2008 Wrap Up

I'm finishing up my year by gearing up to sing a concert with a slight case of laryngitis. I guess it's not technically laryngitis, it's just swollen vocal cords resulting from singing and talking too much with a cold that was lodged in my throat, but it's still singing while hoarse. Yippee! The concert isn't until tomorrow, so I'm hoping I'll wake up and miraculously be cured. If not, that's why god invented drugs.

Looking back on this year, I think it's been pretty fantastic. I've written over 100 blog entries, so I even have a record of all the times - from fabulous to crappy -and it's easy for me to notice what I've learned this year. So here goes - my list of lessons from 2008.

1. Attitude isn't everything, but it's not nothing either.

This is a lesson that I'm continually learning, but it came into even sharper focus this year. And if I were going to teach a class to aspiring opera singers about things to know about this crazy biz, I would definitely have to stress the fact that your attitude and general demeanor in professional situations is pretty much as important as your talent and abilities. People that are genuinely caring and generous with their colleagues are rehired (and the genuine part is important - it doesn't seem to work with phonies). The second, and somewhat complimentary part of this equation is being cautious and careful of what you say and who you say it to AT ALL TIMES in professional situations. True, it becomes exhausting. But when you're somebody like me who tends to blurt out whatever comes into her head at the moment it appears, it's a lesson I have to keep reminding myself of every day. I can think of so many instances in the past year (some of which are recounted on this blog) where I spoke before I thunk, to less than stellar consequences. 2009 is my year to be more aware of not only what I say, but my general attitude in all professional rehearsals. I don't want every emotion to read as easily as a trashy novel on my face, and I want to stop blurting out all my faults and insecurities to anybody who will listen (except of course on the blog, where I will continue to make fun of myself until it gets boring). Seriously - I really think that the attitude you present in rehearsals is AS IMPORTANT as the other obvious requirements like ability and preparedness. Sometimes extreme talent can overcome personality (think about some of the stories about the misbehavior of certain stars) but why risk it? Being kind and considerate and careful can be a job just like learning notes and rhythms, and if it doesn't come naturally, don't forget, neither does warbling in an operatic voice. It takes years of repetition and practice, but the results are what getcha hired.

2. Success is somewhat arbitrary

This one is either very liberating or very frustrating depending on how you choose to think about it. But for me, this realization has been somewhat liberating. I finished a book not long ago called "Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell ( I mentioned it in an earlier post before I'd actually read it.) Gladwell's assertion is that extremely successful people are talented and smart, but they're not the MOST talented or the smartest people, they are merely the people whose circumstances were extraordinary enough to allow them to succeed. He talks in the first chapter about the Canadian Hockey League, and points out that a very high percentage of the professional players are born in either January, February or March. Why? Because during the time of year that the hockey scouts recruit the best 6 year old players to go on to the advanced track, the ones born in the first three months are simply bigger than the rest of the kids. That's it! The key to being a successful hockey player in Canada is having the skill, plus being born in the right month! It's so easy to apply this to opera singing, when the fact that being in the right place at the right time a few times in a row (and having the talent to back it up) is what leads to successes on all different levels. And realizing that I don't have control over these extenuating circumstances, makes me realize how idiotic it is to convince myself that this or that milestone that I haven't yet reached is because I'm just not good enough. This doesn't mean I don't continue to push myself to be the best artist I can be - it just means that when I don't get chosen for something, or get hired by a company, I don't have to beat myself up for "not being good enough". I just have to accept that the circumstances weren't in my favor that time and move on. This is almost as obvious as the "being nice works" one, but somehow I really understood it this year, and I feel lighter and happier because of the realization.

3. I like this job

As I've discussed on this blog a few times, I went through a tortuous period of extreme stage fright for a couple of years, and during that time, I was constantly questioning if maybe I should think about another career. But 2008 has probably been the most fulfilling year of work so far (well, it actually started for me in the fall of 2007) and I've actually been enjoying myself tremendously again, and realizing that I'm dreadfully lucky to have this for my job. 2008 started out with Elmer Gantry, which is the first time I've actually "created" a brand new role for a world premiere, and not only did I enjoy the hell out of singing the role of Sister Sharon, I made some life long friends in the creators of that piece, and I got to play a really meaty character that went through a big transformation and died a fiery death! I had my first experience working in Italy / Europe, which is chronicled in great detail on the blog, so I don't need to go into detail. But in a nutshell, it was so fabulous it pretty much changed my life. I sang a soprano role in Colombia, and even though I probably won't revisit Musetta, I was really genuinely happy to get to be in a La Boheme at least once in my life. And I ended the year by finally feeling like I understand and enjoy playing Rosina, and the role is one I'm actually looking forward to doing again instead of worrying about it or dreading it like I once did. There were lessons about acting and taking direction, musicality and vocalism, and style and language that were invaluable and all encompassing. And I made more friends - real, true, dear friends - this year, than in any year in recent memory. All in all, the year was quite amazing, and I'm sorta sorry to see it go.

