Carmen is one of the most recognizable operas in the world. Many opera companies produce it because it is a guaranteed crowd pleaser, is filled with tunes that linger in the memory and offers a wealth of great vocal and dramatic moments for the artists playing these iconic parts.
In a previous post, I mentioned that I was excited (and surprised) to be offered the role of Escamillo mainly because of my own perceptions of what I think Escamillo looks and sounds like. During my preparation I found the role still felt foreign to me as it didn’t slip into my voice with ease and trying to capture the character’s swagger seemed to elude me. I wasn’t sure if this was a case of mind over matter where I just needed to keep at it or one of me just accepting the wrong role. Further investigation was needed.
The role of Escamillo challenges all lower male voice singers in that is sits low, high and right in the middle with just enough frequency that any baritone, bass-baritone or bass gets fooled into thinking it’s an easy sing. The aria alone is a masterful combination of melodic inventiveness and thrilling vocal bravado. It requires a singer with a voice that has thrust, ease in and out of its registration and a large dose of machismo. The character also has to be completely grounded with swagger while also being elevated and oozing with sexual charisma. That is of course a tall order, especially if you feel that these qualities play opposite of your personality.
Going into the first two rehearsals, I was fortunate that Long Island Opera provided us with a fanstastic music director and also a great French diction coach extraordinaire whose jobs are to not only refine our musical style, pronunciation, but they have such amazing insights into the opera, the characters and vocal technique that I finally feel like I am getting a grasp on all things Escamillo. On a side note, our French diction coach has put us through our paces and doesn't let anything get through the cracks. With her smarts (and whip!), I am getting quite confident in my role.
I have sung Escamillo every day and he is becoming clearer (literally and figuratively) and I actually BELIEVE I can do it! I often marvel at actors who undergo a physical transformation, study for months on end to perfect a new language, dialect or physical feat and hurl themselves into a new role that is outside of their comfort zone all in order to challenge their own artistic abilities. That is exactly how I feel about Escamillo. I am working on finding his voice, his swagger and his overall being. Soon we will start working with the stage director so I am looking forward to her adding more insight into my journey into this man who is virile, full of daring and has some of the greatest music of any baritone role.
I’ll let you know how it goes!
Peace,
Eric
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
What are we so afraid of?
I remember the day vividly: I was in grad school and singing on a masterclass for an accompanist who played for several of the opera world’s great singers. It was my hope that I would open my mouth and he would shout that I was the operatic equivalent of the second coming. I would be plucked from obscurity and whisked off to NYC to become the next great…something. As is traditional in the masterclass format, the singer (me in this instance) sings all the way through the piece and then the master gets up and coaches, questions and challenges the singer into a deeper exploration of technique and interpretation, all the while putting on a good “show” for the audience in attendance who is hoping to gain some gem of knowledge that will make them a better singer, vocal coach or listener. As a young singer with lots to prove, I found this situation exhilarating because I felt that this moment in time could be a game changer.
Well, indeed it was! After singing through my aria, the master teacher asked me to try a few things. Nervous at the on-looking crowd of people judging me and trying my best to be perfect, I found that the more I tried to “get it right,” the more my voice started to close up. I was hit by not only an attack of phlegm, but also a huge wave of stage fright. (I like to call phlegm the uninvited party guest. The one that shows up unexpectedly and never knows when to leave!)
I had experienced stage fright before. Once, as a middle schooler, auditioning for a local production, I got so scared that the same thing happened except that instead of having the wave of nausea, my right leg began to shake uncontrollably. The people behind the desk watched in horror as my gravelly phlegm-covered voice sang and my right leg did its own interpretative dance that telegraphed how insanely frightened I was. Since that time, I had always had to deal with the “leg shake”, but I was older and wiser now. However, here I was going through this same exact thing.
I excused myself saying that I did not feel well and left the stage. I went into the bathroom and for the next fifteen minutes convulsed, sobbed and shook all the while replaying what had just happened. I went through the entire gamut of negative emotions from blaming someone in the audience for the “judgmental” stare, to hating myself for being such a punk-a$% to feeling like walking out of that bathroom and never returning to singing again.
After that moment, I went through a very tough, but liberating journey into why I was so afraid? Why was the act of standing there in front of a group of people and having someone assess my voice, my languages, my acting and my musicality such a terrifying exercise? I began to question why something like singing, which felt fairly natural and was certainly something I had come to love very much, was causing me such anxiety. And more than that, why was the act of being judged turning my normally chipper, confident and fun-loving self into a bathroom-blubbering mess?
Like most things that we consider our “issues” today, we merely have to go back and look into our childhood to see where they originated. As a very small child, I was an exceptional student and very creative and talented. I even skipped 2nd grade because I seemed to be what is now labeled as an “advanced” learner, meaning someone who can pick up material, process it quickly and show comprehension with ease. For that I was often praised…and praised a lot to the chagrin of some of my family and friends. During that time, I remember that I loved to sing and would sing often. One Saturday afternoon (why does it always have to happen on a Saturday?), I was singing when one of my cousins commented that I sounded like a whale in heat. (I don’t think it was THAT bad!) Of course, no one had ever said anything like that to me. I was shocked, surprised and hurt. Another key moment was that I had another cousin who was (and still is) an exceptional singer. She had one of those voices that moved people. I wanted so much to be like that and every time someone praised her and not me, I became jealous. Finally, and this is very significant as well, being an only child of a single parent who wanted me to be my best, even when I didn’t want to be, I experienced a lot of criticism that I saw as a negative, but where the intention was to make me my best self. (This was all discovered during some intense journaling which has served as my therapy over the years.)
