Evolution

It all began with one of the Twenty-Four Italian Songs and Arias: “Gia il sole dal gange.” There I was, a freshman singing in front of a bunch of strangers, in a foreign language and in a “new” voice that I barely understood. It was, needless to say, not my best moment. However, sitting in that audience were two people who would have a strong influence on my current career; one a future voice teacher and the other, a singer/stage director, turned General Director for an opera company. Cut to the present where, thanks to that General Director, William Florescu, who was one of those audience members, I recently made my Florentine Opera debut.

A lot has transpired since my undergraduate days where I barely even understood the mechanics of my voice to where I an now. I work extremely hard to be a solid technician, to enhance the language and to craft a believable, yet interesting character. All of this while trying to remain sane in my “real” life. (Or is my real life the stage and my dream life at home where I can just “be?” A blog for another time.)

I have always felt like I was playing “catch-up” in regards to other singers. I didn’t start voice lessons until I was eighteen. I had to learn the basics of breath support, legato, diction and that all elusive “placement” while trying to figure out who I was. I spent a great deal of time during my undergrad, searching for answers, but not always in the classroom. Once I got to grad school, I thought I had a good handle on my voice, but I soon found out that there were so many other items to contend with. I heard that my voice was too this, not enough of that, my languages were not this, or my legato was not that, etc…I also felt, for the first time, what “competition” really was and that not everyone had my best interest at heart. At the time, all I wanted to do was get out of school and sing professionally because I was certain that in the “real” world, they playing field would be level, right?

I was very fortunate to have a great teacher and coach in grad school and I had a decent technique. But for the first time, I started having severe anxiety about my singing. I could barely phonate without feeling the pressure to be “perfect” and I would get so wound into knots that singing became a very difficult chore. In my mind, I knew it was all the “criticism” I was hearing from teachers, coaches, and other singers. It was doubly confusing because I was getting hired to sing comprimario roles with Opera Columbus. I couldn’t understand how some thought I was ready for prime time, while others were quick to pick apart everything I was doing.

A wonderful break through (or break down) came while performing on a masterclass. The stakes, at least in my mind, were pretty high. A coach who played for someone of great importance was working with singers and I was invited to participate. I sang my standard aria “Bella siccome un angelo.” (I had a long and tumultuous relationship with this aria as it was my first operatic piece and I was still trying to “get it.” In hindsight, I realized that I never truly loved the aria, but it was given to me to teach me something. And boy did I learn quite a bit about wrestling with a piece that doesn’t speak to you.) It was my turn to sing and I made my way through the aria. The coach was very kind and was simply offering advice on keeping all my vowels more in line with each other (something I now strongly believe in to this day.) The combination of the intimacy of the space, my own neurosis and the “judgmental” looks of my colleagues and the voice faculty caused the room to spin. My left leg started to shake, my throat closed up and I could barely squeak out a tone. I excused myself as I could feel a huge amount of sweat begin pouring off my face. I went to the restroom at the back of the space and before I knew what was happening, I was crying uncontrollably, shaking and heaving for air. My “panic attack” lasted for a good ten minutes as I sat on the floor trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I collected myself and made my way home.

As has been my luck, God*(* the Universe, fate, divine intervention, etc…) intervened. I was set to meet a friend the next day for coffee. It was during that wonderful coffee session that he introduced me to Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way.” After a couple of days, I bought a copy and began the 12-week process of discovering who I truly was as an artist.

The biggest lessons I learned from that experience were: discipline (journaling everyday-I still journal quite a bit), refilling the well (it’s impossible to give as an artist if one does ‘refill’ one’s self with inspiring artistic experiences), to retrain what the “inner critic” in my head was saying, and to protect the “artistic child” that needed nurturing and love not constant criticism. This was the first true step in my artistic evolution.

A big part of my training came in the way of doing a TON of regional opera company young artist programs singing everything from small roles in mainstage performances to doing every kind of school program imaginable (an operatic version of The Three Little Pigs, anyone?) I was now a working opera singer, but I wanted to get to the “next level.” I was in the YAP at a Level 2 company and was called on to sing one of the mainstage performances of a role I was covering. I did it without nerves and actually truly enjoyed the performance and was rewarded with wonderful applause and a great review. But after the performance was over, I sat in my lonely room feeling empty with no one to celebrate the event. It was very tough to feel so high and a few short hours later, so low. However, that was another important lesson: one must find joy not only on the stage, but in their life off the stage in order to be happy.

