Dear Opera21,

Congratulations on the launch of this exciting on-line magazine where each of you can delve deeper and deeper into your passions for opera and music!  It’s wonderful for me to have the confirmation of my passion about opera through your eyes, because each of you are ignited by the same emotional journeys, breathtaking musical moments and awe-inspiring productions that I am, and you are eagerly seeking a way to learn more.  Trust me, as long as you’re game, the journey of discovery never ends! Enjoy it!

I predict your operatic journey may sometimes be a love/hate relationship – for where there are big passions, there can be enormous disappointments.  Whether you are an aspiring singer who faces a deluge of rejections (oh, they’ll be there – just keep breathing!), or a fan who suffers through a cast that isn’t to your liking (or, God forbid, isn’t the same singer you first saw when you fell in love with a particular opera back in 2009…!), the disappointments will most definitely be there.

But so will the euphoric moments, and those blessed moments of tears and laughter or overwhelming profundity – or you’ll receive that first contract, or be accepted into the ensemble and begin relationships with friends who will be with you for life.  The highs and the lows will both feed you in completely different ways and ultimately bring more depth and joy into your life.

But may I offer one word of caution, or request one small favor?  Please don’t become a snob.  Please just resist that urge should it rear its ugly head. It’s not cool, definitely not attractive, and terribly, terribly boring. No matter how much you know, or how much you see and hear, and no matter how strong your opinions are, please don’t flirt with that imperial “level of knowing” where you stop listening, stop feeling, and stop learning.  By all means, be critical if you like, but please consider offering your opinions with grace and elegance. In other words, “Stay classy.”  Trust me, it will enhance your operatic experience by miles.

Throughout those inevitable highs and lows, please fight to keep the faith, and please do your part to keep the dialogue open and moving forward, so that you (yes, YOU) can be a part of the solution and not a part of the problem.  I want YOU to help figure out where opera goes in YOUR Century.  Get creative, spread the word, think outside the box, be open enough so that the newcomers who will come and look to you for guidance will feel welcome, and please keep listening with those curious, eager ears so that the next generations of singers won’t feel that they have to compete with a “DiDonato” or a “Florez”.  (Not that there is anything wrong with either of those two!)

Finally, at last its my turn to stand up and applaud each of YOU, and yell BRAVI for your efforts and for your enthusiasm!  You are my argument against “Opera is a dying art form”, so get loud, get strong, and yes, stay classy!

CHEERS!

Joyce

“Accuse me not of presumption if, leaving this world and preparing myself for a better, I remind you will one day to give account of your charge, in like manner as those who preceded you in it, and that my blood and the misery of my country will be remembered, wherefor from the earliest dawn of your comprehension we ought to dispose our minds to make things temporal yield to those of eternity.

Your sister and cousin wrongfully a prisoner,

Photo © Ken Howard

It is difficult to express how much this run of Maria Stuarda at the Metropolitan Opera has impacted to me.  The opera itself suffered a complicated birth to be sure, having suffered numerous rewrites, cancellations, postponements, and a myriad of different kinds of performances along the way.  History occupies a backseat in the opera giving way to a contrived telling of rival queens, a fabricated love triangle, and a purified version of the title character.  (Donizetti knew his audience ~ a staunchly Roman Catholic public who expected a Maria who would embrace her martyrdom and reign over the Protestant rival.)  Yet here we are 177 years later, and each evening I step into my modest black frock and take a journey from hope to darkness, finally returning to light each evening, and a journey unfolds that surprises me with every single performance.

As Maria arrives nearly 40 minutes into the piece, she is the Mary of her youth – a very athletic, active young woman, relishing the chance to take in the open sky and fresh air for the first time in years since her captivity began (roughly 7 or 8 years in our production). She is still hopeful, still writes letters to Elizabeth pleading her case, and still in correspondance with Leicester who fills her with hope of her release.  Crowned as Queen of Scotland at only 6 days old, the opening scene finds Mary overcome with emotion in remembering her distant childhood homeland of France, carried away with memories of joy and freedom, truly overwhelmed by her senses.  Can you imagine having been confined in a damp, chilly castle, (OK – so she wasn’t in Angola, to be fair, but still … !), cut off from your loved ones for years, taking in very little sunlight, very little fresh air, and finally to be let outdoors?  … the sunlight? … the grass? … the trees? … the sheer SPACE? Ah, les souvenirs …

It is a tragically short lived moment of melancholy bliss for her, as Royal trumpets sound in the distance. It could be a death warrant, or it could be her freedom, but the anxiety overcomes her.  She learns that the Queen, herself, is on her way. Mary is in no way prepared for this unannounced visit, even though she has been pleading for it for years. She confesses her fear that she does not possess the courage or strength to face her.  Following Schiller’s stroke of playwriting genius, we are set up for the showdown of these two rival Queens. What strikes me as terribly tragic about this situation is that they are the only two humans on the face of the earth at that very moment who could possibly have understand the other, and if circumstances had been different, they likely could have been the best of friends.  Instead, for how things had played out (politically, religiously) their destiny was that of enemies in every arena.  Face to face, they are seeing each other in the flesh for the very first time ~ all they had imagined, all they had envisioned was now personified in living form before their own eyes: the intense curiosity … the utter fascination … the gripping fear … the understandable defense … the certain jealousy … Schiller and Donizetti knew it was ripe for explosive drama.

Photo © Ken Howard

I think Mary (having reluctantly agreed to supplicate herself to not only plead for her life, but to also broker some kind of peace in England) knows very quickly that there will be no pardon on this day.  She sees it in Elizabeth’s eyes from the very first moment, and yet, the English Court is present, so she wills herself to follow through with her promise.  This is no longer about herself, but she is now working purely as a raw political figure.  She takes the vitriolic insults and the power play by the Queen for as long as she can, until she can hold her tongue no longer, and we get some of Donizetti’s most surprising, inspired writing.  (It’s a fabulous thing that a modern audience can still audibly react to the vehement, indignant outburst of Mary!)

One of the reasons I think this matchup is so dramatically powerful, is because both women are not simply hurling petty insults in a glorified, operatic cat fight.  No. They are each speaking the truth as they know it and have lived it for years, casting a righteous air to hover over both of them.  Mary did seduce numerous men under suspicious circumstances, and her wedding bed was hardly pure.  Elizabeth was a bastard child of Anne Boleyn (a name that wasn’t even allowed to be uttered in that time – making it as equally shocking as screaming “vil bastarda”) and according to Mary’s Catholic faith, Elizabeth absolutely was soiling the throne of England.  They were both absolutely RIGHT.   There is nothing petty or artificial about this exchange – they are both, as dutiful and brilliant Queens, defending their country’s honor, their thrones, their womanhood, their dignity.