Through this process I discovered the origins of my fear of being criticized. What was also fascinating to discover during my journaling was that there was already a large part of me in place that wanted to resolve this issue. So how does one go about resolving one’s fear of criticism in their adult life? By pursuing a career where criticism is an integral part of the business. (In therapy, they call this the “aha” moment.) There is a reason that artists are temperamental, insecure and sometimes (often!) crazy. We are dealing with two main voices: the one that is telling us we suck and the one that is telling us that if we practice (draw, sketch, paint etc…) enough, we will be amazing and have a chance at making/creating/doing something greater than ourselves.
From near-nervous breakdown to my current period of self-awareness took about ten years to work through. I decided to write about it because I had a friend share with me their recent experience in a competition and all of the memories of exactly how that felt came flooding back to me. I wanted to share my story for two reasons: 1) to show that most artists go through periods of fear about what “they” think and 2) to show that the process is ongoing, but when we sing to express as opposed to impress, we change how “they” affect us.
Today, I try to remind myself whether it is an audition, a rehearsal or a performance, that it’s just singing. I love to sing and perform and if I spend each moment working to bring out the words, the music, the language, the style and the drama, then I spend less time worrying about whether they like it or not, because while I love having the audience’s response, the ultimate reason I sing is for me. Of course I want to tell “them” the story using all my gifts, but I look at it more like I’m sharing something wonderful as opposed to putting it out there to be assessed. It makes it a lot more fun!
Peace,
Eric
Well, indeed it was! After singing through my aria, the master teacher asked me to try a few things. Nervous at the on-looking crowd of people judging me and trying my best to be perfect, I found that the more I tried to “get it right,” the more my voice started to close up. I was hit by not only an attack of phlegm, but also a huge wave of stage fright. (I like to call phlegm the uninvited party guest. The one that shows up unexpectedly and never knows when to leave!)
I had experienced stage fright before. Once, as a middle schooler, auditioning for a local production, I got so scared that the same thing happened except that instead of having the wave of nausea, my right leg began to shake uncontrollably. The people behind the desk watched in horror as my gravelly phlegm-covered voice sang and my right leg did its own interpretative dance that telegraphed how insanely frightened I was. Since that time, I had always had to deal with the “leg shake”, but I was older and wiser now. However, here I was going through this same exact thing.
I excused myself saying that I did not feel well and left the stage. I went into the bathroom and for the next fifteen minutes convulsed, sobbed and shook all the while replaying what had just happened. I went through the entire gamut of negative emotions from blaming someone in the audience for the “judgmental” stare, to hating myself for being such a punk-a$% to feeling like walking out of that bathroom and never returning to singing again.
After that moment, I went through a very tough, but liberating journey into why I was so afraid? Why was the act of standing there in front of a group of people and having someone assess my voice, my languages, my acting and my musicality such a terrifying exercise? I began to question why something like singing, which felt fairly natural and was certainly something I had come to love very much, was causing me such anxiety. And more than that, why was the act of being judged turning my normally chipper, confident and fun-loving self into a bathroom-blubbering mess?
Like most things that we consider our “issues” today, we merely have to go back and look into our childhood to see where they originated. As a very small child, I was an exceptional student and very creative and talented. I even skipped 2nd grade because I seemed to be what is now labeled as an “advanced” learner, meaning someone who can pick up material, process it quickly and show comprehension with ease. For that I was often praised…and praised a lot to the chagrin of some of my family and friends. During that time, I remember that I loved to sing and would sing often. One Saturday afternoon (why does it always have to happen on a Saturday?), I was singing when one of my cousins commented that I sounded like a whale in heat. (I don’t think it was THAT bad!) Of course, no one had ever said anything like that to me. I was shocked, surprised and hurt. Another key moment was that I had another cousin who was (and still is) an exceptional singer. She had one of those voices that moved people. I wanted so much to be like that and every time someone praised her and not me, I became jealous. Finally, and this is very significant as well, being an only child of a single parent who wanted me to be my best, even when I didn’t want to be, I experienced a lot of criticism that I saw as a negative, but where the intention was to make me my best self. (This was all discovered during some intense journaling which has served as my therapy over the years.)
Through this process I discovered the origins of my fear of being criticized. What was also fascinating to discover during my journaling was that there was already a large part of me in place that wanted to resolve this issue. So how does one go about resolving one’s fear of criticism in their adult life? By pursuing a career where criticism is an integral part of the business. (In therapy, they call this the “aha” moment.) There is a reason that artists are temperamental, insecure and sometimes (often!) crazy. We are dealing with two main voices: the one that is telling us we suck and the one that is telling us that if we practice (draw, sketch, paint etc…) enough, we will be amazing and have a chance at making/creating/doing something greater than ourselves.
