Galaxy Quest, Schubert, and Mozart

 If you don't know the 1999 movie "Galaxy Quest", then this blog won't make a great deal of sense. I'll take the time to do a fast and furious lowdown on the movie so the the rest of the blog might hopefully resonate.

"Galaxy Quest" is one of those great cult films. A send-up of science fiction space movies - in particular the Star Trek universe and its fandom - it goes beyond simple parody and achieves an enormous humanity due to the smart script and the amazing cast: Alan Rickman, Tim Allen, Sigourney Weaver, Tony Shalhoub, to name just the few standouts (the best is Enrico Colantoni as Mathesar). It basically tells the story of a group of aliens (known as the Thermians) who view the telecasts of a sci-fi television series "Galaxy Quest" and think it's an actual documentary of true life. These aliens recreate the ship, make its technology totally work, venerate the crew, and yet the whole time they think it's all real, like actually real Earth history! The fact that these aliens are way more advanced than Earth makes it even funnier that they don't understand how the tv show was just a piece of entertainment, based on actors and screen writers. 

The crux of the movie is the intersection of the two sets of characters: the aliens and the actors. The aliens completely misunderstand the reason for the technology (televised, episodic sci-fi entertainment), but make it work in order to save themselves from annihilation. In fact, it works so well because it is entirely based on the lines of dialogue, the set pieces, the spaceship models, and the gestures of the original actors in the series. The actors are at first flabbergasted that the aliens exist and amazed that the tech actually works and is real. They stumble into the narrative of the Thermians trying to survive a war against evil aliens and find their new purpose - motivating the Thermians to help them create a new future while the actors learn to set aside their petty jealousies of the past and work together.

So now we are all up to speed. What the heck does "Galaxy Quest" have to do with Schubert or Mozart?

It occurred to me today that many in classical music are like those "Galaxy Quest" aliens: experts recreating an entertainment they think is actually art, not realizing that the whole raison d'etre was to entertain people. Recreating it without understanding this basic fact (the tv show wasn't real, i.e. art is entertainment), causes a whole cascade of errors to rain down upon both those re-creationists (artists) and their audiences.The aliens are like many of today's opera experts, pedagogues, critics, and aficionados.

Let me explain further. 

Often, young singers (and frankly other classical artists) meet up with mentors, coaches, and teachers who impress upon them the idea that they need to simply express the text and the score as it is on the page and as the composer intended. They are told: Don't put your ideas onto the page - particularly for geniuses like a Schubert or a Mozart - because that might deter from the composer's intent, or god-forbid, ruin an artistic masterpiece. "Who are we to...?" is a common defense from experts, and seems to be asked to make sure we venerate the frigid pages of classical scores.

This happens everywhere, and with such frequency it is difficult to combat.

When a coach tells a singer to always follow the Barenreiter edition's use of rests between parts of sentences in Mozart recitatives. When a masterclass artist tells a singer not to take time on this or that phrase because it's not marked in by Schubert. When a judge tells a singer not to ornament Mozart or take appoggiaturas in Mozart arias. When anyone steps in to restrain anyone trying to make an artistic choice because they either don't approve, or they don't see it on the page, or they might have their tastes offended, that's when I see a problem and think about those Thermians onboard their version of the Galaxy Quest spaceship.

The Thermians are focused on a past that doesn't really exist, but doing it with exquisite accuracy. They can use the technology themselves but need the Actors for their survival. (A good friend of mine after reading a draft of this blog pointed out that there are musicologists in this movie too: the diehard fans of the series whose knowledge of the technical details about the ship literally save the day.) Knowledge of the past is not enough, you need to have the the other pieces to get everything to work: you need the Actors. The entertainers who originally created the roles and made it all seem so real. Singers and musicians are those actors, (who can't live in the fake past because it is a set made out of wood, plastic and flashing lights.) They need the aliens as much as the aliens need the actors. Opera experts need the living artists. The living artists need the researchers (die-hard sci-fi fans) to help supply needed knowledge to understand the alien's current tech based on the past tech. One without the other creates a disconnect in the art itself. But - and here's the important part - they need to be equally valued and both need to realize the intersectionality that exists between entertainment, art, entertainers, artists, and especially the past and present. Making music is an act of re-creation, not an act of paint-by-numbers. The latter is a copy without any life present even though it might be the most accurate of recreations.

I have seen time and time again young singers be encouraged to be some sort of transparent vessel and just sing the notes and the text so as "not to get in the way of the composer." They stand and sing Schubert songs without telling stories, or engaging in those stories in any way that might be seen as "acting" (the big taboo in art song -- acting a song -- is the worst offense for many now teaching young singers.) And we wonder why recitals are no longer popular with the public. They are boring. There's no text, except maybe on a piece of paper in a small font that you can't read in the dimly lit mostly empty recital hall (projected titles in recitals PLEASE). The singers are dressed like they are in some sad recreation of a low-budget "Downton Abbey" episode (why are we still dressing like Edwardians yet yelling for classical music to de-colonize itself? How about starting by stopping this crazy period gown/tux dress codes for recitals?) Singers are being asked to envision a better future for classical music. I would encourage them to toss out their tuxedos and figure new modes of how to bring the incredible wealth of recital music to a contemporary audience.

