This month’s column explores the value of hindsight, living life on life’s terms, growing in confidence, and choosing connection.
Ten years ago, I made my NYC opera debut in a production of Purcell’s The Fairy Queen with dell’Arte Opera Ensemble. The cast connected deeply on an artistic level and formed a special social bond. Looking back, I can see that the experience was exactly what some of us needed at exactly that time. As for me, I was newly out of a 10-year relationship and just beginning my teaching career in NYC. The counterpoint and theatricality of the Purcell affirmed my countertenoring, while the intense and athletic rehearsal experience provided a challenging and fun social structure.
At the time, I sensed something compelling in the cast’s kinship, and I was also newly writing for Classical Singer. I sensed an opportunity and proposed an article centering on this group of post-collegiate/mostly post-graduate school group of classical singers ultimately called “Experiencing College to the Fullest: Helpful Hindsight from the Cast of The Fairy Queen.” I was thrilled to get the greenlight from CS.
From left to right, writers Roger Kleinman, Zach Seman; copyist/arranger Noah Turner, and Music Supervisor and conductor Andy Einhorn
The piece was interview based, and the commonalities kept returning to the importance of resources, relationships, and preparation (e.g., weekly lessons and coachings, automatic relationships forged in classes and studio, and gaining readiness for the world outside of school)—all things frequently taken for granted while in the safe bubble of school.
Ten years later—this June, to be exact—I found myself countertenoring on the NYC opera scene as a last-minute replacement for an industry reading of Submission: An Opera Bouffe. I got to wear short shorts and sing the “Barcarolle” from The Tales of Hoffman to new lyrics about drugs prescribed by a pseudo-celebrity TikTok doctor. It was heaven! But I digress. This was the first produced opera I’d sung in since Heartbreak Express (the Dolly Parton opera) with Rhymes With Opera in 2015. Since then, life has happened in some big ways—and while backstage in my short shorts, I became acutely aware of how much time had gone by and just how much had happened.
Several years of life and career transformations happened. For example, since The Fairy Queen, I’ve built a thriving private studio, taught studio voice for eight academic years at Pace University, and have served as music director for several recordings and productions as well as for several residencies in Asia, the middle East, and back at home in NYC. I’ve made a home with my partner John and our cats, lost loved ones, lived through a global pandemic, and written a few dozen articles.
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I also battled a secret, raging addiction to alcohol for many years and have since gratefully gotten sober and immersed myself in the recovery community worldwide. Calling it a return to opera makes it seems like I left it, yet I didn’t. I’ve gratefully continued a career surrounded by singers and singing but had spent a lot of years not carving out time for wellness and a life centered on it, let alone a keen focus my own singing.
Fast forward back to me in short shorts backstage, pondering all of this between some quiet straw phonation and performance nerves. My partner jokes that I’m a professional nostalgist, and he’s right, so it was totally on brand for me to be marking this moment in real time—acknowledging that I was again singing in an opera, now as a sober person (clear-eyed and fully hydrated) and armed with the tools of mindfulness, as well as having a decade behind me of guiding my students through milestone auditions and performances of their own to mark.
Andy Einhorn (left), Zach Seman (right)
The performances went beautifully, and I’m eager to write about them, especially about the opera’s resulting, new totally-perfect-for-crossover repertoire. And as I walked from our performance hall at the Dimenna Center, I continued to ponder and evaluate the experience: what felt the same, what felt different, and how it could be useful to my college students and to myself.
“Helpful hindsight” was a catchy title in 2014, and the advice of The Fairy Queen cast on resources, relationships, and preparation carries just as much weight as ever. But I’d like to offer some advice from this experience, gleaned in the moment and while walking to the A train afterward.
Living life on life’s terms can be hard, and as singers we’re conditioned to accept rejection as part of the biz. In fact, it’s crammed down the throats of many artists at the start of formal training, with assertions like “99% of this business is rejection—get used to it!” But here, let’s assume that you’ve booked the gig, and those are the terms of your life for that day—for that church gig, for that callback, or for that reading of a new musical. What’s going for you in that day alone. Forget about future tripping (e.g.. “I have to book three more gigs like this in two months or I won’t make rent.”). And forget about the past (e.g., “This went much better last time—if only they’d been in the room the last time.”)
During day 1 of Submission, I practiced living life on life’s terms by resisting an almost constant impulse to explain and apologize. And for what? I was in a rehearsal two days after signing on as a replacement and I had prepared strategically in that time frame, and yet when I got around other singers and the creative team, everything inside of me wanted to say, “I’m sorry but this will be better tomorrow—usually for a role with this tessitura I’d start getting into shape weeks in advance to wrap my voice around the role.” I think I said it once to the conductor and assistant conductor and in an aside to the colleague who recommended me for the gig.
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Feelings aren’t facts, and while there really was no feedback or criticism inviting this response, it was an inner battle that entire first day. My defense was a reminder that I can only take a breath for the upcoming phrase and that I should take a contrary action—which, in this case, was to keep those apologetic words out of my mouth. I survived, and this muscle strengthened. It was easier to control that impulse on day two and to enjoy myself more. Afterall, I was in an opera in NYC!
Soprano Emilie Kouatchou (role of Chloe), Noah Turner in background
A cursory inventory of the experience also revealed that I’d been employing and enjoying my strength in the moment. My advice here is not only to welcome this as a personal possibility, but to actually plan for it. Before auditions and performances, I remind my voice students to plan for a margin of surprise—not for a margin of error (although errors happen). This way, if there’s a crack or a gaff, the inner monologue can say, “Okay, I planned for something to surprise me—that was it—keep going!” But here, let’s focus on another type of surprise: that our technique and experience generally show up for us and things go well! Have you ever experienced a moment when you realized afterward that you forgot to get nervous?
Confidence is nurtured and grown and most of us don’t just turn it on when people say, “Just go have fun up there!” Aging physically and spiritually with my voice as a teacher, performer, and human affirms this for me. Each day I have with my voice is an opportunity to remember that I’ve earned another day of experience and efficiency with it. What a gift this was for me as I began to realize that so many habits of self-consciousness had slipped away, they’d lost their (largely imagined) usefulness to me.
Connection beats isolation every time. I observed this each day on the way to rehearsal. When I was in my head about something on the train, whatever it was evaporated once I stepped into the hall with other people engaging in the same activity. This seems obvious, but I wasn’t aware of this a decade ago, when I was surprised and delighted by the connection and comradery of a cast engaged in something special. Now I approach team musicmaking as a pragmatic aspect of my musical and mental health, as well as my own ability to put my best self forward as a singer. Otherwise, why do it? I got in to singing and teaching to enjoy myself, as well as the music and company of others. That’s allowed, and I’m grateful to know that.