From near-nervous breakdown to my current period of self-awareness took about ten years to work through. I decided to write about it because I had a friend share with me their recent experience in a competition and all of the memories of exactly how that felt came flooding back to me. I wanted to share my story for two reasons: 1) to show that most artists go through periods of fear about what “they” think and 2) to show that the process is ongoing, but when we sing to express as opposed to impress, we change how “they” affect us.
Today, I try to remind myself whether it is an audition, a rehearsal or a performance, that it’s just singing. I love to sing and perform and if I spend each moment working to bring out the words, the music, the language, the style and the drama, then I spend less time worrying about whether they like it or not, because while I love having the audience’s response, the ultimate reason I sing is for me. Of course I want to tell “them” the story using all my gifts, but I look at it more like I’m sharing something wonderful as opposed to putting it out there to be assessed. It makes it a lot more fun!
Peace,
Eric
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Don't tell yourself "no"
You’re too short, too tall, too handsome, too ugly or even too black (refer to the previous post “And one of them is black” for clarification.) Your “ah” vowel is out of whack, your coloratura isn’t clean enough, you’re late, behind and awful! These are all things that people (teachers, coaches, conductors, artistic directors, stage directors and sometimes colleagues) will say to an opera singer. We often feel like door-to-door salesmen pedaling our wares and like those salesmen, we get many a “no” and it can make us begin to believe things about ourselves simply because we’ve heard something from this person or that person. If someone told us we were a grapefruit over and over again, we just might start to believe it ourselves, but the truth remains. We are not grapefruits!
I used to think that being a 5”9” black lyric baritone was actually a negative. In a world filled with barihunks and sopranos who get gastric bypass in order to enhance their careers, it can be very easy to feel like one has to consider the physical perception of the role first before addressing the vocal demands. However, over the past couple of years I have found that I have been offered such a variety of roles ranging from Figaro in Le Nozze di Figaro to Figaro in Barbiere di Siviglia and many things in between. Now, I think I know my voice very well and I know what I can and cannot sing, but sometimes I find that I think I won’t be offered this role or that role not because I can’t sing it, but because I don’t “look” how the role is typically cast. However, does that mean if something feels great vocally, yet perhaps I do not conjure up the physical ideal that I should not offer it? Look at all the singers having great careers. Many of them sing a variety of stuff that perhaps they are not “ideal” for, but what makes them great is that they alter our idea of what the role sounds and looks like and it becomes their own.
Example: I went into a recent audition hoping to get Marcello as that seemed the most appropriate role in a season of Carmen, Rigoletto and La Boheme. I didn’t even offer the Toreador aria, not because I couldn’t sing it, but because I just didn’t think I had the “swagger” to perform it. The auditor asked me about the role and before responding I remembered my friend Henry’s advice about not telling yourself “no” when going into an audition situation. So instead of saying I didn’t think I was appropriate, I told them I had not had a chance to get the aria ready and didn’t want to present it until it was up to snuff. Lo, and behold, I got an offer to sing (to my great surprise) Escamillo in Carmen.
In opera we have the Fach system, which helps classify what kind of singer we are so that when companies hire us; they can know which roles are most appropriate. This system is very strict in Germany where it originated, but here in the US singers can bend and stretch here and there. I, myself, am essentially a high lyric baritone with a little bit of “meat” in the voice. However, I bring a certain personality and look to all the roles I do so it’s not uncommon that I will get offers for roles that I am more physically suited for versus where my voice wants to sit. A perfect example of this is Mozart’s Figaro. The Escamillo offer is actually the opposite in that I can sing it, but I never thought that in a universe of tall, good-looking baritones, I would be cast. (I know I’m cute and am at peace with my height, so don’t think I am putting myself down!) However, I never told myself, I wouldn’t be cast because I try to remember that the most successful artists are never the ones who look and sound like everybody else, but who have something special, different and unique.
Sometimes one has to learn that their “fach” is exactly what feels right in the voice. Everyone that hears me has a very specific thought of what I can sing (and by sing I mean roles that I am suited to vocally and physically). Often these perceptions are slightly conflicted and if I were a younger singer, could be very confusing. At this point, I feel very certain about what I can and cannot sing. I am leaning to let them tell me “no”, but am refusing to tell myself that simply because one or two people say so. No one else knows our voice better than we do (perhaps our teachers and coaches, but I still think ultimately we know best.) When a role is “right” our voices, bodies and souls just know.
So what is your point, Eric? I’ll tell you. We often see artists crossing “fachs” all the time as it offers the artist a challenge, a new outlook on their instrument and a chance to play another character. Will I make a career of singing Escamillo over Rossini’s Figaro? Most likely no, but I will not tell myself that I can’t! I will allow myself the pleasure of finding my inner Toreador without losing touch with my inner Figaro (or Marcello or Taddeo or whatever role I am playing at the time) and I will remember to always tell myself “yes!” Being a great artist is not only about doing what everyone thinks we can do very well, but sometimes doing what no one (expect ourselves) believe we can do and even if we “fail,” we grow because we have expanded our sense of selves and the perception of ourselves to those around us. And isn’t that what great artists do?