Our expert "aliens" don't get that Schubert songs (or any songs, just using his as prime example) were not written to be put into recital-museums by gorgeously-gowned automatons who simply sing the notes as written, the text as typed out, and follow the markings that might be in the score. These were pieces of entertainment, not sculptures or paintings that never change once created by the artist. And as entertainment, they were meant to be shared in as many ways as possible by as many different levels of singers (amateur and professional) in absolutely different arenas (from literal arenas, to living rooms in Iowa, to the Australian outback, to student recitals.) It's time to recognize this and stop with the pretension.

And the same with opera - I'll use ornamenting a score as an example. Ornamentation? Yes, by all means. Study Pamina's aria and you'll understand it's Mozart ornamenting his own melody for a 17 year-old Pamina who probably didn't have it in her to do so on the stage, or know that she should take the appoggiaturas so he wrote them all in. Do some research into this and you'll quickly realize that singing Mozart without ornaments is a sad and old-fashioned mode of performance practice. In baroque opera it's totally accepted and expected. But ornaments (defined as any alteration to the score) in operas must happen in Gluck, Mozart, Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, Verdi, Gounod, Bizet, Meyerbeer, von Weber, Beethoven (yes kids), and well into Puccini (fight me on that and you'll lose.)

It'd be funny if it weren't for the fact that classical music and opera audiences are dying. We need to embrace the notion that we live and work from past entertainments made by professional entertainers like Shakespeare and Mozart. But now the experts have replaced the past with their new version called art. They teach the Kunst as Heilige Kunst, revere it on pedestals, and sadly prevent it from living, breathing and - most importantly of all - evolving so that today's audiences can discover it and hopefully fall in love with it!

So the aliens get points for making the starship actually work. But when they missed that one piece of information - it wasn't real to begin with - they entered into a dramatic situation where their lives and culture faced annihilation by the evil alien. It took the actors coming back into their "world" to save the day, save the universe, and save the aliens. The actors had to drop their own pretensions and recognize that they too faced annihilation unless they embraced their new reality by taking the past and making it work for them again.

It's time for the entertainers among us to save the day.

"By Grabthar's Hammer, by the sons of Warvan, you shall be avenged!" 

- Dr. Lazarus as played by Alexander Dane as played by Alan Rickman

The Power of SURE!

The Power of "SURE"! 

This mini-blog was originally a post I put up on Facebook about three years ago. I think it deserved a second outing. It's about a teaching philosophy, yes, but more so it is about optimism and opening doors for others. 

I'm so proud of former students conquering Canadian opera companies, singing on the stages of the Met, Royal Opera House, Opéra de Montreal, Canadian Opera Company, Paris Opera, and so so so many others; students conducting opera and musicals on and off Broadway, appearing on major television shows and in movies, directing and stage managing professionally from the west coast to the east coast; students starring in shows on and off Broadway, at Carnegie Hall, and in London's West End. So so so so many wonderful talents have graced me with their presence, work, and artistry. 

I've been asked if there was "a secret" to these successes. 

 And there is a secret: They were odd. 

They didn't fit the mold. Many were thought of as flawed in some fundamental way by others who were also a part of their education and training. Many had interests beyond their major (voice majors now conducting or directing, pianists now singing, music theatre majors interested in opera and vice-versa). Many were actually quite unsuccessful, initially. Many saw their peers fly high way before them and wondered if they should even pursue their interests and dreams. 

But almost all, when I actually sit and think of them, did something extraordinary at some vital point: They imagined a future with them in it, doing something no one might have expected them to do. 

Their worlds of success came from pure imagination, and - importantly - from being allowed opportunities based on potential, hard work ethic, and often simply just showing up and trying. 

At least that's how I see it. 

And it makes me so darn proud to have been a small part of opening initial doors to let them peek inside and catch a glimpse of what potentialities might lie ahead - beyond how they might've been viewing themselves at the time; beyond how others were viewing them or putting them in boxes. 

They taught me never, ever to toss students into boxes of "they are THIS" or "they are THAT". Pedagogues need to see beyond the snapshot presented to them each day by their students in order to help them imagine a future beyond their present self-images. 

A simple but courageous request by a Freshmen organ major or a senior music theatre major: "I'd really like to be a part of opera rehearsals", could easily be turned down by many who have rules and structures that might not allow it, or who are worried they have no experience or expertise to offer. Instead, my answer, "SURE" (which is always my answer) sent them off on a path that led both to international opera careers. 

Avoid, or better yet, ignore, those who tell you you're not ready. Walk away from those saying you should be more realistic with your goals or that you shouldn't over extend yourself. Knock on other doors and ask the question to someone else if you're getting a "not now" or a "you should focus on your major, on your voice, on your technique, on your....." 

And if you are the one being asked, try "SURE!" as an answer next time. It totally works for everyone, even if it doesn't work out or there's a failure involved in the pursuit of whatever they were attempting. Everyone gains from the answer "sure". Believe me! 

See its power in action! Unseen career paths can be illuminated with "sure". Unknown doorways are unlocked with "sure". Futures change with "sure". 

It's a word of power that gives power to others without taking any power from those saying it.

Time To Pivot: Auditions!

It is time for a radical shift in how professional opera young artist programs audition singers!

