“I didn’t expect to sing today,” said the newly named winner of the 2006 Classical Singer Convention AudComps in a friendly way to the 200 singers gathered at the Closing Session of the Convention. “I’m just wearing jeans; I hope that’s OK!”
The morning after her unforgettable performance in the Final Round of the Audcomps, and with no warmup, she sang Salome’s aria, “Il est doux, il est bon” from Massenet’s Herodiade and engulfed the room in a tidal wave of sonorous soprano passion. The answering roar of applause from 200 colleagues seemed to say that when Dana Beth Miller sings, she can wear anything she wants.
How long have you been a full-time, professional singer without a day job?
Four years, but I’ve always been on stage. At the Academy of Vocal Arts I pretty much had roles and work coming in all the time [and was] always juggling school and work, so I’ve never had to do anything else, which has been a real blessing. At the same time, it’s caused me some problems because I sometimes wasn’t able to concentrate on studies as much as I would have liked, but there was always training going on with doing the work itself.
So you’ve learned by doing it?
Exactly.
I was so impressed with your performance at the Classical Singer Convention, and wanted to ask you about the two things that impressed me particularly: your presence and your confidence. You seem to fill a room in a non-egotistical way. Has that confidence always been with you?
Well, I’ve been on stage my whole life. I was a professional ballet dancer before I was a singer and so have developed a tough skin as far as taking all the rejection, and I got to this point in my career where I realized that this is who I am, my reason for being here on this earth, and it’s sort of a quiet confidence in my ability to communicate. I’m a communicator! What bothers me a lot about young singers these days is this feeling that everything has to be “perfect” and “correct,” at the cost of remembering what the song is about.
So in one sense it’s not about you.
Right, and that’s the unselfish energy that I seem to find. Just a pretty sound can be beautiful—and a lot of opera companies want the safe, pretty sound—but if it isn’t about communication and it doesn’t reach people, it’s like, who cares? And there are critics! I mean, there are people . . . and opera companies . . . who just want “the perfect sound”—but technique is always at the service of communication.
I got a real kick out of you at the Classical Singer Convention—blithely popping out with this glorious aria with what seemed to be no preparation that morning. I remember thinking, “She must have warmed up! She must have warmed up!” and yet I don’t think you did. That really points to some ongoing technical preparedness and a sort of being perennially “warmed up.” Can you tell me about that?
[Laughs.] No, I really didn’t expect to sing at all that morning. Somehow I missed that e-mail! I sing every day. It’s like being a runner. If you miss three days, you notice. But really, I feel like I’m always warmed up, because singing is just an extension of speaking.
So you’re always in “singer mode”?
Right.
You presented two very different characters to us at the Classical Singer Convention; Magda from Menotti’s The Consul and Salome. I notice you’ve sung the entire role from the Menotti. How did you go about approaching her character?
I have done the whole role, and in singing an aria it’s so helpful to have done the entire role surrounding it. Sometimes we’re learning arias to have our five, and sometimes [singers] have no idea where they come in context—they can sing the one aria, but if they sang the entire role, it would be a joke, because they don’t have the voice for the whole role.
In terms of character, it’s always so helpful to me to know where the character is at the time she sings that aria. You have to have that in your body, and have that experience, to know where the character is when that music starts.
For me, when I did Magda it was an amazing experience, because of the journey she takes from the beginning to the end. By the time of the “Papers Aria,” she has nothing left—no hope—which is one of the saddest things that can happen to anyone—having no hope. At the end of the opera she actually kills herself. She sticks her head in the oven, and it’s really powerful to play someone like that, to take a journey with someone like that. The “Papers Aria” is the turning point, because she realizes, and says, “Everything I have has been taken away from me, and all you give me is papers to fill out?” It’s so dehumanizing.
We’ve all experienced that at some level, say—on a much smaller scale—at the Department of Motor Vehicles. To be just a number, as you are at the DMV, and then to also be in the life-and-death situation she’s in—that’s an amazing thing to play. I connected with it right away. It’s very nebulous where the opera is set. There are a lot of Nazi overtones, but it could really be anywhere. I also connected with it right away as an English speaker, and performing it for English-speaking audiences is really amazing, because there is an immediate connection. Magda has a lot of strength to her, and I find I’ve had a lot of success with portraying strong women—Donna Elvira, Musetta. Am I rambling?
No!
Oh, good.
