Third time's a charm

I think I really like third performances. The premiere is always nerve-wracking and scary, but also has a very concentrated energy and focus. The second performance is often the most difficult, because after all the energy and focus of the premiere, the second can get a little sleepy and uncentered. But usually by the third performance, we've all found our rhythm, are beginning to take more risks musically and dramatically, and are having more fun.

This was definitely the case with last night's performance # 3 of Agrippina (although the second one really wasn't bad - in fact, I sang better in #2 than in #1 I think). For me, I wasn't terribly nervous, and I was focused on getting a few things perfectly right that I felt I hadn't nailed yet. Performing is such a brain game, and I'm always happy when I get further along into the run, because my brain starts to function more like it does in rehearsals and less like it does during the first few performances. During rehearsals I'm absolutely focused on creating something in the moment, and I'm not editing myself. But for the first couple of performances I have to work really hard to get the voice out of my brain that starts telling me, "That note sucked. You look stupid right now. You're supposed to sing this phrase quietly, dummy." And if I make some sort of minor mistake, fuggetaboutit, my brain is running wild, chastising me and at the same time trying to get back on track.

But by the third performance, the voices in my head usually get quieter, and I start to relax into what I'm doing. I'm not even 100% sure someone would be able to tell the difference from the outside unless they knew me extremely well, but for me, the performance becomes much more enjoyable when I'm in the moment making discoveries at every turn. Last night, the maestro had given me a note that I needed to find more places to sing quietly in the first aria, so I was challenging myself to go against my desire to SHOW OFF MY VOICE AND HOW LOUD AND ROUND IT IS just because it's the beginning of the show, and instead, show moments of Nero's psychopathic rage that are boiling on the inside but haven't exploded yet. I was happy with how that went, and I continued to try to find moments like that throughout the show. But there was still one aria that I want to do better next time, and I will continue to think about how I'm going to make that happen. And it will probably involve a lot of singing in the shower - my favorite time for vocal experimentation.

The other fun thing about the third performance is that you start to have more fun with your colleagues. People throw curve-balls at you by changing slightly what they're doing, by approaching you with more intensity on a certain phrase, or walking way over stage left when you're used to them staying center. But these moments are so fabulous because you are reminded that what you are doing is a living art, and that each performance is it's own "masterpiece" (I'm putting that word in quotation marks, because we've all had nights at the opera which could only be described with the word "piece" if it were used in the sentence "piece of crap". This particular production, however, is a nightly masterpiece - and not even in quotations.). I'm actually sad that we only have 2 more performances because this is the kind of production and the kind of cast with whom I could probably perform a thousand times and still find everything interesting. But sadly, we have to say goodbye to this fantastic production in just a few days and go to other places where we will all probably be portraying far less sinister and crazy characters.

Ah, you psychopathic, matricidal teenage boy, I will miss you so.

The long road here

I've been gathering my thoughts in the last couple of days about this production of Agrippina here in Berlin because, well, it was kind of a big deal for me. Let me take you back to almost exactly a year ago today to explain why.

One year ago I was finishing up a run of Cenerentolas in Miami, enjoying the warm sunny weather, but also kind of freaking out. You see, at that point I was a little worried I might need to find another line of work. I had had a busy fall and early winter, but at that moment, I didn't have a single other singing job lined up for the rest of 2009. And this was February. Why this was happening was anybody's guess - this is a funny, fickle career, the economic crisis was especially brutal to the arts industry in the U.S., there happen to be about a zillion very talented people in my fach and not a zillion roles, I probably didn't come over to europe as early as I should have career wise, etc, ad naseum. Regardless of the reasons, I was pretty much having freak-outs on an almost daily basis.

I left Miami and went back to New York and was wondering if I was going to have to get a job waiting tables at the Olive Garden in Parnassus, NJ (for you non American readers who might wonder what that means, it's basically a fate worse than death), when I got a call from a conductor asking me if I could come to Warsaw to sing a production of Lucrezia Borgia in a few weeks. Delighted, I learned the role, hopped on a plane, and had a great time in Warsaw, excluding the time I couldn't tell the difference between the men's and women's restrooms and walked in on some Polish guy at the urinal. While I was in Warsaw, my agent called me and told me that Berlin was looking for a Nerone for the following season, and could I pop on over to Berlin and sing for Maestro Jacobs? I took the five hour train ride to Berlin (my first time ever seeing the town), stayed the night, and got up the next morning and sang for the Maestro on the stage of the Staatsoper. He took me into a practice room afterwards and worked a little on one of the arias and some of the recitatives, and then said, "Yes. I think you will do it. And we'll make a recording."

I walked out of the dressing room and into the passageway underneath the theater and started to cry. Tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of years of pent up excitement and frustration. I walked back out of the theater, put my sunglasses over my red eyes, and took the train back to Poland. I called my mom and dad, I called my agent, and I felt a euphoria that I would imagine compares to getting married or having a child (although I don't know for sure because I haven't done either of those things). I cried off and on all the way back to Warsaw.

Now, here we are, one year later, and I just sang in this fantastic new production at the Staatsoper. Other than the month of March, my 2010 is completely booked, with me going from job to job with barely a day in between, with debuts in several theaters in Europe, a world premiere, a recording, and a lot of new possibilities. What a difference a year can make in a person's life - I'm living proof!

But I wouldn't change a thing about that slow, scary time. Because it made me appreciate in a deep new way, what a privilege it is to earn my living as an artist. It can be terribly frightening, soul crushingly brutal on your ego, and completely fickle and undependable. But it is an incredible privilege and one that I will never take for granted again.