Photo © Ken Howard

Does Mary seal her fate at that very point, at the end of the famous confrontation? No, because it still takes Elizabeth another 10 years to make the fateful pronouncement. This is not a knee-jerk reaction on Elizabeth’s part. As in history, she was tormented by the dire situation and knew there was no winning strategy available to her.  The death sentence is not merely because she has been insulted. (In the opera, the tenor contributes strongly to the drama, for Elizabeth’s jealousy is enlarged and becomes her handicap.)  But Mary’s outcome was probably set in motion the moment she was captured.

10 years have passed, and they have passed in agony slowly, excruciatingly, and solitarily.  The cold, damp chambers have taken a tremendous toll on Mary and we see her at the top of the 2nd part as dark, dreary, shaking and frail, for bitterness has settled acutely into her bones and defiant anger has become her friend. The euphoria she felt after unleashing her righteous fury on Elizabeth has long since faded away, and she is haunted by her past and her impending sentence.  When faced with death, it is the unknown that is unbearable ~ when will it happen? how much longer do I have? how will it happen?  Mary is broken. I think when the death sentence finally arrives, it must have come as a kind of relief ~ the waiting was finally at an end.  (I love how she responds to the news in the opera: “So THIS is how England delivers its final judgment on a Queen.”  It’s so deliciously defiant.)

As she is left to face her final hours, it is her salvation that is at stake, and she is faced with her final confession.  I know everyone talks about the confrontation scene, but for me, this is the central heart and soul of the opera.  We see Mary at her most fragile, most broken. She is lost, frightened, far from God, and that bitterness just will not leave her.  It is only through her trusted friend, Talbot’s insistence that she finally opens up and can pour forth her confession ~ which according to her faith will bring her eternal salvation.  This comfort is what finally brings release and in it Mary finds the strength to face her execution.

(It’s a fascinating juxtaposition for me to be on the other side of the prison cell. In Dead Man Walking I was the one trying so desperately to save the soul of Joseph Derocher, and the agony of that scene from the side of the confessor destroyed me every time.  This time I am playing the one in need of purging my soul, and the release of finally saying “Yes, I am guilty” washes over me in a flood in this production.  Every time it is different, and every time I am deeply moved.)

Photo © Ken Howard

What can be said about the final 20 minutes of this opera? What astonishes me in every performance is how quickly it all goes by! It is like being shot out of a canon and there is no slowing down or adjusting along the way. It feels as if Donizetti enters a completely different zone from the chorus before the prayer onwards, and we seem to be thrust into a kind of through-composed drama that gathers speed more and more until the final canon shot is heard, and she scales the steps to her execution.

Photo © Ken Howard

At this moment, all of Mary’s focus becomes on helping the people around her: the faithful staff who have stood by her, her people who have fought for her, the poor tenor who comes in one last time, wrought with guilt ~ she has made piece with her fate, yet she must help the others find their way to acceptance.  She becomes the comforter, and yet it is her hour of death.  (Again, this is such an Italian/Catholic way to present a martyr to the public!)

I’ve never enacted a scene quite like these final 20 minutes of Maria Stuarda before and it has been a tremendous challenge. It requires an astonishing amount of vocal, physical, and emotional stamina, and yet with every performance it plays out completely differently.  But what I DO feel as I walk her journey each time, is that she is ready for her death. She has finally found her peace.  She is certainly terrified (and considering how her execution played out, she absolutely had reason to be) and yet she manages to find a deep reservoir of determination and fortitude that enables her to climb to her death.

I am so happy to be sharing this journey with so many people across the world (courtesy of the Met’s incredible Live in HD commitment) and to have brought this character to life at the Metropolitan Opera for the first time in its history is an incredible privilege.  She is a role that has been inhabited by the best of the best ~ each star singer bringing a completely different set of strengths to her treacherous phrases and her powerful, dramatic journey, bringing a different temperament to a confounding historical figure. To have had the chance to put my stamp on her with such a supportive team will, I’m certain, always remain a career highlight for me.

Mary Queen of Scots has left an undeniable legacy to the legions of her beloved followers, yet she has also alienated many that have never bought into her elevated status and the sometimes distorted history. Donizetti certainly took liberties with her, as has every singer to sing her phrases.  My joy in this role is to highlight the emotional journey of longing, faith, fear, guilt, love, and eventual surrender in order to let the audience define Mary through their own eyes.

New growth

In my case, these past 52 weeks happened to formulate a year of extraordinary events that continue to astonish me if I dare reflect on them much, and if I hint at indulging in any superstitious thinking at all (which I rarely do), I’ll feel some fear start to creep in as that dastardly inner voice rises up: “Surely it’s all got to be downhill from here! Better be careful … “  Insidious little creature, that inside voice.

But then I walk myself back away from the edge of the cliff (because I really detest fear) by remembering what exactly brought me to the doorstep of that banner year of 2012, and the monumental lessons I learned during the course of its numerous projects, cities, encounters, events, experiences and quiet moments. Here I sit reflecting on all that has transpired, and I think that 2012 just might be the year that I got really present.

I know, I know ~ you’re thinking “Crap, did I click onto some wellness site that will convince me to start juicing and meditating?”  (Well, OK, I have been doing a bit more of that of late, but that won’t be my point here, I promise.)  As the year quickly morphed into a whirling dervish, I knew I needed to find my footing more and more so that I could not only meet the demands ahead, but also – and this is the kicker – so that I could enjoy, revel in, drink up, dance with and absorb the real essence, the heart of each moment. It’s become crystal clear to me that the only possible way to accomplish that task, is to get immensely, vibrantly, ecstatically present in the moment.

Time Traveler

Things ramped up a bit this year for me: performing at the Grammys, concerts in Kansas City filmed for PBS, debuting Maria Stuarda for Houston and later at the Metropolitan Opera, a jam-packed summer schedule of recitals, concerts and operas throughout Europe, recording Drama Queens, revisiting Romeo in San Francisco, and touring Drama Queens in Europe and the States.  Each performance felt like an important do-or-die event, and I could feel myself easily falling into the trap of thinking “Oh girl, you had better be ON tonight”, a most deadly mindset for an artist to indulge in, no question.  Yet, it would attempt to creep in slowly, oozing it’s way into my psyche, transporting all kinds of sabotage and pressure with it.  Well, I hate pressure! So at the first signs of that, I knew I needed to eradicate it immediately.

The best weapon against such a destructive mindset, I’ve found, is to get intensely present in terms of where my mind goes during a performance: no outside banter, no inside questioning ~ nothing but the task at hand: simply the words, the melody, the subtext of that precise moment, and then the next, and then the next.  If I am completely consumed with the present emotion , there is simply NO SPACE for anything else. I then put myself in an optimal position to, perhaps, perform at my very best level.  Present.