But I'm entering 2009 with an unusually optimistic attitude, and more of a zest for life than I'm used to experiencing. I'll take it.

And as my final post for 2008 comes to an end, I'd like to ask for your comments. I have no idea how many people read this blog, what they're getting from it, and what else they'd like to know. So please comment - tell me what you think and who you are and if you have any requests. Happy New Year - I raise my electronic glass to whatever happiness may be just around all of our corners.

A Prairie Home Companion

Last night, in a whirlwind, I got to do something extremely fun; be a guest on a Prairie Home Companion. This was my 3rd time on the show, and each time was very different. The first time I landed on the show it was by coincidence and fluke. I happened to be performing at a fundraiser for the new york public radio station WNYC because someone I went to college with works there and asked me to do it for free. Garrison Keillor was the main act, and after he heard me sing, he said "if you want to come on the show, have your agent contact us and we'll get you on there." Well, I thought he was just being nice, and my agents don't even know what PHC is as far as I know, but I went to the website and sent an email to the general email address, and sure enough, somebody wrote me back and said they'd love to have me on the show!! So I went on and sang a couple of arias, a fake coffee commercial that Garrison wrote, and a duet with him from The Music Man. Then they asked me to come back on Christmas Eve (2005) and that was probably one of the most fun gigs I've ever done because Garrison wrote a Guy Noir sketch which centered around me! I played a disgruntled opera singer and not only did he rewrite the words to 3 arias (which I had to learn that day) but I got to play opposite him in a sketch that involved sword fights, chainsaws, and all kinds of craziness. Last night was a little calmer because I was a last minute addition to the show, and he didn't really have time to write a whole sketch for me like last time. But it was still pretty crazy for an opera singer who is used to rehearsing!

The morning started out with me receiving an email from the music director Rich Dworsky - I still hadn't been told what I was singing, and was waiting to hear if my suggestions were accepted. I had a hard time thinking of the right Christmas songs that would be classical and would suit my voice, so I suggested the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria (which I hadn't sung since I was a kid, but that was okay) and Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, which I could sing legit enough I figured. But this email said that Garrison wasn't crazy about pop tunes, and couldn't I sing something more classical? It also gave me his phone number and told me to call him, which I did around 9:15 AM. I gotta say, talking to Garrison Keillor on the telephone is a surreal experience. I mean, last week I was in my parents car listening to him tell stories on his show, and now I'm talking to him on the phone. Bizarre. He told me he wanted to rewrite the words to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas ("because I'm a writer you know, that's what I do," he wryly joked) and I said sure. He also asked me about rewriting some of the arias from The Messiah to put in a script, but didn't tell me why or for what script. An hour later I had received via email "Have yourself a merry little christmas/ Let your meals be light / From now on let's try to curb your appetite" and the rest of the hilarious rewrite. And a few minutes later came a rewrite of "He shall feed his Flock" from the Messiah that began, "He shall feed his cats with cans of tuna / And he shall clean their litter boxes every day, every day." Now if you know The Messiah and you're imagining that to the tune of He Shall Feed His Flock, you're laughing already. And even though I had no idea what script this would appear in, or if I would have more of a part, I looked over everything, got myself ready, and headed off to Town Hall.

I arrived at around 1 in the afternoon for my soundcheck, but Garrison was still at his apartment writing for another couple of hours, so we practiced the Ave Maria, the Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas with the new words, and the Messiah piece even though we had no idea where it would go. "Are there any sketches about Cats?" I asked, hoping to get some clues. Nobody knew. After we rehearsed, I hung around hoping to hear news about scripts, and a bit later got called down to the stage again. "Garrison wants you to sing with the blue grass singers in their medley" I was told. So I marched back to the stage to rehearse whatever this was going to be. These awesome musicians had this medley of traditional Christmas carols intermixed with this song I had never heard. They wanted to know if I could just improvise a harmony with them. WHAT? Anybody who knows me knows I hate singing harmony, and I definitely am not good at IMPROVISING harmony! But they somehow convinced me (they told me I could sing the melody on the carols - I just had to figure something out for the other parts) and Rich, the music director was helping me figure out this high descant to sing about them. I have to say singing those carols with them was really enjoyable - I just sang softly and tried to blend with their voices, and it was a really lovely experience. As we were rehearsing, Garrison breezed by and said (while walking past) "Just have Jennifer sing the carols, not the other parts." Phew! No more harmonic improvisation for me!

