The finest singing, given a good voice to begin with, comes from the constant play of a fine mind with the inner meaning of the music.” This quotation, from music critic Ernest Newman (1868-1959), could have been written with Patricia Racette in mind, for it succinctly and accurately describes both her approach to opera singing and the effective, artistic result she achieves.
Catapulted into the spotlight when she was tapped to replace Renée Fleming in the Metropolitan Opera’s new Zeffirelli production of La Traviata in 1998, Racette was ready and rose to the challenge. In a career that has taken her to the major opera houses of America and Europe, the soprano has manifested both a singular focus in achieving her goals, and a strong sense of her own individuality in choosing the roles that stimulate her developing interpretive skills.
In our conversation, held in the Met’s press room, Miss Racette discussed her growing love for Verdi, her early struggles and decisions, and the method she has derived for working with conductors and stage directors to insure maximum creativity and cooperation. Patricia Racette is both a professional for singers to emulate and an artist for opera lovers to cherish.
Freeman Günter: Was there a moment when you knew that you were really on the right career path?
Patricia Racette: I always knew I was going to sing. I wasn’t exposed to opera until very late, not until my second year in college. I saw that opera was completely for me, both on a vocal level and also what it asks of the mind, of the spirit. When I was very young—18 or 19—I took a couple of voice lessons, even though I wanted to sing jazz. I needed to audition for a college, and I had to offer not just jazz numbers, but opera as well. So I learned an aria, “Senza Mama” from Suor Angelica. Well, that was it! I was so completely taken with the complication and the sophistication that is needed, but also the humanity that is infused in opera. I became very, very driven. I’m still very ambitious, but I was driven. Just picture the largest, most incredible blinders, blocking out everything else. I was on my task, just doing it, doing it, doing it. When I made my Met debut [a single performance as Musetta in 1995], and when it went as well as it went, I felt that I had sort of checked something off.
When I received subsequent contracts, I wouldn’t say I felt I had made it, but I knew I was on the path that I was hoping for. And that can be a very dangerous path for singers, I have to say, causing us to obsess too much about those things we have absolutely no control over.
FG: Like what?
PR: Just about everything except for your actual art. All we really have is the power to say no. It’s not that often that a company, especially major companies, will come to you and say, “What do you want to do?” It’s up to them. It’s how you fit into their schedule, if you do at all. The other people all make the decisions that will hopefully include your life, but they’re decisions that they present before you.
FG: How do you manage not to obsess about the things that you can’t control?
PR: You spin yourself to exhaustion, then you sort of collect yourself. You have to constantly re-engage your joy and your love—your purpose in what you’re doing. And it’s very specific. It is really isolated into the art form—the vocal art form, the dramatic art form. That is what we have control over—to sing better, to be clear and effective, to infuse our life into our art. And that’s it!
Everything else is really not in our control. And as soon as you understand that, you find a calm and a concentration in which you can approach your art form.
FG: Let’s talk about Violetta. Did you realize this would be good for you when you opened the score for the first time?
PR: I started studying it very early and put it away, then studied again and put it away, and then I think the third time I studied it I decided to accept engagements for it.
FG: Your reservations were not vocal, I presume.
PR: Well, at first they were. But I love the fire of that woman, of Violetta. She is a complicated, interesting woman, and I find that just delicious to portray onstage. My Violetta at the Met in 1998 and now are drastically different. I’ve really evolved in that part. It’s a role that I have now done at least 60 times.
FG: How much had you sung it before you were called upon to replace Renée Fleming?
PR: Not that much. That was only my second production, so it was still in the very early stages.
FG: Did you hesitate, or did you know this was your time to grab it?
PR: I hesitated for a moment. It was pretty daunting. If it were to happen now I would say, “Let me at it!”
FG: What was daunting?
PR: Well, it came to me third generation. It was my first time working with Zeffirelli and Levine, and it was all happening at the same time. It was a very tricky situation.
FG: What pushed you over the edge and made you accept?
PR: Well, I was already slated to do six performances after Renée’s, so it’s not like I could say I’m not prepared to do this here. I liked the original placement very much where I didn’t quite have all that pressure, but when they asked me I was extremely appreciative and felt honored that they put that faith in me. But I was also aware of the rather big responsibility.
FG: What are the special difficulties of the part in general?
