Mexican tenor Rolando Villazon came to international attention in 1999, when he won the Prize of the Public, the Zarzuela Prize and second overall prize in Placido Domingo’s Operalia competition. He made his European debut as Des Grieux in Manon, and that same year in Genoa. Other successful debuts followed quickly: at the Bastille Opera, Deutsche Oper Berlin, Bavarian State Opera, Rome Opera, and the New York City and Los Angeles operas.
October of 2003 brought Villazon to the Metropolitan Opera in a remarkable debut as Alfredo in La Traviata, alongside Renée Fleming and Dmitri Hvorostovsky. He also signed an exclusive recording contract with EMI. The label released Villazon’s first CD, “Italian Opera Arias,” in February. At only 31, the Mexico City native has burst on the international operatic scene, bringing youthful energy, enthusiasm, and an actor’s training to a very auspicious beginning.
How did you discover your talent?
I always loved performing, but at first, I wanted to be an actor. I never saw myself as a singer. When I was 12, I discovered Placido Domingo on an LP with John Denver. I fell in love with Domingo’s voice and started buying all LPs of Domingo singing love songs, not opera. I learned all the songs and tried to imitate him. This was an early school for me, between the ages of 12 and 20.
At the same time, I was attending a performing arts academy, where I studied acting, voice, ballet, modern dance, etc. At 18, I gave a concert in my school, and a baritone in the audience told me I could become an opera singer. I took a few lessons with him, but I had to stop, because my plan was actually to become a priest! I had a mentor who was supposed to guide me into this vocation.
This mentor organized a concert and asked me to sing. I sang: ‘Granada,’ ‘Core ‘ngrato,’ and ‘Una furtiva lagrima.’ Afterwards, we had some tequila, and he asked me how I felt. I said: ‘incredible!’ So he said: ‘I just showed you that your vocation is not with us! You have to sing opera. When you sing at the Met, I’ll be there.’ And he was!
What was your biggest technical challenge?
To become aware of what I do with my voice. I see my voice as a horse. So [the challenge is] to be able to ride this horse, and not let it ride me. Knowing where to put the voice in the high notes, in the passaggio, and especially how to do piano. At first, I didn’t have any pianissimo. I thought it was not in me. This was the hardest challenge for me. I had three teachers. Every time I felt I reached the top with one teacher, I left. After the third teacher, I understood that it’s in you; you have to know your instrument. I received that advice later from Domingo. He told me: ‘The sooner you learn to understand your instrument, and know what you do with it, the better you’ll perform and the freer you’ll be!’
What is your daily singing routine like?
I often do a five-minute warm-up of easy scales, and then I sing arias. Some days I do nothing. But I sing a lot, even in the shower! I also like to sing out in rehearsals, because I can put everything together: voice, energy, acting. For me, it doesn’t work to rest the voice too much. Sometimes I take one-week breaks between performances.
Do you still have a voice teacher?
No. I work with different coaches. Singers are very vulnerable. It’s a very delicate matter to have someone tell you what to do with your voice. You can create an addiction to that person, which can also be hurtful psychologically. Then, you perform to please that one particular teacher or coach. When you work with more people, you have several ideas about style, phrasing, etc. Of course, you have the conductor in each production and hope that he will tell you things. Some conductors don’t like to get involved, but I like it when they give suggestions.
Tell me about your basic singing principles.
The beautiful thing about singing is that it’s full of metaphors. Here is one I like: The voice is like a sock with sand in it. You grab the sock by the top, meaning the voice has to be hooked to the top (the mask). But you also need the body; that’s why you have the sand. The sock has to be filled with just enough sand to remain flexible. You put too much sand, and the sock will fall. This means you lose flexibility and connection to the mask because of too much weight in the voice. So I try to put the right amount of sand and to keep holding it from the very top, so the voice has the body but also the ring by being in the mask.
But it could go the other way, too. You may have too little sand.
Exactly! And then the sock is just flying around without an anchor: it’s too light. I need the weight of the sand to have the voice feel natural. When it has little sand, the voice is too ethereal.
Talking about being conscious of what you do: A lot of people tell you to put the voice in the mask, because it’s healthy. Yes, it is healthier to sing suspended in the mask rather than weighed down in the throat or chest—but it doesn’t mean it’s the right way. It’s the balance of the two.
The truth is, I don’t think so much technically. I never thought about what to do with the diaphragm. A teacher once told me to put my tongue down when I sing high notes, because my tongue usually goes up. I tried but couldn’t produce a sound. She said: “But you are limiting your space!” She may have been right, but that didn’t feel right for me.
Your idol does the same when he sings high notes.
