help us!” gasped Ottenburg. “Aren’t you hungry, though! It’s beautiful to see you eat.”

*****
“What is it, Mr. Harsanyi? You know all about her. What’s her secret?”
Harsanyi rumpled his hair irritably and shrugged his shoulders. “Her secret? It is every artist’s secret” – he waved his hand – “passion. That is all. It is an open secret, and perfectly safe. Like heroism, it is inimitable in cheap materials.”

*****
Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness. The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is. That afternoon nothing new came to Thea Kronborg, no enlightenment, no inspiration. She merely came into full possession of things she had been refining and perfecting for so long. Her inhibitions chanced to be fewer than usual, and, within herself, she entered into the inheritance that she herself had laid up, into the fullness of the faith she had kept before she knew its name or its meaning.”

*****
“…Then he walked down Broadway with his hands in his overcoat pockets, wearing a smile which embraced all the stream of life passed him and the lighted towers that rose into the limpid blue of the evening sky. If the singer, going home exhausted in her car, was wondering what was the good of it all, that smile, could she have seen it, would have answered her. It is the only commensurate answer.”

I think this is a book, like Salinger’s Franny and Zooey, to which I will return again and again. (I picked that book up again this fall after about ten years, and felt like I was reading a letter from my 18-year-old self, what with all the underlining and notes in the margins.) They both have so much to say about being an artist/singer/actor, and about how tough and painful and lonely but ultimately rewarding this life can be, if one really gives ones’ self over to it, although the rewards may be impossible to quantify.

I feel very heavy. Not down, not sad, just heavy. As if I just – finally, fully – accepted the weight of my life. It’s a good heaviness, but heavy, nonetheless.

Re: those new words

Ainadamar is no longer a Grammy Award-nominated CD: It's a Grammy Winner!!

That's a bit of a boost for the winter doldrums, eh? I've been told that I should get a certificate, which, should I ever have a wall big enough to hang things on, I will proudly frame and display.

Wish I could raise a glass to celebrate with my colleagues on the recording. I imagine we are all spread far and wide at the moment, but today you've all been close to my heart. "Ay, que dia!!"

(Read about the recording sessions (from my limited perspective) here, here, and here.)

The Song of the Lark

I’m finally reading Willa Cather’s The Song of the Lark, which was recommended to me this summer by my generous hosts in Santa Fe. (B&N are currently en route to Yonkers, where they’ll be visiting their grandchildren – and daughter – for a couple of weeks; I plan to go up and visit for a day, and I am looking forward to seeing them again.) I read a passage last night that made me think, “I should blog about that,” only to come upon another passage a few pages later that made tears well up in my eyes for its direct relevance to my life. I expect that I’ll be posting quite a few quotes as I read the remaining 300 pages…

Here is the first:

In winter this loft room of Thea’s was bitterly cold, but against her mother’s advice – and Tillie’s – she always left her window open a little way. … Thea asked Doctor Archie about the window, and he told her that a girl who sang must always have plenty of fresh air, or her voice would get husky, and that the cold would harden her throat. The important thing, he said, was to keep your feet warm. – The Song of the Lark, Chapter VIII

I concur, Dr. Archie! Give me a cracked window any night of the year, no matter how cold it is outside. I love to feel cool air on my face while I sleep, just so long as the rest of me is warm, my feet especially. Whether it makes my voice stronger or not, I’m not sure, but I do know I sleep better in the cold, and a good night’s sleep is directly related to one’s general health which is directly related to vocal health. Sound enough reasoning to me!

The second passage requires a bit of background. Thea has been taking piano lessons for years from an old German gentleman, Herr Wunsch; she is also known to possess a lovely singing voice, and she dreams of going to Europe to study music so she can be “a good music teacher.” On her thirteenth birthday, as they walk in the garden under the linden trees (symbol of marriage and femininity), he teaches her a poem: “Im leuchtenden Sommermorgen,” by Heine. His reason behind teaching it to her is to teach her more German so she can learn Lieder (songs) and vice versa. (This poem is most famously set by Robert Schumann, as part of his song cycle, Dichterliebe, “The Loves of a poet.”) After he teaches Thea the words, Herr Wunsch starts to grill her on the poetic meaning. Why the flowers, why is the man sad, what does this mean, why, how, etc.. Thea gets frustrated:

“You are just trying to make me say things. It spoils things to ask questions.”
Wunsch bowed mockingly; his smile was disagreeable. Suddenly his face grew grave, grew fierce, indeed. He pulled himself up from his clumsy stoop and folded his arms. “But it is necessary to know if you know some things. Some things cannot be taught. If you not know in the beginning, you not know in the end. For a singer there must be something in the inside from the beginning. I shall not be long in this place, may-be, and I like to know. Yes” – he ground his heel in the gravel – “yes, when you are barely six, you must know that already. That is the beginning of all things; der Geist, die Phantasie. It must be in the baby, when it makes its first cry, like der Rhythmus [the steady beat], or it is not to be. You have some voice already, and if in the beginning, when you are with things-to-play, you know that what you will not tell me, then you can learn to sing, may-be. … Something they [the silly American girls] can learn, oh, yes, may-be! But the secret – what makes the rose to red, the sky to blue, the man to love – in der Brust, in der Brust it is, und ohne dieses gibt es keine Kunst, gibt es keine Kunst!” - The Song of the Lark, Chapter XI

What does that mean? “The Secret… is in the breast, in the soul it is, and without this there is no art, there is no Art!”

Wunsch was testing her instincts, delving under the surface to see if she had the heart of an artist. He already knew that she had the talent – and the dedication and drive and discipline. But did she really have the heart, that thing that separates the Talented from the Great?

I was reminded of various music theory or art song literature classes, when the teacher would prod us to find a reason behind the composer’s use of a certain chord or the poet’s choice of a phrase or symbol. How many times did we cry, “Oh, come on! Dissecting the piece like this takes all the poetry out of it! Just let it be beautiful because it is beautiful!”

Did we protest because we didn’t know the answer? Was the teacher testing us, as Wunsch tested Thea, to see who among us had the artist’s heart? Did any of us past the test? We might have gotten A's, but in the grander scheme of things, did we get it? I’ll have to finish the book to know for sure, but I think Thea passed.

Will I?

A small milestone

In the continuing effort to keep my resume to one page, as we are strongly encouraged to do, tonight I took my last school role off the list.

That feels pretty good!

All the remaining are either training program roles (Tytania, Noemie) or professional credits, however small the paycheck might have been! Each role listed is truly representative of my voice, past, present, and future, with no “out of Fach” roles simply there for filler. (Not that I’ve really done any out of Fach roles…)

But there are still things missing.

Namely, leading roles with orchestra. I really only have one, when it comes down to it – Tytania. And that wasn’t a professional gig. I have tons of concert work, at high levels, and more booked for the future. But opera roles have been slow in coming. My path to this stage of my career has been through concert work, so it makes sense, I suppose, but I’m ready to shift the percentage. Someone asked me recently if I was afraid of being put in the box of “new music concert singer,” and, frankly, the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. But I can see the trend on my resume. I know I will always sing concerts; my voice is well-suited for that repertoire. And I love bringing new music to life. But somewhere along the way in the past five years, I became on opera singer.

I’m doing my best to be patient, but I’ll admit to a few anxious moments during this audition season. A few weeks ago, I learned that a job I wanted went to another soprano (one I know personally; all the jobs I don’t get go to other sopranos…). I got seriously bummed out, even though on that same day I sang two great auditions AND booked a series of concerts for May, 2008. I had to work hard to get myself out of the funk, reminding myself that the wheels were set in motion for me, that I have a great team working on my behalf, that I am singing better than ever, that the jobs will come. They will. Won’t they?!

I believe that they will. My managers fielded an inquiry as to my availability for a great role (a leading role with orchestra…) – but it’s fairly last minute and I’m booked. Is it wrong to confess that, even though I’m booked at THE MET, I was disappointed? I am so ready to get on that stage as a principal artist, delving into a character and a plot, taking the audience along with me on the journey through the story, singing the arias and duets and ensembles of the leading lady.

I’m ready, Coach. Put me in!

Another thought on Les Mis

At one point, while Valjean was speeding through one of his many emotional high points that totally fell flat, I had this thought:

“It can’t be easy, singing this role that so many people know and that so many people have sung before him.”

Then I realized that we do that, too, we opera singers. And violinists and pianists and anyone whose job it is to re-create something, rather than create. It is up to us to find a way to make it new, thrilling, even for the third or fiftieth or thousandth time. Not an easy task, but it can be done.