PR: As in many Verdi roles for soprano, I think it asks everything of the singer, everything of the vocalism. It asks for the fioratura, it asks for some very intense full singing, almost spinto, almost verismo. It asks for a lot of the fil de voce, a lot of the pianissimi. It takes you the full gamut.
FG: And, putting over the character! Having the makings of a Violetta in you and then putting it all together.
PR: But the vocalism and the character and the writing are so perfect that they really are one and the same. If you just allow those to be fused together, it makes it a lot easier. There are very different approaches. There’s sometimes a very bel canto approach. I don’t take quite that approach.
I do sing it in a bel canto way, but it’s not vocal fireworks for vocal fireworks sake. And sometimes you’ll see in some bel canto pieces that the fioratura is very specifically expressive.
In the earlier Verdi, you’ll see sometime a little closer to a bel canto treatment, and it’s interesting as it develops. You look as late as Don Carlo and Otello, and you see a very different writing for the soprano. You see the loss of the virtuosic fioratura. I’ve been having my own personal Verdi-fest. It’s served me well; it’s been my tool. It’s wonderfully rich, but it points to more things in me artistically and vocally.
FG: So right now he is perhaps your favorite composer to sing?
PR: At the moment, yes, because he asks for the whole thing.
FG: Are there any other Verdi roles you’d like to do?
PR: Well, I’m about to do Don Carlo in Houston.
FG: Isn’t that a fairly heavy role?
PR: Elizabetta is traditionally done by heavyish voices, but I don’t find it any heavier than the other Verdi soprano roles. But it’s a little lower. I approach every part with my own vocalism, and it’s a matter of taste and opinion as to whether that is deemed likeable and acceptable. But I approach it with my vocalism, with what I have to offer.
I find Don Carlo to be very typically Verdi. I’ve been able to practice it while I’m doing Violetta.
FG: So it’s not out of the ballpark.
PR: No, no. I mean, it’s not a Ballo. There are some that are very distinctly different, but I don’t find that with Elizabetta. And I’m doing a Trovatore in Philadelphia.
FG: Have you done that before?
PR: No. These are all new things. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m trying them out. They’re things I want to experience to see what they lead to artistically
FG: The issue of Fach is such a concern for beginning singers.
PR: It is, and I think that concern needs to be lightened up. I’m not a strong, passionate believer in that. I’m not for being reckless, and I think the guidelines are helpful, but I think trying to specify and box people in is simply useless.
That’s like saying, “You wear glasses? Well, these are the glasses that work on men’s faces.” It’s stupid in my opinion.
I am an eclectic singer. And I love that. Every once in a while, I have someone say to me, “you know, you need to find your niche.” But my niche is being an eclectic singer!
I just did Jenufa in Chicago, and people responded like, “That is so perfect for you.” And then I’ll do another thing that’s completely different, Luisa Miller, and, again, “That is so perfect for you!”
FG: So you just take the roles individually and see how they apply to you or not.
PR: First, I see if the character appeals to me.
FG: Really? You look at the character before you look at the tessitura?
PR: Absolutely. I think that’s one of my gifts. I offer both the vocalism and the theatrical aspect, and I want to offer them on the same high level.
FG: So first the character.
PR: Yes. I have to say, now, I look at the character first. I didn’t always approach it this way. It’s constantly evolving. In fact, if we had this interview two years from now, I’d probably say something different. Who knows?
FG: Let’s do it, then.
PR: It’s a date!
FG: And then you look at the score, the tessitura, all that.
PR: Well, first of all, you have an idea. You want to stay within some sort of a realm. I am a soprano, so I’ll stick to soprano roles.
FG: What are your favorite opera parts?
PR: Violetta, Luisa Miller, Jenufa. Suor Angelica is something I want to do very much again.
FG: Would you not also like to sing Georgetta? [The leading role in Puccini’s Il Tabarro, the first of the Trittico operas of which Suor Angelica is the second.]
PR: I’d like to do them both. Il Tabarro is fantastic. And people say, “it’s so heavy, it’s so heavy!” The guys have to carry the weight in that opera. It’s only heavy if you sing it heavily. The problem will be whether you can be heard. And once again, that’s not even in your control. You go to it with your own vocalism, and if the people who’ve cast you or the people in the audience can’t hear, or if the voice sounds too light, you do take that information into consideration, and say, “I don’t think I have enough to offer that role.”