Around that same time I was hyper aware of all the "limitations" I possessed. I kept feeling like I “couldn’t, shouldn’t, or wouldn’t” make it in the business and, as is often the case, we see the world as we believe it. I found myself feeling less and less able to imagine a sustainable career in opera and so, after cancelling a few upcoming contracts, I quit. I had a lot of sadness coupled with confusion and spent a year “finding myself” working at an art gallery and for an events company. I was living a “normal-ish” life surrounded by creatives, but not really being one myself. I never stopped loving opera and often found myself surfing the web wondering who was singing what and where. It was then that I ran across a job vacancy at Kentucky Opera. They were looking for a Manager of Education Programs. I knew that this was indeed divine intervention at work again. I had been a Young Artist at Kentucky and liked Louisville quite a bit. I applied and got the job. I stayed for a couple of years before another “miracle” happened. I was contacted by Opera Columbus. They were looking for a Director of Education. This was perfect-I would get to do a job that I loved and live in my hometown with all my friends. I stayed for nearly four years, but the Universe had something even greater in mind for me.

While I was officially “not a singer,” opportunities kept arising whether it was appearing as a guest artist in a production of “The Mikado,” singing in a church choir or the moment that shoved me back into singing as a career. The Artistic Director of Opera Columbus needed a Mandarin in their upcoming production of “Turandot.” I accepted and was lucky to meet soprano Othalie Graham who questioned why I was not singing? The only thing I could think of was fear. I returned to my Artists Way and learned another important principal, that of synchronicity. It seemed too coincidental that I found a job at Kentucky Opera and when I was ready to move on, an opportunity at Opera Columbus arose. It was also too much by chance that they would ask me to sing a mainstage role where I would happen to meet an artist who asked the one question I was afraid to ask myself.

Again, fate came calling when I found an audition notice for a National Tour of “Porgy and Bess.” Of course I knew the hit tunes, but I did not know the full work. I flew to New York just to “try” and after a second round of auditions, was cast in the role of Jake! On a “crazy” whim, I quit my job, went to New York for rehearsals and embarked on a four-month tour. I will never forget the amazing performers, wonderful production, the time in New York and the sheer joy of singing everyday (and getting a decent fee for it!) It was amazing that the one thing that I had trained for, that had caused me so much angst and fear, was now the thing that was making me happier than I had ever been. That was the next big step in my evolution. I had returned to singing, but with a different point of view. I now loved it and more than that, I had a deep appreciation and gratitude because I knew that from being on the other side of the table, there were thousands of singers who would love to be where I was. No matter what little “irritating” things that would happen (and you can imagine what a bunch of singers and orchestra players on a bus traveling the country might bring about), I was not going to complain because I was “living the dream!” Along the way, I connected deeply with my artistic self. There are many opinions on who we should be, but only we know our voices best and the thing we are called to do is bring our truth to every role.

The transition from the tour to working with a fair amount of regularity has been challenging and most singers don’t have the luxury of working full-time as a singer. It comes with many sacrifices-missing important family events, constantly investing one’s money in auditions, lessons, coachings, and all the other elements of maintaining a career, high pressure to deliver at a world-class level, occasional loneliness, and sometimes people outside of the business not really understanding all the work that goes into making it seem “easy.” But I have found that the more I continue to love the craft (the technical, dramatic, and linguistic elements) coupled with a sheer reverence for the composers/librettists who create these masterpieces in which I get the privilege to try and bring to life, the more rewarding it is. The most important thing I try to remember every moment is to love what I am doing.

If I could give my 18 year-old self some advice, it would be: fall in love with being a singer. Fall in love with the work as much as the performance and always remember that you are blessed to have this talent. It was given to you in order to share it with others. Yes, this field is competitive, but the biggest competition one has is one’s self. And once that “inner critic” is silenced, then the “artistic self” can flourish!

Peace,

Eric