This held true for my limited downtime as well – a precious commodity during this past year.  If I had free time, I got busy REALLY being present, which meant no work (sorry, no blogging/tweeting/flickr-ing), but time for me to be “free” and regenerate, recoup, refuel.  This is a GREAT weapon and served me incredibly well as things were heating up and I was able to find new reserves of energy. Present.

My interactions with people ~ whether with the fans signing autographs, with colleagues or with close friends and family ~ those interactions demand real presence, and they become richer for it.  I may not have a lot of free time to spend with family, or I may only see close friends once every other year, but when I do see them, I want that connection to be profoundly important and real.  Present.

This has been the key to my survival this past year.  Actually, I can’t say simply survival, because it has been the way for me to thrive.  And I want to thrive.  Whether I am succeeding or not, singing or not, performing or not ~ I want to thrive in every aspect of my life as best I can, and I think I’ve begun to truly understand where that comes from.  Present.

Lost time in Burgandy

I know this may all sound a bit ‘meta’ but it has enabled me to truly enjoy every moment of this incredible year.  For example, it was quite a joy to feel that work paying off on New Year’s Eve at the Metropolitan Opera.  There was a lot of idle chatter attempting to take up residence in my head in terms of what this night was (the Met Premiere of this opera), or what it meant (a mezzo singing a soprano role?), or the pressure of debuting this iconic role that has belonged to the greatest, most beloved singers of previous generations (Sills, Sutherland, Caballe, etc). But none of that ~ not one SINGLE word of it ~ would have helped me give a stronger performance in the moment.  What if I had an attack of that inner voice in the middle of one of Maria’s treacherously long phrases? There is absolutely no way I could have held my composure and sung it without wavering if I had such derisive voices in my head.  Those voices live in either the past or in the future, but they most definitely do not live in the now. This doesn’t mean every phrase I sing is perfectly free and ideal – not at all.  BUT I put myself in a much better position to succeed if my head is truly in the moment. Present.

When young singers ask me about auditioning or juries, and they express worry about being perfect, or not being good enough, this concept of getting out of their own way is something I try to instill in them.  If someone could show me how that destructive inner voice that harps on past “failings” or stirs up anxiety of future “what if I don’t make it” nonsense, actually AIDS a singers performance, then I will gladly rethink things.  But I’ve only ever known that self-flagellating muttering over a missed note and that pestering, worrisome, fearful nagging about what lays ahead to be utterly destructive violently ripping you out of the present moment.  Once that happens, your resources are severely diminished, and any hope of singing freely and with deep connection vanishes into the ether.  Present.

I honestly haven’t a clue of what awaits me in the coming year. I will happily look back on 2012 and marvel at the things it brought to me, the lessons I learned, the difficulties I endured, the growth I made ~ and that is where my gratitude lies.  I’m happy for the awards and the applause, but the real joy lies in every moment having value: in basking in the joy, healing from the sorrow, relishing the laughter, learning from the pain.  The applause on Monday night was overwhelming and beautiful, but do you know what sound moved me the most during those 3 hours? The silence.  The hushed, electric silence of the audience taking that journey with Maria.  They were living in the moment with us up on that stage, and reveling from note to note, emotion to emotion. They were living it. The critics come after, the analyzing comes after ~ but in that moment, it was full presence and it was alive.  I have no idea where 2013 will take me, but I do hope I can continue to stay right here, because it’s a beautiful place.  Present.

Before signing off, I wish each of you an incredible year ahead. May it be overflowing with laughter, tears, health, fortune, gratitude, growth, music, art, joy, love, family, friendship and unadulterated, abundant bliss!