It is clear that artists of color have been facing racism in opera. It is clear that singers who come from lesser socio-economic backgrounds are facing financial barriers that singers who come from money, or are privileged in other ways, do not face. It is also clear that the Victorian legacy of requiring "letters of recommendation" places a burden on many singers who are outside of, or cannot access, the regular power hierarchy of academic or professional opera programs. 

It is clear that the current state of the art is not where it should be regarding finding more equitable ways to counter these crippling issues.

These issues (and there are many more like them) need to be examined in open spaces to keep the conversation from hiding behind closed doors – yet another hindrance to open communication. Systemic inequities in the field need to change, and this will take time. However, there might be one area where change could be quickly and effectively implemented to increase the accessibility and equity in opera: How we audition young artists!

My Thesis: Companies should hold blind audio auditions via a controlled YAP Tracker-type platform where the identity of the singer is entirely withheld from the person or company holding the auditions. 

What?! Blind auditions?! But we must see the singer to be able to cast them appropriately! 

Really? Well, yes and no.

This is how my idea might would work:

1) A singer uploads an audio file with an identifying number that is secured by an outside platform (perhaps provided by YAP Tracker). They also upload a separate video file of a certain number of arias, as required by the company.

2) The company rep (or even better, a committee) listens to the audio files (note: without knowing anything except the ID number). Once all of the files have been downloaded and listened to, the company then picks a certain % of files to move forward on, based solely on the sound of the singer's voice. I already hear the chorus of lamentations: “But opera is more than singing.” Yes, of course it is. I'm a stage director. I get that. But let me tell you -- you can HEAR quite a lot of acting choices in the voice. You can HEAR connection to text. Just listen to any great singer and you can see with your ears. (I've blogged about seeing with your ears and hearing with your eyes before, so this should not be a surprise to anyone who knows my writing, or has sat in a masterclass with me.)

THEN -- This next "round" of auditions moves to video. Again, just ID numbers. No CV, no bio, no agent information. 

3) The company then decides who will be granted live auditions. After selecting, the company gets the info - any CVs, bios, or letters of rec (although I believe that these are truly a remnant of colonial tradition to keep privilege within the power hierarchy and should be tossed aside as soon as possible!)

This way, the selection of singers for a live audition has been given a much better hand in bringing all singers - the wealthy, the privileged, the disadvantaged, the poor, to a much more leveled field. At least initially. For the first round, just like in professional orchestra auditions, there would be no bias against or for singers based on their race, no discrimination against disabled singers, no preference given for singers from a certain pedigree of voice studio or conservatory, no preference given for singers who have spent money on prestigious (and expensive) pay-to-sing summer programs. The field would be leveled a lot more than the current state of YAP auditions.

More ideas:

4) For the live audition, companies would provide pianists (unless a singer wants to bring their own, which should be an okay thing still).

5) No application fees. No audition fees. Companies need to create a business plan for human resourcing. Make this part of the budget. Make the work load of listening to auditions part of a staff's load. Yes, many companies don’t have young artist programs – especially here in Canada. Yet even very small companies in the states have YA programs. You don’t have to start big, maybe one or two. Look to communities like Fargo and see what they’ve done. Look at smaller companies throughout the states and see their innovations with young artist programming – from Memphis to Omaha. YA Programs can become a vital component of a business plan, but potential young artists shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of a company looking for its employees.

6) If a company can't find the money for live auditions, they should consider virtual auditions. Most companies looking to cast into YA programs for 2021 will be holding virtual auditions this fall. If it's okay now, why not later?

7) Companies should consider holding more local auditions to look for local talent. Local talent is WONDERFUL. There are great singers in Toronto who have sung at Opéra de Montreal but who have never sung on the COC stage (and vice-versa). It's time to think about nurturing local singers to build their careers and experiences - not just in choruses, but in small roles, outreach contracts, and on the mainstage. Local audiences LOVE to know their singers. Do audiences really care who is being flown in from who-knows-where to sing a Frasquita in a production of Carmen? But if they are local -- what a story AND you have them there year-round! Put them on your stage in other roles, build them an audience with your audiences! Florida Grand Opera did this with one of their Young Artists (Leah Partridge). She started out in their young artist program and moved through the ranks, eventually singing numerous lead roles in many, many productions. She sold tickets in Miami because audiences knew her (the marketing director actually documented her fan base).

8) Problems with some of these ideas? I’m sure there are a few. The glaring one might be access to tech to create good audio and video recordings. There are solutions. If a singer is at a school, they should have access to loaned cameras and access to online software for editing. They should also have access to spaces in which to record. Perhaps companies themselves could create funding for singers without access to tech to help them either acquire it, or find spaces where that tech is located. Even at the company itself, perhaps? Many singers will now also be investing in mics due to remote learning and lessons happening due to the COVID-19 crisis. Another problem is that some voices simply do not record well - particularly voices of size. Perhaps one solution for this would be to have clear fach classifications so if a soprano submitted an aria from Tannhaüser, it could be assumed that their voice might be sizeable and perhaps needs to be heard live and in person.

SO -- If I were running an opera company, I'd be trying out the above things. Why not try?!

