As much as I love Lieder and giving recitals, there really is nothing quite like being on the opera stage. So when I learned the Hochschule would present Handel’s Alcina, I knew I had to audition. But for which role?
The plot is rather complicated. Alcina, a soprano, is a witch who turns visitors to her island into animals and rocks. She has fallen in love with Ruggiero, the mezzo, and has put a spell on him to make him love her. The alto, Bradamante, Ruggiero’s fiancée, comes to find him, disguised as her own brother. Morgana, Alcina’s sister and fellow soprano, promptly falls in love with the disguised Bradamante, to the dismay of Oronte, the tenor who loves her. The opera has two additional characters: Melisso, Ruggiero’s former tutor and the opera’s only bass, and Oberto, a young boy shipwrecked on the island, sung by a soprano.
Naturally, love and betrayal, not to mention enchantment, is fertile ground for coloratura-laden Baroque arias. And if that weren’t enough, there’s the acting. Everyone, it seems, is deceiving someone at some point in the show.
I first learned of the opera my senior year of college, when I was looking for an aria to sing on my senior recital. I was randomly listening in the music library, and I came across an old recording of the opera. As soon as I heard it, I fell in love with Alcina’s first aria, “Di, cor mio.” In it, Alcina sings to Ruggiero, telling him to show the disguised Bradamante and Melisso the island, and to point out the trees, rivers, and fountains where the two of them first fell in love. Oh, I loved singing that aria. It was so beautiful, and the subject matter was great: Witch pretends to be all lovey-dovey with her doting boyfriend, whom she conveniently has under a spell. It didn’t matter that my voice was too light to really sound good; the actor in me was too excited to listen properly to what was coming out of my mouth.
It was the start of my love affair with the wrong music. The truth is, I couldn’t resist the characters. I was of the opinion that sopranos with light, little voices never really get to act. Why should I bother being the plucky soprano, who always seems to sing in a major key about the sunshine, and bunnies, and flowers, when I could be the tortured soul, who gets the better music?
For longer than I care to admit, I messed around with roles completely wrong for my voice. I looked at Mimi, Micaela, Donna Elvira, and others. I brought “Porgi, amor” to numerous lessons and even to opera workshop. Afterwards, I asked my friend Michael if it was OK for my voice, and although he didn’t say it was wrong, he never actually said it was right. A little offended, I decided to ignore his implied advice, even if he did know what he was talking about. I was a good actor. I would make it work!
It wasn’t until after I’d gotten my master’s that I finally understood that desperately wanting my voice to be something didn’t actually make it that thing. It happened at an audition, when I heard a competitor singing “Porgi, amor,” which I had never truly put away, followed by “Marietta’s Lied,” an aria I knew I had no business singing. In an instant, I realized that regardless of whether I like it, I will always be the Susanna to someone else’s Countess.
So I learned to like it. (Somewhere, my singer friends and former teachers are shaking their heads: It’s about time, Porto.)
When my teacher here asked me what role I wanted to audition for, I think she was a little surprised when I didn’t say Alcina or Morgana. It seemed everyone in the school was going for one of those two parts. A few years ago, I would have, too. Instead, I chose to audition for Oberto. Sure, his arias aren’t as numerous or exciting as the other sopranos’ arias. He doesn’t get to cast any spells or wrap some poor tenor around his little finger. Such is life. That’s just my voice.
A part of me is disappointed I have to admit that I’m not some full-voiced lyric or dramatic soprano. I’ll never play the really meaty female leads, which always seem to be written for heavy voices: Marschallin, Tosca, Leonora/Fidelio, Katja Kabanova, the list goes on and on. I won’t sing the praises of eternal love, lose my soul mate, find myself bereft of hope, get sick and die, or play someone who manages to do all four in as many hours.
No, instead I’ll be the little sister, the best friend, the cunning maid, always the figurative bridesmaid to some big-voiced bride. And, as it turns out, the young boy. Turns out I’ll get to act after all. Playing a boy is going to be way cooler than playing a witch.