Then somebody handed me the Guy Noir script, where the Messiah Cats song was located. Unfortunately, I didn't have an actual acting role like last time, I just appeared and sang my song. I waited for my turn to rehearse the script, but my pianist had left for the afternoon to get some work done, so I sang it without piano and hoped for the best. One of the challenges of working on that show is trying to fit the typed out lyrics he gives you into the music because the syllabification is always different and if you get one syllable off, you're screwed (on live radio). I sort of hung around because I thought Garrison might need to hear me sing his new lyrics for Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, but he was so behind he had to go up to his dressing room and write his monologue, which I don't think he'd started yet. When Rachelle, my pianist got back, we tried the Messiah piece one more time ( I messed up the syllables the first time, which freaked me out) and went upstairs to wait for the rundown, which finally arrived about 10 minutes before the broadcast was supposed to start. I saw that my cool trio with the bluegrass singers had sadly been cut due to time constraints, and that Ave Maria was basically the last thing on the programs. Yikes! I have to sit in the FREEZING theater until the end and then belt out Ave Maria?? Live???

So the show happened, and everything seemed to go fine. I didn't mess up any of my syllables, the audience liked his new lyrics, and Ave Maria, even though it got moved to another spot in the program on the fly, still managed to come out okay. Of course my parents and Georgia (who were in the audience at Town Hall) were wondering why I was so nervous that I was shaking, but it wasn't from nerves - it was because the theater was like a meat locker and I was actually shivering! But in spite of all of that, everything went fine, and I had a great time as usual. And doing anything that is being broadcast live gives you even steelier nerves that you might have already had.

The show will be available at the Prairie Home Companion website after today's rebroadcast. Check it out if you are so inclined.

Hallelu-yikes

Tonight I went to see my friend Will perform the tenor solos in the Messiah with the Oratorio Society at Carnegie Hall. He was terrific - it was as if the piece was written for him - and I would have been brimming with pride if only my stomach wasn't exploding in discomfort. "Comfort ye" he sang, but alas, I couldn't.

See, I found this old pair of jeans in one of my winter clothes boxes that I was going through, and even though they were way tight, I decided to squeeze into them and look hot hot hot for tonight's concert. Except I didn't realize that sitting through an entirely uncut Messiah with very tight pants around my waist would basically give me gastrointestinal horrors. So during the intermission, I carefully placed my coat in my lap and undid my pants to give myself a little relief.

I felt much better and was enjoying the concert in relative comfort (ye) until we came to the Hallelujah chorus. I completely forgot about the tradition that requires everyone to stand up when we get to that part, and the patrons in the seats all around me shot up as soon as the first chords were played. I was left with my coat in my lap wondering if I could possibly get away with staying seated when I noticed the people behind me looking down at me with disdain. I reached under my coat to try to discreetly button up my pants, but I discovered that zipping and buttoning really tight pants is way harder than undoing them.

With all the people around me standing up and therefore able to see my every move easily, I had to sort of stretch out into a half reclining position, reach under my coat, and suck in just to get the zipper up. The button was even harder because I had to wriggle side to side to get it closed. When I finally managed to get everything properly fastened, the Hallelujah chorus was half over, and everyone around me was furrowing their eyebrows at me like I might be a pervert. But I stood up anyway and smiled as if nothing was wrong. And as soon as the piece was over, I sat back down and unfastened those suckers like there was no tomorrow.

Now I'm finally home and free of those treacherous jeans. Now that deserves a Hallelujah.

Deja-vu - another Barber opening

The Barber in Tampa opened last night, and it did almost feel like just another performance of the Barber I had already begun in California. Don't get me wrong, this is a very different take on Barber in every way, but this role is beginning to feel so familiar and - GASP - so comfortable, that performing the opera is actually a pleasure! I remember talking about Rosina this summer, and complaining about how I didn't really like singing the role because I found it difficult and not terribly rewarding. But I have to say, as a result of these two productions and the things I've learned from both of them, I've changed my mind. I sincerely enjoyed myself last night!

When we started rehearsals here in Tampa, I found myself arguing with the director yet again (I can be SUCH a frigging know-it-all!). I had just come from this Barber in California where I started out arguing with the director, but which I thought really worked beautifully in the end, so now I was on board with his interpretation. And the director here wanted me to do everything completely differently, to be very broad with all my comedy moves, and to not be afraid to flail my arms and legs and fall on the floor repeatedly. I had just been convinced by director Scott to avoid anything that looked broad (actual note from Scott during Bartolo's aria: "Don't imitate Bartolo or mouth his words!") - and now I was being asked by director James to do the opposite (actual note from James during Bartolo's aria: "can you imitate him more and mouth his words?"). I knew Scott's way had worked, so I was resistant to James's way. But judging by last night's audience reaction, I now know that BOTH ways work. The audience was in absolute hysterics thanks to the broad buffo staging- I mean, they were practically rolling in aisles, they were laughing so hard. And this was a very important lesson for me to learn: There is more than one way to skin a cat. Just because something works one way, does not definitively mean that even the exact opposite won't work if it is crafted in the right way. But if you're going to do something entirely differently than you're used to, you really have to commit to it 100% or it definitely won't work. I have to be more trusting with directors and learn to just try their ideas even when I'm dubious because sometimes they really do know what they're doing.