I'd also be creating a Fest style group of singers under contract who would live in the community year-round. This small cadre of singers would perform numerous roles onstage, be given a livable wage, be seen in educational and community outreach performances, and would - most importantly - be given a voice at the artistic table to give their input into everything -- from what operas should be produced, to the design elements, to what communities should be engaged. In this way, companies could make sure IBPoC artists would not just be represented, but be centered in the life of the opera company. That's how change happens. These local Fest singers would also put money back into their communities, unlike many aritsts flown in, provided housing, and then when they are done they fly out taking their fees with them.

Finding talent requires an investment. Singers have already invested tens of thousands of dollars into nurturing their talent. Why should they also be financially burdened with the costs of job interviews when they currently have to access so much that is based on their own socio-economic privilege: finding those in power to write them letters of recommendation, paying for pianists and coaches to prepare the audition, buying an education at prestigious programs in order to find the right pedigree of teacher or program, investing in audition wear, shoes, and makeup (and in masterclasses about how to do all of that – helpful hint: don’t pay for those masterclasses), paying for the pianist at the audition, paying to apply to get an audition, sometimes even paying to help defray the cost of the audition space, or the travel/hotel for those holding the auditions. Heck – why not create bursaries for singers to help them pay for traveling to the company callbacks? Creating a fund for IBPOC singers would go a long way to helping balance things. COC and Opéra de Montreal already do this for their callbacks (via their big fundraising galas that also double for their YAP finals.) Could the larger programs in the states follow suit I wonder? I’m sure there are donors who would love to see their money spent to discover talent where it might normally go hidden.  It is time for this burden to be shifted, and it is a great way for companies to look for new sources of funding from patrons, foundations, and government organizations.

Those are my ideas. I obviously can't force changes on the opera business, but I can make suggestions and get a dialogue going. If you think this is a good idea, share it. If not, imagine what your solutions might be and publish them!

A post-script: Over a year ago I blogged about the need to evolve auditions, i.e. the process of auditioning. Creating 15 minute "working sessions" instead of the traditional one or two aria audition. I still believe that the longer a singer gets to audition, the more they feel they have some sort of agency in the audition. Having "working sessions" is a great way to do this. Opera McGill did it a year ago for our April 2019 auditions and we loved it. Yes, it took a LOT more time to do, and it was hard sometimes, but I believe in them and can't wait to return to them once this crisis is over. Here's the link for that blog: Audition Evolution Blog

Fear In Opera 2.0

One of my most popular blogs was on Fear. (Here's the link: Fear In Opera ) I'd like to riff on that again, this time asking the question "What happens when artists start to fear the art itself, or the making of their art?"

I see this fear on social media posted by singers, coaches, teachers, and other artist-types. I experience this fear more and more during opera rehearsals - both at academic programs and at professional opera companies. Singers, administrators, pianists, directors, stage managers, all seem more afraid than ever. What is it that frightens them? What stops them from communicating and collaborating freely with others? Stage managers are afraid of rehearsals - what might happen if someone walks into a rehearsal and witnesses choreographed, simulated violence? Will someone in the room be triggered? How can we make sure that everyone in the room will be okay with watching someone stab another character?  (Given that the libretto calls for a stabbing, and all of the singers who've agreed to take part in the production have - hopefully - read the story, one would expect that everyone in the room would be okay with it, yes?)

But it's not just in the rehearsal room, now we must warn people that they will experience loud noises in the theatre (one hopes the opera will be loud at least sometimes!) More seriously, though, what happens when you do an opera where a sexual assault is the crux of the plot? Do you post trigger warning signs? Or should the company provide lobby therapists for audience members? Is the title The Rape of Lucretia enough of a warning? What about Don Giovanni when a director updates the story and the assaults become much more graphic? Where are the lines to be drawn - both in rehearsal for those participating and in performance for the audience?

As well, what happens when there are actual issues - real ones - that arise in rehearsals? Do we have the capacity to discern the fictional from the real? Are we creating a generation of artists that confuse being uncomfortable with actual anxiety or panic disorders?

What do conductors do when it's time to tell a singer that they don't approve of their artistic choices, or a more personal critique, the timbre of their voice? I can't truly describe how different it is to give notes to singers nowadays. The defensiveness and the anxious emotional states that get created by being criticized "publicly" are way out of proportion to the notes usually given, for example: 'make sure to pick up that cup on your way over to the soprano'. Many young singers receive notes as if they are under attack from some online troll. Worse, they can't discern between serious and casual notes because everything is taken so personally nowadays.

We are in a state of fear, everywhere. On stage, in the rehearsal room, in the audience, and in our online communities. It is a new Age of Anxiety. (Would that W.H. Auden could write a sequel!) Perhaps our orchestras should be programming Bernstein's Symphony #2 on every weekend during 2018 to get all of us to look back on the late 40s and wonder if our world is more or less anxious than it was 70+ years ago?

But what's so important not to forget is what happens when we fear things. Us humans have a strong reaction to that emotion, so it's important that we shouldn't start to be afraid of Art.

That which we are afraid of, humans tend to vilify or control or build walls up against it. This is an historical fact, and it is indeed actually frightening to think about the ramifications of our current state of fear. What happens if we tried to eliminate the very things that make art? Bizet said it best: "As a musician, I tell you that if you were to suppress adultery, fanaticism, crime, evil, the supernatural, there would no longer be the means for writing one note."