Ah, yes! Domingo! I discovered that some months ago watching a video. I couldn’t believe it. He does the same thing. Actually, better said: I do what he does!
And when you get tired…
I shut up. I even try not to talk. But I rarely get tired. I think when you find that right way to sing [with]in yourself, you don’t get tired. I don’t have the special tenor routines, because I think you become vulnerable when you do all that.
It’s all in the mind. I try to have a normal life. What I need is inside me. Of course, if it is cold, I’ll protect myself, but I do not exaggerate. I don’t walk around with scarves!
Your performing arts academy training must have helped you very much as a singer.
Yes. It’s helped me in that I feel very comfortable on stage. It has taught me that as you try to understand the voice you need to understand your own body and know what comes natural to you.
How do you stay healthy?
Fortunately, I rarely get sick. I try to eat well and sleep at least eight hours a night. Now that I have a 1-year-old, seven hours is OK!
How do you handle family and career?
Our home is in Paris but we travel together all the time. Eventually, the problem will be when the kid goes to school. It’s so important for a singer to take care of his personal life. If you are unhappy, your singing will reflect that. Of course, there are singers who struggle in their lives but their singing is very exciting. It depends. For me, it’s very important to have stability.
How about stage fright?
I love it! I want to be nervous before a performance because I transform that into energy, like a dragon getting the fire out. Every singer needs to be nervous, I think.
Being so young, how do older colleagues treat you when you begin working with them?
So far, I’ve been happy about it. Now I just sang with Renée Fleming and Dmitri Hvorostovsky; they were supportive and complimented me. I feel like I am really their colleague.
Of course, I understand where I am right now. I am beginning my career. However, while I think it’s important not to be arrogant, it is also very important not to be intimidated. If you are singing with a big star soprano and you are Alfredo, she is just Violetta and that’s it! Everybody had a beginning. It’s a question of balance.
Arrogance will also work against you. You have to know where you are standing. If everything is going very well, that’s great, but you have to understand that things can change anytime.
You participated in the San Francisco Merola program, as well as the young artist program in Pittsburgh. Tell me about those experiences.
First of all, I would encourage all singers to do a young artist program. It’s very hard to go from the conservatory to the main stage, so this is a very important step. You deal with everything you get in the real world of opera, you get paid, and the audiences are more tolerant. No one expects you to be perfect.
I auditioned twice for the Merola program, which went on for 10 weeks in the summer. I did Alfredo with them. In some performances I was singing in the chorus. I think that’s good because it teaches you to be part of a team. It’s about Verdi, about making music, about being a good colleague.
However, you have to be careful not to tire yourself out. After rehearsals as a soloist, then as part of the chorus, after coaching, movement classes and master classes, you can finish the day with no voice. If you’re not very solid in your technique, it can be dangerous.
In San Francisco, you had master classes with Joan Sutherland. What did you learn from her?
What you learn from master classes is the right energy. You are scared to death when you go there, so you have to transform that into energy! What I remember from her was the way she moved on stage and talked about different phrases, her approach to opera, her portamentos, her emphasis on having a balanced weight in the voice.
Then you went to Pittsburgh.
Yes. For six months. That was a very good preparation for my career. I sang in Lucia, Vanessa, Onegin, and Werther, two productions with orchestra, two with piano. We had special coaches for each production, and language teachers.
Why did you choose Pittsburgh?
Well, my father was an American football fan, and his favorite team was the Pittsburgh Steelers. I found out there was a young artist program in Pittsburgh during the season, so I thought it would be fun to be there at the same time, and invite my father to see them. Actually, that was the main reason—but it turned out to be wonderful! It was a great program and they treated me very well, so I should thank the Steelers for my going there!
You won two national competitions in Mexico, and then you placed second in Placido Domingo’s Operalia. How did you deal with competition pressure, and how were these experiences for you?
I have never in my life felt such nervousness as I did during competitions, not even in auditions. It’s terrible! When you sing an opera, you have three hours to develop and show your voice. If you crack the high C in “Che gelida manina,” you still have the second and third acts. If you sing well and act well, people can forgive you. Well… maybe! But in a competition, have one accident like that and you’re out! Every single note is the most important thing in the world. Of course, that’s the way it should be all the time, but the pressure is unbelievable. That’s why it’s better to do competitions when you’re young and have that eagerness and strong nerves.
Even the national contests I did—I had to do one three times before winning. I remember during Operalia, I was so nervous, and kept drinking Coca-Cola on top of it! My hands were shaking and I couldn’t stop pacing. I was out of control. So I went into an empty room and just turned off the light. I sat down and thought of every single phrase in my aria. I told myself: ‘Don’t pretend to be bigger than you are. Just go there and do what you usually do.’