Happy New Year!

~~~~~~

On a side note ~ and this is strictly for my own curiosity, so feel free to stop reading: I’m curious about this past year in terms of geography and music.  I sent a tweet at the start of the summer in terms of where I was going and the music I was performing, and it was quite lengthy.  It’s silly, but as my end of the year journaling, I want to see the full list.  I’m sure I’m leaving a few things out, but according to my records, here goes:

TRAVEL (both business and personal)

New York / San Francisco / Kansas City / Los Angeles/ Minneapolis / London / New York / Philadelphia / New York / Minneapolis / Chicago / Kansas City / Houston / Kansas City / London / Munich / London / Munich / Berlin / Munich / Berlin / Schwetzingen / Granenegg / Paris / St. Denis / London / Munich / Lonigo / Venice / London / Kansas City / Boulder / Vail / Kansas City / Santiago / Buenos Aires / Rio / Iguazu / Sao Paolo / San Francisco / Kansas City / Houston / Kansas City / Paris / Lonigo / Baden Baden / Bremen / Berlin / Hannover / Vienna / Kansas City / New York / Sonoma / New York

MUSIC

Enchanted Island: Handel, LeClair, Vivaldi
Camille Claudel, Into the Fire: Heggie
Les nuits d’été: Berlioz
Homecoming, Kansas City Symphony: Rossini, Heggie
Maria Stuarda: Donizetti
Recording with John Wilson Orchestra: Rodgers & Hammerstein
La Cenerentola: Rossini
Venice Recital: Vivaldi, Faure, Rossini, Schubert, Schumann, Head, Hahn
Grafenegg Concert: Rossini, Rodgers & Hammerstein, Bernstein, Gershwin
Musique et Vins Concert: Mozart / Rossini
Recording Drama Queens: Orlandini, Porta, Handel, Keiser, Hasse, Cesti, Monteverdi, Giacomelli, Haydn
South America Tour: Obradors, Handel, Mozart, Rossini, Hahn, Donaudy, Arlen, Ginestera
Capuleti e i Montecchi: Bellini
Drama Queens Tour: Orlandini, Porta, Handel, Keiser, Hasse, Cesti, Monteverdi, Giacomelli,
Maria Stuarda: Donizetti

Wow. For those of you who have followed me through all of this? You deserve a medal!

©Cory Weaver at Carnegie Hall

I had been given the remarkable opportunity to record (in 2012!) a very personal work of mostly obscure 16th and 17th century arias, having lain long dormant on sleepy, dusty shelves, and certainly belonging to the unexamined, oft-alluded to category of “boring”.  (I mean, Cesti…!!)  And yet there I was in Berlin and Hannover and Vienna and Kansas City breathing life into these latent phrases, with rare exception, for the first time in most of the listeners’ lives (Piangerò perhaps to be excluded), and by simple observation, they seemed to be spellbound.

We all know how a thrilling, resounding explosion of applause can ignite a concert hall, but I think I can safely say that it is the hushed, still, immobile moments that thrill us performers the most.  The slow, internal, lamenting gems of this program (Lasciami piangere, Madre diletta abracciami) completely unknown in modern times until now, have worked their magic on those listening to them for the first time as the charged electric atmosphere of the hall, whether in New York or Bremen, seemingly gripped every person in attendance, amping up our intensity from the stage even more.  It was magic.

But magic also happens when we rip into the Orlandini or Handel “dance numbers” and smiles are contagiously spread over the attendees, and shoulders are bopping, heads are beating – people caught up in the euphoria of the pulse, the melody, the centuries old sentiment.

©Cory Weaver at Carnegie Hall

That was the dream for me ~ sensing that time simply didn’t exist; feeling in a most tangible way that a real, discernable connection was happening: connection via the centuries, across gender, politics and geography, via incorporeal sound waves.  Here I was, singing music written by men my elder by hundreds of years, with text penned by equally ancient strangers, but which could have been extracted from my personal journal from past years, and here I was on some of the greatest stages of the world, laying myself bare in front of total strangers. That concept, made incarnate in these concerts, continues to blow my mind.  I sincerely don’t know how to explain it, but it’s the very essence of why I do what I do. I believe utterly in that indefinable, enigmatic power of music to transform people.  I’ve seen it first hand, I’ve experienced it as a grateful audience member, and I’ve heard countless stories from people whose lives have changed because of such a musical experience.

To call myself fortunate for being a part of this mystical chain reaction is something I simply cannot avoid. (It would also seem somehow ungrateful to not use that expression.) But also because this tour involved creating true chamber music with extraordinary musicians all around.  In a setting with 14 instrumentalists, all concentrated on music of the highest emotional content, each one is called on to play the role of soloist each expected to make a generous contribution to the musical outcome.  It’s THRILLING to stand in among them and hear them taking risks, responding to the emotional fever, allowing themselves the freedom to express without question! Each concert grew in freedom and joy, and that sense of keeping each moment ALIVE and PRESENT taught me tremendous lessons. It also is one of the most thrilling aspects of what a musician can do ~ to create something larger than their own self with the help and inspiration of others.

Sadly, a rather brutal schedule keeps me from socializing too much, or indulging in the beautiful sights and sounds of these amazing cities that host us.  There are interviews to do, CDs to sign, planes/trains/buses to catch, REST to be had, and all focus must remain on being in perfect shape for the concert every other day.  It is ruthless, exhausting, but so utterly uplifting. We all arrive at the concert hall after rugged travel, little sleep and half-open eyes, and we think “Where will we find the energy?” And then the downbeat happens – and we are electrified. Once again – the power of the music transforms! But it is a schedule I know I can’t maintain constantly (how do those performers, constantly on tour, do it?!?!)

The schedule will resume in Lisbon in February, and I’ll be counting down the days until I can revisit Octavia, Orontea, Berenice, Cleopatra – what  astonishingly beautiful women, full of confusion, fear, strength, vulnerability and power.  This is one of THOSE projects I know that will stay with me for a very long time.

Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to lose my head …

Backstage with Il Complesso Barocco at Carnegie Hall

Photo: QUEEN CITY SAUSAGE (how perfect is that?)

A slight chuckle mercifully rippled through the theater from the normally cool German audience, and so I proceeded to explain the first encore: “This is about a Queen so distraught from a broken heart, that she begs simply to be left alone to weep, and then to die.” (It’s not an unusual request from a Drama Queen in the course of an opera, for we must be given a chance to have our final, valiant, heart-breaking sing, you understand!)

As the first violin set out to raise his bow, sweeping up in intense emotion to set the mood, a low-rumble giggle wafted up from the front row as a very erudite, sophisticated older gentlemen said, “Ha ha ha … bratwurst.”

Me and my big mouth.

The mood may have been broken, but I had found a kindred spirit, to be sure. Laughter aside, I needed to quickly regain my composure to enter back into this world of supreme, utter, total despair — a misery encased in one of the most hauntingly beautiful, sublime melodies I’ve ever had the pleasure to sing,Lasciami piangere. It’s that fabulous, addictive Baroque gimmick where the most acute, excruciating pain is gilded with a sublime, extraordinary, time-stopping beauty of pure, simple melody.

So we did our thing of weeping and dying, and the resulting hush from the audience was electric. In the world of classical music, often we are busy revisiting the classics over and over again (they are classics for a reason), yet for this piece, even among these great connoisseurs of classical music in the audience, not a soul could possible have known this melody, for it had been laying in obscurity on a dusty library shelf for, most likely, the better part of nearly two centuries. (Can you imagine 200 years from now, someone “discovering” John Lennon’s “Imagine?”) As the audience slowly began to come to and start a rather stunned round of applause, my eye caught the “Bratwurst Gentleman,” and there he was, bent in two, as if in agony. As he slowly lifted himself back up, he revealed a beet red face with tears pouring down his cheeks. He was inconsolable.

From Baden Baden