Particularly those of us within the arts communities need to make sure we are not creating new environments of fear. We need to actively seek ways to nurture environments that allow the creators to collaborate creatively and freely in an open space free from judgement. We need to help ourselves and the public understand how Art can be therapeutic, how Art can help build societies and cultures, and how Art ultimately cross-pollinates beyond borders influencing humanity's ability to be empathetic to others.

The danger is when we fail to speak out letting others who are intent upon pushing (or simply accepting without question) an ideology that purports that Art is somehow hurtful or politically incorrect. Many of us believe that we must be careful not to offend, careful to make sure those trying to learn about Art, appreciate Art, or create Art, be kept in safe, comfortable environments. This mindset creates the illusion of safety.

Safety is about control. Control is about fear.

And Fear, as Frank Herbert so aptly put it, is "the mind killer." Fear is potent and powerful.

Fear Kills Art.

Schumann was a composer who had many fears, I'm sure. But even with all of his many problems, he gave us all a clue what our next steps should be in order to bring the world back to a more positive and less fearful place: "To send light into the darkness of men's hearts - such is the duty of the artist."

Indeed, it is our duty to send light into darkness, and not the other way around.

Operatic Fear! (A reblog)

It's 2020 and it is, unfortunately, time to reblog this one.
So. Much. Fear. Out. There.

I’m going to write about fear today. I feel fear and hear fear way too often nowadays in young singers, I see it in young pianists while they enter a room to play for singers, and I read about it on social media all the time now.

Fear is permeating our world!

It must stop.

So – first a few quotes, then a personal story, and then my thoughts on Operatic Fear!

A few of my favorite quotes on Fear:

We have nothing to fear, but fear itself – FDR

            (Yes, everyone knows this one, but it is TRUE!)

Fear keeps us focused on the past and worried about the future – Thich Nhat Hanh

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when man is afraid of the light – Plato

            (This is so true in today’s political climate)

I say I am stronger than fear – Malala Yousafzai

            (Really, knowing her story, how can ANY of us be afraid?!)

Always do what you are afraid to do – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over and through me.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.

-       Frank Herbert

I remember reading Dune in Jr. High School and re-reading the above Litany that appears often in the first section of Frank Herbert’s classis sci-fi book. I memorized it.

I had much to fear and this Litany became my friend; my weapon against my fear. It sat in my brain and was turned over and over, both consciously and unconsciously, until it became something second nature in me.

My fear? Fear of death, specifically my death. I was brilliantly misdiagnosed when I was a wee lad of eight; being told, while I was in the room, that I would most likely go blind, or blind and deaf, and that the skin disease would move inward into my neck and perhaps my brain resulting in death by the time I was 18 years old.

That takes a toll on a young child, as one might imagine.

My mother took my hand, said something amazingly rude, and walked out of the office with me in tow saying – very loudly – “we will find another doctor who knows what he’s doing!”

I remember being taken to a Dairy Queen afterwards. I ate a large hot fudge sundae while my mother cried hysterically in front of me in the car, cigarette smoke swirling all around us.

Even though we found another doctor (a much younger, fresh-from-the-Mayo-clinic doctor), and my skin disease was treated successfully (obviously I’ve made it past 18), being told you might die before you reach college does something to you. I was formed by this event.

At exactly the same time, I started playing the piano.

I was fearless at the piano. My amazing piano teacher, Berneil Hanson (still teaching in Council Bluffs, Iowa!) was also fearless. She tossed Bach, Beethoven sonatas, Ravel and Chopin onto the piano and we conquered difficult, college-level pieces when I was in Jr. High. I had no fear of them. I didn’t blink walking into a concerto contest in Omaha with the Beethoven #2 barely learned that morning. I made up the ends of Bach fugues, improvising my way out of them, during state piano contests. I never practiced, because I had no motivation to do so. That motivating fear in most of us – to prepare so we won’t fail – was lacking in me, profoundly so.

I failed. All the time! And I triumphed as well! But failing did not alter my lack of fear.  Fear had no place in my mind, and therefore had no place in my music making. Those pieces I learned in the late 70s and early 80s are still mostly in my hands. When I play them, I youthen as a musician. Time turns backwards and I’m once again 14 years old.

But all that changed in college.

I initially studied with a piano teacher who thought the reason I missed notes was because I had a memory problem. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, which was somewhere between my secret of never practicing and that I had little respect for the notes on the page (still do – I respect the composer’s intentions, but I don’t think the notes are the point). So in just one semester I was pretty miserable, I was having nerves – for the first time – playing publicly, I doubted myself and my talent, I was discombobulated in one semester by a well-meaning piano teacher.

This happens to many, as we all know.

My dropping out of college was a two-fold event: I turned 18 and hadn’t died, but had subconsciously expected to, and my love for playing the piano had died. So I dropped out, had what I’d now describe as a nervous breakdown, and listened to a lot of Tears For Fears, Sting, U2, and Billy Joel.

Dropping out of college was the second most important formational event of my life. It is one of the huge motivations in my teaching:

            Allow for failure.

            Don’t jump to conclusions about a student.

            Think about the big picture

            Today is just a snapshot of the student, not a symptom of something wrong.

            It’s totally okay to fail, to drop out even.

Too often, we bearers of the classical music tradition who teach in Universities unmake our students in order to “build their technique” or “create a new musician from their raw materials”. Too often coaches and voice teachers “fix” singers. Like they’re broken or need some sort of hole filled.

