“Take a moment. Breathe!”
Like a soothing wave, the words washed over the agitated singer, who was fumbling with his jacket collar in a frantic attempt to remember the title of his first aria. He looked towards the long table in the center of the room and smiled, grateful for such reassuring words from Peter Randsman, one of the AudComps jury members assigned to one of two second-round competition rooms.
As each singer walked in, nervous tension wove an invisible web of electricity around the room. Yet the four elegant gentlemen of the jury provided a protective shield of the right “polarity” with their attitude towards each singer. They coaxed nervousness and anxiety into calm motivation for the singers to give their best, concluding with constructive criticism and gracious remarks such as: “It was great to hear you.”
From the moment I entered the room, it became clear that this was not your typical “Thank you. Neeeext!” audition. Each singer walked in dragging his or her own baggage of anxiety, excitement, and hope. By the time they walked out, that “baggage” seemed to have become lighter and more fun to carry, while the audition itself became a learning experience.
From the behind-the-scenes perspective, I discovered several things that might prove useful to singers preparing for their next audition.
Movement, props, extravagant gesturing—all are distracting. They take away from the voice, and they force jury members to avoid looking at the singer, just so they could concentrate on the voice itself. It would be a shame for the jury to miss the effect of a singer’s expressive, sincere face because of too much pacing, flailing arms or dramatic effects. Reactions from the judges included:
“You don’t need the scarf. In an audition, any prop, anything extra, is very distracting. Less is better. Virtuosity is important. If you walk back and forth like this while you are singing, I can’t even look at you because it takes me away from your voice. Do not move.”
The “fluff” singers use to cover up nervousness, to impress, prompted instant challenges and constructive feedback from the four judges: agents Michael Rosen and Peter Randsman, Met assistant conductor Steve Crawford, and stage director Albert Sherman. The positive, open, and constructive attitude all four shared was topped only by their consideration and respect for all those who auditioned, in both the young artist and professional divisions.
“We will not eat in front of singers. It is unacceptable. Just a few bites between singers,” agreed the jury members among themselves. By early afternoon, after all the delays in scheduling, the hard-working four worked through lunch, surviving on sandwiches and chocolates Lindsey Dickson delivered to them in between auditions. Yet their attention and graciousness never faltered. They thanked each singer who performed for them, regardless of their opinion of that singer.
Technical flaws do not always matter. The ideal, of course, is to be flawless—but in several instances, the jury members commented: “She is very flawed. I like her!” There was something about the sincerity and personality of those particular singers that surpassed their flaws. The jury preferred flawed singing coupled with sincerity and personality to being “enjoyable but bland.” It was about trying to make the best out of those flaws, rather than disguising them under various vocal tricks in order to appear perfect.
“The way she is phrasing is classy. She loves this stuff! Of course, she has to fix her hair and find an elegant outfit…” Singers who presented their arias with love and understanding for what they were singing never failed to touch the jury. From the very moment a singer opened his or her mouth, it was obvious whether they loved the piece, feared it, manipulated it, or sang it mechanically.
Yes, appearance did matter. One singer stopped dead in her tracks when, at the end of her audition, a member of the jury asked her to open her tight-fitting jacket. She did it, and all four men agreed that it was a much better, softer look for her. The buttoned jacket gave her a strict, regimented, suppressed look; when she unbuttoned it, she immediately appeared relaxed and nonchalant.
Bel Canto and Verdi repertoire proved the jury’s greatest ally. One singer shocked the four men into awe with her brilliant and dramatic-fireworks display of Mozart’s “Der Hölle Rache.” Immediately, however, the jury asked for a Bellini piece. The singer’s brio faltered, and it seemed as if a more timid performer emerged. The same happened with a dramatic soprano who sang a Wagner aria with ample sound and confidence, and then struggled through Verdi’s “D’amor sull’ali rosee” from Il trovatore, her breath rising higher and she forced the high notes. It became clear that the jury would use the opportunity to challenge singers with repertoire that exposes the voice. They often commented that if someone cannot handle Bellini or Verdi, or any other aria for that matter, such pieces should never be on their list.