Ten minutes in the darkness—quiet, thinking about the aria—made all the difference. I turned on the light, looked at myself in the mirror, and I knew I was going to sing well.
Operalia was like a dream come true for me. I met my idol, Placido Domingo. He had been such an immense influence in my development. He wasn’t part of the jury, but he was there all the time. He saw all the preliminaries, and sang in the gala. I sang with him in the Boheme duet “Oh, Mimi tu piu non torni,” and he sang the baritone part! It was unbelievable! He was so encouraging. And his energy! Everyone was so inspired by it! He seemed a young artist himself, as if he had just won the contest!
After that, I’ve maintained a close contact with Domingo. Every time we are in the same city, we meet. Sometimes I can’t believe [that] the singer who inspired me to sing as a teenager has now become a mentor to me. Going back to competitions, you just have to push everything away from you: the jury, the colleagues, the nerves. It’s also very important to choose a repertoire in which you feel absolutely comfortable, rather than something very complicated. Sing the things you always sing. I wouldn’t act too much, either. The story has to be in the way you sing. Acting can be a distraction, in the end.
You’re expanding your repertory at a very early age. You’re scheduled to sing [Tales of] Hoffmann and Don Carlo. How can you tell you are ready for these roles?
Ah, the big question! And I had to decide on this Don Carlo three years ago!
I like to take risks. Don Carlo might be too early, but it’s only one production. It’s a small house and Riccardo Chailly is conducting. I auditioned for him, so he knows he has a lyric tenor. After that, if I decide to sing Don Carlo again it will be after 2007. Hoffmann can be sung with a lyric voice, so it’s more for me.
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
My voice has this characteristic: it’s dark, so people expect it to be big. Now, it’s just a lyric voice, but because it’s dark, that can be confusing. In 10 years, until I reach 40, I’ll keep singing my current repertoire: Romeo, Des Grieux, Edgardo, the Duke of Mantua, Alfredo, Nemorino. …All these roles are so good for the voice and for technique. Eventually, I will add Un Ballo [in Maschera].
Maybe I will do one crazy thing, like Don Carlo, and people will think: ‘This stupid tenor; he will destroy his voice!’ I don’t believe people destroy their voices with one production. Worst-case scenario is it won’t fit me. The problem is when you insist on a certain repertoire even after you see it’s wrong for you. But if you feel the urge to try a certain role once, then just do it and see how it feels.
Any other technical tip you can give our readers?
They’ve probably heard this before: Text is immensely important! Also, consonants are very useful. We tend to think a lot in vowels. But these breaks between the vowels carry the emotion.
So you associate consonants with emotion?
Exactly. The consonants punctuate the emotion, and the vowels carry it out. You can find enormous emotion in a well-pronounced “b” or “p,” or a rolled “r.”
In other words, you can assign an emotion to a consonant, depending on the meaning of the word?
Oh, yes!
So if you sang “guerra” [war], maybe you could associate the rolled “r” with charging ahead in battle or with a drum roll…
You got it. And that will awaken the right emotion in you!
You have a passion for drawing. Your website, www.rolandovillazon.com, has some wonderful drawings. Do you find any parallels between drawing and singing?
I believe everything you do is important. I also love to read and go to museums. The more information you have, the better. Even if you don’t believe that Alfredo needs information from the Metropolitan Museum of Art…when you go there and see a position, an expression in a painting, when you see El Greco’s paintings in the exhibition going on now, you learn.
It’s all in the way the painters play with colors. The voice is about colors. Everything is a metaphor in singing. So if you see the sunrise, if you look at trees or watch children play in the park, it might help you discover something.
We need to be sponges and absorb everything. I’m an amateur drawer, but this allows me to be creative. I work with lines, proportion and perspective. It also helps me to take things more lightly, because I can parody certain characters and productions. It’s a release.
A word of advice for other singers?
Lots of coaches may tell you: “Don’t sing with all your wealth; sing with your interest!” My advice is: Every time you perform, sing with all your “savings account” plus the interest. Give everything! But make sure that afterwards, you are going to work to put more savings in your account. I don’t agree that you should save your voice.
Of course, don’t overdo it, don’t push. Just give what you have as a performer, but give everything. Then you go and coach. You listen to your performances and keep working very hard, even if you get a debut at the Met and sign an exclusive recording contract. You should be the toughest judge of yourself. You never reach something…
You never reach anything, really.
That’s life, actually! But in singing, that mentality can be especially harmful. You just have to keep going. The day you say “I’ve arrived” is the day you stop singing. You have to search and doubt, and keep working all the time. It’s a never-ending journey.