Musicians aren’t doughnuts. They don’t have a hole in the middle of them that needs to be covered up somehow by sweetened frosting in order to make them more palatable to the outside world. No one is a doughnut.

Too often, young singers and young pianists who enter the world of opera around their late teen years, become overwhelmed by the pretentiousness of the art form, or the sheer amount of repertoire built up over the centuries that they are expected to dive into, or the mystery of what communicating in other languages while embodying a character from ancient Greece means to their emotional makeup as a human being, or they get caught between the entertainment factor and the artistic factor inherent in opera. But most often, they simply stifle themselves as performers because they fear being wrong.

Being incorrect.

Making some stylistic, linguistic, musical, dramatic, or vocal mistake that someone – usually behind a table – will notice and take off points, put into their jury comments, or not hire them because they choose to place an appoggiatura in a Mozart recitative, or some other egregious what-the-f-do-you-think-you’re-doing choice that fills the panelist with profound loathing because they are way too pretentious.

More importantly, fear also affects the sounds singers and pianists make.

Pianists slam on the soft pedal while playing for singers. All the time now. Why do this? What are they afraid of? That they’ll overwhelm the singer? That someone will hear them play a wrong note, or leave out (rightly so) many of the notes in the piano reduction? They are playing an orchestral reduction. Most often opera orchestras have between 30 and 50 players in the pit. Twenty string players all playing pianissimo is LOUDER than one pianist playing softly with the soft pedal on.  Stop this immediately! You’re not playing a Debussy song (and one should only use the soft pedal where he specifies una corda!) The meek pianist is a sonic bore, and your musicality can’t be heard if it is way too subtle.

As we say in musical theatre land: Sing Out Louise!

Looking to the singer side of the aisle, I think fear really permeates decisions about what to add onto a score – for instance, ornaments. Nowadays, it is the rare singer who presents their own ornaments in an aria. I’m talking about Handel, Mozart, and Rossini in particular. It’s as if their whole education as a singer has missed one of the big important lessons: ornamentation is a part of being a singer. Finding ornamentation that works for each unique voice is something that singers, their teachers, and coaches should all be working on during their time in school.

The way to becoming an artist is to clarify for yourself what your voice can do that is unique and special, as well as what you can do as a musician that is unique and special. One of those things is ornamentation.

It’s not brain surgery, either. There’s no mystery here. Too often I hear young singers give the excuse that they’ve “never been taught” how to ornament. Or they’ll say they didn’t want to add any ornaments because “they don’t know how to do it” or that they are “afraid of doing it themselves.” Or worse yet, that some important coach told them that if they ornamented, say a Mozart aria, that “they would kill me”.

That sort of nonsense infantilizes a singer and moves the responsibility from creating their own artistry onto others, sometimes onto people who have had only a few hours of contact with them in some Masterclass, summer program, or production.

Look at your own fears and walk towards them.

Are you afraid to learn a new piece on your own and make it your own without any outside help for fear you might be doing something wrong, or it might cause some sort of harm? Run towards that fear and learn a new aria this week!

Are you afraid to play Verdi because you’ve never been taught or coached or had any experiences with Verdi outside of playing a few arias? Well run to the library and pull out Aida or Ballo or Otello and play through the score!

Are you afraid to study with another teacher during the summer for fear that your teacher might find out? Who is the employer here? You employ your teachers and coaches, they do not employ – or control – your freedom to learn from whomever you deem important. Take control of your life. Take responsibility for your own learning, your own process. It is literally your business to do so!

Finally, there is nothing to fear from opera. Opera lives and breathes humanity. You’re creating sounds that only a few hundred thousand people, out of billions, can make. How cool is that?

Celebrate your courage. Celebrate your unique gifts.

One way to step away from fear is to step towards something else. I recommend yoga, or mediation, or walking in the woods, or strolling through a museum once a month, or reading a piece of literature that you can’t find displayed in the front half of the local bookstore. Get to a play, go see “Deadpool” and relish the breaking of the 4^th wall, binge on Netflix. Then return to your piano, your scores, your practice room and SANG!!

And then, after drawing courage from your art, empower others to do so in creative, positive ways to help them acknowledges in themselves that when someone takes a chance,  when someone turns their back on being correct, exciting things can, and do, happen!

Audition Evolution!

AUDITIONS REDUX!

Opera auditions are dinosaurs - remnants of an out-of-touch 20th century-based business practice that worked when there were a smaller number of singers who sang a smaller amount of repertoire, especially when compared to our present day opera world.

The world in which today's singers navigate is basically unrecognizable from the previous generation's world. We've all recognized that the opera world has changed - the repertoire, the physicality, the social media demands, etc. - but few recognize that the way in which singers get jobs has changed, or that the way auditions happen should be, and could be, changed for the better.

The traditional young artist audition: A singer applies to get one audition through a series of online hoops - both bureaucratic and financial, then hopefully gets a live audition at a venue not of their choosing, often with strangers in a room sitting silently (and, hopefully, attentively) behind a table. A typical amount of time, ten minutes, is allotted per singer which gives them maybe time for a quick hello and introduction, then two medium-length arias, and a perfunctory "thank you". Weeks later (oftentimes, though, never) an email arrives with either a PFO (known in the business as a "please fuck off"), or an offer of employment. To find employment as a singer, they must apply to dozens and dozens of companies and programs, while facing almost the exact amount of rejection as their number of applications. An actual casting or job offer is a rarity for most. 

