As with almost any undertaking, what we accomplish as singers ultimately depends, in large part, on the motivation and attitude we carry with us going into the project.
For example, many people who want to become singers are doomed to disappointment because of their misguided motivations. The most common of these is the “I want to be a star” syndrome. This syndrome may be the result of becoming an opera singer, just as becoming the president of the United States may be the result of having political power—but having power doesn’t mean you will be a great leader any more than being a “star” means you will be a great performer.
If our motivation is to serve the music, the libretto, and ultimately the audience, and if we demand the best of ourselves in that service, the results rarely disappoint. An audience comes to see a production, or an evening of singing, to be moved, to be touched, to be enlightened or just plain thrilled. They come to be a voyeur in someone else’s life. They want the singers to communicate with them through the music of the human voice, with all its expressive possibilities at work. The one word that is crucial for character development is “communication.” People pay lots of money to see and hear performers communicate.
But how do we achieve this kind of communication?
The first requirement is to own a solid vocal technique, a technique that enables its possessor access to the full range of colors—a full palette, if you will, at his or her command. Parents, friends and the local community will accept less—which is a good thing, as we must develop and try out our craft on someone. But the pros won’t! How singers come by their technique—by luck, accident, innate ability, or the long hard “search and struggle” method—is the stuff of another article. Suffice it to say, a solid technique is necessary for what follows.
The Essence of Good Communication is Intention
Let me say first, it is incumbent upon the communicator that his message be clear. For the message to be clear, he must know what the message is. I am constantly amazed, in workshops I conduct, when performers don’t know what they are saying (singing), even in English.
“What does that mean?” I ask of a student singing an English art song.
“Well…uh…” they answer.
“Too late,” I respond.
In a language that isn’t the singer’s own, the question becomes even harder to answer.
“What is your partner saying to you? How old are you? What was happening in 1797 in France, and how does that affect your character? Why did you make that gesture?” I ask.
“Well…uh…”
“Then it’s an MG (meaningless gesture),” I add.
An MG is worse than no gesture at all.
The audience comes to see you, “the expert,” perform. They believe that every move you make—hands (gesture), eyes (glance), feet (step), sound (sigh)—means something. So they look at all you do for meaningful clues to the hidden depths of your character. Is it your intention to wiggle the fingers of your right hand during your entire aria? Perhaps it is—if you are playing the part of a physically impaired person or a nut case—but more than likely, it is just a nervous tick. An audience figures this out quickly, and in the process takes other gestures and movements with less seriousness.
“But how do I stop that?” or “What do I do with my hands?” I often hear. Once you are clear about your character’s intentions, all extraneous movements will vanish.
How Do You Discover the Character’s True Intentions?
Even if you discover a character’s “total” history (which, of course, is not possible), the intentions of the character will still be up for debate. That is the nature of interpretation and the reason we return again and again to see the “new” “Traviata.”
At the very least, a singer must know the answers to two questions: “What does this mean?” and “What do the words and music tell me?”
You must discover the answers through an exhaustive study of the libretto and its music, and not just your own role. I am taken aback when a performer does not know something about their character that is clearly stated in another scene.
A single comprehensive reading of the libretto is a good start, but much more is necessary.
The Five ‘W’s
Who, what, where, when and why are the five “w”s that you must always answer in depth if you wish to give anything more than a superficial performance of a character. Keep a notebook to record the discoveries as they take place.
“Who” is often best answered after you’ve explored the other 4 “w”s thoroughly. Start with “when” and “where,” as indicated by the original intent of the composer and librettist, not by the modern version you’ve been told you will be performing. Too often, singers perform a role set in the 18th century without completely understanding the mores of that period. They go about the stage using gestures and body carriage that can only be described as modern and would never have been used in the period of the piece, if for no other reason than that the clothing of the time would not have permitted such a bend of the body or that such a posture would never have been permitted of a noble person of that era.
