Opera Rocks

End's Beginning

2012-02-03T10:28:00.000+01:00

Parsifal Ends

Artists are like creatures

who swallow themselves.

We process our lives into what we make.

-Schaeffer, Frank (2008-09-30).
Crazy for God

I don't know.
I'll say it again …
I don't know.

I thought I did, but I don't.

-Me, just now
Opera Rocks

At the risk of opening old wounds, I'll continue to admit to being deeply effected by the Castellucci Parsifal, performed at La Monnaie. And it ended February 20, 2011.

Over a year ago.

I can give no clearer evidence as to how affecting that production was than to show what came next.

Hamburg Cavalleria Rusticana, Turiddu
(21Feb-12Mar) Rehearsals for this notoriously punishing role started 48 hours after the end of Parsifal. Performance 2 days after that.

And quite possibly the worst singing I've ever done onstage. Getting my ass firmly groped, waiting for the curtain calls or having been slipped tongue by an elderly colleague were the only highlights.

Stuttgart Parsifal (14Mar-3Apr) Not much harm done here. By golly, I had 3 days off between the Turiddu and Parsifal. My throat actually never left Wagner-land (which was the problem with Turiddu) so going back to it quickly was no prob. In fact, it was a real treat to be back doing this insane production. PLUS the added bonus of meeting blogging mofo, James Jorden.

Vacation in Budapest (8-12Apr) A few days spent there, to celebrate my wife's birthday. More travel. No sleep unmedicated. Came home more exhausted than when I left. But I shouldn't complain. I got precisely 3 days off before my agent called, saying DOB needed a replacement for a sick tenor in Carmen. *Poof* There went my downtime.

Is this MY bed I'm sleeping in?! Can't be!! Hold on a minute! The trade off is the kids get up at 630am to go to school??? Can't they sneak out the door quietly? MUST they whine so much so early next to my bedroom door? Aw hell. I'll deal with it. Or at least I tried to. Usually Val got up first.

Deutsche Oper Carmen, Don Jose (19Apr-13May) I had a few days of rehearsing, a Carmen with bad allergies, and ended up singing each performance with a different colleague. Mediocrity by moi ensued.

I spent each performance trying to remember the dialogue and not bust into "Nur eine Waffe taugt."

Babes of the Ballroom

Lisbon Carmen, Don Jose -Posts-
(14May-27Jun, 9 Performances) The sun was shining. The Carmen rocking. The dancers stunning. And the cerveza plenty. We even had BARBECUE'S! You can tell you are no longer making opera in Germany when you and your colleagues actually leave your hotel rooms.

I mentioned the stunning dancers, right? Well, my mood picked up from the local sights and sounds and I became (slightly) happier with my singing.

And then it ended. What promised to go wrong in an awful Cavalleria 3 months earlier in Hamburg, finally did.

NEXT UP: Going downhill. Slowly.
________________________
Much thanks for so many who have written in the past 24 hours expressing your well wishes and encouragement to keep writing, particularly Opera Cake and my Monnaie friends. It has meant a great deal.

Final Blame

2012-02-02T23:39:00.001+01:00

The Blame Game is Over.

Scratching your head? "What the heck was he trying to say anyway?"

I'll tell you…tomorrow. But today, it's time to turn the page. Time to stand up and recognize that season is done. Finally … My left hand longs for his qwerty friend.

Uh, that didn't sound right....

UPCOMING: La Battaglia di Legnano in Trieste (or, how to learn a new role in 3 weeks time)

A domani!

No Fun

2012-01-13T16:57:00.000+01:00

Ok. Time to get going again.

First post of Opera Rocks 2.0. Or…after the burn out.

Constancy |ˈkänstənsē|

2011-11-14T12:14:00.001+01:00

Porgy

the quality of being

faithful,
dependable,

enduring and
unchanging

Nothing good comes in a week that begins over-hearing information passed from one person to another being about oneself:

"He's an opera singer, that's why he sounds that way. But he's never around…"

Good intentions aside, the quantifier of that sentence is the hardest thing for any singer to weather, especially with a family.

And pets.

Our family feline passed away Saturday. Now I'm not, in principle, a cat person. I grew up on a farm and cats were more practical than played with. Dogs were for playing and petting. Cats were for vermin control. But as a city dweller, they are really the only possible solution for oft-moving singer families. For professional reasons, we have moved 8 or 9 times in the past 18 years, the life span of our cat "Porgy."

We purchased him as a kitten, only a month before our oldest daughter was born. What was a gift for my wife soon became my chore, however. Pregnancy and changing catboxes don't mix. It became easy to hold a grudge on that fact.

I am hard-pressed to find an explanation for why a family pet became such an integral part of the family. But if I had to, I would say he was the measuring stick of the passage of time, of seasons. It is strange to look back over the span of a single full lifespan. It was not a life cut short, but one fully lived, so his death feels less like a tragedy, and more like a season of providence. And at every point in the past 18 years there is a distinct impression one has as to who the cat was in relation to the point of time. He was a tangible point of reference thru the lives of our 3 children.

And now he is gone.

Porgy's consistency is inversely proportional to the time I've spent travelling, away. I tend to beat myself up for being away from home so much. I don't get the opportunities most father's get. And yet… my oldest daughter is the most courageous person I know. My teenaged son, when asked to help out and do a chore jumps up and willingly replies "Sure. No prob." My musically gifted "favorite youngest daughter" comes home from school and can't wait to spend time with me doodling around in Garageband recording an Adele song. Somehow my absence has not dealt our family an insurmountable obstacle of being close.

Which does not lessen the pain I felt reading my son and daughter's Facebook status yesterday. "RIP Porgy. The one constant in my life. We will miss you." It hurts that it it is reference to a cat and not a father.

I was slated to sing the Paul Creston Psalm 23 in church yesterday. I had a feeling Porgy would be passing this week. He had become incontinent, senile, blind, deaf and exceedingly wobbly of limb in the past month. Finally on Friday he no longer rose from his bed and we knew the end was near. The last time I had sung the Creston was at my Gramma's funeral, about 15 years ago. And so the song again was sung in honor of another beloved family member yesterday. Not an easy thing to do, given the emotions of the weekend.