The repertoire list, and the résumé, sometimes had an irritating effect on the four judges, resulting in reactions such as: “So you sing both Aida and Queen of the Night?”
“What have you been doing with yourself for the past four years? There is a gap in your résumé.”
“Two years in an apprentice program and she still phrases like that?”
“If he’s got the nerve to put this aria down, I will ask him for it.”
“He’s been singing all over, and his musical choices are so amateurish!”
What seemed to disturb the four most was any discrepancy between the singer’s actual vocal level and his or her résumé. When they looked at an accomplished résumé, they expected an accomplished singer, and if that was not the case, the disappointment was huge. They preferred a smaller, less-impressive résumé, one that was in harmony with the audition presentation. The jury appreciated singers who came with the right choices and did not overextend themselves just to impress. To put it plainly, they wanted each singer to be exactly who he or she was at that particular moment—regardless of experience–—someone who offered the best they could under the circumstances. At the same time, the judges did their best to create a positive, friendly atmosphere so singers could let down their guard, shut off their self-defense mechanisms, dispense with all the corresponding “fluff” of unnecessary movement and props, and just sing.
Meet Two of the Jury Members
Peter Randsman
Born and raised in Long Beach, Long Island, N.Y., Peter Randsman was a singer and actor who became an opera fanatic at age 9, and was singing by age 15 with a full operatic voice. His outstanding talents won him a scholarship at Hofstra University, for acting and singing.
After getting his Equity card, and moving to New York City to perform, Randsman also started doing commercials. When the Whopper came out in 1977, Burger King chose him to be the Whopper boy in their national commercial. He performed in several Broadway productions, toured all over the country, and even sang in the New York City Opera chorus for three years.
Eventually, Randsman realized that other cast members always gravitated towards him for advice on repertoire, looks, and career. This natural talent to advise finally led him to become an agent, starting as an assistant for Paul Côté in 1989, becoming Côté’s associate, and finally opening up his own business 11 years ago.
Randsman Artists Management has a roster of 46 singers who perform internationally. Randsman and his associate, Rick Lusby, travel all over the world to see their artists, and sometimes discover new singers along the way. When inviting singers to audition, Randsman offers them the rare privilege of a 30-minute time slot so he can hear five or six arias.
“How can you decide after one and a half arias if you like somebody?” he asks. “You might hear something great in the beginning, but after you’ve signed this person, you might discover technical problems later.” Having been a singer himself, Randsman understands the mental process of auditioning. He even admits he might have to discount the first aria, to allow the singer’s voice and nerves to settle.
When asked about his experience at this year’s CS convention, Randsman beams with enthusiasm.
“I loved the Convention! It gave me a chance to meet some people in the business and re-connect with many artistic directors of wonderful opera companies,” he exclaimed. “It was also special for me because I’ve known Carla Wood, aka CJ Williamson, for many years. I was the artistic director of National Grand Opera at CW Post in Long Island nine or 10 years ago. I gave Carla one of her first East Coast jobs: Mercédès in Carmen. I loved her beautiful voice and she was wonderful on stage. Her husband, Dave, has been so great to me!” [CJ, cofounder and Editor-in-Chief of Classical Singer, succumbed last July, after a valiant battle to recover from brain surgery. – Ed.]
Randsman also does career consulting for artists. This is a one-hour session—singers have to bring their own pianist—during which he focuses on everything from the whole performance to languages, theatrics, body language, looks, movement, attire, technical problems, and career advice. Singers leave these sessions inspired—and so does Randsman.
“I feel I learn something every time I do that,” he says. Master classes also have proved to be an enriching experience for him, be it at the Lake George Festival, the Utah Festival Opera, or Di Capo.
“It’s all about being honest and having a sense of humor,” says Randsman. “Sometimes, I’ll hear a singer and every note is under-energized or flat, the languages are horrible, and they have no idea what they are singing about. Instead of telling them that was wonderful, I tell them the truth.
“It can sting, but singers are empowered by the honesty and know what to bring to their coaches and to their teachers. My worry is that a lot of people who coach singers are reluctant to be too honest about the negative things, because they fear they’ll lose their singers and income. It’s tough.”