And so I spent this entire two month rehearsal period in Berlin enjoying myself tremendously. I loved getting notes from the Maestro that I had forgotten a rest in one line of recit, I loved having the director encourage me to take something in an entirely different direction than I thought possible, I loved watching the other singers grow and create beautiful portraits of evil characters. I giggled at every single costume fitting and I marveled at the sounds the orchestra was able to make. And while I was terribly nervous as I stood offstage listening to the overture and waiting for my entrance the night of the premiere, I was also happy. I get to do this. This is my life. And it seems like for now anyway (knock on wood), this continues to be my life. And that is truly a thing of beauty.

The Premiere

It was great!!!

Of course I made a couple of first night jittery mistakes which I was really annoyed at myself for (and which I'm not going to go into detail about here because I've learned not to do that) but otherwise I felt good about my performance, and felt that the show as a whole went really, really well. The audience reaction was extremely positive, and the rest of the cast gave absolutely outstanding, fantastic performances. And nobody booed!!!! I have been to a few premieres here in Germany, and the audience has ALWAYS booed the director, even when I thought the show was great. But not last night - warm cheers and applause for all the singers, for the maestro, and for the production team!

The performance will be broadcast on the radio, which can also be streamed live online at daskulturradio.de at 7:30 PM Berlin time, this Sunday the 7th.

I want to write a more interesting collection of thoughts about the performance and about the important lessons I have taken away from this experience so far, but right now I'm feeling tired and overwhelmed from last night, so I will leave you with a few images from the production taken during rehearsals by the extremely talented countertenor, cast member, and photographer Dominique Visse. He is really an all around artist, and I am amazed at the images he was able to capture when he was in between singing his own scenes.

Agrippina - first look

Okay, I hesitate to even post the link to this article and accompanying video of some scenes from our Agrippina, because the thing they show me doing at the end of the video seems absolutely.... indecent. I mean, my parents and some young friends read this blog and the only clip this newspaper chose to represent me is one of me writhing on the floor and looking positively not appropriate for viewers under 17. But what the hell - you can see the rest of the production and how beautiful it is and hear some of the outstanding singing. Plus, if you can read german, you can read this article about the lovely young soprano singing Poppea, Anna Prohaska. So here goes nothing - here's the link to the article in today's Zeit online. Happy viewing! And please know that I also appear in this opera standing up and looking as innocent as a lamb.

Crunch Time

This process has been entirely different from what I'm accustomed to, and so I'm having trouble figuring out when I'm supposed to be nervous. Which is kind of.....funny!

Normal show schedule (for me thus far) is: rehearse for 3 weeks in a room, one rehearsal with orchestra (sitzprobe), and between 2-4 rehearsals onstage, (one or two with costumes and one or two with orchestra), and then opening. By the time you reach the sitzprobe you are usually at 5-7 days before the opening and you start to think to yourself, "okay self; sleep lots, take your vitamins, and FOCUS because you're coming into the home stretch."

In this process, we had a total of about 4 or 5 stage rehearsals where we were working on running the various parts of the opera with the set, and simultaneously having a total of 4 sitzprobes. Then we had a piano dress rehearsal, and then 6 rehearsals on the stage with the orchestra (which we will finish up tonight), followed by a pre-dress rehearsal with everything, and a dress rehearsal. So when am I supposed to start getting nervous? Now I suppose, although since I have already sung my entire role on the stage with the orchestra a bunch of times, I feel pretty relaxed. What a concept!

Of course, we never have schedules like this in the States for two reasons: One; the cost of having so many sessions with the orchestra becomes prohibitive when you don't have state sponsored funding. Even huge companies like the Met and Chicago don't have so many chances to work with the orchestra and on the stage. The second reason for the regional companies is that they aren't at home in the theaters in which they perform, they just rent them, so they must pay for every time they use the stage, and that also becomes impossibly expensive. The only other time I've witnessed so many stage rehearsals and orchestra rehearsals was when I was singing in Italy. I did many a production at City Opera where I had exactly ZERO stage rehearsals and ZERO orchestra rehearsals before the performance. Of course, that was also the case here at the Staatsoper when I sang Barbiere earlier this season, but that production is performed so often by the company that it was more like a train that I was just hopping on and adding my luggage to for a few stops. For me, I always prefer to have LOTS of rehearsal because then I feel like when I get to the performances I can delve deeply into the characterizations and musical choices because I'm confident with all the logistics happening around me.

And this show, by the way, is really fabulous. The singing, the staging, the orchestra, the sets, the costumes - everything is coming together for something really sparkling and moving and fascinating and funny and crazy and strong. I really wish all of you readers could see it, but the good news is that a documentary is being made about the creation of this production, and later this summer we will record a CD which will be distributed by Harmonia Mundi. So even though you may not be able to get to Berlin, I promise to share as much with you as I can. Pictures coming soon as well!! Now I'm off to my final of six stage orchestra rehearsals, and I'm not even nervous. Outstanding!

Lacroix! Lacroix! Lacroix!

I found this video on youtube - a little sneak peak at the costume designing process with a master, and a chance for me to drool over the dresses the girls get to wear....

Einspringen

I was thinking it was time to write a new blog post, and was considering all the things I could write about when I had a funny life situation happen that took precedence.

Today during the stage rehearsal, I was standing offstage waiting for my entrance chatting with the baritone (as I have been known to do) and he was telling me about how he had to leave tomorrow because he was jumping in for Figaro in Barber of Seville in a town in Germany that I didn't know. This practice, called einspringen, is common here in Germany, where they don't generally have covers or understudies. But there is so much opera going on, and so many singers, that when someone becomes ill, the company makes calls to find a replacement, flies them in, shows them the staging in one day, and then BAM they're on! I wrote one blog post when I was in Berlin last time about how the Figaro was ill and they found another one who performed with only a day's notice, and I was very impressed with how well he seemed to know what he was doing. As soon as the baritone today told me about his jumping in, I said "Oh, I am dying to get a call to jump in! I just think it would be really exciting and a big challenge, but I would feel such a big sense of accomplishment after!" The other reason is that with all the stress of learning the blocking in 5 minutes, I think it would be hard to worry too much about my voice, which is always an appealing prospect.

