Not so long ago, Joyce DiDonato was asking, “What can I get you?” waiting tables three nights a week to make ends meet while she pursued her dream to become an opera singer. After completing her postgraduate musical education as a Santa Fe apprentice and as a member of the Young Artist Programs at San Francisco Opera and Houston Grand Opera she was ready to take on the world, but she struggled with finding management and landing big roles. Then her Paris Opera debut as Rosina in a new production of Il barbiere di Siviglia in 2001-2002 created such a buzz that invitations from Wigmore Hall, Covent Garden, La Scala, the Metropolitan Opera, Chicago, and San Francisco quickly followed.
During 2002-2003, DiDonato was proclaimed the “discovery of the season” with her debut at the Pesaro Rossini Festival in the title role of Adina. She made her Metropolitan Opera debut, as Cherubino in Le nozze di Figaro, last season. Now, instead of asking restaurant patrons, “what can I get you?” top opera companies are asking, “when can we get you?” as offers come in for four years down the road. It’s no wonder the Dallas Star has declared, “Everybody’s talking about mezzo Joyce DiDonato these days.”
Born in Kansas, the sixth of seven children, DiDonato grew up listening to and belting out the tunes of Shawn Cassidy, Barbara Streisand, and Billy Joel. But these weren’t her only influences, even though she says that being a backup singer for Billy Joel would have made her deliriously happy and fulfilled. DiDonato also grew up going to Mass on Sundays and watching her dad conduct his prized choir, and eventually helping her dad “keep them in tune.” Today, her new listening preferences range from the Scissor Sisters to Billy Holiday—any music, she says, that has an emotional rawness. Opera rarely finds a place in her iTunes, because “if I put on opera, then I work.”
DiDonato is no stranger to hard work. As Andrew Farach-Colton wrote for Gramophone, “She simply invests herself so fully in whatever she’s singing that well worn roles like Rosina or Cherubino are given startling new depth.”
DiDonato took some time out from her busy schedule to talk to Classical Singer from Paris about singing, how her career is evolving, and how she manages to give of herself so fully on stage.
You have a strict discipline when it comes to preparation. What steps do you follow to make sure you’re prepared for a new role?
First, I sit down as me and look at the score. I highlight it and use a red pencil to mark dynamics, crescendos, legatos, staccatos, etc. I translate certain markings, especially ones in German! I pretty much dissect a score like it’s a financial chart. I do a word-by-word translation—sometimes I’m lucky enough to have the help of Nico Castel, but not always! I use a blue pencil to mark the open and closed vowels. Then I sit at a piano and play the score over and over. I like to get the sense of it under my fingers.
Memorizing the text—that’s the hardest part for me. I usually won’t get the last 10 percent memorized until after the dress rehearsals start.
Let’s say there’s a young high school singer who wants to be like you when he or she grows up. What do you tell them? Is there a right or wrong path?
First of all, don’t be just like me; you’ll just be a bad imitation. I always admired Frederica von Stade, but knew if I tried to be just like her, I’d be a failure. Stay open and always have humility—never lose the ability to still be taught something. You need a thick skin. . . . Most importantly, always rediscover and reevaluate why it’s so important for you to be a singer. You need a grounded reason for doing it. You need to dig for this. If you’re only going on stage for approval, it won’t last. It’s a long, long process.
How did your training prepare you for the real world? You’ve said that American singers have perfect technique but show little passion because they are so concerned about correct singing. Can you talk a little about the enormous gap between academia and the professional stage?
It’s not that American singers don’t have passion, but they have to feel free to let it out. In training, coaches and teachers give you outside tools—they correct your language and your style so you’re perfect on the outside, but things aren’t growing from the inside. You can keep taking from the outside, but there has to come a point when you take things from the inside. You are freer as a performer when you prepare from the inside out.
Only a handful of people can do this naturally and most have to work at it. You need to be able to balance arrogance and humility. You need confidence, but need to
balance that.
How do you learn to present your true self without barriers or defense whatsoever? You’ve claimed before that it’s one of the hardest things a singer can do.
Whew! The Holy Grail of questions! Let me start by talking about a competition I was in. When I was 27 years old, I failed to make the finals of a prestigious vocal competition. When I went for feedback, the head judge said, “We didn’t feel you had anything to say as an artist.” This shook me. It was the beginning of a downward spiral. But usually, in any harsh criticism there is some grain of truth. When I look back, I see it. Everything was coming from the outside—coaches and teachers. I wasn’t me.
This criticism made me do work and go deeper inside myself. Now I know myself as a person. . . . A lot of singers act like they know what they’re doing—but you can’t fool people very long. You have to work on yourself as a person. Only then can you present your true self on stage.
Our instruments are part of our bodies. Your dad made sure you knew the difference between the two. How do you keep them separate, or is this even possible?
The person comes first. You will never be able to mask yourself as a performer. We are lucky, in a way. Unlike accountants, singers are forced to look at themselves and get to know themselves inside and out.
How do you deal with nerves?
Mental work is like any other preparation. It’s preparing psychologically. You can’t let your head get the better of you. It’s training, just like you train your voice. Most of the time we’re not even aware that we’re . . . [subjecting ourselves to] this awful dialogue, such as, “Watch out for that high note,” or, “Oh, the audience is looking at me weird.” You’ll be shocked at the poison that you’re feeding yourself. You don’t know what they’re thinking—maybe that person in the audience is constipated! You need to declare war on this inner voice! Don’t allow it in. Once you only let positive things in, your singing will become a lot freer.
Do you listen to critics? How difficult is it to keep focused when your job is in the spotlight?