I’ve never seen quite such a visceral reaction to a piece of music before, and it moved me greatly. I was immediately overcome with the sensation of how time no longer existed — it was as if the composer, Reinhard Kaiser (1674-1739), was standing among us via this transportive melody, carrying with it a timeless sentiment of sorrow, of grief and that universal, deep desire to connect.

THIS is what completely IGNITES my passion as a singer and as a woman: the idea that through this magical, mystical, masterful world of opera, an often stubborn, buried portal of feeling deep within us can be unleashed via the true, raw emotions carried to us on those perfect, vibrating waves of sound, connecting us over the centuries, across gender barriers, political divides, class or culture gulfs, and reminding us that we are all indeed, unquestionably, irrevocably connected.

In a world that somehow feels more divided than ever, culture will be our tonic. Culture, music, the arts — these indispensable behemoths of human creation at its very best teach us about ourselves, about our place in this world, and thankfully shine a spotlight on the fact that we all have MUCH more in common than what seemingly separates us. This is why Opera is thriving. This is why the baroque Drama Queens of 300-400 years ago can reappear and move us to tears, or make us feel like dancing. (Ellen? I’m talking to you, girl!) This is why music is, without a doubt, NECESSARY in our lives — it makes us better human beings, capable of feeling and growing much more than we might do left to our own devices in a world without melody.

I’m Joyce DiDonato, and I am a Drama Queen. Are you?

Backstage at Carnegie Hall, with Il Complesso Barocco

* This blog entry was written for The Huffington Post, published on November 20, 2012

My first Romeo, courtesy of Zefferelli

As a woman of a certain age,  the prospect of portraying perhaps the most beloved, well-known young lover of all literature is unquestionably overwhelming.  (Oh how I LOVED my first visual introduction to the character, Leonard Whiting. As a 13 year old girl, I truly thought we were destined to be together!)  The first order of business was to erase any foolish attempts to compete with the great Romeos of the past – those icons of the stage, screen, and opera (not a small order by any stretch of the fertile imagination), and simply work to craft a portrayal which came from an organic place within me.  In fact, the very same process a singer must go through with any role.  Because singers work with the greatest masterpieces for a living, the temptation to exceedingly and obstinately revere the piece to a fault can be overwhelming and keep us from making it our own, from getting right into the bloody marrow of the piece and bring it to palpitating life.  I’ve learned, slowly and methodically over the years, to give myself permission to make these pieces my own for the time that I sing them. It’s the only way I think a performer can have true believability on the stage.  We must feel as if we are saying/singing/creating our lines for the very first time ~ thinking of them and uttering them on the spot, as if we are the composer in that moment.

We meet Bellini’s Romeo months after he first climbed that fated balcony and hours after just having killed the son of Capulet: he strides into the grieving enemy’s territory and audaciously proposes a peace settlement to them.  We see immediately how impulsive, passionate and stuck he is, for upon defiant resistance from his audience, he quickly shifts gears essentially lofting a curse on their house himself, saying “Fine – you want WAR? You’ve got it – but all the bloodshed will be on YOUR hands, not mine.”  He came to love and offer peace, and leaves distraught, for he knows he is an unwitting, inexorable part of the machinery of war that cannot be stopped.

Capuleti production by Vincent Boussard

It’s quite easy to find a modern context for Bellini’s approach to this piece:  imagine for a delicious moment Bin Laden’s oldest son falling hopelessly, completely, utterly in love with George Bush’s youngest daughter. And it’s mutual. Then imagine the son arriving in Washington, barging into the Oval Office to say to the President, “Sir, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve got it all figured out!  If you could just let your daughter marry me, we could solve all this unnecessary conflict. Trust me – it will totally work!”  Universal themes, once again, take center stage at the opera house!  Seriously.  Think about it.

Any time Giulietta and Romeo meet in this version, they are in conflict.  There is no love scene, no love duet, and no peace. Romeo continuously begs her to flee with him promising much happier days far from their troubles, yet she wails repeatedly that she cannot desert her father, as much as she may love him.  It is hopeless and seemingly impossible. Romeo feels utter despair at being torn in two and not being able to solve this conflict (what man doesn’t want to be the problem solver?).  The conflict lasts through the Act 1 Finale (“Come away with me” – “Are you not HEARING me?  I CAN’T!”), and even carries straight through to the infamous tomb scene.  Upon Giulietta’s awakening, again, they are in immediate conflict. (“Didn’t Lorenzo tell you?” “No. Tell me what?”)  The only moment of peace and resolution for the two of them ~ and in this production, the only loving embrace ~ happens in death.

Vincenzo Salvatore Carmelo Francesco Bellini

But even Bellini can’t let that stand, for he brings in the warring parties over their tombs and ends with the two sides continuing to face off and threaten revenge.  This most decidedly is not a love story, but much more a comment on war and ridiculous territorial rubbish.  You know, insanity is often defined as repeating the same things and expecting a different result.  Shakespeare penned his take on this old Italian story between 1591 and 1595. Yep.  Apparently we’re pretty insane.

With all this talk of war and enemies and lost peace, how fabulous is it that Bellini penned some of his most EXQUISITELY beautiful and tender music for this piece?  Tchaikovsky called it:

“I have always felt great sympathy towards Bellini. When I was still a child the emotions which his graceful melodies, always tinged with melancholy, awakened in me were so strong that they made me cry. And to this day, in spite of his many shortcomings—that is his vapid accompaniments, the vulgar and trivial strettas of his ensembles, the coarseness and banality of his recitatives—I have nonetheless retained my sympathy for his music.”

~ Letter 1987 to Nadezhda von Meck, 7/19 March 1882, from Naples

Indeed, he sculpted sublime melodies, arching phrases, haunting, tangled, tumbling duets and as a result paints the most tender, vulnerable sketch of two young lovers completely embroiled in society’s snare of greed, anger and hate. The juxtaposition of the sublime melody against the raw emotion makes the bittersweet story all the more potent.

Romeo, as envisioned by Christian Lacroix

I can hardly describe what a joy it is to sing such divine music while portraying such a timeless story.  I do think this is as good as it gets.  But it’s an enormous challenge which demands a perilous range, fervent emotion, formidable vocality, and immense stamina. There is not a single moment to relax within this role ~ either vocally or dramatically ~ but, if I’ve done my job well, the payoff is tremendous.

I’m so happy and fortunate to be bringing this role to San Francisco with a divine cast and in a stunning production (not to mention costumes!)

 “For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

               ~ William Shakespeare

“I have been approached by several people to dye my blonde hair to a darker color and after a couple of disappointments I finally decided to reinvent myself and dyed it dirty blonde/light brown. The problem is I miss my blonde hair terribly, and since you are a successful blonde I was wondering what your views on the matter are. Have you had any trouble getting cast as a blonde? Or has your blonde hair hindered you in any way in the opera world as a mezzo? Would you say it could be a disadvantage to be a blonde mezzo? Any help or advice is greatly appreciated.”