The baritone and I finished our conversation, made our entrances, and then very soon after that, the rehearsal ended. I went to my dressing room, collected my things, and made my way to the tram for the trek home. While I was waiting for the strassenbahn to arrive, I pulled out my iphone to see if I had any new emails, and I was happy to find the little red 1 peeking back at me. When I opened the email, I discovered that it was from Xxxxx Oper (I shouldn't say the name since it's not public info yet), asking me if I was free to jump in for Rosina this very Sunday (like the day after tomorrow). I was so shocked and delighted. I almost wanted to look up at the sky and say, "HA! I am obviously the master and creator of my own destiny because all I have to say is I WANT, and the thing ARRIVES!!"

I immediately called the opera company, who had emailed me directly because my agents in the U.S. weren't even awake yet, to tell them YES I can jump in on Sunday! It's my day off!! Unfortunately, it turned out they also had a performance on Tuesday, and they needed someone who could sing both, and had already called the Staatsoper and been informed that I had a sitzprobe here on Tuesday that I couldn't miss, and had found someone else.

But it all happened so quickly!! During the time it took me to have a conversation about einspringen, an opera company was actually trying to find me to get me to jump in, but discovering that I wasn't available and finding someone else. All while I was casually standing backstage chatting with a colleague! If only I didn't have that sitzprobe on Tuesday, I could have been on a train tomorrow morning, on my way to a new city, to learn yet another staging of Barber of Seville! Oh well, hopefully I'll still have my chance one of these days to seriously stress myself out in new and different ways.

War wounds

Okay, what other opera singer out there on the internet will pull down her pants and take pictures of herself just to share the magnificent injuries she incurs while on the job? Who but me will show you the spoils of my clumsiness??? It's probably called over-sharing and something I should discuss with a therapist, but nonetheless, ladies and gentleman, I would like to introduce you to opera bruise number 2,347:

It's like I wrote the last blog post just so I could show you that I wasn't kidding. It was probably the day or so after I wrote that post about the fact that I can't stop myself from needing my own stunt-double, when I had this brilliant idea to jump up on the sofa arm as if I were a kangaroo. The director just suggested I jump up onto the regular part of the couch, but I thought it would be even more dramatic if I jumped up really high onto the arm of the sofa. We were trying the scene for the first time, and the entire rest of the cast was standing just offstage watching, which is why their horrified gasps were audible to me when I leapt up onto the arm of the sofa, miscalculated the distance, slipped a little, and went barreling head first downward with my feet splayed in the air. It all happened really quickly, and I stood up and brushed the incident off in order to continue the rehearsal. But then I started developing this immense shiner on my thigh, and realized that I really need to stop acting like a drunk person at Mardi Gras who misjudges distances and falls down a lot.

It's not just that I fall down a lot on the job. I actually fall down a lot in life as well. I think it's possible that my arms and legs grew a little too long or something, and they don't always know what to do with themselves. It's totally miraculous that I haven't ever broken any bones, but that could be because I avoid sports like skiing and skateboarding for precisely this reason.

In other news, we have already moved onto the stage, and the set looks fantastic. The stairs that lead to the platform in front of the pit concern me a bit considering my gift for falling down, but I'm being careful, I promise. Being on the stage with this much time before the premiere is SUCH a luxury, and I LOVE IT! We also have something like 6 stage orchestra rehearsals and 4 sitzprobes - that kind of rehearsal allowance makes all Americans drool with envy. Plus during all those sitzprobes I will probably be sitting, so I might even be able to avoid injury. Might.

Glutton for punishment part 2

In the fall of 2008 I wrote this post about how, for some inexplicable reason, I seem to ask directors to make my life more difficult by pleading with them to let me do strange stunts on stage. I wish I had some photos of the positions I've agreed to put myself in during this production of Agrippina, like this photo someone took of me during the Barbiere rehearsals in California where I begged the director to let me swing from the staircase like a crazy person:

And the funny thing is, instead of working with directors who say "you must" lie on the floor with your legs in the air while singing an aria, I actually find myself asking them. "what about this position? And then I could curl up in a ball and roll around. What do you think?" But I wasn't always like that.

One of my first big jobs was singing Lazuli in L'Etoile at New York City Opera. It was my first starring role with that company, I was only a year or so out of school, and I was really nervous about the whole endeavor. The assistant stage director was a young guy named Tim O'Leary who has since become a good friend of mine, but whom I had only just met when the rehearsals began. (If you recognize his name it's because he is now the General Director of Opera Theatre of Saint Louis). Tim and I are now great friends, but we laugh really hard when reminiscing about our first time working together. One of us only has to say the words "WHILE I'M SINGING" and we both start hysterically laughing because it reminds us of some of the difficulties we had during that production.

In that production of L'Etoile, my character's first aria was to be sung lying down on my stomach, propped up on my elbows. During the first day of staging, when Tim showed me what position I was supposed to take, I immediately screeched, "you want me to lie like that WHILE I'M SINGING????" This was the first aria of the first big role with the first big company I was singing, and I was supposed to sing it while lying on my belly??? I was petrified that the position would interfere with my singing, and Tim, ever the diplomat calmed me down and told me not to worry, we would find the position that worked for me. We ended up compromising and I started the aria lying on my side and rose soon after it began and sang while kneeling. There were several other incidents during that production, including one where I was informed by Tim that I had to wear this really weird uncomfortable pair of shoes before this one scene where I had to kneel a lot, and they got in my way. Again, concerned that having to alter my position would really mess with my singing, I almost cried, "I can't possibly wear those ASSHOLE shoes during that really high floaty part!! It will be a disaster!!!" this time choosing to focus my rage on the shoes and not on my kindly friend Tim. I was obviously extremely uptight about that entire situation, and just worried that something - anything - could compromise what I wanted to be my absolute best.