My reason for being a singer is that I want to communicate with people and open doors. I can deal with criticism because I’m clear about why I am a singer. That’s what helps me through. There are too many sacrifices, obstacles, bad flights, and bad apartments to put up with that.
If you don’t really have a reason for what you do, then why would you put up with any of it?
Can you talk a little about the singing profession—particularly the competitiveness of it?
We’re required to be competitive, but for me, I need a healthy way to compete. I need to be able to evaluate where I fit in the scheme of things. You have to be your own data analyzer. You need to really honestly look at yourself and accept your strengths and weaknesses. I still do this today. I have to keep myself learning and growing.
What do you think separates a student of singing from a professional?
I think it’s the fact that you have to trust yourself. It comes to the point where you can’t always have a teacher telling you what to wear. Now, I don’t always have a prompter or an Italian coach, and during rehearsals sometimes the only person giving you feedback is a chorus member who says, “nice job.”
So, basically, you have yourself. You have to be your own teacher, coach, critic, and cheerleader. Everything must come from the inside.
Text is so important in singing. You’re in Paris right now and have performed many places in Europe. How does being immersed in different languages and cultures affect your singing? Does it give you a better understanding of the music you are singing?
Absolutely. I am from Kansas and trained in the States. You think you’ve learned everything there is to learn—and then you go to Paris, for example, and taste the food, and walk along the Seine, and all of a sudden you understand some of the paintings. Or you walk where a composer or poet walked. There’s an atmosphere that really informs you and gives you this greater appreciation for what you are doing.
On your blog you mention the challenge of singing a German role (Der Komponist in Strauss’ Ariadne auf Naxos). How did you overcome that? How do you approach a new language? Do you translate every word? Listen to CDs?
I hadn’t spent much time in Germany or studied German much. I had all my rules of pronunciation, but I was much more comfortable with Italian and French. I knew how to play with the colors of those words. Luckily, the whole cast was German, so I was immersed in it as they spoke it during rehearsals, etc. I just went over and over the text and the translation. I also listened to native speakers singing it on a recording, and I don’t usually listen to recordings.
You’re on the road a lot. How do you stay rested and deal with the stress that comes from crazy schedules and numerous time zones?
You just kind of go for it. . . . I always try to eat well, although I’m not always successful at it. I take vitamins and try to keep rested. I had a premiere yesterday and didn’t sleep well that night, so I stayed in bed until 2 p.m. You do what you need to do!
Also, most importantly, I try not to obsess. If my throat feels a little weird in the morning, I think, well so does everyone else’s. I’ll go have a beer after a rehearsal. It’s important to keep your head clean and not obsess about every little tick your body does.
Can you talk a little about performing when you’re feeling under the weather? How do you decide whether to sing or not if you’re sick?
I have never cancelled a performance. I have sung in a couple of performances with head colds, but have relied on a doctor both times. If he says my cords are fine, then I’ll sing. I think singers must be honest with themselves. Seventy percent of “illnesses” arise from nerves and anxiety. You’ve got to keep your head clean. The time I was sick, it was because I had problems with the conductor and the nerves affected my stomach, so I sang with a stomachache.
You talk a lot about support for your singing from friends and family. How does this support help in your success and how do you give back to the people who are supporting you?
This is the part of my life that’s the greatest challenge. As supportive as they are, they’re never really going to get it: the isolation you feel, the rush you get from an encore. The real support comes from people within the business—but then again, they’re not your family. In the end, you have to get support and reassurance from yourself.
I struggle with what I give back to them, because I’m the one that’s not there for my niece’s birthday or not there when a parent has to go to the hospital. I feel a lot of guilt, but I try to find ways to be there when other people can’t. For example, I’ll have my nieces visit me for a week in New York City, and they have a chance to see first hand someone that is pursuing their dream. They have the chance to see first hand that it’s hard, it’s scary, but it’s also very rewarding.
When you were young, you didn’t like opera. How did the transformation of wanting to be Billy Joel’s backup singer change into singing opera?
My greatest joy in opera is the act of performing. Whether I’d be this enthusiastic about opera only as an audience member I don’t know. If I have a choice [about listening to] a recording, it won’t be opera. The Scissor Sisters are my new listening choice!
How have your goals changed during your singing career thus far?
In the spring of 1998, I had finished the Houston Opera training program and I was ready to take on the world. My goals were to find a manager and get hired, but I had a very hard time finding a manager. Most had full rosters [cough], and weren’t looking for singers at the moment. I had a few jobs lined up for U.S. opera companies like Santa Fe, and I was happy to have a few jobs.
Now, I have offers coming in four years down the road. I have to consider the kinds of roles I could do in four years, but I have to be careful. You take a chance on things you think will be good for you in four years, but it could end up being a disaster. I have to pace myself, and it’s also a challenge to balance new material—how much do you take on? In a coming season I think I am taking on five new roles, which now I am thinking wasn’t such a good idea.
Your CD at Wigmore Hall is a live recording. Did this make you more nervous for the performance, knowing a CD was being recorded? How did you go about choosing the pieces (songs by Head, Fauré, and Hahn; arias by Rossini and Handel) for this recital-CD?
Choosing pieces was actually pretty easy. I had done the Head pieces in college and these hadn’t ever been recorded. I knew the Rossini pieces, so the Venice theme kind of just fell into place. The recording was the least of my worries because I knew I had an hour of patch time to fix any mistakes. I was more nervous about performing a new program at Wigmore Hall, and also, that it was being broadcast live across Europe.
In the Hahn pieces, I ended up needing the patch time because I completely shattered the text in the performance. It was a strophic piece and somehow, I just got confused. But what helped me most was the
audience . . . I communicated with them, and that is what I love to do most.