Creston Psa 23 excerpt by Andrew Richards

I'll spare you the rest as the emotions kinda got away from me…

Consistency has always been a challenge for me. I suffer a bit from "baby out with the bathwater" syndrome. B.O.B.S. for short. And that's basically what I've been reconciling myself to in the "Blame" series of posts: allowing seemingly insignificant portions of my life to factor in. As a B.O.B.'S sufferer, not all of life's challenges need be relegated to factors within our control. Sometimes we fail due to our humanity. But our humanity need not be expunged. I can grow and develop, so long as it's in character to the context of what has come before. The baby is finally safe from being tossed out.

A cat's character taught me that.

I Blame Kim Kardashian

2011-11-04T16:12:00.001+01:00

Kim lovin' her Chanel bag

from Business Week:

A grim-looking Kim Kardashian said "intuition" led her to end her 72-day-old marriage, insisting … there was no "right or wrong" way to handle the situation…

"I think when you know so deep in your heart that you just have to listen to your intuition, and follow your heart," Kardashian replied. "There's no right or wrong thing to do."

The first question that pops in my brain when I read this is: "What does this have to do with Business?" And the second was:

"Girls got BACK!"

Wait. That wasn't a question. I'm teetering on losing my train of thought. Easily done in hotel rooms on the interweb thingy.

The article finishes:

Kardashian rose to fame after a sex tape featuring her and a former boyfriend went public. She parlayed her notoriety into modeling gigs, a lucrative reality TV empire and fashion and beauty lines.

We care what Kim says because WHY?! She made a sex tape?! People care about what you say because you make a porn movie?! I missed that memo.

Still grappling with the discipline of staying on subject…

Intuition can mislead. It can lie to you. And artists' intuition is the most deceptive of all. Intuition, left unchecked, will kick you in your privates. So much of learning in the past 40 years is intuitive-based. Computer systems and software are all marketed by their "intuitive design." That means you don't really have to think deeply about using the interface. Usage is self-evident.

Singing ain't.

Let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance*. Proverbs 1:5

Just not from idiots who own expensive bags.

Loutalllica

2011-10-31T20:32:00.005+01:00

I really wanted this to work

In the news today: Metallica and Lou Reed teaming up to re-investigate Lulu. Lou Reed is a bit before my time, but Metallica? One of Rock's greatest bands in the past 20 years. Required listening for anyone under the age of 40, which my passport says I am.

The critics responses seem underwhelming. My favorite comment:

"This is 1960s coffee-shot beat poetry set to skull-crushing riffs or psychedelic haze. If you must listen to this, it probably makes sense only if you're extremely high."

I think I'll pass on that and try to listen to it like a responsible (boring) opera singer.

My experience with Lulu has been as mixed as I bet this album will be. First in Basel, with my fateful evening of meeting Calixto Bieito. Here's the fantastic mezzo, Tanja Baumgartner singing Graefen Geschwitz. (Happy Birthday, Tanja!)

Later…after listening to Loutallica…

Ok, I'll finally admit it. I slept thru portions of the Basel Lulu. Something about this show does not connect with me. Everyone says it's the pinnacle of 20th century musical theater. But you'd think the 20ft posters of Lulu's naked form would have kept me awake. My wife sleeps thru movies with overly jittery camera work. I sleep through opera's where the harmonic structure is too dense.

And every time Lou Reed starts sprechstimming, my eyes glaze over. Without his neo rapping, I think it might've worked.

I'll make sure to give it another listen to the next time I'm in Amsterdam. Brownies make all things better, right?

Brene Brown: The power of vulnerability

2011-10-27T03:31:00.000+02:00

Brene Brown: The power of vulnerability | Video on TED.com

Required viewing for artists. And tenors.

I blame JAZZ and JETS

2011-10-16T20:21:00.000+02:00

PART FOUR in a look at the the things

just WAITING to trip up a "serious" artist's path

And then joyfully putting all the onus on them

I was privileged enough to get to go and listen to the Nils Landgren Quartet at Kammermusiksaal in Berlin this week. Oh, the pain of it all, to have to listen to a consumate trombonist (my original instrument) playing and crooning so far beyond my capabilities I could cry.

I bought his albums, took them home, sat there and played them until 2 in the morning and continued my girly man cry.

The same thing happened when Take 6 came out. They took my initial musical dream of taking religious themed music and infusing them with vocal jazz. Jesus was finally gonna swing!

Before hearing Take 6 I'd had the pleasure of working alongside Gene Puerling and the Hi-Lo's, the greatest influence in vocal jazz to date (along with the sister act of the Singers Unlimited).

And what did it get me?

A belief in experimentation. And expression. And Choices, all free to make and enjoy. The Pasture, all waiting to be grazed and experienced. Sure you had a chord structure to follow, but the grass was all green.

A jazz player is given one great gift: Freedom. Freedom to interpret, to play, safety to linger and develop a phrase. Deeply personal choices are evident in each players licks. Just as you can tell the nature of an opera singer by the simple sound of their voice, you can tell the soul of the player by the modalities they use in an extended solo. It's all there if you have time to imbibe.

Opera is not Jazz. Time is more often short.

After a series of highly stimulating productions I began to come back to the real world of 'normal.' And normal opera doesn't have time to waste. Performances are arranged to maximize for most bang for your buck. After having done new productions where you spend so much time in rehearsals--often around 7 weeks of (unpaid) rehearsal time--we're tempted to make up for it and cram in as many performances as we can. Less and less of a premium is placed on …

REST.

And so the safety net needed to afford the artistic ideals of experimentation and freedom to explore gets trampled on.

I used to be afraid of Muti. He has a reputation for being tough. But lately having heard reports of people saying the Berlin Phil hasn't played so well since the days of von Karajan, I'm thinking I'll welcome the opportunities.

All I gotta do is Survive.

I blame Sam Ramey

2011-10-08T19:54:00.052+02:00

Part 3 in a Series on the Freedom of

Taking Absolutely No Personal Responsibility

The first 20 years of my life was sitting in meetings like the one you hear Sam (gloriously) preach above. A little less spoken about offerings, and a lot more spoken about damnation.