The funny thing was that I ended up getting incredibly sick for the premiere and had to take a ton of medicine just to get my voice to work, but it still went just great and I ended up getting a fantastic review in the New York Times. It was probably the stress and pressure I was putting on myself that caused me to get sick, and with a nasty upper respiratory infection, I wasn't paying any attention to what position I was singing from, I was just praying for my voice to come out.

And then somewhere along the way, I realized that being in weird positions - especially reclining positions - actually relaxes me in a way, and allows me to sing better. Of course, some really difficult passages require good posture for good support, but for most things, lying down is totally awesome - as is crawling, bending over sideways, sitting, kneeling, and generally bending in ways that make you look more like an actor and less like a stand and shout opera singer. And when I realized this, I found that crawling around the set like a jungle gym was really fun, and the sportiness of it all unlocked my body and allowed me even more freedom in my singing. So I started actually asking directors to put me in all the weird positions they wanted to, and they have been mostly happy to comply.

Of course, I can't resist getting a little sympathy from them as I point out all the weird positions they've put me in, and showing them the bruises on my knees while whining about the crick in my neck. But I love it all - the weirder the better - I just don't necessarily need them to know that I'm not actually a martyr wiling to suffer for my art at all costs.

From the outside looking in

Today I had a friend over in my apartment who is not a singer, and as we were standing in the kitchen, he spied my bag o' drugs. No, it's not as bad (or as exciting) as it sounds, but every singer I know travels overseas with their very own "medicine cabinet" of things that they have with them just in case something goes horribly wrong. All of the cold remedies that you know work for your particularly insufferable sinuses, the antibiotics that cure the cold that turns into an infection, the sleeping pills for when you have to change time zones, the prednisone in case of severe laryngitis, etc, etc. Everybody has their own security blanket of drugs that is more there so that you know, in a pinch, you won't be completely defenseless against all that evil bacteria lurking around and just waiting to ruin your opening night with a throat infection. The truth is I haven't taken any of those medicines in quite awhile (in fact, upon closer inspection I realized that some of them are actually past their expiration dates) but when I saw the horrified expression on my friend's face when he discovered that I carried around a bag full of more drugs than would be required to knock a horse unconscious, I realized what we singers must look like to the outside world. If another singer had seen that bag of orange bottles lined up on my counter, they would just grunt, "huh, you like levaquin? I prefer zithromax." but to a normal person, it seems, well.... crazy.

When I was in Leipsig over Christmas I met a couple who consisted of a soprano and a journalist, and was talking to them about their relationship. The journalist said that when he first met his girlfriend, she was the only singer he knew, and it wasn't until he started meeting other singers that he realized that his wasn't, in fact crazy. He was recalling one particular night when he was out with a group of singers, and when the last one arrived she insisted the whole group move to another table that was less "drafty." That's when the journalist had the "aha moment" of - "wow....so they're all like this. Huh."

It's true. We all have to be so weird about certain things, and to the outsiders looking in, it must seem just ridiculous sometimes. I'm too cold. I'm too hot. It's too loud in here. Someone is smoking. I can't eat anything on this menu or it'll give me reflux. Did that woman just sneeze? It's too late too eat. It's too early to eat. Where's my scarf? Can we move away from the door? I can't talk any more - I'm just going to write down what I want to tell you on this piece of paper. No, I can't go out, I have a performance in three weeks. No, I can't drink that wine, I have to sing in rehearsal tomorrow. Wow, my throat feels really thick today. Does anyone have any mucinex? Yes, I need that 9 hours of sleep and then I also need to take a nap.

Should I continue?

But then some nights, you go to dinner with your colleagues at a noisy restaurant and the only table they have is right by the door, which keeps opening for the 16 handtrucks full of water bottles that are being delivered to the kitchen that very night. You keep saying you don't want any more wine, but every time your head is turned somebody refills your glass, and you're too busy laughing hysterically and talking loudly over the din of the room to notice. Then suddenly it's 1:30 AM, you're in a cab on your way back to your apartment, and you think to yourself; Huh - I really hope I'm not still drunk at my 10 AM rehearsal tomorrow morning.

That was my night last night, and I guess tomorrow I'd better go back to being a crazy singer, but for one night, I was sorta....normal. And it felt nice.

And onto the next decade

Last year I wrote a wrap-up of the year in blogging and singing, and this year it seems fitting to write a decade wrap-up since my entire career has basically been encapsulated in the decade to which we are now bidding auf wiedersehn.

2001 was the first year I actually started making my living as a singer, and thanks be to god, it has kept me afloat all the years since then. I started out knowing exactly what I wanted from my life and from my career, and through a series of twists and turns, I ended up taking an entirely different path than I would have imagined, and am just now reaching the point I always pictured in those early days. While I have always managed to make my living from singing and haven't had any other serious jobs in the last decade, 2010 will be the first year that I am really really really busy. All those years singing at City Opera (8 seasons and over 80 performances) and having a few months off here, a few months off there, meant I got to be at home for more months than I was away usually. It never really occurred to me to be grateful for all the time spent in my own bed until I realized I was facing a year where I could potentially spend less than 45 days in that soft cushy perfectly proportioned dreamland. And I'm not complaining about being away - on the contrary - I'm thrilled to finally be one of those singers who is "always on the road." But I will miss all the little luxuries that go along with having a somewhat normal life.