The question struck a big response in me, and I felt compelled to reply with a rather in-depth answer posted here (kudos to you who make it to the end!). But I also realized her question, perhaps overlooking the specific hair color issue, is surely one of universal concern to young artists: how much attention should we put into our appearance? I feel you, hear you, and offer the following response to perhaps offer some guidance on moving forward with your training and journey as a young artist. Disclaimer: these are strictly my opinions alone, and should be taken with a grain of fabulous sea salt (bigger kernels than ordinary salt!) Also, while writing from the vantage point of having been in this business a number of years, now, I don’t mean to imply that I never crossed these questions of identity or appearance myself ~ of course I did. My answers are born out of my experience …

Dear Non-blond Mezzo,

Rise Stevens: Blond, Beautiful, & Sublime Artist!

I’m going to make a big assumption here: I assume that if you wrote to me directly you are actually asking to hear a direct and honest response, and not hoping for something merely … polite. (If I’ve assumed incorrectly, please forgive me!) One thing my years of experience has taught me, without exception, is that even when it’s terribly difficult to face, the MOST helpful thing, by far, is to hear the truth about this business. You may not get it very often, but you’ll eventually learn that it is the thing that breeds the most growth as an artist and human being ~ and this, after all, is what we’re all searching for, no?

I also have to say that your particular question has struck a real chord with me, because I feel it highlights some of the issues where I believe our industry is failing in these days. So while the question is quite straightforward (and granted, perfectly innocent on your part!), I’m afraid I feel the need to answer quite in depth. Bear with me?

So, to be very honest, and with all due respect, the last thing you should be thinking about right now, is the color of your hair. A variety of reasons immediately jumps to mind:

First of all, the task in front of you ~ achieving your dream to be an opera singer ~ requires INFINITE amounts of training to perfect your vocal technique, master your languages, refine your musicianship, acquire brilliant stage presence, deepen as an actor, absorb the infinite dynamics of the human condition (so you will actually have something to say of merit and interest when you open your mouth) and to blossom as a generous colleague. Each of these aspects not only takes a lifetime of learning to attempt to conquer them, but as a young student, the laying of the bricks of this foundation which you are living right now takes immense discipline, concentration and dedication. How you prepare NOW will absolutely determine the kind of artist you will BECOME. I would hope that your interest would lie in listening to the masters of your art form, reading about the history of the various periods you are attempting to step into, experiencing live performance, inundating yourself with the artful elements of this craft – none of which, in all honesty, include hair color.

Secondly, I do contend that a singer’s physical health is unquestionably of paramount importance ~ the body is our instrument and we need to be consistently healthy and provide that our voice can be in optimum condition via rest, good nutrition and good physical strength (paired with flexibility). I recognize that the reality of our business is that physicality figures prominently into casting (this is not at all a new concept, by the way!), so I understand why this may prompt us singers to worry excessively about our physical appearance. Yes, this is undoubtedly one part of the “game”. However, if this becomes the primary, secondary, or even tertiary priority, I guarantee you that a career of any length or importance simply will not happen. I contend that it actually cannot be sustained on a superficial level, for the BEAUTIFUL thing about our art form is that it involves the huge palette of human emotions, as well as an understanding that requires great comprehension about the world, history, psychology, human frailty, and connecting to something that is bigger than any of us ~ this is the reason this music has survived and been celebrated for CENTURIES. The moment it descends to a purely superficial experience, it has no long-term chance of survival. And it is on the shoulders of everyone in this business (agents, performers, intendants, and perhaps most of all, teachers) to be sure it remains something of substance, so that we not only honor the legacy of the great composers and performers by keeping the traditions alive, but we also expand it and illuminate it in even greater depth with our modern experience. This asks of us tremendous involvement, imagination, commitment and determination ~ again, things that, I believe, preclude spending too much time on thoughts such as the color of one’s hair.

The Big Lesson.

There is a third, very important element to this puzzle, and that is your voice: not the voice we all think about that comes out of those two, hard working, unassuming, vibrating vocal cords in your throat. No not that voice, but the voice that is your soul / spirit / heart ~ however you may choose to define it. It is the inner “thing” inside of you that needs to be shared. It is the desire to connect to something outside of yourself (the divine? another human being? a deeper understanding?) This requires us to search profoundly inside ourselves ~ so we can begin to have a glimpse of who we are, and therefore begin to discover exactly what it is we desire to say. No teacher will give this to you, no conductor or director will identify it inside you (although they may be able to ignite it a bit inside), and no coach or audience will verify it unless you can at first tap into it and release it yourself. There are different tools to find this ~ experimentation, examination, playing, living, searching, loving ~ and yes (finally!) maybe even hair color can initially help you to identify this spark inside of you that wishes to be found, or help you to externally identify something that feels right, or more “you”. If this is the case, then you need to be very honest with yourself and ask “WHY do I feel more myself when I do ____?” Is it merely a mask? are you hiding? or is it really helping to illuminate more clearly how you feel inside? Those questions will help steer you to what you believe in and who you may be. But they are ONLY a catalyst and not anything that has lasting power. We don’t have to look very far to see celebrities in our culture trying desperately to define themselves primarily and desperately as merely perfect physical specimens, and the eager public asking for more ~ but sadly, the impression that is made is one of being utterly hollow inside. “Hollow” has no place in this world of high art ~ at least not in a significant or lasting way, and most certainly not in a way that deeply moves people at their core, which is, I think, the object of our world of music!

So my basic answer is that I’ve never, ever given thought to my hair color in terms of my career and I categorically cannot believe that any job was gained because I was blond and not brunette or redheaded. Now, jobs or competitions were certainly won (or lost) because I had a certain level of confidence (or lack thereof), and of course my physical appearance affects my level of confidence, varying on any given day. And I absolutely have thought about it as a woman (who was born nearly white-blond and has tried to keep “reminding” her hair of that since her mid-20′s!), but this has been for me, as Joyce. As a performer, and one who occasionally loves to play up the glamour side of things, yes – then a lot of thought goes into the image I am putting out, and which side of my personality I may choose to present. And yes, I absolutely make a trip to the salon before a big photo-shoot or important concert, because I want to present myself in the best light ~ but in a way that feels true to myself and highlights my true personality. But this is ALWAYS after the “art” has been attended to. For you, thinking in terms of auditions and concerts, of course appearance plays into the audience or jury’s overall perception of the evening ~ but you cannot fool them: if the look is not “you” and if the beauty or glamour exists only on the surface, it won’t mean a single, solitary thing. Yes: as singers we need to function and thrive within the world of glamour and allure, but please ~ PLEASE ~ never at the expense of the art. It is, in my very humble opinion, WAY down on the list of priorities ~ especially when you are starting out and needing to learn simply how to put one foot in front of the other as a vocalist.