I was recently asked by my new friends, the Cana-Danes, about my upbringing, since we had shared some of the similar life experience as Americans. They had bravely departed the Americas nearly 30 years ago, myself only 6. We spoke a bit on life's early experiences that shape who we have become.

And I think one aspect of early life that has been both curse and blessing is having been raised a fundamentalist.

[Note: This is a "Lovers of Doctrine" beware disclaimer. Seriously. Just pass this one over. You'll probably be happier.]

When I was a teenager I put in my bid to be baptized. It's a terrifying experience to ask that of the church elders. You are called into a back room and basically given the 3rd degree about your religious beliefs and experiences by a group of 5 or so men, all seemingly suspicious of your relationship to the Lord. This aspect of constant judgement, or spiritual discernment as it is more nicely called, was simply a fact of life. Righteousness was Priority #1.

Every step of the fundamentalist's life is measured in rightness and wrongness. There is no gray to The Called. Our tradition was based on the principle that The Bible was the inerrant Word of God, therefore all decisions could be pretty easily figured out. All you had to do was be devout and the answers would come (with approval from the Elders.) And if it weren't mentioned in the New Testament, there was no sense dwelling on it. It was useless frivolity. Like music. Or education.

I have to laugh when Sam sings in the clip "You could end up in Hell tonight just by stepping of the curb and getting hit by a bus!" I grew up hearing that line or a close derivation every Sunday evening. For 20 years. By the time I had that meeting with the Elders the synapses of living in fear and doubt were well formed. I figured I'd sought salvation 40 or 50 times. One HAD to have stuck.

At the time, the most recent call to ask Jesus into my heart happened when I came home from school, expecting a full house, and found no one home. With cars in the driveway. And dinner in the oven. And no note. I was really quite certain the Rapture had happened and ran around the house hysterically, crying for Jesus to save me, that I REALLY didn't want to get a 666 on my forehead. There and then I asked Him again into my heart, if He'd just make sure He'd hadn't gotten the timing wrong.

Mid-prayer, I remembered my brother had a football game and I was supposed to meet everyone at the football field. I stopped sobbing and swore to be a missionary or something. Hmmm, sounds like I ought to be blaming Frankie Schaeffer.

I was fairly positive I was heaven bound.

"Fairly positive" wasn't enough for the Elders and I was refused baptism cuz I couldn't nail down my eternal destination to one specific moment of decision. I'd had lots of those moments with varying degrees of fervancy. Never mind I was a nice young man, had never dreamt of going to a dance or a movie, had shorter hair than anyone I knew, never kissed a girl or doing anything remotely criminal. And swearing had never passed my lips.

But certainty of salvation was a part of doctrine that must be strictly enforced, lest some of the unredeemed penetrate the camp. And so this 14 year old boy was turned away from steps toward church membership. Not one of life's biggest embarrassments, but probably in the top 10.

What was learned? How to work really hard and seek approval. How to question yourself, your motives. How to seek to fix every aspect of your sinful self. In short, how to never rest within oneself. Every thought and action was to be judged. Intent of man sprung for a sinful and broken heart. And Righteousness was the answer. Not that that came from within, but from Without.

Needless to say, lessons learned in the strictest settings don't easily fit into the artistic environ.

I'm thankful for parents who had the foresight to withdraw from the church I grew up in, to seek a bit more grace and liberty. But it's awfully hard to escape the habit of needing to be fixed.

And harder still to recognize we are all fearfully and wonderfully made. Perhaps the only fixing that needs to be done is to live in the reality of that fact.

So I blame the malaise and illness of the past months on the likes of Reverend Blitch. Meanwhile, I can't get his seductive voice out of my head. "Fix me, O Lord!"

Poster Boy

2011-10-05T13:35:00.004+02:00

Wait a minute? Who is that on the
cover of the Jahrbuch??

I just received this email from Peter de Caluwe:

Dear friends,

I am very honoured to be able to announce to all artists that have participated in our recent season 10/11 that La Monnaie/de Munt has been crowned Operahouse of the Year by the renowned Opernwelt in their Jahrbuch 2011.

We also were given the Award for Best Production of the year for our new production of Les Huguenots. The youngest of our season's artists, soprano Yulia Lehzneva who made her scenic debut in this production, has been selected Most Promising Singer of the Year (Nachwuchssängerin des Jahres).

But also many other artists and new productions (Matsukase, Kat'a and Parsifal to name only these three) have been mentioned in the listings of the fifty members of the Jury. Their response to our house and its programming is overwhelming! So is the international press-reaction today in many newspapers and on many sites.

Peter de Caluwe
(No, he didn't send me this photo
with the email)

Needless to say this is a very welcome recognition of our work here in Brussels; these Awards given by the cream of international journalists is of the highest importance for our sector. Furthermore, it is the first time a non german speaking house has been offered this title. We are happy to share it with you and all those who have been our partners in realizing this; it has only been possible to achieve this thanks to the fantastic work you have been delivering for us, in opera, dance, concert and recital!

We trust you will share this enthusiasm and invite you to read the arguments why we have been given this recognition on www.opernwelt.de or www.lamonnaie.be

Nice reading indeed. Hope to see you soon and enjoy the moment of glory (so transitory...)!!!

All very best wishes,
Peter

Eva Kleinitz

(reprinted with permission)

I could not be prouder for Mr. de Caluwe, the poster boy of innovative theater. Congratulations! I'm also extremely pleased to see his contract has been extended until 2019.

I also think it must be said that much of the attention need be focussed on Eva Kleinitz, now Operndirektor of Stuttgart. I have to think that it was under her careful attention that the 2011 season was so successful.

Congratulations to her and the chorus of Stuttgart for being named"Opera Chorus of the Year."

I blame the Hair

2011-10-04T22:50:00.011+02:00

Being a tenor is all about how the pants fit, right?

Or lack thereof.

I miss my hair. A lot. It all began here, the Bologna Samson. They put me in that wig and I was hooked. Seeing myself in this wig is almost as memorable as the posturing the other tenor and I did, trying to look prettier. Thru the run of performances each of us tried to outdo the other is states of undress in the staging of Act 2.

Yeah, his pecs were bigger, but my gluts beat his.