Some people come to characters very mentally, first learning about the time period in which the opera is set, and then filling in the character later, going from the outside in. It sounds as though you go right for the emotion.
Yes, I always go for the emotion. That’s what’s going to communicate to the audience and break down that wall. I always ask, “How would I react in this situation? How would I feel?” It keeps it fresh.
Tell us about Salome.
I have not had the opportunity yet to sing the whole role, but [she’s] another strong woman. All of these strong women in opera have one vulnerability that brings them down. Salome’s is her passion for a man she can’t have.
You said that you generally portray strong women. What would you do if you were asked to sing a role that isn’t traditionally perceived as being a strong character at all, one of the “sweet” roles?
I think there are two sides to every character. Mimi, for instance, is generally seen as just sweet, but there is a great strength to Mimi in the courage she has in fighting her illness. I would find the strength in the character and play that.
Can you tell me about your family? What role have they played in your music?
Well, when I was a teenager, my parents actually adopted 12 special-needs children, so I’m the oldest of 13.
Wow!
At first I thought, “Well, what about me, won’t this take away from time for me and things for me?” But they are just wonderful kids—a lot of handicaps, a lot of emotional abuse, baggage. When I would perform in college they would all come to see my shows. I would look down in the front row and there would be a row of navy blazers and navy polka-dot dresses, and they were so excited! Also, growing up, my mother played the violin, my father played the trombone, and every one of us had music lessons. But the kids, well, they aren’t kids any more, a lot of them are grown up!
Do they still come to see your shows?
They sure do. I was down in Dallas in January—I’m from Dallas, and so . . . a lot of people [came]. They all came—so much support . . . I remember in college I was doing a role from “Pagliacci” and I got killed. . . . One of my brothers at the time was 3, and I guess it was convincing acting, because he did not understand that it was fake. My mother could not console him. He was so upset—and so relieved to find out back stage that it was fake. He learned a big lesson about acting that day! [Laughs.]
So you’re sort of the ultimate big sister?
I guess so!
What’s coming up for you, Dana Beth?
I’m doing Donna Elvira with Seattle Opera in January, and then a European audition tour and Otello in Des Moines—and thanks to the Classical Singer AudComps win I’m also singing my first Tosca with Sacramento Opera in 2008. I’ve sung the aria [Vissi d’arte] for years, but this will be my first time to sing the full role and I think it will be a great company to do it with.
Tell me more about the transition from ballerina to opera singer.
Well, I danced with the Dallas Ballet, but my last year I was dubbed too big and too tall so I got nothing but chorus. So it was a short-lived career, which dancing is anyway, and I just kind of quit cold turkey. I fell into kind of a depression for about six months after that wondering what I was going to do with my life. I’d always sung, always been in choirs, and one day I came down the stairs and told my mother I’d decided to be an opera singer. She nearly fell over!
How old were you that day?
I was 17.
I’m sorry I missed it.
Yeah, I was 17 and announced I was going to be an opera singer. My mother was like, “Uh, sure, Dana Beth, whatever you say!” [Laughs.]
Then what happened?
I went to the University of Texas. At first, I thought I was a mezzo. I thought that for about three months, and then realized I was a soprano. I didn’t want to be a soprano! I wanted to be a mezzo! Also, the breathing I’d learned from dancing didn’t help with singing at all, because dancers clench everything, and I had a lot of problems with that—my first impulse was to clench.
It’s interesting how everyone has their own area of tension.
Exactly. It’s been a process of learning how to not do that—took me a few years. I had one teacher in particular who taught me about putting the emotion on your face without letting it get in your throat, and about separating all of the different elements: the body, the gesturing.
Maria Callas said that the work done at the conservatory is taking the voice and breaking it into a million pieces. Would you agree with that?
Yes. It’s funny, too. Infants know how to produce these amazingly huge sounds, and then as adults we have to go back and reconstruct to get back that ability. There’s a Native American saying that we are born baskets of light and then over the years, with the pain of life, rocks are put in our basket and the light is covered up—and our task is to remove those rocks so the light can shine again. That’s really true in singing, too.
It’s funny how the truest things of life are also true about singing.
Yes, because we are our voices.
What’s the most important thing you would say to a young singer?
Don’t compare yourself to anyone! Everyone is on a different track, and you have so many people telling you, “This is what you are supposed to look like. This is how you’re supposed to sound.” We all need coaching and we all need style, but if “correctness” comes at the price of communication, too much is lost. You have to communicate yourself within the confines of the art.