Would you appear at the first rehearsal of Romeo and Juliette to perform the role of Tybalt without having studied fencing? I think not. Singers have a myriad of ways, especially with today’s access to the Internet, to gather this information.
When examining “when” and “where,” a change of time often doesn’t make sense. I have performed Herod in Salome several times in several different productions, as well as directed a production of my own in France. Several of these productions have been “updated” to modern times. When Salome asks for the head of John the Baptist, certainly today’s Salome would have laughed at a stepfather for thinking her so naïve as to accept anything so worthless as a few semiprecious stones or his flock of peacocks, white or not, in exchange for John’s head. Wouldn’t she ask for the villa in the south of France, his stock portfolio, and his corporate jet, among others of his riches?
If one scene in an opera doesn’t work, the opera doesn’t work. If one part of the character doesn’t work, the character doesn’t work. Is Scarpia really torturing Tosca emotionally because she has Cavaradossi’s affections, and Scarpia has latent homosexual feelings for him? I could go on, but the point is that as a performer you must know the original intent if you have any hope of creating a fully alive and exciting character, updated or not.
The “why” and “who” portions are more tightly tied together than the other “w”s. Who a character is often tells you why he does something. Just as why someone does something tells you a lot about who they are.
Take Peter Grimes, for example. The most often asked question has to do with whether Grimes is a homosexual and/or a pedophile. Look closely at the music and libretto, however, and it seems enormously clear that Grimes is neither of these. He is a poet in a village of fishermen. He is obsessed with the need to be accepted, and his inability to understand himself advances his obsession to become the village’s greatest fisherman. The only person who understands him is the schoolteacher, Ellen, (not such a surprise given her vocation). Because she understands and accepts him, they fall in love. The ill-fated apprentice boys in his life become casualties of his obsession.
A study of Britten’s life and background give much more than hints of who Grimes is. Clues to his real nature abound, both in the libretto and in the music. His tavern aria, “Now the Great Bear and Pleiades,” is pure poetry in both cases. His aria to the frightened apprentice boy about the life he dreamed of with Ellen is not the pedantic description one might expect of a village fisherman, but the sensitive expression of a poet. These clues and many more are there for the taking, with a careful study.
A singer must comprehend that the proper use of the words and music is the first and most important part of a character.
Certainly, we know of several examples of great composer/librettist “hook-ups”: Mozart/DaPonte and Verdi/Boito, just to mention two. The search by great composers for the right libretto or librettist has been one of great concern, if not great anguish, for most composers. We can assume that when a composer finally finds the right libretto, the music to which he sets it best expresses his intentions and therefore his interpretation of the libretto’s meaning. If a phrase stands out by being louder, higher, softer, or accented in ways different from the others, surely this is one of many ways the composer tells the performer that this is a special moment, not to mention the many written musical instructions already in the score.
Puccini is famous for filling his scores with everything he wanted the singer to know. How much good does that do a singer, if she is unable to identify the proper translation of a composer’s instructions, even those as simple as allegro or andante?
The libretto and the music should not be the only sources for character study. The original play, book, film or poem is often available. It is extremely important to review and study this material for clues into the character that might not be spelled out in the libretto and music alone. If the libretto refers to your character as a great lover of satire, then for goodness sake learn the true meaning of the word!
Clearly, understanding a character and bringing that character thoroughly to life requires a great deal of effort. This work is time intensive, to say the least. It is one of the reasons the prolonged study of scores was considered so important in days now long gone, though I suspect the longer learning period had more to do with vocal reasons—singing a role carefully into one’s voice (with your teacher and coach), etc.—than it had to do with character development. Nonetheless, we shortchange our public and ourselves by rushing the learning period of a role. You must love, or learn to love the process of character study. If you can do this successfully, the process of discovery and rehearsal will be at least as exciting, if not more exciting, than the performance itself.
Remember—you get back what you put in. Look for clear intention, and learn to love being Sherlock Holmes.