I could be wrong on that count …

I didn't really foresee how cutting my hair could affect my psyche. There was this liberation, doing it. It was during the Castellucci Parsifal and they had already crafted a (short haired) wig for me, having spent hundreds of man hours doing so. Trying the finished wig on with a pleased Castellucci looking on, I saw that my agents were right, I might be a little bit more acceptable if I looked a little less like Jesus, and more like a tenor. So I finally decided to play ball and cut it off.

That first day post haircut, walking into rehearsal … Roméo's jaw hit the floor. He gave me a big hug and said "Thank you! The wig was ok, but this is real. It's just what I wanted in this Parsifal. No Jesus's!" The rest is history and I'm glad to see this production is still not done. It will be remounted in Italy in the very near future.

Lucas Cranoch "Samson and Delilah"

But coming out of the production, I felt marooned. Each Parsifal production have been the high water mark for me personally. To make such a drastic change, within the safety and security of known surroundings, felt right. But leaving it? Pure hell.

Samson was seen as a holy man. He was also known as a proud mofo. And impulsively, he let down his guard, traded in something known for an unknown and he lost himself. I grew to know long hair. And then it left.

And so did confidence.

Had it not, I would have taken a stronger stance against the sexual harassment that was coming.

I blame the Sun

2011-10-03T16:14:00.005+02:00

I'm not a person who is really into assigning blame. Personally, I think it's one of the biggest time and energy sucks out there. Figuring out the Why or spending mental energy guessing reasons, when there are too many unknown variables bores me to tears.

This might seem to fly in the face of the fact I'm a bit of a wanker, when analyzing stuff. I can over-analyze just about anything. One time I fell down a flight of stairs when I was trying to analyze how my legs were actually moving me up the stairs. I'm walking up them, thinking: "Wow. Legs are amazing things. How do muscles work? How does the mind control each at the same …" WHAM. I fell down the stairs.

There's a sermon in there somewhere.

But I've decided blaming the past 4 months on something might be beneficial. So today I'll begin with the center of our earth's orbit, the Sun. Seems logical if you know what to look for.

I'm currently in Copenhagen singing Cavaradossi. I don't mind saying it's not been an easy ride. I got here, did a few days rehearsal, then went home, because … well. More on that later. Anyway, it's not been an easy time.

I returned and after 6 performances am beginning to find a groove again. Like I said, Recovery sucks.

Here's my beautiful studio apartment the opera provided. Its nice, isn't it? Perhaps a bit sterile, but you come to expect that in corporate housing. Its in the great part of town, quiet, sleeps 4 and the internet works. What more could you ask for?

A darker fricking room to sleep in, that's what!!!

And if tonight my soul may find peace

in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,

and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower

then I have dipped again in God, and new-created.

D.H. Lawrence

I work nights. When peforming I don't go to bed until 3 or later. And when the sun comes streaming thru the skylights at 6:30 in the morning, it kinda hampers the singer's sleep habits.

I solved the problem though.

When I was moving in, the other tenor was moving out and he and his wife said they'd put their baby to sleep in the bathroom in the crib. After a few sleepless nights I decided I would do the same. Problem is the bathroom is precisely as long as the bed with a door that opens inwards. So nightly I move the bed in, stand it on end, shut the door, lay bed down and then realize I've forgotten to turn the light off, the switch being on the outside of the bathroom. So i stand the bed back up, turn off light, then stumble around in the dark putting the bed down.

The downside? If there were a fire, I would be toast. The upside? Nothing to stub your toe on in the middle of the night when you have to take a leak.

Yeah, it's the sun's fault.

Strange Providence

2011-10-02T23:11:00.001+02:00

Over the past months I have gotten more than a few admonitions to peck a bit at the keyboard, to share the journey. I can't quite describe how it feels to have people insisting I pick up the pen again. On one side I'm thankful for their interest. On the other, I feel a bit like a recipient of a proctology exam. I don't like pressure.

The Road of Recovery is not an easy one. But the Universe abhors a vacuum and we move on.

The temptation to overstate, to create drama and intrigue around one's Recovery is great. We don't like to admit frailty. We want to blame, to find reasonable (read: PR-worthy) explanations that explain our struggles. Every instinct makes us think we must protect ourselves, our reputations and create enough drama to compete in the marketplace of the now. Explanations and excuses must be spin-able, grandiose, and be sympathetic.

But the truth usually holds far less intrigue. The truth of the matter is some of us are working too hard.

And when we aren't working, the days off between performances, we are doing nothing to bring richness into our lives. We've all read stories of retiring divas and divos who say they want to be tourists in the cities they worked, because when they sang there all they ever saw was their hotel room. Perhaps it's a soprano and tenor thing. The baritones and basses seem to have a lot more fun.

I've been in Copenhagen on and off for 3 weeks. I'll explain the "on and off" later, but it's taken me that long to step outside my apartment and breath in this fantastic city. But even that would not have happened except for the providence of strangers.

I was standing in line to board the water taxi back over to Nyhavn from the opera after a noon matinee yesterday. Having gotten a hair cut I am no longer immediately recognizable leaving the theater, especially when I've worn a Samson length wig onstage. I'm far from a celebrity and I try hard not to look especially needy after a show holding a gold pen ready to sign programs before being asked, though I've been known to tip the guy in Verona who goes in front of me thru Piazza Bra shouting my name.

On this occasion, I did have my biggest fan, a wonderful Parisian lady, poking people saying: "That's the tenor." I swear I don't pay her to do that.

She happened to tell the ladies standing next to me who had enjoyed the performance of Tosca and we all got talking. 24 hours later, and i've finally sat down to begin to write again. There were so many questions asked by them in our dinners together I realized I actually hadn't run out of things to say. If anything, thru meeting these 3 inquisitive and knowledgeable ladies, I realized I wanted to.

The question remains: do I tell the truth or do I fabricate a brain tumor?

I'd suck at PR.

Walking Away

2011-07-20T05:02:00.000+02:00

I just can't seem to catch a break.

There's no easy way to say this, but I've had to walk away from the Colon debut as Adorno. Illness has prevented it and so I'm heading back home to recoup. In giving this news I was blown away by the support and understanding the administration gave.

There's nothing else to say. Just terribly sad not to be singing tonight. All the best to Angela Marambio and Roberto Frontali and my other colleagues there. It is an honor to have been here with them and our director Jose Maria Condemi.