Finally, you’re entering into a field where you are, and will forever continue to be, under constant scrutiny. You will need to find a balance between listening to the advice of others, and listening to your inner artist / inner voice ~ finding a way to reconcile and constantly balance the two. Again, in my most humble opinion, I think your gut must always have the final word, but I have always treasured the advice of those that I trust and respect. You just need to be very observant and realize who has your best interests at heart, and who is working on their own agenda. (This, by the way, can take decades to learn!)

Amen.

We do NOT need a bad imitation of another artist that has come before us (the blond one, the “Next Callas”, the skinny-one, or the “New Pavarotti” or another barihunk … Well, OK, we can always use more barihunks!). No. We need originals. We need originals desperately, and the only way that will happen is if the business fosters and encourages individuality. We want it, we crave it, and we need it. But the aspiring artists of today also have a responsibility to learn about themselves, to strongly address WHY they need to perform and what they have to say, and I think that resides in deep questions much more pressing than blond vs. brunette.

Now, all of that having been said, please know that I understand completely why you asked the question, and I’m very happy that you did. You are certainly not alone in your concerns or doubts about what is important when starting out. I think your question has allowed me the opportunity to speak about things that affect a LOT of young singers and who could truly benefit from knowing they are not alone in their insecurities, or doubts, or questions.

Thank you for reading … and here’s hoping you ALL find your own, unique, beautiful, artistic and soulful way to impact the world around you!!

That having been said:

Basta!

"Non più mesta"

Although great and emotional moments abounded during my first-ever trip to the GRAMMYs, making it a weekend I will never forget, there was one moment that towered above all the others.

The invitation to perform at the Pre-Telecast Ceremony came as a complete shock because “opera” often seems to be viewed as a somewhat dirty word outside of our world of corsets and cadenzas, and our performances are not often granted the coveted spotlight in mainstream events. (Perhaps because they’re afraid we’ll be sporting our Viking helmets?) Through rocking nerves (and without a helmet) I proudly took to the stage with my pianist and performed “Non Più Mesta” from Gioachino Rossini’s La Cenerentola. The spontaneous standing ovation that greeted us after the final high note took me completely by surprise, taking away any breath I had left from the performance, and yet this wasn’t the moment.

As they announced the winner for Best Classical Vocal Solo, time seemed to stand still, yet it simultaneously seemed to burst into slow motion as I took the stage to accept my first GRAMMY. I remember forgetting to mention my amazing husband (may I please have a do-over?), but I did manage to articulate a few words about a passion of mine: arts education and the immense challenge facing music and arts teachers across the country.

Best Classical Vocal Solo

Feeling the powerful connection in the Los Angeles Convention Center rally around that sentiment was one of the most encouraging things I have ever witnessed, and something I hope we can all continue to address. But strangely enough, this wasn’t the moment, either.

Walking the red carpet, interviews, memories of Whitney Houston, rousing performances by the top of the pop world were all remarkable moments as well, but none of them were “it.”

My moment towered at about 5 feet 3 inches in the form of a young girl, no more than 15 years old, who ran up to me, shaking with excitement. My first thought was, “Does she think I’m Adele?!?” But no, she sought me out to say the following:

“Excuse me, I just have to say you were amazing. I don’t know what kind of music it was that you did, but where can I find more of it?”

She got it, and I hope she gets it for a lifetime.

That was my moment, and it is a golden and beautiful as my new shiny GRAMMY!

Diva/Divo tops numerous lists as one of the top 10 Classical Recordings of 2011:

~ Place l’opera/Amsterdam: Solo Album of the Year

~ The New Yorker

~ Opera News

~ Time Out, NY: “The notion of doing trouser-role arias and frillier fare on the same disc isn’t altogether new, but it’s never been done with more penetrating insight or stylish range than on this smartly programmed, opulently sung recital from a mezzo who’s become America’s sweetheart.”

~ The Sunday Times

~ The Classical Review: “‘From literally the first note,’ enthused George Loomis, ‘this disc is a joy.’  Clearly reveling in the variety of challenges presented by repertoire gleefully exploiting the gender-bending provocations of trouser and castrato roles, the disc offered irresistible evidence, GL added, of ‘a major artist at the height of her powers.’”

~ Classical KUSC:  “… Joyce’s oh-so painstakingly ordered repertoire of responsorial gender-switching arias is a wonder. Naturally, it’s the alternating Pants Arias, which make this genius of programming possible. Plus it doesn’t hurt to have Joyce’s almost-paradoxically powerful & smooth pipes.”

~ Grammy Nomination for Best Classical Solo Album

~ The Star-Ledger:  “Joyce DiDonato is the reigning queen — or prince — of lyric mezzo-soprano roles. She is at her best in Rossini’s florid music, embodying the feisty, fearless spirit that makes his heroines so endearing. She also maintains jaw-dropping speed, a gratifyingly reliable trill and firm command of her range from its sweetly blooming upper reaches to its warm low notes”

~ San Francisco Classical Voice “But if I had to choose only one, it would be DiDonato’s. Here’s why:  She is astounding [...] This recital contains the 21st century’s counterpart to Golden Age vocalism.”

Broad Stage, Los Angeles

RECITAL TOUR

“OK, I’m a sap. Her Philadelphia Chamber Music Society concert in March was wonderful by any measure. But in a career that has been full of false starts (such as her time at Philadelphia’s Academy of Vocal Arts), Di Donato’s return had special meaning, summed up in her choice of encore: “Over the Rainbow.” A quiet wallop.” ~ Crescendos in a Classical Year The Philadelphia Inquirer

“Cliburn makes the list again. If the vocal recital is on death’s door, as many say it is, then Joyce DiDonato gave it a shot of adrenaline and maybe even a pacemaker. It didn’t matter much what she sang, although the program was interestingly filled with rarities. As to her voice, it is a perfectly trained and beautiful instrument that can easily navigate all of the coloratura roulades and trills of the Rossini repertoire. She is able to float the most beautiful and focused pianissimo line for entire phrases, indeed, for entire songs. She is a real mezzo, and not a push-down soprano or a push-up contralto. She is able to act without “acting” and she struck the perfect balance between what would be acceptable on stage and what works in a recital. The pianist, David Zobel, was a perfect collaborator. He never missed a note and was with her every step of the way. Those who were not in attendance really missed something awesome (as the kids would say) and important (as I would say).” ~ Best of 2011 Theater Jones

CENDRILLION

“Other Covent Garden hits this year have been Laurent Pelly’s production of Massenet’s Cendrillon with a glistening Joyce DiDonato singing the title role: Betrand de Billy’s superb musical direction combined with the directorial master of French opera, Laurent Pelly, made compelling opera.” ~ The Best of 2011 The Huffington Post

I also found myself winding back to the beginning of my sojourn in Milan, disguised as a young, ardent 17 year-old boy trying to understand the concept of not being able to hold onto anything, most notably, unable to contain or hold on to the elusive figure of time.  (When things are perfect, why can’t we KEEP them just as they are?)  Driving in from the airport the first of September I had little idea of what Milan might have in store for me, but I knew 3 months would be a very long haul; and yet on the drive back to that same airport I found myself stupefied at how quickly the time had flown, and how many diverse emotions (tanti affetti, indeed), experiences and connections I had made in such a long/short period of time.  It was rich beyond measure and a time I shall always treasure.

Light and Dark in the Milan Duomo