Peace,
Eric
I used to think that being a 5”9” black lyric baritone was actually a negative. In a world filled with barihunks and sopranos who get gastric bypass in order to enhance their careers, it can be very easy to feel like one has to consider the physical perception of the role first before addressing the vocal demands. However, over the past couple of years I have found that I have been offered such a variety of roles ranging from Figaro in Le Nozze di Figaro to Figaro in Barbiere di Siviglia and many things in between. Now, I think I know my voice very well and I know what I can and cannot sing, but sometimes I find that I think I won’t be offered this role or that role not because I can’t sing it, but because I don’t “look” how the role is typically cast. However, does that mean if something feels great vocally, yet perhaps I do not conjure up the physical ideal that I should not offer it? Look at all the singers having great careers. Many of them sing a variety of stuff that perhaps they are not “ideal” for, but what makes them great is that they alter our idea of what the role sounds and looks like and it becomes their own.
Example: I went into a recent audition hoping to get Marcello as that seemed the most appropriate role in a season of Carmen, Rigoletto and La Boheme. I didn’t even offer the Toreador aria, not because I couldn’t sing it, but because I just didn’t think I had the “swagger” to perform it. The auditor asked me about the role and before responding I remembered my friend Henry’s advice about not telling yourself “no” when going into an audition situation. So instead of saying I didn’t think I was appropriate, I told them I had not had a chance to get the aria ready and didn’t want to present it until it was up to snuff. Lo, and behold, I got an offer to sing (to my great surprise) Escamillo in Carmen.
In opera we have the Fach system, which helps classify what kind of singer we are so that when companies hire us; they can know which roles are most appropriate. This system is very strict in Germany where it originated, but here in the US singers can bend and stretch here and there. I, myself, am essentially a high lyric baritone with a little bit of “meat” in the voice. However, I bring a certain personality and look to all the roles I do so it’s not uncommon that I will get offers for roles that I am more physically suited for versus where my voice wants to sit. A perfect example of this is Mozart’s Figaro. The Escamillo offer is actually the opposite in that I can sing it, but I never thought that in a universe of tall, good-looking baritones, I would be cast. (I know I’m cute and am at peace with my height, so don’t think I am putting myself down!) However, I never told myself, I wouldn’t be cast because I try to remember that the most successful artists are never the ones who look and sound like everybody else, but who have something special, different and unique.
Sometimes one has to learn that their “fach” is exactly what feels right in the voice. Everyone that hears me has a very specific thought of what I can sing (and by sing I mean roles that I am suited to vocally and physically). Often these perceptions are slightly conflicted and if I were a younger singer, could be very confusing. At this point, I feel very certain about what I can and cannot sing. I am leaning to let them tell me “no”, but am refusing to tell myself that simply because one or two people say so. No one else knows our voice better than we do (perhaps our teachers and coaches, but I still think ultimately we know best.) When a role is “right” our voices, bodies and souls just know.
So what is your point, Eric? I’ll tell you. We often see artists crossing “fachs” all the time as it offers the artist a challenge, a new outlook on their instrument and a chance to play another character. Will I make a career of singing Escamillo over Rossini’s Figaro? Most likely no, but I will not tell myself that I can’t! I will allow myself the pleasure of finding my inner Toreador without losing touch with my inner Figaro (or Marcello or Taddeo or whatever role I am playing at the time) and I will remember to always tell myself “yes!” Being a great artist is not only about doing what everyone thinks we can do very well, but sometimes doing what no one (expect ourselves) believe we can do and even if we “fail,” we grow because we have expanded our sense of selves and the perception of ourselves to those around us. And isn’t that what great artists do?
Peace,
Eric
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Reclaiming our Artform
I am in the midst of rehearsals for a wonderful production of The Barber of Seville with the North Shore Music Festival in Port Washington, NY (about 30 minutes outside of the city). The company is fairly new and was started by baritone and Executive Director Daniel Klein who wanted to create an opera company that offers opportunities to up-and-coming singers, fulfilled a need for professional classical music on the North Shore of Long Island and could collaborate with local agencies to present a host of events. After a particularly active rehearsal a group of us went out for drinks to decompress (oddly the way it seems that singers decompress is to talk about singing!) Of course the topic of opera companies struggling came up and one of my colleagues talked about how singers need to reclaim our artform in order for it to survive.
Many of my friends are exceptionally talented singers who have reinvented themselves and not only rely on the “opera world” to give them performing opportunities. The funny thing is that the more control the artists seem to take of their own careers, the more it seems that opera companies take them seriously. Two friends of mine, soprano Adrienne Danrich and baritone Adelmo Guidarelli have found a way to stay connected to their operatic roots by creating shows that not only showcase their talents as artists, but as creatives. By writing, producing and/or starring in their own shows, they have given themselves a way to find their niche in the crowded opera world while also finding a way to generate interest (and income) in opera in a new and fresh way.