So now I've learned that there are two ways I can play Rosina; I can play her in a way that is more feminine and dignified, or in a way that is more comic and broad. Maybe next time I sing the role, I can play around with finding a way to combine both sides of her, and that will be yet another characterization. But I've definitely learned that I should get better at taking direction. That's probably not a big surprise to anyone who knows me.

Sex sells

Here in Tampa, we have a very short rehearsal period before the performances. They scheduled a photo shoot for the second day we were here, and since we didn't have the costumes yet, the PR guy had the very clever idea to copy a former Vanity Fair cover of Cindy Crawford shaving K.D. Lang who was reclining in an old time Barber's chair. The photographer made some magic with what I'm sure amounts to a lot of air-brushing, and came up with these shots of me and the tenor. I am soooooo not a sexy vixen in real life, so this photo shoot was a big stretch for me, but he finally got some good expressions at the end of the shoot when I just gave up and stopped trying. I laughed at myself when I saw these photos, but hey, if they convince somebody to come to the opera, great. They'll be mighty surprised when they get there however if they think some blonde in a short skirt is gonna be lathering people up, but hopefully I can win them over with my sexy..... coloratura singing.

Same Opera, New People

Just like last year, I am singing two Barber of Sevilles right in a row. However, last year, by strange coincidence, three of the singers remained the same between the two productions (it really was a coincidence - the companies were not related and none of us had the same agents or anything) so even though the director and the conductor changed, we definitely had developed our ways of doing things and it kept some sense of continuity for me. This time however (in Tampa, Florida), no one is the same, and in fact it seems like it might be the opposite in many ways.

First of all, with a new conductor comes all new tempos. I am marveling at Maestro Anton Coppola, who I'm told is 91 years old, and is sharp as a tack. He doesn't miss a thing - in fact, today he corrected my pronunciation on one word of the recit that I had apparently managed to mispronounce for the 5 previous productions and nobody noticed. But he's taking very different tempos than when I sang the opera two and a half weeks ago, so I have to get used to those. Plus, he is encouraging many of the schticky moments that were carefully removed from the last production, which is fun, but also a challenge when you have your mind wrapped around not doing them. But I'll admit, it's not that hard for me to put them back in - what can I say, I'm a hammy kind of girl. We only have about 19 days to stage the whole opera and perform it twice, so we're putting it on it's feet very quickly. I find myself just doing the staging I did last time, which comes in mighty handy when there isn't really time to put in details.

On another note, I just saw an author I like, Malcolm Gladwell (Blink, The Tipping Point) being interviewed on CNN about a new book he wrote called Outliers. The book is about people who achieve great success in all different fields and what they have in common. He said that the one thing they all seem to have in common is that none of them got really good at what they were doing until they had been doing it for between 10 and 11 years. Even Mozart, he claims, didn't start composing his true masterpieces until he was 22 and he had been composing since he was 11. Well, this past summer was the 10 year anniversary of my first professional singing job (shut up - I was VERY young and still in school), so according to this author, I am totally about to hit my masterpiece prime and pump out the good stuff. And actually, it's true that I sort of did start to finally feel like I know what I'm doing more often than not in the last year, so maybe he's right, and I'm just about to fully hit my stride. Or, maybe I should start counting from when I started taking singing lessons, and I should have been at my peak when I was 20 years old. Either way, I should definitely be good at something by now.

Reviews

I've had some interesting encounters with reviews in the last couple of weeks.

First, there were the Barber of Seville reviews, which, quite frankly, could have been written by my own mother. There were only three that I know of, but they were all so complimentary, I was feeling like a million bucks.

Then, I got to Washington D.C., and performed Maria Padilla. I felt really good about the single performance, and got some great feedback from various people. I found a couple of reviews online that were very positive and I was feeling really good, just waiting for the review from the Washington Post to come out. I was particularly interested in that review because the reviewer used to review for the New York Times, and gave me the worst review I've ever received for an opera about 6 years ago, saying something like "her high notes escaped as something of a shriek." However, I knew I sang well Sunday, and I really had myself convinced that there wasn't anything she could slam me for this time. I was wrong.

She said I had a "nice sound" but that I seemed "challenged by the amount of music I had to sing." Except I didn't have a lot of music to sing. I only had an aria and a duet and a few lines here and there. I wasn't tired. I could have sung my whole role 6 or 7 times and then sung Rosina twice. So what did she mean? I will never know. Why do I care? Because I want to be liked and accepted and praised to feed my singerly ego. Especially by those who have dissed me in the past. So shoot me.

