Ron Raines is the definition of the classic baritone leading man of the Broadway musical theatre’s Golden Age. Classically trained at the Juilliard School of Music, he began his career in opera and soon found himself performing all over the country in many of the classic musicals.
He had a 15-year run in TV’s The Guiding Light (earning three Emmy nominations), at the same time singing with over 50 symphony orchestras and making a number of CDs, both solo and of complete shows. He is married to director Dona D. Vaughn, artistic director of Opera Programs at Manhattan School of Music and PORTopera in Portland, Maine.
When I visited with Raines recently in their Manhattan apartment, he was winding down a very successful Broadway run as Ben Stone in Stephen Sondheim’s Follies, a production that originated at the Kennedy Center last year and is now Los Angeles bound.
I think we first met when you were at Juilliard.
Yes. I came to New York in 1975. I sang Monteverdi’s Orfeo in January 1979 and La rondine in December of that year. I had an opera manager at that time, Susanna Sussman, and I was an apprentice for two summers with Santa Fe Opera. There was some unbelievable talent there at that time. I then took part in the very first production of Opera Theatre of Saint Louis, Don Pasquale. I sang Malatesta with Sheri Greenawald, Vinson Cole, and Peter Strummer, with Eugene Kohn conducting. We were all in our 20s and we all survived!
And you are all still active in the profession today!
Yes! Great casting by Richard Gaddes for his very first production. I owe a lot to Richard. As well as to David Gockley, who was director of Houston Grand Opera. He gave me the chance to do my first Eisenstein, my first Danilo.
So, you were on the young opera singer track. Was musical theatre already on your mind?
I think it was my destiny. I was that kind of fresh, American high baritone, following shortly after Richard Stilwell and Alan Titus. In opera, the lighter parts like Papageno seemed more suited for me.
I got my Equity card doing summer stock while in college, which was fantastic. I did quite a number of leading roles, so I had all this stuff swirling around. What really solidified it was in 1982-83 when Houston Grand Opera produced Show Boat and I played Gaylord Ravenal. That really launched me into a more commercial arena and exposed me to a new pool of producers.
The classic musicals were really mostly written for high baritones or bari-tenors.
The great Broadway baritones—John Raitt, Alfred Drake, Howard Keel—were all classically trained. Raitt sang in the Met auditions and he sang “Largo al factotum” when he auditioned for Richard Rodgers for Carousel. From that, Rodgers got his initial idea for the “Soliloquy.”
Back then, most Broadway singers were trained in much the same way as classical singers. The dividing line was very fine.
That’s my school. As I tell any of the few that are out there trying to sing legitimately in the Broadway world, keep carrying the torch of good singing. There’s a lot of pop guys out there—let them do that.
When I saw you in Follies I felt that you combined opera-quality singing with musical theatre style, so a perfect blend.
It’s something I’ve worked very hard on. I remember John Raitt telling me “Opera singers sing ‘O’ and I sing ‘Oh.’” And I totally get that. Sometimes I’m working with people that are telling me a story through their singing, and then fruit comes in. Fruit being the pear-shaped tone. They’re giving me fruit instead of text and suddenly they’ve lost me. Just pare the “pear” down!
You’ve been doing eight shows a week of Follies for many months now. Would you say that your classical training put you in good stead for that?
Without a doubt. My foundation is what has gotten me through, especially at this stage of the game. It’s one thing singing at 18 to 35; it’s still hard and still requires technique. But at 62 and singing a score as demanding as this . . . . Also, performing material of this quality, Sondheim’s score and Jonathan Tunick’s incredible orchestrations, really sets the bar and inspires you every night.
I was a bit worried about Sondheim. I know he doesn’t always like opera singers; he likes singers that sing text. I’d always ask him if I was singing too much and he’d say no. After the recording session of my duet with Bernadette (Peters), he came in and said, “You make me want to be a singer!”
Holding onto my vocal integrity, that’s the area I come from. I’ve done the role of Fredrik in five productions of Sondheim’s A Little Night Music. I was also looking forward to finally doing Sweeney Todd, but the upcoming Follies in L.A. has taken that out of my schedule. I was excited and also had some major trepidation, because it [Sweeney Todd] is written all over the place and can potentially be a voice wrecker. None of these shows was meant to be done without amplification.
Do you do much differently when singing with amplification?
I would sing the same way. My body responds to things the same way.
Your performance as Ben is more emotional and vulnerable than others I’ve seen, which is one of the reasons it’s been so successful. But do you have to find that balance between maintaining the vocal quality and how far to go dramatically?