Going back to his impressions of the Convention, Randsman admitted being amazed at the high level of some of the singers—but also at the low level and unrealistic expectations of others.
“Sometimes a singer just doesn’t know what’s best for them, how they are being perceived,” he explained. “That was the point I made in that Q&A session with Michael Rosen at least 15 times. Have a small group of people—like your coach, your voice teacher and one loved one—and trust in them if they say something doesn’t work. It’s hard for you to judge.”
He confirmed the use of Bel Canto as a means of challenging singers during the auditions.
“A lot of people were singing chatty music to cover up their idiosyncrasies, but when you ask for Bel Canto, you get to see the legato, the high notes, phrasing style; you’re bare!”
As for bringing melodrama to the audition pieces, Randsman immediately mentioned Jon Vickers.
“He walked out on stage and just looking at him was terrifying,” Randsman remembers. “The less he did, the more impressive he was. In an audition, it is inappropriate to bring a performance histrionic! That can take away from the fact that someone has a wonderful voice and we might be very impressed. Singers have to realize that in an audition, you need to pull back. Do simpler gestures and hand movements, no spinning, no ripping your coat off and throwing it on the floor. Keep it simple yet committed. Show us what is going on with your face, and with a very slight movement of the hand, rather than going overboard, because that becomes comical and amateurish, and most of all, distracting.”
On the decision of whether to continue pursuing a career after years of struggle, Randsman stands firm.
“If singers have been doing it for years, and nothing is happening. If they are discouraged, depressed, and unhappy, then I say: Give it up!” he says. “That has nothing to do with age. I gave it up in my 30s because I didn’t enjoy it anymore. I used to think: ‘How could I ever give up singing? What would my life be like?’
“It’s the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I hear some singers in their 30s or 40s who are in bad shape but are desperate to work. Once you have a sense of desperation in any aspect—life, work, friendship, romance, career—it works completely against you. As a singer and as an artist, desperation is the worst thing in the world.”
Randsman’s impressive CD collection numbers more than 8,000 albums, 2,000 of which are of the great singers who recorded in the 1880s, 1890s, and early 1900s. He feels it’s his responsibility to know all of them.
“The problem today is that a lot of singers don’t have a clue about any of these older singers,” he says. “When I ask singers to tell me their favorite artists, I often hear ‘Thomas Hampson,’ ‘Kiri Te Kanawa,’ ‘Dawn Upshaw.’ I love all three, but what about the singers who sang in the 1890s and recorded in 1910 and 1920, like Giovanni Martinelli, Luisa Tetrazzini, Amelita Galli-Curci and Rosa Ponselle? These singers of the past were individuals who took chances; they were not always perfect, but they were exciting. Great phrasing and great use of the text can thrill even though the voice might not be beautiful, like Magda Olivero or Leyla Gencer, for example. What they did with their voices was astounding.
“The voice might be fantastic, but amateurish phrasing is a turnoff. Singers today could learn a lot by listening to these legendary artists.”
Michael Rosen
Michael Rosen has been in the music business for 25 years. He had never planned to be an agent; he worked in Broadway, and his initial passion was to be a stage director and an actor. In need of a secure job, however, he began helping out in Robert Lombardo’s office. He already had some knowledge of opera and had studied music all his life, so the decision to become an agent came naturally. He continued to explore the opera world, attending performances every night, studying scores, listening to countless recordings, and even going to voice lessons to understand the mechanism of singing.
His decision to attend the Convention proved to be very rewarding.
“The Convention was amazing!” he exclaimed. “Everything was extremely well planned, and even when there were problems, the positive attitude prevailed. The events, the seminars, [and] the classes offered a variety of choices. Everyone was so enthusiastic, and wanted to be there.”
Rosen sees the overall good vibe as a testimony to Carla and David Wood. “That ‘go-get them’ energy that Carla has – everyone had it.”
Rosen’s only regret about judging the AudComps was not having enough time to give even more feedback to the singers. His priority when hearing a singer is always to give feedback, even if he does not particularly like the singer.