While the 2 worlds of Octavian & Elena/Strauss & Rossini, could not be more varied, (with the quick jump from one to the other mildly terrifying me), I did a lot of mental work to prepare myself for the challenge.  Because Octavian is such an intensive and unremitting, relentless role, I knew that any chance to work the role of  Elena back into the voice simultaneously was simply not possible.  Instead, I had to be sure to keep Octavian lean and as vocally close to the bel canto world as possible.  Vocalizing before the start of Rosenkavalier I included my normal exercises, adding in 3 or 4 of Elena’s killer phrases.  Intermissions would find me simply checking in on a trill or two, being sure that the voice was staying flexible and would continue to respond to my commands.  On my “off days”, I would simply vocally mark through the score lightly, being sure of the intonation and phrasing, but never giving full voice.  It was the only strategy I could think of to yield the result I needed.

This was a first for me, having to prepare a role this way, but it taught me a world of valuable lessons, first and foremost that the mental work we do in preparation for the stage and for singing is, bar none, the most important, beneficial and worthwhile work we can do as singers.  It enabled me to sing Octavian one night, and the next afternoon sing through the role of Elena on the stage of La Scala with orchestra without vocal fatigue setting in.  Crazy? Definitely.  But instructive? No doubt!

Curtain call as Octavian at Teatro alla Scala

During the run of Rosenkavalier, I witnessed numerous feats that humbled me and made me ever more grateful that I am a participant in this astonishingly beautiful and endlessly fascinating world of opera which never ceases to teach me far-reaching lessons: colleagues battling heart-wrenching personal challenges with immense professionalism and grace; other colleagues finding new-born confidence and revitalized passion for themselves, their lives, and for their music, a conductor methodically, passionately, and brilliantly winning over a tough orchestra with foreign, decidedly NON-Italian music, all the while inspiring his cast to new heights each and every night (under his astute and fervent guidance, the trio was a divine and fresh journey every single night that always left me seeing life in a slightly different light); a director passionately committed to finding the truth on the stage while fighting numerous “only in Italy” obstacles to allow us to do our job; and finally, a company of beautiful friends that connected deeply, lifted-up when needed, supported unfailingly and played together beautifully, all allowing for freer, more inspired performances.

It’s also the first time I felt I had truly “gotten” Octavian, because for me, at least, those Strauss roles need to be slow-cooked and simmered for a long time before they are as seasoned as you would like them to be.  And being a part of such a tremendously beautiful company made this a most memorable run for me.

Hopeful staircase in the Duomo

Sadly, it was also a very SICK company towards the end.  Our Baron Ochs was fighting an infection the entire run, our Sophie was battling severe allergies, our Maestro wavered between health and illness for weeks, we lost our Marschallin for the final performance, and on the morning of the final show I woke up with no voice.  Yep. None at all.  Now, this truly is the singer’s worst nightmare as you wake up and IMMEDIATELY know something is not right, but you’re not sure exactly what evil bug is at play. So with clenched fists and a beating heart you try out the first vocal “sigh” ~ and NOTHING arrives.  Not a peep.  I’m not talking about a morning voice that sits a bit low or groggy or froggy. I mean, not one decibel of sound is emitted because your vocal cords are incapable of coming together to vibrate.  Heed my warning: you do not want to be around a singer when this discovery is made.

By the time I arrived at the theater a few hours before the 8:00 curtain, thankfully about an octave of my voice had decided to show up, but nothing above an upper “D” ~ so to say that I was worried is a rather vast understatement.  No cover was on hand, and we had already lost a Marschallin, so canceling wasn’t really an option.  My game plan was to slowly and gingerly coax the voice into submission, while consuming obscene amounts of hot tea with all the prescribed accoutrements. I also knew that Octavian is a role that one *could* sort of barrel through if necessary, in the fact that so much of his singing is declamatory and not always exactly subtle (with those few glorious exceptions that pop out of nowhere excluded). I also knew I had a superlative conductor in the pit that would have my back, and I felt mentally that I could weather the storm.  And so I did … but I did feel as if the final note of the opera was the last one that I had in me at the end of the 4+ hours.  This meant the only possibility going forward was abundant, unrelenting rest.

I missed a full day of orchestra staging for La Donna del Lago as well as the final dress rehearsal ~ the first time in my career I have cancelled a stage rehearsal, believe it or not.  It was definitely a strange sensation for me, but I knew the only hope to get healthy enough to sing in the premiere (a mere 6 days after that final Rosenkavalier) was to shut up, lie down, and disappear from the world.  And so I did.  And recovery came … barely … but it thankfully came!

Elena, backstage

Singing Elena while operating at less than 100% vocal capacity is an entirely different beast from tip-toeing through Octavian, who can withstand the odd bruising here and there.  Elena is a role that requires every last bit of one’s vocal and artistic resources, including reserves of delicacy, finesse and grace ~ elements that are not always at one’s command while at the end of a bad throat infection.  (Oh ~ and did I mention that this was also going out live over the radio? No pressure there!)  In this vocal world of Rossini there is absolutely no place to hide.

Having had very limited rehearsal, recovering from a doozy of an infection, and standing in front of the Milanese Public no longer singing “foreign music”, but their very own BEL CANTO, I was tremendously nervous.  But I was also immensely honored to be there and knew that being a part of such a distinguished group of Rossini singers, it had the potential to be a most memorable night.  So I simply took a leap of faith and went for it.  And I’m glad I did.

Not everything worked as perfectly as I wanted it to, but this is the very reason we singers work so hard on our techniques – so that it can sustain us in times of crisis and trouble. But I’ll tell you, a strong will helps immeasurably, because I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of singing for the expectant public that night, nor for having the chance to dedicate the performance to my Father, who passed away on that day, 5 years prior.  Singing “Fra il padre…” that evening held such special meaning for me, that I selfishly didn’t want to miss the chance to connect with my memories of him in a very meaningful way.

An emotional ending to an intensive week

As I came out for my curtain call, astounded by the ovation and the warmth of the public, the emotion overwhelmed me deeply and I felt as if I was clearly stamping that moment in time in my heart thinking, “Don’t ever forget this feeling, Joyce”.  (I had a similar sensation 10 years earlier debuting on that very same stage as I got the end of “Non piu mesa” and couldn’t believe what had just happened, making the mental note “Always remember this, Joyce”.)  But a decade later, while the sensation was pregnant with very different meaning, and I am surely a very different person and artist from those earlier days, I still allowed myself the enjoyment of drinking in that moment fully.

See? When I say the stage and opera teach me, I really mean it:  I cannot forever REMAIN on stage bathing in the applause, or continue holding a high note or trill trying to keep that moment in time forever, and I can certainly never REPLICATE exactly an emotion or musical phrase, because I am no machine ~ I can only do the living of the moment, and let what happens happen.

But what I love to do is take note of the moment and smile, feel it, drink it in, and live it fully, knowing that it cannot be kept.  If I can truly do that, the satisfaction that comes is pure, so I feel safe to move on to the next moment. And then the next. Just as the Marschallin tries to instruct Octavian to do, for we really cannot HOLD a moment in time.  We can NEVER recreate the very same trill that “worked” from one night to the next.  We have to simply do the work it takes to succeed again with renewed conviction and relish the tumultuous, unpredictable, always surprising act of living that follows.

"...tanta felicità..."

I wish each and every one of you the most wonderful Thanksgiving, full of numerous things that scream for your gratitude!