Both artists have created shows that reflect their personal interests and tastes. Adrienne’s shows This Little Light of Mine: The Stories of Marian Anderson and Leontyne Price and An Evening in the Harlem Renaissance are inventive one-woman shows that highlight history and serve as musical tributes to two great operatic legends as well as the writers and performers of the Harlem Renaissance that forged the way for many African American artists today. Using a combination of live performance, power point, recordings and some original music, she has created a genre called a “living documentary.” Both shows have been successful and it seems that by focusing on doing what she loves, Adrienne has found a way to interest opera companies in not only her talent, but her intellect.
On the opposite performance spectrum is baritone Adelmo Guidarelli’s Operation Opera. The show is an edgy, hilarious and fast-paced glimpse into the world of opera. Aiming to entertain and educate, the program has been a hit with school-age children, families, adults as well as opera lovers and those new to opera. Performances have been seen at the Edinburgh Festival in the UK, Symphony Space in NYC, Off-Broadway and part of Ryan Seacrest’s reality show “Bank of Hollywood.” Playing with the traditional and the unexpected, Operation Opera is a fun way to introduce people to opera while also giving those who know opera a chance to laugh at it though Adlemo’s wit and talent.
There are multiple artists performing their own shows throughout the country ranging from recitals with a twist, cabarets, educational programs and full-scale productions. As larger companies continue to go through economic upheaval and have to restructure, many artists are seeing this as an opportunity to create, reinvent and bring opera back to an intimate scale where the performer is the focus and the audience gets to be up-close and personal with the singer. For every story we read about opera companies diminishing, there should be stories about opera companies (small-scale for the moment) popping up looking to fill the gap left behind. By creating our own works, we thus ensure our artform, the one we have invested so much time and energy into, will continue to evolve and thrive. Go forth and create!
Peace,
Eric
Many of my friends are exceptionally talented singers who have reinvented themselves and not only rely on the “opera world” to give them performing opportunities. The funny thing is that the more control the artists seem to take of their own careers, the more it seems that opera companies take them seriously. Two friends of mine, soprano Adrienne Danrich and baritone Adelmo Guidarelli have found a way to stay connected to their operatic roots by creating shows that not only showcase their talents as artists, but as creatives. By writing, producing and/or starring in their own shows, they have given themselves a way to find their niche in the crowded opera world while also finding a way to generate interest (and income) in opera in a new and fresh way.
Both artists have created shows that reflect their personal interests and tastes. Adrienne’s shows This Little Light of Mine: The Stories of Marian Anderson and Leontyne Price and An Evening in the Harlem Renaissance are inventive one-woman shows that highlight history and serve as musical tributes to two great operatic legends as well as the writers and performers of the Harlem Renaissance that forged the way for many African American artists today. Using a combination of live performance, power point, recordings and some original music, she has created a genre called a “living documentary.” Both shows have been successful and it seems that by focusing on doing what she loves, Adrienne has found a way to interest opera companies in not only her talent, but her intellect.
On the opposite performance spectrum is baritone Adelmo Guidarelli’s Operation Opera. The show is an edgy, hilarious and fast-paced glimpse into the world of opera. Aiming to entertain and educate, the program has been a hit with school-age children, families, adults as well as opera lovers and those new to opera. Performances have been seen at the Edinburgh Festival in the UK, Symphony Space in NYC, Off-Broadway and part of Ryan Seacrest’s reality show “Bank of Hollywood.” Playing with the traditional and the unexpected, Operation Opera is a fun way to introduce people to opera while also giving those who know opera a chance to laugh at it though Adlemo’s wit and talent.
There are multiple artists performing their own shows throughout the country ranging from recitals with a twist, cabarets, educational programs and full-scale productions. As larger companies continue to go through economic upheaval and have to restructure, many artists are seeing this as an opportunity to create, reinvent and bring opera back to an intimate scale where the performer is the focus and the audience gets to be up-close and personal with the singer. For every story we read about opera companies diminishing, there should be stories about opera companies (small-scale for the moment) popping up looking to fill the gap left behind. By creating our own works, we thus ensure our artform, the one we have invested so much time and energy into, will continue to evolve and thrive. Go forth and create!
Peace,
Eric
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
A critical look at criticism
Opera Singers are two people in one. The first is the bold, passionate artist who loves to makes glorious sounds, command the stage and make it seem like they were born to entertain. The other is the fragile soul that in many ways needs self-approval as well as that of the audience and yes, even the critics in order to feel accomplished. Many of us perform because we have that inner voice telling us that we must (sometimes it doesn’t shut up!) and because there is no greater, more amazing feeling than receiving accolades for the hours and hours of hard work that we have put into preparing for the performance.
For fans of shows like American Idol and X-Factor where contestants present themselves before a panel of judges and get instant feedback about how they excelled and where they need to improve, you’ll be happy to know that the opera world is very similar in the amount of critical response one receives. It begins with the voice lesson where it is the teacher’s sole job to fix, enhance and refine the technical side of what a singer must do (very much like an ice skater needs a basic set of skills in order to become competitive.) Then it is on to the vocal coach who works mainly with the language, musical style and interpretation. The singer must use their entire technical prowess to try and achieve what is being asked of them from the vocal coach. Basically it means taking that incredible sound and creating a fully dimensional character by correct use of language and attention to musical details. (And note: sometimes those musical details are like tiny mysteries hidden within the vastness of an opera score.)