“I have to say something to them besides ‘thank you’ and ‘good-bye,’” he says. “All four of us wanted to be there, and it was encouraging for us in the business to see people who had so much energy and vitality, even the ones that weren’t as good. Life is hard enough for singers, so why not make an audition welcoming? That’s the least we can do for those hours of nervous waiting by the door.”
Given his acting and directing background, Rosen likes singers who can act, yet he is also the first one to say that opera is about the voice.
“Usually, when people add histrionics, they are trying to take our attention away from the voice, so we don’t notice weaknesses,” says Rosen. “Like someone dropping a handkerchief so we don’t realize they are singing a high note! Several people at the Convention had really nice voices and didn’t need any props.”
Outfits can also be a disconcerting element.
“We found ourselves, at various points, looking at people’s clothes and wondering, in one case, how high someone’s heels were,” Rosen explains. “Ill-fitting clothes are especially distracting. They also make you wonder: If the singers don’t take pride in what they look like when they leave for an audition, then how much pride do they take in their own voice?
“The first impression you make when you walk into the room is through your clothes and your hair. If you’re overweight and your clothes are too tight, if your pants and shirt are wrinkled, if you wear a cocktail dress or your skirt is too short, [if] your hair too big—it’s all distracting. People have to be comfortable with themselves and their clothes. The minute my mind wanders to other things about them, then they’ve lost me, and I have to start over to focus on the singing.”
Rosen does not mind the “corporate look” for an audition.
“A business suit is not very operatic but at least it’s not distracting,” he says. “It’s also amazing how many people show up in clothes that look like they’ve been slept in. I don’t want a fashion show, I just want people to look presentable and allow me to see them as they are.”
On the topic of Bel Canto, Rosen agrees that it is a means to show the real voice in all its facets and technical ability. He believes that a lot of singers could and should be singing Bel Canto, but unfortunately, they are not. He was surprised to notice that some singers had worked on Bel Canto arias and operas but they weren’t offering any such selections at the auditions.
“They either take the easy way out—singing modern arias, which don’t really expose the voice—or somewhere along the way, they’ve been told that people don’t want Bel Canto because it’s old-fashioned. Well, we want it!”
Is it acceptable to send unsolicited résumés to the Robert Lombardo agency?
“Yes, we’ll look at every résumé that comes in, check what needs we have, and then answer,” he says.
Rosen prefers concise, clear résumés.
“Tell me where you’ve sung, maybe who you’ve sung with, who you’ve studied with, your repertoire,” he explains. “I don’t need quotes from critics. If you haven’t done much, then you haven’t done much; it doesn’t matter. However, I don’t need to know all the roles you’ve done in your life with every itty-bitty company along the way. Tell me just enough so I know what you can do. The rest I can figure out myself. Even at the office, I prefer the resumes we send out to be only on one page.”
As for the headshot, Rosen says it should be a faithful representation of the person who walks in to audition.
“I want to remember you as you are when you sing for me,” he says. “If you’re clean-shaven in the audition, you should be clean-shaven in your headshot. For women, your hair should be the same length and color in the headshot as in the audition. Otherwise it can get confusing.”
In auditions, Rosen finds that younger singers tend to get work—those who are either in or recently been in Young Artist Programs. “People in their 40s might have a problem, because no matter how good they are, the job will go to someone who is younger. It’s sad, but that’s the way the business works with opera or musical theatre: Everyone wants the new face, the new voice. Youth is impressive, no matter which way you look at it. There are some really wonderful singers out there who are in their 40s but are not making a career. Some keep auditioning and going from manager to manager.”
Despite that fact, Rosen would never tell a singer to quit completely, if the pleasure in singing is still there.
“Maybe something positive could happen to them in another way,” Rosen says. “If I part ways with a singer, maybe someone else will have better luck, or that singer will find his or her own path. I have a singer who got hired by the Met chorus. He was singing in regional opera companies, not making much and he needed to work. Whether he wants to go back to a solo career, who knows? But for the time being, it’s perfect for him.
“In the end, everyone needs to figure out what makes them happy, and not what they think should make them happy.”