Life on the road sucks.

Sitzing Around

2011-07-13T14:30:00.009+02:00

Opera: Simon Boccanegra

Theater: Teatro Colón, Buenos Aires

Director: Jose Maria Condemi

Conductor: Stefano Ranzani

My view: Teatro Colón

Been in Buenos Aires for a couple weeks now, and let me tell you, the air ain't so beautiful. Major smog in this city, and even stronger fumes onstage.* And it wasn't me!

I believe I have actually lost weight eating steak every night. It is truly a meat lover's paradiso. Reminds me of growing up on the farm, when my Dad used to make goat jerky in the Arizona sun. The grilling restaurants line the streets, and one looks better than the next. But after two weeks being here, i think I'm ready for a salad.

Sang in the theater today for the first time. Colón is said to be one of the 5 best acoustics in the world. It seats nearly 3 thousand, much larger than European standards, but easier to sing in by far. Very singer friendly from the stage, though we were forced to stand on the lip of the stage with the fire curtain close behind us. Never a comfy feeling for me who's always afraid of falling in the pit.

Maestro Ranzani

Maestro Ranzani is a miracle to make music with. I had done a Butterfly with him in Berlin a couple years ago and I like him then. I like him even more now. We just have fun making music together. He's the non-pedantic sort. Italian. All about the language and phrasing the music. Heaven help the singer who doesn't bring musicianship to rehearsal cuz he just sorta rolls his eyes, and demands you make music. He's the sort that likes to play and work hard at the same time. One instrumentalist made the mistake of cracking up a bit too much and poof, the rehearsal was over. Note to self: sitzprobe's not the place to mess about.

Next Up…The Players

Angela Marambio in the Sitzprobe

*During today's sitzprobe the stage hands decided it was a good day to glue the set together. The singers nearly had to be carried from the building.

Ho Hum…5 Stars

2011-07-13T04:05:00.001+02:00

My family hates to travel with me.

I turn into Mr. Villazon, I mean, Bean unpacking for the hotel/apartment stay. I spend more of my year in them so I gotta make it a little homey. I don't usually put nails in the walls, but I have been known to drill screws into window frames to hang black out curtains on (I travel with a roll of thick black garbage bags for this necessity). And all of this must be done the moment I arrive. It's a compulsion I don't fight.

I arrived in Buenos Aires a few days ago after a 300hour flight from Berlin. Ok, it was more like 24. I had happened to get major claustrophobia in the flight too. Lately I've been picking window seats on long over night flights. Big mistake.

So arriving at the hotel provided for the Boccanegra artists, was pleased to see it was 5 stars. Very happy they were taking care of us so well. Left to my own devices I don't usually stay in 5 star, but max out at 4. Gotta bring home the bacon, not spend it. But since they were providing, I wasn't complaining.

And then I walked in my room.

10ftX10ft of 5 Stars…for a month

It's well put together, nicely furnished. It even has chairs to sit in, though none really comfortable (you'd be surprised how few hotels on the road provide a decent chair anymore, nothing you'd ever want to sit in to do more than tie your shoe).

I happen to love wood floors. Having grown up in Arizona and always having carpet in the house, really prefer it. I was very pleased that the room had it. Until the next day. The entire night the person upstairs drug their chair across the floor making a terrible scraping sound. I finally called management and screamed in the phone to tell the person upstairs to shut the bloody H up. I felt better, but the sounds haven't stopped. Oh well. There's always ear plugs.

Now if I could just do something about the view....

Chateau D'If had a better view, I'm sure.

Jay Jay Johanson

2011-07-11T23:22:00.004+02:00

Stepping back in the fray……

I was busy trying to figure out what to do with my hair. Get off my back. :-b

(if that video is blocked in your country you can listen to the song here)

Jay-Jay Johanson - So Tell The Girls That I Am Back In Town

Found at abmp3 search engine

George M. Cohan: Citizen and Tax Evader

2011-05-30T23:29:00.002+02:00

I was so struck by Ed Rosen posting Caruso's recording of "Over There" on Facebook today to commemorate the American Memorial Day I had to do some research on my newest hero: George M. Cohan, a name all singers owe a great debt of gratitude.

Known for writing songs with "catchy tunes and clever lyrics" George was also a rebel.

From here:

In 1914, Cohan became one of the founding members of ASCAP. Although Cohan was known as extremely generous to his fellow actors in need, in 1919, he unsuccessfully opposed a historic strike by Actors' Equity Association, for which many in the theatrical professions never forgave him. Cohan opposed the strike because in addition to being an actor in his productions, he was also the producer of the musical that set the terms and conditions of the actors' employment. During the strike, he donated $100,000 to finance the Actors' Retirement Fund in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey. After Actors' Equity was recognized, Cohan refused to join the union as an actor, which hampered his ability to appear in his own productions. Cohan sought a waiver from Equity allowing him to act in any theatrical production. In 1930, Cohan sued the U.S. Internal Revenue Service, winning a ruling that allowed the deduction, for federal income tax purposes, of business travel and entertainment expenses.

In the life of a travelling singer, that's no small thing. To paraphrase George "My wife thanks you, my children thank you and I thank you."

Here is that great Caruso recording:

Thank you George M. Cohan for making being an opera singer financially possible. But most importantly, thank you to all those who have served in the Armed Forces. Your sacrifice is great.

ありがとう

2011-05-29T12:36:00.001+02:00

I was told yesterday the word "Obrigado" was the root for Japanese "Arigato." I scoffed at the suggestion.

Turns out, if Wikipedia is correct (and who's to say it is…) it may very well be:

The Portuguese established their base in the "Spice Islands" on the island of Ambon.^[39] Fernão Pires de Andradevisited Canton in 1517 and opened up trade with China, where in 1557 the Portuguese were permitted to occupy Macau. Japan, accidentally reached by three Portuguese traders in 1542, soon attracted large numbers of merchants and missionaries. In 1522 one of the ships in the expedition that Ferdinand Magellan organized in the Spanish service completed the first voyage around the world.

There may have been struggle through the ages here in Portugal, but there aren't any in this Stephen Medcalf production (co-produced with Cagliari) apart from having drunk too much port the night before a 10am rehearsal. Seriously, what person is responsible for starting work before 2pm? They need to be shot.