Finally the singer is ready to stage the opera with the cast and director. The stage director and conductor will most likely have strong opinions about the music, the character and the overall shape of the role. As an artist, one must be open to all of the ideas of others, but also have a strong sense of what works best for them. (This is actually one of the trickiest parts of being a professional singer, as there has to be a trust built between the many people with whom you work so that you are able to try new things without throwing off the work of others.)
After all of the work has been done (or as I like to call it, the process); then comes the performance (or if you are lucky performances.) The audience and critics see the end result and make an assessment. The audience gives its approval through applause and shouts of “Bravo”, “Brava” or “Bravi” and the critics hopefully write a glowing review of your performance. But what happens when you have worked so hard on something and you get a bad review? How does one handle it? Should one even read reviews? And more importantly, if you believe the good ones, do you have to believe the bad ones as well?
To date I have had four bad reviews. (Isn’t it funny that I can’t remember the number of good reviews even though they significantly outnumber the four bad ones?) Each one hurt and I can say that after receiving the first one, I nearly quit singing (There is a running joke among my friends that I “quit” every six months, so take that last statement with a grain of salt.) What’s most difficult about bad reviews is that they feel so very personal. A great review feels like they are simply giving you a much-deserved great account of the hard work that you have put in over the last few months. It validates that you are indeed what you want to believe: a talented opera singer. But when you get a bad review it makes you feel like it is a personal attack on your whole being. (In most cases it is not, but it still feels that way.) What can make it even worse is that this critic has the power of an audience who reads their assessment of your work. With the Internet as it is, anyone with access to a computer can write and post a review that is seen by many.
I have come to peace with reviews (I say that today, but if I got a bad one tomorrow, I might threaten to “quit” again!) Opera singing is very subjective and not everyone will like what I have to say (or sing.) I think of operatic talent in the same way I think of different types of foods. There are certain foods that I simply do not like, but it doesn’t mean that the food item is “bad.” I simply don’t like the flavor and nothing anyone says or does will change that. (I’m talking about you, onions!) However onions play a very important role in many recipes and people of all walks of life like onions and will champion them. There are singers out there working today that are like onions for me, but I respect that they are getting work. The critical voice of the critics are based on their personal tastes that have been shaped and formed over many years and they will either love you or hate you (is there anything in between?) One must learn to accept this as a part of the business. If it makes you feel any better, even the big singers at the top of the field get bad reviews, and yet their careers are going ahead full-steam.
A singer must have a thick skin in order to endure all of the “feedback” received from teachers, coaches, directors, conductors, colleagues and critics. All of these voices have something to say about your work, but the one voice that is most necessary to always listen to, is the one inside that tells you that you are a fantastic artist and deserve to be doing exactly what you are doing. (Don’t and I repeat don’t listen to that other voice that tells you anything other than the best about yourself. That voice is destructive and only makes you want to quit. Keep your comments to yourself Negative Norman!)
The best advice I have ever received regarding criticism is that you must be open to it in order to improve, understand that it comes through the filter of the person giving it and know that opinions are like butt-holes, everyone has one.
Peace,
Eric
For fans of shows like American Idol and X-Factor where contestants present themselves before a panel of judges and get instant feedback about how they excelled and where they need to improve, you’ll be happy to know that the opera world is very similar in the amount of critical response one receives. It begins with the voice lesson where it is the teacher’s sole job to fix, enhance and refine the technical side of what a singer must do (very much like an ice skater needs a basic set of skills in order to become competitive.) Then it is on to the vocal coach who works mainly with the language, musical style and interpretation. The singer must use their entire technical prowess to try and achieve what is being asked of them from the vocal coach. Basically it means taking that incredible sound and creating a fully dimensional character by correct use of language and attention to musical details. (And note: sometimes those musical details are like tiny mysteries hidden within the vastness of an opera score.)
Finally the singer is ready to stage the opera with the cast and director. The stage director and conductor will most likely have strong opinions about the music, the character and the overall shape of the role. As an artist, one must be open to all of the ideas of others, but also have a strong sense of what works best for them. (This is actually one of the trickiest parts of being a professional singer, as there has to be a trust built between the many people with whom you work so that you are able to try new things without throwing off the work of others.)
After all of the work has been done (or as I like to call it, the process); then comes the performance (or if you are lucky performances.) The audience and critics see the end result and make an assessment. The audience gives its approval through applause and shouts of “Bravo”, “Brava” or “Bravi” and the critics hopefully write a glowing review of your performance. But what happens when you have worked so hard on something and you get a bad review? How does one handle it? Should one even read reviews? And more importantly, if you believe the good ones, do you have to believe the bad ones as well?