You always sing—you always use voice, technique, even to cry out. It’s all based on supported sound. But, that’s really all singing is. It’s sustained speech. And so, at the end of the show when I scream “Phyllis!” I’m singing.
Any of the great English actors were actually incredible “singers.” People like Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud . . . it was all supported and open, like Italian singing. It has line and air, and they’re singing!
We can’t do an interview without mentioning The Guiding Light, which you were on for 15 years. During that entire period you always managed to find as many opportunities to sing as possible: pops concerts, recordings . . .
My career was actually picking up at that time, because opera companies began doing shared productions of classic shows like Carousel; Annie Get Your Gun; Kiss Me, Kate; [and] Man of La Mancha. It was going in a good direction. I was getting good fees.
But, then my wife and I had our daughter Charlotte. I had been on the road almost 20 years and I didn’t want to miss seeing her grow up. Yes, “Hi diddle dee dee, an actor’s life for me!” I’d chosen that. But, if at the same time I had more control over that . . . I decided to commit to whatever was in New York. I told my agent to “plug me in.” I thought maybe I’d be the 20th Javert in Les Mis.
I did an audition for The Guiding Light and, fast forward, [I] got it! Of course at that time I didn’t know anything about daytime drama. Nothing. And here I was, cast in this huge role in a world I knew nothing about. But because I was a professional [with] a work ethic and had been learning for 20 years, I rose to the occasion.
So, I wasn’t on the road anymore, but during that period of 15 years, I did tons of concerts with over 50 symphony orchestras. I also did several Great Performances shows on PBS and made a number of recordings. Two solo CDs, as well as full-cast recordings. I even did several months in Chicago on Broadway, while doing Guiding Light at the same time.
I always thought “The show’s going to close,” even a TV show, because that’s what happens. So, I had the welcome surprise of the show not closing for 15 years!
But during all those years, you always kept your identity as a singing actor?
I knew that was my ticket, and the thing I always tried to get better and better at. I wasn’t in a fast vocal lane. Singers today want a career so badly that they may not be technically ready for the long haul. You either know that and protect yourself or you risk becoming another statistic.
Soon after Guiding Light “closed,” along came Follies.
One of my dreams when I started was to work on a Sondheim musical. It didn’t happen in a new show, but
he was very “hands on” with this, very helpful and he gave us lots of great notes.
The Follies show represents so much—the human journey, the conflicts, the choices, the consequences, and also the history. You’re up there with people like Rosalind Elias, who is 82 years old, singing eight shows a week and who is the ideal professional. She fell between shows yesterday. Thankfully, no major injuries, but she was bruised. She had ice packs, people called the doctor in
. . . but she did not leave. She stayed and performed that night. And that kind of work ethic, they can’t teach!
I know you’re teaching voice now.
Yes, I’ve been teaching for a few years, but only to a handful of students. Just because you can sing, it doesn’t mean you can teach. So, I’ve been learning how to be a good teacher. But, I love it.
Do you work with both classical and musical theatre singers?
Mostly classical, because that’s really my world. That’s what I listen to; that’s what I studied. I’m more interested in getting to the younger ones, so that I can impart my technical ideas. So that we can get to their muscle memory. Because, as you know, that can be so set by the time you’re in your late 20s, that even though you can get new ideas in your head, when you start singing, the memory kicks in. And you have to have time to make that transference and stop, to really reset the body.
So many don’t actually talk about the body. They talk about breath, about support, but they don’t really show you. Even as a young singer, I felt that some teachers were dealing so much with placement before they had the body set. You can’t decorate a house till you have the foundation, and the foundation is the body.
We hear young singers in their early 20s and think, “She has no problems, she’s all set up.” But they don’t understand how they got “set up.” Then as “life” and stress and emotional things come along, all of which find themselves in the body, they don’t know how to access what was initially a natural gift, because they’ve never had to break it down. We’ve got to understand what our bodies are doing when we’re singing. To quote Mr. Sondheim, “What’s hard is simple, what’s natural comes hard.”
Do you eventually see yourself doing masterclasses?
I did a class for Opera Theatre of Saint Louis last summer. I said, “I’m not going to call this a masterclass, but rather a mastering class,” because you spend your life trying to master this. I was initially very scared, because you don’t know if you can help anybody. But I did enjoy it, and you find that you do have things to give.
It’s so important that these kids (and, to me, anyone under 40 is a kid!) really get on the path to a good technique. Ultimately, it’s all about telling a story. You’re learning a technique to do what? To keep making your communication skills clearer and stronger.
A lot of singers have come back to me and said, “You sound so fresh and young.” They haven’t heard me warm up! I say, “Sing young and you’ll sing much longer.” I’m still trying to sing young.