The arrival of the Portuguese in Japan, the first Europeans
who managed to reach it, initiating the Nanban ("southern barbarian")
period of active commercial and cultural exchange between Japan and the West.

Up until now we have had mostly 2 session days. 10-1 and 3-6pm. Lunches around the corner together at a local cafeteria where you get grilled steak or chicken for 5 euros, beer included. After 2nd rehearsal, drinks at a terrace near the theater at 7. Usually by 8pm we're all in a restaurant, still together, and get home around 11pm (no, not together). Phone calls home (trying not to let on I'm "working" so hard) and sleep by 1am. Up at 8 to do it all again. It's a good thing we all get along…

But now things get a bit more serious. Friday was our filage, our final rehearsal room run, before moving the production onstage. Thankfully, the crew ran into some problems getting the stage ready in time, so we were given Saturday off, making a two day weekend. I predict come Monday the energy of the production will change rather drastically. Up til now, fun and games, but once in the theater pretty serious. And then I'll start taking pictures of the production and talking more about it. Truthfully, the production is not ground breaking, just good theater. That makes extensive writing about it challenging. But this coming week I'll try to shed some light on it.

Which begs the question: without drama, what good is a blog? Everyone is getting along too well. I think we need to stop having cocktails together and have a big yelling match.

So, I'll begin it: Rini is such a jerk! She makes me look like a dork onstage.

Yeah. That should do it.

C'est toi?

2011-05-24T19:56:00.000+02:00

Saw this in the hallway of Sao Carlos today.

Tempting …

Cause Pause

2011-05-23T19:43:00.001+02:00

Thematically, I fear I'm Johnny One Note these days. "Pick yerself up. Dust yerself off. Start all over again." And I really don't know why. I can't say I've suffered anything, except the psychological let-down after the Castellucci Parsifal or the sunburn now seen on my shoulders, after spending the weekend in Belém, and Cascais with my visiting kids. Life's been really good. And I've got fantastic kids.

But I can't escape the thoughts that seem to captivate me these days about survival. Perhaps it's because my son told me the inventor of a Segway died … on a Segway. Overlooking a cliff.

His timing was impecable. He told me that tidbit yesterday standing on a cliff … both of us on (you guessed it) a Segway.

Life is precarious. And full of risk.

Jeff Beal

So, perusing Facebook this morning my attention was caught by a school friends post of her husband's Commencement address at our alma mater, Eastman School of Music. I was so moved by it, I asked if I could re-print it here and Jeff Beal has agreed. He is a survivor of adversity and knows real suffering. And success.

Here are his full remarks:

Thank you Dean Lowry and President Seligman for the honor of speaking to you all today and sharing this wonderful event in the life of the class of 2011. Itʼs hard to imagine itʼs been all of twenty six years since 1985; I was right down there, in this same audience with you, getting ready to begin the exciting, but also terrifying adventure of a life past the rich artistic cocoon of the Eastman School. I suppose, for the next few minutes, you could consider me a metaphorical time traveler, back from your future, here to share some thoughts with you as you begin your own journeys.

The very first topic that popped into my head when Dean Lowry invited me here to speak to you was a rather unexpected one - the word was FAILURE. Reading my career highlights, and noting Iʼm from California, you might have assumed Iʼd bring a more upbeat message, perhaps an inspirational Deepak Chopra, Tony Robbins type invocation about - SUCCESS!

However a realistic self-examination of my life cannot refute this core truth: It is precisely the many failures; learning from them, persistently moving forward, over, under, or just getting past them, that are the defining elements in our journeys. So, letʼs get the bad news out of the way; no amount of preparation, practice, diligence, nor advice from me can prevent you from the failures and rejections awaiting you. Some of these will be of your own making and others through no fault of your own. But it will be your response to these road blocks; how you learn from them, persevere, innovate, fine tune your skills and try again, that will define you, and contribute most significantly to the creation of your lives, and your legacies as artists.

After graduating from Eastman in 1985 and moving to New York City, my aspirations for a career as a jazz trumpeter and composer met with some modest success, but never quite clicked. It didnʼt feel like the right fit for all that I wanted to express, and I briefly considered leaving music for another career. But I persisted and kept composing and recording. I loved it too much to quit. Ultimately, it was this experience as a jazz artist; rooted in principles of collaborative creativity, that found the right home in film composing, a career that brings me great joy and artistic fulfillment to this day.

I remember well when I first knew I had to become an orchestral composer. I was 16, sitting in the trumpet section of the Oakland Youth Symphony in California, rehearsing Stravinsky's masterpiece, The Rite Of Spring. Between trumpet passages, I poured over the score, marveling at Stravinskyʼs gift for orchestration. I couldnʼt forget the history of the scandalous premiere of the Rite in Paris. I loved that ironic story; that one of concert musicʼs most highly regarded works was welcomed by riot in the theater and critical rejection. A colossal public failure.

I had my own public failure early on in my scoring career. I was hired to write the theme and underscore for a new TV show, called “Monk” starring Tony Shalhoub. The show became a hit, but as season two approached I heard from my agent that the producers wanted to change all of the music, because thats what producers do, change things. Randy Newman was hired to replace my theme, and another composer was hired to write new underscore. It was a very public rejection of my work and it stung. I assumed my career was over, but unexpectedly, after these decisions were made public, fans and journalists rallied around my theme. Petitions and articles were written. I was nominated and won my first Emmy award, for my Monk theme. The producers admitted they missed my underscore and asked to hire me back. I accepted and continued on to finish the showʼs eight season run. What had seemed like a career-ending failure, turned out to be a pivotal time of growth and validation

Most of last week was spent on a film-dubbing stage in Los Angeles- mixing my musical score into a new movie called Wilde-Salome. The director and star is the legendary actor Al Pacino. After a difficult and often frustrating creative journey that took Al 5 years to complete, all of us with him were excited and relieved to be finishing the movie, which will premiere at the Venice Film Festival in September. My music editor reminded me that this stage was the very same place where 10 years ago we mixed my score into another actor driven project. That was for Ed Harris, and the film was “Pollock.”