Currently, even the ten-minute slot style of auditioning seems to be falling by the wayside, being replaced with one aria only auditions. As well, the financial demands on singers trying to get a job is causing many to question the business practices and models of opera companies and young artist programs. Some of us are openly wondering on social media if the less privileged stand any chance of "making it" when singers of greater socio-economic backgrounds have it much, much easier; from application fees, to pianist fees, to high lesson costs, to travel and accommodations, to paying for audition workshops and consultation fees, etc. Many singers are dropping thousands of dollars each fall for the chance to walk into a room where it is not clear how they will be measured or judged. Most of the time, it is not clear if they will get the chance to sing more than one aria.

We should be rethinking this whole process entirely!

I'll leave the business discussion for another time, however, last week I embarked on a deliberate change in how to conduct an audition, using Opera McGill students auditioning for our fall production as an experiment, along with my co-conspirator, Stephen Hargreaves (Opera McGill's principal coach and conductor for the production.)

We called them "Working Sessions" instead of auditions. We set aside 15 minute slots. Right away, you see the first challenge: TIME. Normally, one can hear six or more singers an hour, so over the course of a 10am to 6pm day - with a lunch break and a few washroom breaks - the maximum number of singers one can hear in a seven-hour day is about 40 singers (if you give them each ten minutes.) Moving to 15 minute slots, the number becomes far less - about 24 singers. Instead of one day of auditioning, Stephen and I did two days.

But Time wasn't the only thing that had to expand. Our Listening had to expand.

Let me explain.

First an honest confession: those of us behind the table have been known, from time to time, to tune out after a singer starts in on an aria and we judge their voice, or technique, or acting, or something, to not be to our taste. It's easy - all of us who audition as part of our job know this - it's easy to jump to a judgement after a few bars. Singing and performing opera is a subjective experience. There are voices you immediately love, some you are intrigued by, some - though rarely in an audition situation - grow on you, other voices just grate on your nerves and you want them to stop singing "Monica, Monica dance the waltz..."

However, all of us have worked, rehearsed, coached, taught, and seen performances by singers with voices we might not initially "like", or think are suited to their role. This happens all the time in opera. I've just returned from a gig in Virginia where my initial thought about a cast member's voice was negative, but then during the rehearsal process, I grew to love their performance. Love takes time. Loving something happens over time. Why do we expect to love voices in five minutes? Is the traditional audition style simply looking for "love at first hearing"? When you rehearse with someone over weeks, you get to know them, hear different things in their voices, see them act, talk with them at the break. Many singers with great voices are much less interesting, and sometimes problematic, after getting to know them as artists during the rehearsal process. Treating singers like Olympic divers - judging them on their technical difficulties and subsequent splashes upon entry - during one aria, truly obscures their talent, their full artistry, and who they might be as people.

Revelation: Our working sessions changed how I responded to every singer. Instead of jumping to a casting conclusion, instead of dismissing a singer because they weren't ready, instead of haphazardly listening in order to pass the time, instead of pouring over a resume to look for details I might already know and details that might not have any pertinence to being cast, I actually listened like I do in a coaching; I also watched like I do in a rehearsal. These working sessions were like an exercise in operatic mindfulness. I was fully attentive, even though we were going to hear more than one selection and some students were obviously not ready to be cast in an opera like La Clemenza di Tito. Instead of sitting their judging about who to cast, I was sitting there really listening.

Why the change in attention? 

Because I knew, as did Stephen, that we were going to ENGAGE with the singers, at least for a brief time, afterwards. As a coach, you are listening attentively while the singer sings - for details in diction, style, musicianship, vocal technique, etc - because you know that the minute they are done singing, it's your turn to start in and work some part of their artistry you deem should be the focus of the coaching. These auditions were a lot like that. I found myself thinking, "what can I say to help them?" and "how can we make this easier for them?".  It was exciting and exhilarating, and in no way difficult or more taxing on our energies. 

In fact, the opposite.

Sometimes, we listened to one aria and then decided to work on it from some aspect - usually musical, sometimes dramatic or physical – for the rest of the session. The singers relaxed and, almost to a fault, sang better the second time through. If we heard two selections, we would choose one of those to work on. Sometimes we stayed behind the table, often we moved to the piano. Sometimes I played, many times Stephen played (from his full score of Clemenza, as one does.) The students got 5 to 10 minutes of double-teamed coachings from the two of us. We were giving back something to each student who sang. They walked out, from all reports, feeling that they'd had a much more positive experience.

It was terrific to hear or see an issue during their audition, but then actually talk to the singer and see if they could do something about it. (Traditional auditions are like diagnostic sessions with a physician but not getting any diagnosis communicated to the patient!) Often, our singers were able to successfully change their musical ideas regarding tempi or address a physical tension issue. It was also interesting to see if we could get their musical and vocal imagination flowing better because they were feeling less judged. Often, the arena of judgment that surrounds auditioning easily kills imagination and stifles creative flow.

I ended each session with the same question: "What are your goals for next year?"

The answers were thoughtful and ran along a similar theme: To be more consistent in their performances and auditions. To learn more repertoire. To put into practice what they are learning privately in a public forum like an Opera McGill production.