I will miss all those years where one best friend was my roommate and the other one lived just four blocks away, and we had the luxury of arguing over which restaurant we would all be going to together that night, knowing that next week there would be yet another night just like this one. I will miss noticing every time a new restaurant or store opens in my neighborhood the day the sign goes up that says, "coming soon," and deciding whether it will be my new favorite place (macaroni and cheese specialist) or an object of my scorn and fury (yet another bank or pharmacy). I will miss being able to take a voice lesson with my teacher or learn a role with my coach whenever the fancy strikes me. I will miss being a regular at the corner diner and being able to visit my parents at a moment's notice. I will miss impromptu dinner parties in the building next door and big birthday parties for me with all my friends around me.

But I'm ready. I'm ready to change the way I live, and to stay in touch on skype, and to never put my suitcases back in the closets. I'm ready to constantly be putting my lip gloss and hair gel in a clear plastic bag, and even to give up my stupid blanket and cross my legs for the last hour of my flights. I'm ready to be constantly reminded of how far I have to go before I become really comfortable in any one of these languages that I continue to study, and to have a lot of trouble finding peanut butter in the grocery store. I'm ready for way too many holidays on which all the stores are closed, and not understanding the street signs. I'm ready for new conductors, new directors, new colleagues, and new roles. I'm ready to sing into microphones for posterity and to have my feelings hurt by reviews in languages I don't completely understand. I totally accept that this year - this decade - my life is going to change.

Bring in on 10's. It's time.

Merry Weinacht and Happy Sylvester

This was my first year away from home for Christmas, and it hasn't been nearly as depressing as I was afraid it might be. I've worked on a bunch of New Year's Eves and not really had my own party as a result, but amazingly, I've never been away from Mom and Dad on Christmas before. But I sort of have facebook to thank for saving me from crying myself to sleep alone in my bathrobe on Christmas night - once again the internets have proven themselves to be useful for more than just listening to my local NPR station from all corners of the globe.

A friend invited me to visit her and her family in Leipsig because she noticed on facebook that I was whining in my status updates about being all alone in Germany for Christmas. So I took the one hour train ride to the beautiful, historical city where Bach himself was busy making Christmas music 275 years earlier. It's kind of overwhelming to stand in the church where somebody like Bach actually stood, and to know that the music that was premiered in that very spot basically set the entire course of musical history as we know it today. I'm not religious, but I think that counts as a religious experience for a musician.

After I returned from Leipsig, I was lucky enough to be invited to Christmas dinner (on the 25th - the Germans have their big family celebrations on the 24th, but this friend happens to be Australian and celebrates like we yankees) by another friend with whom I went to Juilliard, but who now lives in Berlin. It was a dinner party with about 16 guests, and my friend cooked a gorgeous feast of turkey, ham, and stuffing, and fed us gallons of champagne and red wine, so any homesickness I might have felt was washed away by mountains of tryptophans and booze. I stumbled back to my apartment at nearly 2 in the morning, and my first Christmas away from home was complete.

I had another dinner party with some colleagues last night, and I'm always amazed at how often singers get together and dream about what it would be like to quit singing and have a normal life for a change. I was quizzing people about it last night, and the top two reasons that singers feel shackled and constantly stressed by the career are; the vulnerability of having your instrument inside your body and the constant travel. The vocal folds are so tiny and easily upset, and most singers are constantly worrying - to the point of obsession - about how their voices are feeling in any given moment, what might be happening around them to disturb the delicate balance, and being utterly paranoid of being within a 50 mile radius of someone who so much as clears their throat. It's a constant battle that goes on in your head; you're around a person you like, but you notice them coughing or sneezing a little. You, as casually as you can possibly muster, ask them if they are under the weather. They tell you they have a little cold. You instinctively back away towards the nearest restroom so you can scrub your hands til they're pink and gargle a bottle of purell. And all the while you hate yourself for being such a sissy and worrying so much about germs. Most singers would NOT miss that fun little head game they play with themselves. And then there's the travel; the fact that I'm family-less here in Germany for Christmas being a perfect example. And I don't even have my own children to worry about being away from - that adds a whole level of torture to being constantly on the road. Not to mention spouses, friends, elderly relatives, weddings funerals, birthdays - all of which you are often forced to miss because of work.

But in the end, the positives outweigh the negatives for most of us, and everyone finds their own way to make it all work. People wear hospital masks on planes and try to avoid shaking hands. They travel with nannies so their kids can come with them, and they watch wedding ceremonies on skype. They rely on the kindness of friends and facebook to find holiday cheer in foreign countries. And sometimes they quit and find something else that makes them happy. And then they gleefully toss their industrial size bottle of purell out the window.

Oh right, this is what busy feels like

I haven't been avoiding blogging because I have nothing to talk about - I just literally haven't had any time to get my thoughts together, much less write them down during this hectic week. But I'm certainly not complaining; rehearsing is my favorite thing to be busy with, especially when it's a really cool show like this one. Not to mention the fact that I actually have a lot of friends here in Berlin, either living here or just in town working here, which is SUCH an incredible luxury! One friend, accustomed to spending lots of time on her own in foreign cities said, "I feel like I've beat the system because I actually have one of 'my people' here!" and I couldn't agree more.

