Last fall, a famous American singer came to do a masterclass at the Hochschule. Because we are compatriots, my teacher asked me to write an audience-member point of view article for the Hochschule für Musik’s magazine. Besides the challenge of writing in German (thank goodness for German housemates), I had to struggle to write a review that was both honest and complimentary.
Before I get myself into trouble, let me explain.
The individual in question—let’s call her the Diva—has had a stunning career. She has performed in the best houses with the best conductors. She is known as a relentless perfectionist who always delivers, and she expects perfection from the students singing for her. Examples? She stopped one poor soprano seven times because she kept pronouncing “je” in Micaela’s aria incorrectly. She told another singer her rendition of “Una voce poco fa” was bad: it had no through-line and was not well sung. A baritone, who was trying to be relaxed and joke around with her, had his time cut short and was verbally lashed for his behavior. Another soprano (wow, there are a lot of sopranos around) was berated for having a different pianist on the second day. A mezzo was scolded for being late. She made more than one singer cry. We gossiped about her like mad, discussing her latest victim.
On the final day of class, in the middle of coaching Liu’s “Signore, ascolta,” she really sang for the first time. The soprano on stage was having a hard time floating the B-flat at the end of the aria. She wasn’t getting the concept, so the Diva, who is well past her prime years of singing, demonstrated what she meant. Slouching slightly in her chair, this mezzo soprano floated one of the most beautiful, pleading, perfectly in tune, pianissississimo high B-flats I have ever heard. I got chills. The audience was rendered immobile. I’m pretty sure my mouth wasn’t the only one hanging open in reverence and awe. As one, we broke the silence and burst into applause.
And then the Diva told us an interesting story. A year before she was in a similar masterclass situation at a large state school with a very good program. She was just “as rough”—her own words—with the singers. After the second day, she found out they were calling her an uncomplimentary name behind her back. So the next day, before she began teaching, she decided to address them. “I’ve found out,” she said, “that you call me The Terminator. And that’s fine. Because, you see, this is what it’s really like out there. Conductors and directors don’t have time for singers’ antics or personal hang-ups and issues, and there are hundreds of others out there who would gladly take your place. It’s hard, but it’s true. This is what it’s like.”
She went on teaching, changing none of her style. She was still harsh, still rough, still demanding. At the closing concert, she made a few remarks, and was none too complimentary about her time at the school. She felt the students could have worked harder. She hoped they performed well and learned something from her.
For a brief minute, I could almost justify her behavior. In one way, she is right. Conductors and directors don’t care if you’re still a bit nervous about that high C at the end of your aria. You still have to convincingly make out with that guy who creeps you out a little. They hire you for what they think you can do, and your job is to show up and do it. Little things like mispronouncing words are mistakes that can be avoided. Showing up on time, even early, is pretty basic knowledge. And, although there are emergencies, sorting out a pianist in advance is also rudimentary procedure.
But I didn’t excuse her completely. None of those students who sang for her are ready for a career like hers. They still have technical issues, or stage deportment issues, or musical issues they’re still trying to sort through. They should be allowed to sort through those issues without being made to feel inadequate.
And, above all, there’s no reason not to be decent and friendly to those people you work with. Maybe the students would have responded better had she been more tactful. They did learn a lot, but some of them were pretty shaken by the experience.
There’s not a bright ending to this experience. The real world is rough, and there are plenty of other singers out there waiting in line to take your place. We’re going to be criticized our whole lives, and it takes a thick skin to get through it. The field we’ve chosen isn’t easy, and there are lots of obstacles, real and imagined, in the way. But, like the singers the Diva criticized, we have to get up the next day and keep going.