More singers should be ready for that question. What are your goals for next year?

In my humble opinion, more companies should move to working session auditions, particularly Young Artist Program auditions where, as they are so proud to say, they are searching for the best talent. Can one do that in a traditional audition? Probably the answer is yes. I found remarkable talent during my years running the YAP at Glimmerglass, and I think I've had a great run in casting both here at McGill and elsewhere where I've been actively casting singers. The people running opera programs represent the best of the experts in our field, so they too find great talent. But I know, without a doubt, that we have missed great singers.

I think it's time for the professionals out there to acknowledge that times have changed, rep has changed, and the singers in front of them are different with different expectations about how they want to be treated. Work with them, if only for a few minutes, allow them to relax and sing better. Ask them a question about themselves, see them think and breathe while they answer. 

Most of us in opera love being in a room where opera is present – either the rehearsal room or the theatre. We love opera because our singers, pianists, orchestras, and production teams all collaborate, communicate, and connect in ways that are magical. Yet we still audition singers like it is 1955, expecting them to dress for business in a way that no one dresses like anymore – outside of Wall Street, banks, or high powered law firms. We make them get letters of recommendation from people saying that they are good enough to merit an audition while offering bits and pieces of information that may, or may not, be true or current or pertinent outside of the world of the writer. Theatre people laugh out loud at these letters – no actor must ask their former acting teacher for a letter saying they are a good actor in order to gain an audition with a theatre company. It is an antiquated remnant form the Victorian age where Privilege Persons kept their doors closed to those who did not have the right letter of introduction from the right person.

I could go on and on about why our current situation of auditioning is not what it should be. But I will leave you with one comment from a student as they were leaving: Thank you, I enjoyed that tremendously!

And I replied: So did I!

Imagine if all singers walked out of auditions saying the same thing, and those behind the table mirrored the sentiment!

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Loud Silence

Silence.

Pauses. Breaths. Internal waits. Inaudible sighs. Delays in thinking.

Silences.

Silence in our lives is becoming increasingly impossible to find. I type that sentence at a cool cafe in Lynchburg, Virginia called the White Hart. Wonderful espresso and looks like great breakfasts as well (I'm intermittent fasting, so...) There's the ubiquitous hipster music playing - not too loud, thankfully - as I sit in a window seat feeling and hearing the traffic bounce by on Mainstreet USA. The frothing milk whining in high pitches while being steamed, the electric pulse of the espresso grinder, the high energy of a cute little SuzieQ excited to see her dad, the many sounds of glasses, forks, plates, and light discussion in that very congenial Virginian drawl...

All in all, most people would find it all pretty calming and not, in anyway, loud.

But there's no silence here.

Where do you find silence -- not just aural silence, but silence in the mind?

If there's a smartphone in your hand, or a keyboard underneath your fingers, then sorry - no mental silence happening, even if you're in bed late at night and there's silence around you.

To really understand silence, it has to be around you and in you. Bathing in silence is a rarity for any of us. Even for seasoned meditators, the internal silence of the mind comes infrequently.

And so, when one turns to music, to the billions of rests placed into scores or the millions of fermati sitting over silences, we see how much silence should be in the score. When one thinks about the silences inherent immediately preceding any downbeat or following any final climatic moment, one starts to see how profound silence is to the structure of music. Yet hardly any thought - or more importantly training in creating silence - happens during our every day music making (during rehearsals especially.)

Silence helps to define a composer's textual intentions, their architextual structures per se. Actors use silences - between sentences, between character interactions, between words and syllables sometimes.

Musicians tend to observe rests. And then move on to the important part, the music.

But ignoring silence in music destroys one of the more powerful tools at our disposal. Silence creates contrast, immediately so. It sets apart that which is in focus with the ears listening.  I wish more singers would use silence in their auditions. Giving a few seconds before beginning a piece. Allowing all of those thousands of rests and fermatis in their recitatives to really sit in space. Make those attending look up and wonder, "are they going to continue?"

Silence is a superpower, and people should wield it more often.

In life, listening is all about silence. Silence before speaking focuses a room. Silence within sentences forces the listeners to continue to listen. I think it also allows the collective minds in the room to take in what is being said, instead of only surface-listening to the tone and big words/ideas being presented. Details are getting lost, people are hardly listening, and then jumping to conclusions about people and people's ideas.

And then there's another kind of silence -- silencing others.

I might call it political silencing -- Taking the power of silence and slapping it onto people we've decided not to listen to, or allow them to continue to think their thoughts because we don't agree.  This silencing of others also silences ourselves, as it denies anyone involved the ability to think critically, examine through inquiry, or have a dialogue that runs two ways. It is the new political weapon of both the left and the right; a powerful weapon because silence is so massively powerful.

Musicians understand silence, so we should understand its power. Perhaps if more of us took silence into our everyday lives - turning off our phones, pulling out our earphones, stopping our comments on every and all subjects, driving with the windows down and the radios off, sitting in cafes listening to conversations, or asking our friends how they are and then actually listening to the answers. Perhaps that sort of training might allow us to really begin to interpret our musical silences in a different manner. Use them tactically, empower them to focus the audience upon something that has just happened, or something that is about to happen.

Really let the silence fall upon a room and feel its power to unite people.

Silence.