But anyway, back to the matter at hand; rehearsals. We have basically been having intensive musical rehearsals in the mornings and staging rehearsals in the afternoon. What I've learned is that the version of Agrippina that we're doing for this production has never been done before - it's something that Rene Jacobs has put together based on Handel's own original manuscript and various research the Maestro has done. For example, at the end of the second act, Handel wanted to end with a duet between two characters; Ottone and Poppea, but the singers of the time wanted to each have an exit aria to finish their roles, so Handel (sadly, apparently) removed this really beautiful duet and inserted some arias. The duet has now been restored and those arias have been cut. Also, one of the arias that was in the opera when I performed it last time is being cut because it was only added later because of singer demands. The musical rehearsals have been fantastic - we are working together with the harpsichordist and pianist to create recits that are every bit as musically fulfilling as the arias, and are filled with thought and detail. Jacobs' method of performing recits is to have them maintain their rhythmic structure instead of just ignoring the rests and treating them like spoken texts on pitch. Initially, it was a little difficult to adjust to this method since I'm used to basically ignoring the rhythmic values, but the results, when one does it right, are quite extraordinary. The text rings with far more clarity and distinction when the rests are all observed, and every moment has it's own dramatic impulse. Recits are very often thrown away as the thing taking up space between the "good stuff"; the arias. However these recits have a life all their own, and as such, are all incredibly interesting. I had only heard Jacobs recordings, and I didn't know what his exact methods were, I just knew that really liked the results. I feel like I've now been let in on an extraordinary secret.

And the staging rehearsals have been equally wunderbar. The young french director, Vincent Boussard, has already really impressed me by attending every single musical rehearsal (directors often don't come to those) so that he could be perfectly in synch with what we are being asked to do musically and what he is asking us to do physically. The staging process has been quite interactive, with plenty of space for the singers to come with their own ideas, but also a good structure around which we can work. The sets look like they are going to be really cool and with Christian Lacroix designing the costumes, you can imagine how freaking awesome those are gonna be (I had my first fitting with him yesterday, and he said (with his gorgeous french accent) "what a body!" when I put on my tight leggings and high heels costume. I almost keeled over in ecstasy! Christian Lacroix is not only designing clothes for ME to wear, he thinks I have "a body"!! Pinch me, I could be dreaming). I know, I know, I'm always getting all enthusiastic and telling you all how awesome everything is gonna be. I can't help it - it's my American-ness combined with my hyper and overly excitable personality.

And by the way, I know I should be putting an umlaut over the name Handel so it says Händel, but seriously, I can't be bothered to type option u before typing the a every time I write his fricking name! I mean, I'm gonna be writing his name down a million times in the next two months - you guys know what I mean, right? Here are a few for all you purists out there to keep you warm during the winter while I continue to bulldoze the correct spelling of his name; ä ä ä ä ä. Ugh - I'm exhausted - that took me like 10 minutes! You get me, doncha George Frediric? As long as I sing all the notes you wrote at super fast tempos, can I get a pass on the umlaut thing for the time being?

Deja vu, Berlin style

It's kinda like I never left.

I guess I've never spent two months in a place (other than New York) only to return for another two months after only 6 weeks away. As I was going through my day today, it felt much more like coming back to New York after a gig than arriving at a new gig. Which is great - I LOVE not having to figure stuff out! Of course, just because I don't have to figure out where the supermarket is (or what kind of bread I like there) - or where the Staatsoper is for that matter - I still have to figure out how to sing this opera with this group, and that's enough of a challenge for me, thank you!

I've been really excited to have the opportunity to work with Rene Jacobs because I know what fabulous results he gets from his performers, and I wanted to soak up all that knowledge and musicality for myself. After the first day of rehearsal, I can say with certainty that I won't be disappointed. His knowledge of everything baroque is extensive - today he was talking about which of Handel's cantatas Handel himself was either borrowing or parodying for these Agrippna arias, and I found it all fascinating. I was imagining we were going to have a sing through of most of the opera today, but instead we worked extensively on the first few recitatives and arias. The work was very demanding of brain power on my part - something I was feeling a little short of after arriving yesterday morning sleepless from a 9 hour flight. Plus we started at 10 AM, which was 4 AM for me, still running on New York time. However, I have to say I really enjoy working exhaustively on musical choices instead of just slamming everything together, which is what usually happens because of limited time. To be able to work and re-work each phrase is an amazing luxury, especially when you have an expert guiding your way. I can tell I'm going to learn TONS about the baroque style from this experience, and I want to eat up every morsel of information. Handel's totally gonna be my bitch by the time this is all over.

As I was leaving the theater in between the afternoon and evening rehearsals, a young, normal looking guy stopped me and started talking to me in German. I could tell he wanted something from me, so I pretended not to speak German (which, let's be honest, is not a stretch for me). But instead of giving up, he tried in English. He said "I artist. I make paintings. I make painting on your face?" Now, I don't know if he just had some wrong english going on there, but regardless, I politely declined. "Whhhhaaaayyyyy Naaaaahhhhht?" he whined at me. "Well, dear sir, I don't think I should return to my first day of rehearsals at the Berlin Staatsoper with Maesto Rene Jacobs, with some kind of weird dragon or Harry Potter character painted across my face," is what I SHOULD have said. Instead I just looked at him quizzically and repeated "Nein, danke" and went on my merry way. I don't know, maybe he was a just make-up artist and thought I needed a make-over or something, but on the subway ride home, I couldn't stop imagining myself prancing back into rehearsal and scooting past the harpsichord with my face painted all green and sparkly. It would have made an impression, that's for sure.

Out of the frying pan and into the refiners fire

Last night marked my first time singing "The Messiah", the great oratorio by Handel that is performed hundreds, nay thousands of times each Christmas and Easter. Which is why everyone was asking me HOW can this be your FIRST MESSIAH? Well, as I think I mentioned in an earlier blog entry, I did sing a couple of the soprano solos in a sing-along Messiah in San Francisco, but it was only two of them, and I was 17 years old, so I'm not counting it. And the alto solos are so ridonculously low - they should really be called baritone solos frankly. But I was meant to be in Richmond, VA finally croaking out my first Messiah, and here's why.