However, I wasn't so crushed that I was afraid to finally update the reviews page of my website. As I've spoken about before on this blog, I went through a real crisis of confidence for a couple years there, and I couldn't even bear to read a review unless somebody pre-screened it for me and promised there weren't any criticisms. I seem to be over that, so I was finally ready to do the unthinkable and google myself. This is particularly dangerous in the internet age because not only are there all the reviews in newspapers, but these days there are countless blogs where people can talk about how much they think you suck. But I ended up being rewarded for my "courage" because I discovered that one of my very favorite bloggers, opera chic, had actually written about me in one of her posts from last year. She said I "rawked" which made all that googling totally worth it.

So I updated my website, none too worse for the wear. I hope there will be a time in my future where I will read the best reviews and the worst reviews and feel absolutely the same level of apathy for both of them. In the meantime, I still get to feel elated about the good ones and get depressed by the bad ones. Or maybe I'll just hire a professional googler and never look at another one. Hmmm..... tempting.

Being mezzo

Tonight was my concert with Washington Concert Opera of the rarely performed Donizetti Opera Maria Padilla. I actually felt really good about the way I sang, and felt proud of my performance. But as happens frequently with mezzos, I was definitely playing second fiddle to the soprano. Never was this more clear than when I exited the stage and walked towards my dressing room. Leah, the fantastic soprano, was surrounded by admirers while I trudged alone to my dressing room. However one woman leaned away from the soprano sandwich to comment to me "Oh - you were good too, Jessica." I said thank you and continued to my dressing room. This is the second time this month someone has called me Jessica - because there is a Jessica Rivera, and people very frequently think I'm her, even though she's little, has dark hair, and is a soprano. Then, when we arrived at the party, I was seated at a table by myself with several older couples who weren't particularly chatty, and when Leah entered the room, the whole place burst into applause. I joined the clapping and then quietly continued eating my raviolis.

I can't complain too much, however, because Evelyn Lear introduced herself to me (she's a great soprano who was very famous in the 60's) and was very complimentary. She had such nice things to say about my singing and I could tell they were genuine and heartfelt, and I was deeply flattered by her compliments. The other person who introduced herself to me at the party was Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and I think I actually said , "wow - thank you for speaking to me." Very classy. Everyone at the party was quite nice and friendly and I started to feel like being me wasn't so bad. But then Evelyn Lear came back up to me and said, "Darling - you're so beautiful, really you are. But we have to do something about this hair. You have such a long face - you need more volume on the sides. Also, those earrings. Not crazy about them either." And the funny things is, I actually think she was right about both the hair and the earrings, so I didn't even mind. But I also had to laugh about the fact that this is my life. From meeting a justice on the supreme court to having a famous soprano give me hairstyling tips. I mean, you can't make this stuff up.

City Opera

I just discovered this article in the New York Times announcing that Gerard Mortier has pulled out of City Opera. This doesn't affect me directly as I've never sung for Mr. Mortier and had not been rehired by the company since the change of administration. But I did sing at City Opera for 8 seasons, and have made my career so far mostly with that company, so I want it to survive and to thrive. The economy is apparently making it impossible for the board to raise even the amount they had thought they could raise for Mr. Mortier's first season. I sincerely hope they find a way to reopen their doors and continue to survive because they have been such an important institution not only for the City of New York, but for the country, and for all the young singers who have gotten their starts on the stage at City Opera, including me.

Hope

The election of our new President gives me great hopes for possibilities ahead. And yet my happiness is tainted with sadness about two other events that happened today.

The first is that it seems proposition 8 has been voted through in California, which means they are actually going to amend the constitution to prevent gays from marrying each other. It makes me wonder why when one door opens, another one closes. It's supposed to be the other way around, but in this situation, we as a country have made great strides in the equality of all people by electing a black president, and yet there are still people who are willing to remove rights from gay people. Why is it acceptable for people to discriminate against anyone? My only hope is that with this step forward in electing Barack Obama, we will continue to move forward in the equality of rights of all people.

The other thing that happened today that is deeply distressing is that Opera Pacific, where I was just performing Barber of Seville, has announced that they are canceling their season, and barring a miracle, possibly shutting their doors for good. You can find the articles in the L.A. Times here and the O.C. Register here. Opera Pacific is suffering badly because of the state of the economy, and has been struggling for many seasons, and they have now laid off all but two staff members, and put their facilities in Santa Ana up for sale to pay their debts. It is terribly frightening to see a company as prestigious as Opera Pacific shut it's doors, and it makes all of us artists worried for our future and for the future of the art form. The saddest part to me is that the cultural institutions in this country are forced to rely on donors to keep their doors open instead of being partially funded by the government as an important part of our society the way they are in Europe. Art should be like air - necessary and vital. Not expendable when we have a problem with cash flow. I can only hope that the next 8 years will be better for everyone, and that our cultural institutions will be able to bounce back.