To date I have had four bad reviews. (Isn’t it funny that I can’t remember the number of good reviews even though they significantly outnumber the four bad ones?) Each one hurt and I can say that after receiving the first one, I nearly quit singing (There is a running joke among my friends that I “quit” every six months, so take that last statement with a grain of salt.) What’s most difficult about bad reviews is that they feel so very personal. A great review feels like they are simply giving you a much-deserved great account of the hard work that you have put in over the last few months. It validates that you are indeed what you want to believe: a talented opera singer. But when you get a bad review it makes you feel like it is a personal attack on your whole being. (In most cases it is not, but it still feels that way.) What can make it even worse is that this critic has the power of an audience who reads their assessment of your work. With the Internet as it is, anyone with access to a computer can write and post a review that is seen by many.
I have come to peace with reviews (I say that today, but if I got a bad one tomorrow, I might threaten to “quit” again!) Opera singing is very subjective and not everyone will like what I have to say (or sing.) I think of operatic talent in the same way I think of different types of foods. There are certain foods that I simply do not like, but it doesn’t mean that the food item is “bad.” I simply don’t like the flavor and nothing anyone says or does will change that. (I’m talking about you, onions!) However onions play a very important role in many recipes and people of all walks of life like onions and will champion them. There are singers out there working today that are like onions for me, but I respect that they are getting work. The critical voice of the critics are based on their personal tastes that have been shaped and formed over many years and they will either love you or hate you (is there anything in between?) One must learn to accept this as a part of the business. If it makes you feel any better, even the big singers at the top of the field get bad reviews, and yet their careers are going ahead full-steam.
A singer must have a thick skin in order to endure all of the “feedback” received from teachers, coaches, directors, conductors, colleagues and critics. All of these voices have something to say about your work, but the one voice that is most necessary to always listen to, is the one inside that tells you that you are a fantastic artist and deserve to be doing exactly what you are doing. (Don’t and I repeat don’t listen to that other voice that tells you anything other than the best about yourself. That voice is destructive and only makes you want to quit. Keep your comments to yourself Negative Norman!)
The best advice I have ever received regarding criticism is that you must be open to it in order to improve, understand that it comes through the filter of the person giving it and know that opinions are like butt-holes, everyone has one.
Peace,
Eric
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I'm getting married...twice
The day after finishing St. Petersburg Opera (and getting an offer to return, more on that in a future post), I jumped head first into rehearsals for another Le Nozze di Figaro production, this time as a guest artist with the Bel Cantanti Opera Summer Festival in Washington, DC. The rehearsals have been going well and I am grateful to my friend, stage director Peter Kozma and new, wonderful conductor colleague Kathleen Scott for making the transition so very easy.
Part of the joy of singing Figaro, beyond Mozart’s glorious music and the richness of the character laid down by DaPonte is the interaction with the singer performing Susanna. I’m lucky to have two talented sopranos playing her and as an actor, it allows me to stay in the moment, because each singer brings her own colors to the role. It always feels fresh and alive (and sometimes confusing...who am I rolling on the floor with today?)
Other roles in the show are double cast as well including Cherubino, Marcellina, Bartolo, Curzio and Barbarina. This does make for a more complicated rehearsal process as sometimes things have to be repeated multiple times in order to solidify them, but it’s also great when someone “gets” it and you can have a new moment on stage. The downside is that I am in rehearsals from sun up to sun down and I have had to learn to mark a lot vocally, but the thing that I owe my colleagues is not to mark the acting, even when I am quite tired.
During the course of the next few days, I will have sung Figaro 6 times (Four full runs and two performances.) That’s a lot of love to give (to Susanna and to the art form), but I am lucky to get to do this every day. I am usually pretty wiped out at the end of rehearsal and sometimes it takes a lot of energy just to warm up before going into rehearsal, but once I get set and the music is playing, it’s like a fantastic roller coaster ride and by the time “Ah tutti contenti” (All are happy) rolls around near the end of Act 4, I am truly pretty happy.
The wedding dates are set for June 16 and 17…a few days away and there are many more “wedding rehearsals” ahead this week. I’ll keep you posted on all the developments.
Peace,
Eric
Part of the joy of singing Figaro, beyond Mozart’s glorious music and the richness of the character laid down by DaPonte is the interaction with the singer performing Susanna. I’m lucky to have two talented sopranos playing her and as an actor, it allows me to stay in the moment, because each singer brings her own colors to the role. It always feels fresh and alive (and sometimes confusing...who am I rolling on the floor with today?)
Other roles in the show are double cast as well including Cherubino, Marcellina, Bartolo, Curzio and Barbarina. This does make for a more complicated rehearsal process as sometimes things have to be repeated multiple times in order to solidify them, but it’s also great when someone “gets” it and you can have a new moment on stage. The downside is that I am in rehearsals from sun up to sun down and I have had to learn to mark a lot vocally, but the thing that I owe my colleagues is not to mark the acting, even when I am quite tired.
During the course of the next few days, I will have sung Figaro 6 times (Four full runs and two performances.) That’s a lot of love to give (to Susanna and to the art form), but I am lucky to get to do this every day. I am usually pretty wiped out at the end of rehearsal and sometimes it takes a lot of energy just to warm up before going into rehearsal, but once I get set and the music is playing, it’s like a fantastic roller coaster ride and by the time “Ah tutti contenti” (All are happy) rolls around near the end of Act 4, I am truly pretty happy.