I have two best friends, and one of them - Will Ferguson - is a tenor who hails from Richmond. He has sung many Messiahs all over (you may remember, oh loyal readers, this blog entry when I recounted a particularly embarrassing Hallelujah chorus (for me) when I was watching him sing a Messiah at Carnegie Hall). He has sung several Messiahs in Richmond alone, and so he knows the associate conductor for the Richmond Symphony, Erin Freeman. He was chatting with Erin some time ago about who she wanted to invite to sing the Messiah in Richmond this coming Christmas, and when it came to the discussion about the alto solos, she said she would like to invite this certain mezzo with whom she went to Boston University, but she wasn't sure if she'd be available or interested. "Who is it?" asked Will, and Erin replied, "Jennifer Rivera. Do you know her?" "Know her?? She's my best friend!!!" And he told her he was sure I would be interested, because he knew that I had always wanted to try singing the Messiah at least once in my life. And that is why I'm sure this was meant to be my first Messiah. They even kept in the tenor/alto duet which is often cut, so I got to hang out with my bestie AND sing a duet with him. Not bad for a job.

The performance last night probably went as well as I could have expected, considering the solos are about an octave lower than I normally sing. I mean that literally - if I was marking the Handel role I'm about to go sing in Berlin an octave below where it's written, I would be in about the same range as several of these solos. But I do love the music of The Messiah (If you need a good workout track, try "But who may abide" - once you get to the "refiner's fire" part, you'll WANT to run - also I have been known to run along with "Ev'ry Valley" before - that one just puts me in a chipper mood). My big challenge when I'm singing low is to 1.) not get too nervous and 2.) relax into the notes, and try not to push and squeeze them out in an attempt to make extra sound down there. I think I accomplished both of those things last night, so I really can't complain. I don't think I'll be making any recordings of the Messiah any time soon, but I could see myself singing it again, and maybe trying out some higher ornaments. I actually added a couple of ornaments during the performance that I hadn't sung in rehearsal, which is totally unlike me because I'm generally something of a coward about trying new things in performance, but I've been pushing myself to buck that trend, and actually allow myself some freedom to change things up in the performance. It's like walking on a tightrope - but as long as you get across, you feel great satisfaction.

On a side note, Will and I were models of professionalism during the performance, even though they sat us next to each other on the stage, and we tend to make each other laugh at inopportune moments (example: two years ago, Christmas Eve Mass in a Presbyterian Monastery, me: trying (unsuccessfully) to sight read the alto line in the hymns and carols, him: peeing his pants laughing and hissing "you....have....a master's degree.....in music.....from JUILLIARD?!" People were definitely giving us the evil eyebrows). One exception to our excellent behavior was after the Hallelujah chorus, when he leaned over to me and whispered, "Got your pants buttoned up this time?" If you want to know what that's about you'll have to read the blog entry I mentioned and linked to up there in paragraph two - it's Halleluiarious. And yes, my need to constantly use Messiah word play for these titles and jokes is totally dorky. What do you want? The title of my blog is Trying to remain opera-tional. My being a dork isn't news. But my singing my first Messiah apparently is.

WHOA

So, as I was trolling through facebook I saw that someone I know had posted a link to a video on youtube of the soprano that is singing Agrippina in the production I'm about to start rehearsing at the Staatsoper, so I took a closer look. Upon inspection, it turned out to be a video of her singing Sempre Libera from Traviata at 17 YEARS OLD in her native Bulgaria. I don't know her - I've never met her, but I was absolutely astounded when I saw this video. I mean, I started taking lessons really young, and could sing pretty well at 17 (my dad recently found some old tapes which I'm trying to digitize to post on the blog for laughs) but this 17 year old is completely out of control. It would be hard to believe she was that young except when you look at her face, she really looks 17. Prepare to be amazed. Seriously. I mean, I'm not usually posting videos of singers I haven't met on this blog, but this is one of the most amazing things I've ever seen or heard. For realz.

10,000 strong

My blog counter passed the 10,000 hits mark in the last couple of days, so I figured I should do something to commemorate this event. And then I realized I hadn't written a blog post for some time, so maybe actually giving people a reason to look at the blog might be a good way to mark the fact that people are, well, looking at the blog.

I was sort of too busy living it up in New Orleans to be writing stuff down. Not only did I really bond with several members of the cast, but also my best friend Georgia, who now lives in New Orleans, returned from the gig she was away on, so I was abnormally occupied with socializing when I wasn't rehearsing. It's always fantastic when I meet people I really like on gigs, but then terribly sad to leave. And to top it all off, the day before the opening, I got really sick.

I've sung performances sick before, so I try not to get all hysterical when I feel a sore throat creeping up on me, but it still really sucks to have to sing when your throat is on fire, or when you have so much congestion, you sound more frog than human when you try to speak. I have this absurdly deviated septum - so much so, that when a new ENT scopes me and looks up my nose, he usually literally says "WHOA" and jumps out of his chair a little bit. I used to get horrible sinus infections all the time, but luckily, I don't seem to get sick that frequently any more. To call it a "deviated septum" is something of a misnomer - it should really be called a "horrible mangled crashed car on the inside of my nose" and I should probably get it fixed one of these days. But I've never ever cancelled a single performance - I always find some way to make my voice work, so I haven't really had the impetus to embark upon major surgery. But I digress.