Life goes on

I had my final Barbiere last night, and I'm already in Washington D.C., where I have rehearsal at 10:30 tomorrow morning (that's 7:30 A.M. California time - good luck!). I thought I saw snow on the ground when we landed but it was some weird lighting thing. Thank god, because going from the beach to the snow would have been really unsettling. I had a great time in the O.C. and was very pleased with how the Barbers went and with the nice people I got to work with and sing with. And now I get to spend a week in D.C. - and I get to be here for the election, which I actually think will be really exciting (or depressing, depending on what happens). But I have a feeling I might wake up tomorrow and think "where am I again? What city and what time zone and what opera?" Not that I'm complaining. As long as I have a job, an internet connection and a bed, I'm cool.

Opera Kissing

I had a hilarious conversation with a friend of mine on the phone the other night about what it's like to have to kiss someone onstage. We both agreed that it can be totally no big deal or really awkward depending on both people and the situation, and sometimes it can be pretty funny. First of all, there's the awkwardness of deciding when to first start actually kissing each other -because you usually have a couple of weeks of rehearsal in the room before you get to the stage. So, do you start kissing at the very first rehearsal and just get over whatever weirdness there might be, or do you fake kiss (or hug) until you get onto the stage and it starts to feel more like a performance? I' think it's easier to kiss from the first day so it's totally not an issue by the time you get to the stage. But then, how do I tell my romantic co-star that I want to kiss from the first day without seeming like I want to kiss them in real life? Usually I don't say anything and just go with the flow.

Then there's the situation where you are kissing each other and holding it until the blackout. When the lights are on you and you're onstage, you are in your characters, so it's no big deal. But when the lights go out, you're suddenly yourselves again, so how do you extricate yourself from kissing without it being weird? I've noticed I almost always do the same thing (which I'm scared to write about because I'm sure Brian, who is currently playing opposite me, will read this and he'll need to make fun of me when I unconsciously do it in our next performance). I always pat the guy (or girl if I'm playing a boy) on the back like "hey champ, good job there" as soon as the lights go off. Have you ever seen two straight guys hug and do the "straight guy back pat"? That's what I do. I'm surprised I don't ruffle their hair or punch them on the arm. It's my way of trying to normalize a non-normal situation I guess.

I've also had friends who told me that they worked with directors who told them "you need more heat - go make-out/ roll around in bed and get yourselves used to each other." It's something I could see theater people doing, but it would probably really freak most opera singers out. It's funny - theater people don't really see romantic scenes as particularly unusual - imagine what they have to do with each other in movies - but most opera singers I know are squeamish if they have to do anything too involved. I did one show (Lysistrata) where I had to climb all over a baritone, while both of us were pretty scantily clad, and he was wearing a fake erection that kept poking me and threatening to rip my costume (I'm not making this up - Lysistrata is about the women refusing to have sex with the men until they stop fighting war, so the whole second act has the men wearing these fake metal erections under their costumes). But that's nothing compared to some more modern operas I've seen where they have to actually simulate sex. Yikes! That would totally freak me out.

But the best kissing on stage story came from my friend who will remain anonymous, but who gave me permission to tell this story. He was a young guy in his high school musical, and he had never actually kissed a real live girl before. They came to the moment in rehearsal that he was supposed to kiss his leading lady, and the director, perhaps sensing his lack of experience, said to the two high schoolers, "You guys need to go practice kissing." My friend said it was probably the best day of his life, as they dutifully marched down the hall, shooing away the girl's little sister, so they could go find a classroom and "practice". After they spent five minutes making out, they went back to rehearsal, both a little, ahem, wiser. Even though it is totally not okay to ask two high schoolers to do something like that, the thought of this innocent young guy receiving his first kiss thanks to a particularly liberal theater director made me laugh hysterically. No wonder he became a performer!

(top photo is with Brian Downen in Cenerentola and bottom photo is with Keith Phares in Elmer Gantry)

Credit where credit is due

I was emailed a couple of reviews today (I can't bear to look for them myself in case I've been trashed, so I rely on other people to send them to me if they're decent) and luckily they were positive. I had a period of time when I was deathly afraid of reviews - it went with my panic attack before performing anxiety phase, and I would start to panic just opening a paper that might contain a review. Thank god I've calmed down about it, and I know I can't really believe the good ones, or be too happy about them, or I would have to believe and be devastated by the bad ones. However, I found the review of me in the Los Angeles times to be very interesting. Here is what he said:

"The mezzo soprano Jennifer Rivera was a fascinating Rosina-sufficiently opulent and agile in voice; wily, brainy, and pert
in manner but also carrying herself at times with a dignity that suggested the future countess of the 2nd "Figaro" play, "The Marriage of Figaro."