The wedding dates are set for June 16 and 17…a few days away and there are many more “wedding rehearsals” ahead this week. I’ll keep you posted on all the developments.
Peace,
Eric
Friday, May 25, 2012
You got it, now love it
Everyday that I get up to go to a singing job, I am happy. I am not only happy because I love to sing, but because I realize that there are so many singers out there who have had the training, have the voice, the looks and have invested so much and yet, they are sitting behind a desk, working in a restaurant, tending behind bar or any other number of jobs that are paying the bills while they hit the audition trail.
I worked with a colleague who after I complemented them on how busy they were, gave me a “It’s too much” face and walked away. I was shocked. This person didn’t realize that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) who would love to be so busy doing exactly what they love everyday, getting decent pay and being surrounded by like-minded individuals.
It is very easy to see all the things that are wrong with this or that company, this or that colleague, this or that costume etc…but we have to stop and recognize that there are so many people who would LOVE to be sitting in that rehearsal, working those long hours and singing their hearts out. We are all humans and we get tired, cranky, frustrated and like many opera singers, myself included, have to juggle between keeping our voices in tip top shape and giving it time to restore. Sometimes the demands of the career can take a toll and we start becoming negative about what we have to do instead of waking up each day excited about what we get to do.
I have found myself not appreciating where I am lately and so I am reminding myself (and others) that every singing job we get means that there are people who did not get it and that we should be grateful. There are opportunities to learn from the conductor, the director, our colleagues and those behind the scenes and that we should be grateful that we get to get up everyday and go into a rehearsal for 6 (or more) hours versus sitting behind a desk temping. I am blessed with a voice that has afforded me the chance to sing glorious music, work with wonderfully unique, fascinating and talented people and take me to places I would normally never get to see so I am grateful.
My goal this weekend is to remind myself that I am a working singer and that with the market being so competitive and filled with such an overabundance of talent, I should be grateful for every opera job I am fortunate enough to experience. I am getting paid to sing. Isn’t that what I’ve worked so hard for? So why not enjoy it? Or better yet, love it! Instead of complaining about how much we have to do, maybe we should recognize that we have so much to do because all of the time, energy and financial investments are paying off and that with great talent comes great expectations. We all want the “career” but then when it is given to us, the tendency is to complain about how much time and energy it takes to maintain the expectations placed upon us.
It’s my belief that the people who have achieved the most success in this business are those who set themselves apart by having an extraordinary voice, a brilliant set of acting chops, a wonderful command of languages and that special “it” factor. But on top of that, they appear to love being an opera singer and enjoy everything from the rehearsal process to performing to being in the spotlight. They seem to have a fire, a passion and a sheer joy for what they do. And they always seem grateful.
Peace,
Eric
I worked with a colleague who after I complemented them on how busy they were, gave me a “It’s too much” face and walked away. I was shocked. This person didn’t realize that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) who would love to be so busy doing exactly what they love everyday, getting decent pay and being surrounded by like-minded individuals.
It is very easy to see all the things that are wrong with this or that company, this or that colleague, this or that costume etc…but we have to stop and recognize that there are so many people who would LOVE to be sitting in that rehearsal, working those long hours and singing their hearts out. We are all humans and we get tired, cranky, frustrated and like many opera singers, myself included, have to juggle between keeping our voices in tip top shape and giving it time to restore. Sometimes the demands of the career can take a toll and we start becoming negative about what we have to do instead of waking up each day excited about what we get to do.
I have found myself not appreciating where I am lately and so I am reminding myself (and others) that every singing job we get means that there are people who did not get it and that we should be grateful. There are opportunities to learn from the conductor, the director, our colleagues and those behind the scenes and that we should be grateful that we get to get up everyday and go into a rehearsal for 6 (or more) hours versus sitting behind a desk temping. I am blessed with a voice that has afforded me the chance to sing glorious music, work with wonderfully unique, fascinating and talented people and take me to places I would normally never get to see so I am grateful.
My goal this weekend is to remind myself that I am a working singer and that with the market being so competitive and filled with such an overabundance of talent, I should be grateful for every opera job I am fortunate enough to experience. I am getting paid to sing. Isn’t that what I’ve worked so hard for? So why not enjoy it? Or better yet, love it! Instead of complaining about how much we have to do, maybe we should recognize that we have so much to do because all of the time, energy and financial investments are paying off and that with great talent comes great expectations. We all want the “career” but then when it is given to us, the tendency is to complain about how much time and energy it takes to maintain the expectations placed upon us.
It’s my belief that the people who have achieved the most success in this business are those who set themselves apart by having an extraordinary voice, a brilliant set of acting chops, a wonderful command of languages and that special “it” factor. But on top of that, they appear to love being an opera singer and enjoy everything from the rehearsal process to performing to being in the spotlight. They seem to have a fire, a passion and a sheer joy for what they do. And they always seem grateful.
Peace,
Eric
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