The performances went well, in spite of the illness. My biggest complaint about being sick was that I couldn't socialize with everybody enough as our time together drew to a close. But as I travelled back to New York today, I had time to think about the people I'd met this time around and what I will be able to take away from knowing them. Since I have this strange nomadic existence where I get to meet wonderful people, but only have them in my life for a limited amount of time, I try to organize in my brain the lessons I can learn from them, and the things I can take away with me so that they'll remain with me even though we're apart. It sounds totally cheesy, I know, but it's my inner-sentimentalist getting the best of me, so just bear with me.

If there was one thing I learned from the people on this job, it's that being kind is totally possible regardless of who you are. I won't use names so as not to embarrass anybody (they're a rather humble bunch), but when someone is successful enough to sing in all the major opera houses in the world, but still makes a point to ask you how you're feeling (because you're sick) every time you leave the stage, and also makes a point to generously compliment you about your rather small part, it makes you really appreciate that person's ability to be selfless. And when you see someone who is excessively attractive and talented completely choosing to ignore that part of themselves and treating every person - young, old, pretty, ugly, from super to star with exactly the same amount of respect and attention, you realize people really are capable of seeing beyond their own egos. And when someone with a huge role who has a lot more to worry about than you do, insists on driving you to the theater (because you don't have a car) even though your call is 45 minutes before said person, you have a chance to marvel at the fact that some people really do manage to keep things in perspective no matter how many award winning albums they've sold. All this to say that I was continually inspired and amazed by the way people treated one another during this experience, and that's what I'll take away with me even though I had to say goodbye to the people themselves.

Oh lord, I promised you that in this post I would be more sarcastic and be filled with dark humor. Sorry. I guess I'm getting all soft on you. Occupational hazard. But just look at me in this photo taken by a very nice guy from the Montague chorus - I look like I'm ready to be picked up by Wendy and go directly to never-never land. And that I would like it there.

Totally Radical

I know, I know, I am always talking about how wonderful the cast I'm working with is, how nice they are, how well everyone sings. And it's true, I have worked with some good ass singers in my day. But I'm telling you people, this cast for Romeo et Juliette here in New Orleans just couldn't really be any better!! We have some serious world class singing going on, and it's getting me all excited. We had our sitzprobe today (first orchestra rehearsal) and I seriously wished I had a lighter that I could hold up in the air like it was a rock concert because I was so impressed with what was going on onstage.

Leading the cast is Paul Groves, who is probably not only one of the nicest people you could care to know, but one of the best tenors out there singing today for sure. He's from Louisiana and has a house here in New Orleans, so he finds time in his schedule between singing places like the Bastille and the Met to come sing shows here. I was so impressed when I heard him in the theater today - and this is his first time singing Romeo! I was seriously peeing my pants during his aria.

Juliette is Nicole Cabell, and after winning the Cardiff Singer of the World competition, she has gone on to make a recording with Decca and sing all over the world. She just has this really creamy luscious voice - plus she is one of the coolest chicks I've had the pleasure of hanging out with in a long time.

Rounding out the cast, in case you were curious, are a whole bunch of totally awesome singers; Mercutio is Matthew Worth, Tybalt is Jason Bridges, Friar Lawrence is Raymond Aceto, and Father Capulet is Mark Schneible - and then there's lil ol me, playing boy wonder sword fighter and one aria wonder Stephano.

I've been in this business a few years now, and it's pretty rare that I get this enthusiastic about the entire cast. But good singing inspires me, especially when it's attached to such nice, humble people. Did you throw up yet from my sincerity and positivity? Sorry, I'll try to be more acerbic in my next post. Promise.

the voice, she is a changin'

The last time I sang Stephano, the role I'm currently singing in New Orleans, I was a mere babeh - I'm not even sure but I think it might have been 6 years ago. I haven't had the occasion to sing the aria much since then, so when I sang it in rehearsal the other day (unwarmed-up and probably right after I ate, cause that's the way I roll) I think it was the first time the aria had come out of my mouth in a few years at least. And as I was singing it I was thinking - "hmmm - this feels.....different." I knew my voice had changed when I was singing Cenerentola in the beginning of this year because all the low stuff felt easier, but singing Stephano, which is high, wasn't more difficult, just different. It was weird - I was used to singing it with my old, lighter voice, and when this thicker voice came out, I kind of felt like "whoa - whose voice is this?" Maybe it was just the mayonnaise from my turkey sub, but probably it was also the fact that I've gotten a little thicker, both in the body and the cords, as I've gotten a little older, and so, my voice has too.

I'm also learning the Messiah right now, because I will sing my first one this December. I opened up the score the other day and was filled with nostalgia when I saw that my name and phone number from high school (which was 545-SING by the way, because I was just that awesomely dorky) were inscribed on the inside cover in my Dad's handwriting. When I was a senior in high school, I sang two of the soprano solos from the Messiah at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco because I was in the prepatory department at the San Francisco Conservatory at that time, and was allowed to audition for their big Messiah performance. That was definitely a huge deal to me, and now here I am, x number of years later finally getting around to learning the alto solos for the first time because my voice has finally settled enough that I feel confident with the ultra low tessitura of the alto part.

I still marvel at the fact that I started taking voice lessons at 9 years old. I got REALLY lucky in that the teacher my parents found for me was committed to teaching real, classical technique to every one of her students regardless of their age. She built me a foundation that allowed my voice to change during all these years, and she taught me this phrase, which always holds true no matter how your voice matures (which my dad had to remind me of because my memory is terrible): "It's neither wrong nor right - it's only free or tight." Thanks Thelma!!!

I want it now Daddy

Now that I've signed the contract, I can officially announce that I will have the distinct pleasure of playing a little brat this summer! I will be singing Veruca Salt in the world premiere of The Golden Ticket, a new opera based on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at Opera Theatre of Saint Louis. Honestly, playing a bratty child is probably one of the funnest things I can think of to do with my summer!