It's not a rave exactly but I'll take it. The thing that I find interesting about it is that he focused on exactly the thing the director (the illustrious A. Scott Parry) and I had many conversations and even arguments about. I ended up doing what Scott wanted me to do, and it seems that, well, he was right. As I mentioned in a previous post, I had trouble doing away with my desires to be a COMEDIENNE with a capital C, and I just wanted to play Rosina for laughs. But he always encouraged me to play her for real, to avoid the easy laughs, and try to understand the truth behind why she is who she is. We even had a big argument the night before the dress rehearsal because he told me he wanted me to be "more of a woman". "Well," I quipped, "then you probably should have hired someone else because obviously I'm just too strong and masculine to do this the way you want it." (I know, I can be bratty sometimes, but we're friends so it was okay). He very gently coaxed me off my ledge, and I agreed that I would do my best to stay true and honest to the character, and avoid "trying" to be funny. Many times Scott asked me to "channel the Countess in Marriage of Figaro - remember who you become!" he chanted. Well, it worked. I wasn't even thinking about that, but somehow the reviewer got it.

I must give credit to Scott - this looks like it's a good review of what I did, but honestly, I kind of fought him tooth and nail about doing it this way. So actually, it's a good review of what he did, and what I created because of what he told me. It takes courage to be a young director and ask a cast who has sung their roles many times to do away with the very things they feel make their characters funny. But he quietly insisted, despite protestations, and he was right. I think this is probably how I'm going to play Rosina from now on, so I owe him big time. And as it happens, he has some very interesting ideas about how he wants me to play the Cenerentola he's directing me in at Florida Grand Opera in a couple of months, so I'm sure I'll be asked to pay up soon enough.

Barber photos

These are photos I swiped off the Orange County Register's website, which had a little slideshow along with the very positive review. I am including them here even though my eyes are closed in every picture except one (what can I say - I have a very active blinker) and I also have really funny expressions in all of them. Sometimes I look at production photos and wonder if i ever look "normal". But at least you can see the pretty costumes and my fun red wig.

Barbiere opening

So, tonight was the opening of Barbiere here at Opera Pacific. It's 12:48 and I just got home. I think it went well - I mean, I guess I can't really be sure, but I know that nothing happened that made me too upset, so I guess that means it was a success. It's funny - my high notes, which is what I'd been worrying about - were fine I think, but I had a few issues with the extreme low notes from the opening night nerves. But all in all, I guess it went well. It's so hard to tell!! And I didn't have anyone in the audience to tell me how I did, so I guess I just have to rely on my own judgement. But yeah. It was good. I think. Or at least it wasn't bad. The audience gave us a standing ovation, so I think that at least the production was successful. Yay us!

chasing perfection

Yesterday afternoon was the first rehearsal with orchestra. While 99% of the rehearsal went really well, I still sang a sucky high B natural at the end of my aria. In fact, at the end of my second aria, there is a sustained high A, and I held it for a really long time, so the conductor joked "are you holding the A forever to make up for the B?" "Yes", I replied, "is it working?"

I have an ongoing saga with this note - B natural - but only when it comes as the climax at the end of an aria. For example, I sing another sustained B natural in my duet with Figaro which always comes out great, but somehow the one at the end of the aria only comes out well sometimes. Other times, it sounds like I'm singing straight tone and gargling at the same time. And there is no single thing I can do to make certain it works - there are so many factors that seem to affect it; how I'm feeling that day, how I sing the rest of the aria, my level of nervousness, and whether I stress out about the note in the moment or just sing it. I was really beating myself up about this problem (as I tend to do) after the rehearsal, when I had an enlightening conversation with the director.

He was wondering why I thought I needed to be perfect, when perfection is basically impossible. He told me about a study Time magazine did a few years back, where they made a list of the 50 most difficult jobs. Number one was some crazy kind of rock climbing without ropes, number three was neurosurgery, and number two was - yup, you guessed it - opera singing. So when people say "it's not brain surgery" we can reply "that's right - it's MORE difficult." Now, I'm not sure everyone would agree with that, but it was nice to hear someone acknowledge the fact that employing excellent vocal technique, acting - usually in another language, making sure to stay with the conductor and orchestra, remembering your staging, wearing a costume, dealing with the set, and doing it all at the same time is actually really challenging! And expecting utter perfection from ourselves to the point that we beat ourselves up when one little thing goes wrong is totally counterintuitive. I know for me, the biggest reason I usually flub the note is that I am worried I might flub it. I know this because I can always sing it perfectly in my dressing room before the performance, and in my living room when no one is listening. The ONLY times I sing it badly are during performances (and sometimes auditions). So basically, my extreme desire to be perfect is preventing me from the very thing I want.

So, I officially am telling you universe: I don't care what happens when I sing my high B. It is one note of many (and with Rosina, I mean MANY) and I sing the rest of them pretty well. I officially demote this note from "most important" to "least important" and I accept it in it's many incarnations. If it comes out sounding like poop, well then, I am perfect in my imperfection. Life is too short to have a high B natural as your ultimate enemy. Big kisses to you high B - may you stop torturing me so I can get on with the rest of my notes, and in a broader sense, the rest of my life.