Pollock was Edʼs directorial debut, and just like Al Pacino, Ed spent many years preparing for and realizing his creation. In this case, not only directing the film but also portraying the artist Jackson Pollock -- Ed went as far as to build an art studio next to his house where he could practice painting and movement.

Both of these films, and their esteemed creators, strike me as relevant for us today. Here are two accomplished actors, well past the point of needing to prove themselves, who could easily sit back and cherry pick the roles offered, instead choosing the hard way. They spent long hours, days, years of effort and risking failure to realize a creative vision-- but why? Both of these projects grew out of very personal creative passion. Both men have shown me first hand that relentless learning and challenging the boundaries of our own comfort zone are not simply things you do when you are young and starting out; they can, and should, be life long commitments.

Neurologists have only recently discovered that the brain is quite malleable and dynamic; weʼre able to master new skills long after the supposed optimal age for learning. You are all graduating today, but I hope that your life or learning and discovering is far from over. I urge you to continue to master
new skills with zeal, live abroad and study a new language, teach others to love music, read books for fun. Never, ever stop being a student.

My interest in the brainʼs plasticity has grown out of another failure of sorts. Instead of an external failure, it was the failing of my health. Four years ago, numbness on my left side lead to a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, a chronic and (as yet) incurable neurological disease. Now here was a road-block I never expected nor hardly wished for, but I decided pretty early on- I needed to figure out how to respond to this. There were new lessons to learn in acceptance, self care, humor, and patience. I struggled to live as gracefully as I could with chronic pain and daily fatigue.

But the MS has, in a strange way, forced me to focus on whatʼs most important in my personal and creative life, and to avoid what isnʼt. Iʼve been the benefactor of the dedication of my wife Joan, an Eastman Alum, whoʼs here with us today. She responded in her own way, becoming a crusader, researcher, and spokesperson for new treatments on my behalf and for others with MS. She became a student again, tirelessly pouring over medical papers and research. Her writings and advocacy have helped to spread information to literally thousands around the globe. Thatʼs about as far as you can get from singing German Lieder, but Iʼve seen her pursue this with the same amount of zeal and energy as anything musical.

None of you here today would have been accepted to Eastman, much less graduate, if you did not have the passion to pursue your great gifts in music. Congratulations to you for your commitment, hard work, and discipline. The arts will always be the social and spiritual glue that connect us and provide us with moments of transcendence, joy, and catharsis. And our society needs these gifts today, more than ever.

To the class of 2011, I wish for you, all of the greatest successes- both artistic and personal. But I also wish you the greatest of failures...because many of your gifts are yet to be discovered, and some of these gifts will only be revealed by adversity. May you respond to your own challenges with growth and humor. Congratulations and Thank You for letting me spend this very important day with you.

If you know anyone who suffers from MS, please take a moment and look here for more information about Chronic Cerebrospinal Venous Insufficiency (CCSVI) and how it relates to Multiple Sclerosis. And consider supporting them.

Keep going, Jeff and Joan. You are both a huge inspiration.

Obrigado

2011-05-21T13:08:00.003+02:00

I have Donizetti stuck in my head. "Obligato. Ah si, obligato…son felice, son contento!" It's what the Germans call an "ohrwurm." An ear worm, kinda like when my kids really wanna get under my skin and sing "This is the song that never ends" from the back seat on a roadtrip.

Pavarotti was at his most special singing L'elisir d'Amore and the first word I learned was for Thank You. "Obrigado" And I think of Pavarotti every time I hear it. There is nothing more full of sunshine than Luciano's voice.

I never thought saying "Thank you" would make me miss Luciano so much. The Portuguese are a very thankful people. You hear the word a lot.

First week of rehearsal is finished, finishing in the theater of Sao Carlos working with the orchestra, standing on the lip of the stage and Julia Jones at the podium. I am told they have not played the piece in this theater for over 20 years. I find that pretty staggering, as Carmen is the most performed opera in the world. You can tell the pit is pretty excited to finally be playing this piece.

To celebrate, we went out for dinner as a group, director, choreographer and colleagues. We can't seem to escape one particular restaurant. On an earlier visit in the week we were told by the owner that Friday night was Fado night. "You come. We sing."

So crammed in the upstairs portion of the restaurant, trying not to feel like we were intruding in a family gathering we sat and listened. We tried to talk but the Portuguese take their Fado seriously. Our first cue to this was a placard on the wall that said "Silenzio." I think the foreigners were shushed 10 times in one evening. (It's very hard to make opera singers sit quietly. Ask anyone.) I learned I could understand the waiter/singer very quickly when they kindly told us to shut up. But we weren't the only ones. There was also a table of children they chided as well.

It's not a Cafe Taci kind of atmostphere either. When the singing starts, the lights go nearly off. The room freezes, waiters do not talk or bring food. Eyes close. And heart strings are plucked. As full of sun is the Italian's voice, that's how sad is the Portuguese's.

Letra: Amália Rodrigues
Música: Alfredo Marceneiro

Estranha forma de vida

Google translation:

It was by God's will
I live in this anxiety.
What are all my woes,
that is all my longing.
It was by God's will.

What a strange life form
this is my heart:
live life lost;
Who would give him the privilege?
What a strange life form.

Heart independent
heart that can not command:
lost live among us,
stubbornly bleeding
independent heart.

I do not follow you more:
to cease to beat.
If you do not know where you going,
because it insists on running,
I do not follow you more

If you do not know where you go:
to cease to beat,
I do not follow you anymore.

Luciano, how we miss you.

On the Street Where I Live

2011-05-17T23:00:00.001+02:00

The view out my window

First days always present an interesting mix of psychosis, both mine and others'. I often wonder what "normal" people would think of what we deal with at the beginning of a gig, both real and imagined. Usually, mostly the latter…

Now in Lisbon, Portugal. And I realize I'm quite unprepared for this cultural shift. I do not speak one word of Portugese. I don't even know how to count to three. On the flight in, the airplane captain started speaking over the intercom. I had this moment where I thought I was on a NY City subway, or a comic movie. You know the kind, where every sound that comes out of the speaker is a trombone sound "bwah bwah bwah dee bwah." I sat there smiling, thinking the intercom speaker must have been blown out. But then all the other passengers understood perfectly what was being said, laughing at his jokes. I began to wonder if I might be missing something.