Holiday Miscellany

Another busy week: getting final piano lessons scheduled (last ones next week!); rehearsals for the SBO Bach concert; buying, making, wrapping and shipping Christmas presents (thanks, Oak Tree UPS Store); and hosting our annual Christmas party. (We don’t host annually, thank god, but this year we four Rognebrothers wanted to host in our new home. We cooked a goose! And Brussels sprouts and parsnips and carrots and stuffing and… yummm…) I’ve started a half-dozen blog entries this week, but nothing stuck. So here’s a bit of miscellany to wrap up the week.
Above you see how industrious we all strove to be in the three hour break between Messiah concerts last weekend! I would not have been able to make my fabulous ice cream pint cozy had it not been for Melissa’s guidance! I was hoping to get two made in time for the gift exchange at our party, but one will have to do for now. (I couldn’t remember how to get started on the second one, and Melissa wasn’t around to help!) Check it out – no more chilly fingers!

I also want to comment on the hair in the above picture. That is NOT all Melissa’s hair! She found a clip with attached curls that perfectly match her hair color, so with very little effort on her part, she has instant Diva Hair! I’ve got to get one. Although, my hair suddenly decided last week that it was going to cooperate with my desires to put it up in a “simple” French twist. I couldn’t believe it! I tempted fate and tried to do it again for last night’s concert, and it wasn’t a fluke. (It looks a little off-center in the picture, but I swear, it was perfect.) Something crazy is going on these days if my pre-concert fight with my hair is a thing of the past…
Let’s see, what else… The SBO concert has been really wonderful work. I’m always my most nervous before the first rehearsal with a new group, and this was no exception. Do I really know my music? Will I fall apart once I have strings under me and not a piano? Have I counted all these interludes correctly? Etc. But everything went fine, as it usually does, and I’ve had a lot of fun. The other soloists are all great, and I look forward hopefully to working with them again in the future. But, the highlight of last night’s concert seemed to be my gown! I got so many compliments on it, and at the reception afterwards, someone told me that every group they passed at intermission was talking about how beautiful it was! I consider it to be my first “diva gown,” complete with big puffy skirt; I absolutely love it. It has a great story, too, so once I get a good picture, I’ll tell all the details.

For now, here’s a picture of our house in all it’s holiday splendor! Hope you have a great week, finding time to enjoy the Season amidst all the chaos.

Dr. Atomic

I felt I should weigh in momentarily on the “big event” happening in San Francisco this weekend. John Adams’ newest opera, Doctor Atomic, opens on Saturday, recounting the hours before the first test of the atomic bomb that would end World War II. Oppenheimer and other Los Alamos physicists await the test at the facility, while the women in their lives wait at home, worrying and wondering how the world is about to change. After seeing firsthand what Peter Sellars can do with emotionally and politically charged topics, I have no doubt that this opera will be a profound experience for all who are lucky enough to see it.

Over a fabulous brunch with MC in Santa Fe last month, we talked about why this particular premiere is garnering so much attention. (Music blogs have been abuzz for months now.) We decided that the combination of subject matter, anticipation to see what John Adams will write next, Peter Sellar’s involvement (he wrote the libretto as well as directed), and a few last-minute high-profile cast changes all serve to create an intriguing project that has everyone wishing they could be there Satuday night.

Now that I think about it, there are two other opera premieres that are in the spotlight right now: Margaret Garner at Michigan Opera Theater this past May (and An American Tragedy at the Met in December (not to mention Ainadamar this summer). (Margaret Garner is being staged this season by both Opera Carolina and the Opera Company of Philadalphia, providing the crucial "second" performances for a new work. Composers often say that it's easy to get new works performed once; it's getting them programmed again that's the struggle.) Could this be a sign of a renewed interest in new opera, and, therefore, in opera in general? Exciting times…

For more detailed coverage on this important new work, visit these sites.
*The San Francisco Opera’s Dr. Atomic site
*A great collection of Dr. Atomic Links at aworks.
*Alex Ross has put together a fabulous photojournal at The Rest is Noise. Pick up a copy of this week’s New Yorker for his article on the opera, written on an ironing board in a hotel in San Francisco…
*Thoughts from TSR during his New Mexico visit.
*Preview and links to articles at Ionarts
I know there are more. If you have something to add, leave it in comments and I’ll put it in.