Smile...or else

Tonight after the dress rehearsal, this "helpful" conversation took place between me and one of the guys in the chorus who had never previously spoken to me:

Him: You sound great!

Me: Thanks so much!

Him: But don't forget to smile.

Me: Huh?

Him: Well, you know, you just look better when you smile.

I found this exchange, which started out so nicely, to be infuriating for several reasons:

1. I was playing a character, so obviously, when she was happy I was smiling, and when she was sad I was frowning. Is he suggesting that I am supposed to smile all the time regardless of how my character is feeling?

2. I realize that sometimes when not in character and not focusing I sometimes frown, but I'm SOOOOO over having to plaster a fake smile on my face at all times for no reason.

3. I have a particular pet peeve about people commanding other people to smile. It happens to me sometimes on the streets of new york, where some guy will pass by me and say "SMILE!" as if I am responsible for pleasing him with my personal expressions.

Why oh WHY do people think they need to "help" other people with "advice"? Here's a tip: Any time you begin a phrase with "Don't forget", you're probably maybe not being so "helpful". But don't forget to smile when you're giving that oh so helpful advice, because at least then you'll look good.

Don't hate me because I'm in paradise

I live a short 5 minute walk from this beach:

And it's 75 and sunny, with a slight breeze. But please don't hate me because I am surrounded by natures greatest splendors in a perfectly mild climate with a gentle wind cooling the lovely sunshine. Hate me because I'm sitting on the couch watching Oprah in this setting. What? I have a tech rehearsal in the theater tonight - gotta conserve energy. Oh come on, I took those pictures, didn't I? I had to be outside for like 20 minutes at least to do that!

gratitude

Sometimes I'm just so grateful that this has become my life. Of course, there are times when I wonder why the hell I picked this profession because it can certainly make me feel miserable, but more often than that, I have this feeling of awe that I get to have this life. Last night I was driving along the pacific coast highway with the ocean on my left and all these interesting stores and restaurants on my right, having just returned from dinner at my cousin's house. It was a beautiful night and I was savoring the fact that I didn't have to be at rehearsal until 7 PM the next evening (we move into the theater tonight, so our schedule goes to all evening rehearsals). I have to remind myself of this feeling next time I'm in some awful town and am horribly lonely reading a mean review written about me while performing an opera I can't stand. Remind me, someone.

Last night was so fantastic. I happen to have a cousin who lives in Orange County, and I haven't seen him or his wife since before they had their two kids, so I hadn't ever even met the kids. I may be biased because I'm related to them, but they were some of the cutest, nicest kids I have ever met. Sometimes you meet a family and you think to yourself - "god - why is that I want to have kids again?", but this was the opposite. The kids - Elise who is 1 and Ethan who is 3 - were so adorable, happy, friendly, and well behaved, that I think my uterus was actually reaching outside my body and tapping me on the shoulder while yelling "get your ass in gear Rivera!" I was VERY impressed with the parenting my cousin and his wife are doing - they seem to have found the perfect combination of discipline and communication, which makes for very happy, easy-going children. Just look at these faces!

I'm just really lucky that I happen to be paid to work in a place where this part of my family lives, where the weather is beautiful, and where I can smell the ocean from my kitchen. Life's kinda good sometimes, I gotta admit.

glutton for punishment

I am definitely something of a masochist. Today we were staging the quintet and quartet in the second act of the opera. This is the very comedic scene where Don Basilio enters only to be shoved out by the other 4 principals, and then Bartolo discovers that the Count is in disguise and romancing Rosina while Figaro is trying to shave him, and the 4 of us run around the stage in craziness and mayhem. It is always a very physical scene with lots of running and usually shaving cream flies everywhere and bowls end up on heads, while wigs come off. We were figuring out the traffic patterns of some of the chases, and I looked up at the spiral staircase on stage left. "Gee," I remarked, "it's too bad we can't find a way to have somebody hanging off the staircase in this scene." It was really just a comment that I didn't expect anyone to take seriously, but the director was intrigued. "How could we fit that in?" he wondered.

So, me and my pratfall-loving self started pulling myself up onto the railings and seeing how I could hang off the thing. We tried many different incarnations, but then discovered that if I grabbed onto one of the stairs and swung forward, it looked pretty funny. We decided that if Bartolo was chasing me and I used a stair to swing myself out of the way to escape, it might work. So after several botched attempts, we got the maneuver to work. We ran the scene several times, and I was so excited that I was getting to act like a monkey that I was ignoring the fact that my arms really started to hurt. It was like doing a bunch of pull ups, and then doing a few more. Now my shoulders are killing me, my arms feel like someone tried to pull them off, and my hands have a bunch of callouses on them. BUT it's worth it because I get to do this:

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

What is WRONG with me? Why do I think that being on a stage in an opera is the same thing as being on the playground in the 4th grade? But unlike 4th grade, I have GOT to remember to stretch first.