One thing I was missing was a place to land. Thank God for iPhones and the ability to book a hotel on the fly. I had procrastinated lining up an apartment during the last month. Fortunately I got a hotel for the first few days and had a bed to sleep in when I landed on Saturday.

Sunday was spent on Craigs List. And by this morning (Tues) found a place to hang my hat for the next month and a half.

The show is Carmen at the Sao Carlos. I think they pronounce it Sah-oo Carlosh. How do I put this respectfully, my kids say Dutch sounds like drunk German. Well, then Portugese sounds like inebriated Russian. Turns out the airline loudspeaker was working just fine, it's just that the dumas American has no linguistic exposure to this part of the world.

I find the first day or two in a new locale are probably the most important of the duration. Every look and word is weighed. Every commodity measured. "Is the internet decent?" is always the first question to solve in a new hotel. Fortunately, the hotel I had hurredly found was warm and welcoming. The room the size of a shoebox, but never mind. It had internet.

I was tempted to start off my time in a bad mood, however. On the flight here, got told by the attendant that "airplane mode" had no bearing on anything and "get that phone turned off quickly." I was tempted to pout and then say it was only an ipod touch, but realized my blood pressure had already risen and any rebuttal was just gonna ruin my day. I decided to go passive and relax.

The point is, on the approach to a new adventure, I begin to believe we singers all look at the most meaningless, trivial things to portend how the next month will go. The more trivial, probably the more likely it will get stuck under my skin. I then take that aggravation to the theater and then waste too much time trying to get out of a sour mood. We are a superstitious bunch.

The mood didn't last. Monday in first day of rehearsal (I had arrived 2 weeks late) and the relief on their part was matched only with my happiness to be doing a Carmen with Rinat Shaham.) Stephen Medcalf is the director, and being the husband to a singer knew exactly how to make that first moment the right one. Julia Jones conducts. My first time working with this particular team and already I can see, this is gonna be a heckuva good time.

Dinner costs about 8 bucks here. And that includes limitless pitchers of wine.

Gotta find a gym.

What's Up Chuck?

2011-05-15T01:27:00.000+02:00

I heart Chuck Lorre. His latest vanity card, amidst all the Charlie Sheen broohaha:

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #345
What doesn't kill us makes us bitter. I used to believe that to be both funny and true. Years later I learned that pain could also be the touchstone for personal growth, which of course points back to the original saying, "what doesn't kill us makes us better." Not funny, but perhaps closer to the truth. Or at least the truth I choose to believe in these days. So, having recently experienced a bit of pain, am I better? Well, let's review…

Continue here in Chuck's site…

Yo Adrian

2011-05-14T01:12:00.001+02:00

Today marks the end of a production, a period of performing: the last performance of the Adrian Noble Carmen, co-produced by Opera Comique, Granada and Luxembourg.

Perhaps it resembled a slugfest at times behind the scenes in it's early days but it became a sweet and dear friend, especially under the guardianship of Evelino Pidó at the podium, as did the Rocky movie franchise in it's final installment, this scene being one of Burgess Meredith's crowning achievements. Less is more moving. (I can't embed that clip due to permissions, but I hope you'll watch it.) We are led by the fantastic musical team of he and Pierre Vallet.

One of my careers most memorable times was working with Adrian Noble. I never would have been able to do what I did in the either production of Parsifal without it. He began the work of letting go. His training began to help me see I did not have to taste every morsel I served. I did not have to live every emotion, to convey them.

I received an interesting email this week from a singer-friend. He writes:

[Since writing you last] I learned that… I have found a way to relax my mind and my heart, to the point of not even recognizing who I was before being so calm. Yet, I didn't notice any of this until I began to review Don Jose … woke up feeling shitty and polluted and didn't know what was wrong. Turns out that I figured out how to let the characters live in me, but I never knew I was also supposed to turn them off so I can go on with my life in a somewhat normal way.

I had to make a decision everytime I sang a character that transforms as much as Don Jose on how to allow the emotional part of him become mine, but for me to disengage my actual SELF from the whole experience. I felt like I was a pupeteer and my voice and body were at my command, but I was a disembodied entity. Ever felt anything like that?

Yeah. I've felt that. And that is why the rebounding from that experience of Parsifal has been so hard. In Castellucci's production, I was given free reign to relax and not even 'be.' It was even a further step than my colleague speaks of. I was asked not to convey emotion, but let my voice and the bigger picture do the conveying. (Whether it was as effective as the Bieito in moving its public is a different point of discussion, and probably dependent on personal aesthetics).

Soon, people will judge for themselves as to the effectiveness of the Castellucci Parsifal. It was announced yesterday that a movie was made of the production, to premiere at the Aix Festival in July. It will also be broadcast after that.

But back to Adrian. "Ah, I see. You are a very method actor." Perfect British understatement for: "Stop flinging yourself about, 'showing' so much and trying so hard." That was the moment I began to realize I didn't have to work quite so hard. I could actually step back and not give 110% all the time.

I took some time off of blogging to try to process what I had learned in Brussels. The time of reflection began with an incredible dud in it's application into an old role but slowly, bit by bit, I have gotten back up off the mat.

It will be a bittersweet goodbye to my colleagues. My leading lady, Anna Caterina Antonacci, has always been a delight. She helped me through so many tough times in the early days by her calm demeanor and complete support. Some type of diva's do battle onstage. Anna Caterina's not one of them. She simply lives there and never competes. She is. No mugging during "my" moments. She captivates like the best Carmens in history. She is Carmen.

And I've swapped more spit with Anne Catherine Gillet than is probably healthy. Adrian's staging has Micaela kissing José often with abandon. Can't say as I mind, but I'm sure her husband will be as glad as my wife is for the reprieve after show's end, never mind my mother.

Yesterday, over lunch a colleague said to me: "My young child asked me after seeing the show, 'Do you remember me while you are onstage? Do you remember you are my mommy?' My child seriously wanted to know if I forgot about them?! I was shocked! It is only work." From the mouths of babes…

And so it's over. We hope you enjoyed the show. Here's a heartfelt salute to all the technicians and crew who have made it possible.

Many thanks.