FG: Or maybe not at a big house…
PR: Well, I don’t subscribe to that. When you sing it, you sing it. If your voice is acoustically sound, you will be heard in a big house or a small house. The orchestra can be very loud in certain roles in certain parts, and sometimes in a smaller house, a loud orchestra will be even worse.
Something that I always say to younger singers is to make sure you try to constantly identify what it is you are about as an artist and a singer. And it’s OK if you don’t yet have an idea, but you have to have that process. It’s not for us to really judge our performance—it is for us to put it out there. But you can only do that truthfully and faithfully by being intensely focused on what you are doing, and saying what you are saying. That is what draws people in, not indication, not display. I’m including myself wholeheartedly. You can see this in young singers, “Please like me. Please approve of me.” You’ve got to turn inward and then bring it out. It’s really hard to describe. The most compelling performers—on film, on the opera stage, in theater—they do that. The audience gets annoyed if there’s too much indication. “Oh, I’m fainting. Here. I’m going to show you how….” For example, Violetta’s fainting. If you’re really fainting, you’re not displaying anything.
When you’re onstage, because you have 4,000 pairs of eyes staring at you, there is the temptation to show, to display, to indicate. And it doesn’t matter how big a house, the very smallest of intentions can be seen and heard. I’ve had the privilege of doing this Zeffirelli production of La Traviata three times, and it’s interesting the comments I get this time around, as opposed to the first time around.
They’re seeing the little things I’m doing, even with my eyes and my face. People are seeing them back in standing room. And I don’t necessarily mean they’re seeing them with their eyes, but they’re registering them. They’re going across. I think, in our world of sitcoms and half-hour shows, where there’s a beginning, middle, and an end, a solution all within 30 minutes, we simplify our audiences, and we underestimate them. We have people sitting out there, and we don’t give them the benefit of the doubt of being able to pick up on the nuances that we ourselves see every minute of every day!
FG: Do you enjoy performing in the Zeffirelli production? It’s so controversial. People complain about the bigness of his productions.
PR: In my opinion, not ever having sat out front and watched it, it’s not the bigness that I find troublesome, it’s the busyness. It is the job of the director to guide the eye of the audience. I mean, Franco is a genius. He’s splendid. And he certainly does provide a beautiful set to look at. But in order to keep any art form alive, you’ve got to apply it in a contemporary way. Museums are great, but this is a living, ongoing art form, and I think there can be wonderful new conceptions that don’t distort it.
FG: But they cannot just be new for the sake of being new.
PR: They can’t be new for the sake of being new, or weird for the sake of being weird. And we have a lot of that. I did a Christopher Alden—who is way out there—production of Turandot, years ago, with Welsh National. It was fantastic. Turandot was in a Chanel suit with her hair pulled back. She looked like an ice princess, modern day. Liu was sort of mostly human, but very spiritual. It was very very ingenious. In a way, that has spoiled me for every production of Turandot. It totally worked!
FG: What do you do when a director asks you to do something that you don’t believe in?
PR: I try to convince the director that it’s never in the best interest of the show to force it upon the artist.
FG: Do you find that directors are willing to listen to you?
PR: Yes. Absolutely! I really insist upon a collaborative atmosphere. I’m not interested in merely participating. But, in saying that, I must add that it is the singer’s responsibility to remain very flexible. In some ways, we are the ones that have to come to the table being the most open. We have to be willing to play out the director’s ideas and the conductor’s tempos and musical ideas. What I object to is when that’s all they are asking, for you to be an empty vessel. I’ll leave a job first. Life is too short; I’m not interested in that. All I ask—not to do it my way, and we have plenty of singers that do that—is to include me in the process. Because, no matter where the ideas come from, I am going to be the one onstage presenting them to the audience.
FG: The buck stops with you!
PR: I will be the one held responsible for those choices, both dramatically and musically. I will try anything, but it is subject to my approval.
FG: Sure, and if you try it and you don’t like the way it feels and you don’t think you can do it with commitment and honesty and truth…
PR: Then it doesn’t serve the show! The thing is, it’s tricky. You do have to stay open. But most of the directors or conductors I work with are very flexible. The great ones will see that it doesn’t work for you. That’s a wonderful atmosphere. And if not, the singer must diplomatically fight.
FG: And the singers do have to know what their point of view is—they have to know what they’re talking about. They can’t just say, “I don’t want to do that because I am the star!”
PR: That’s part of the problem. There are a lot of younger singers who don’t come with their own artistic offering.
FG: So they can’t always defend their point of view, because they don’t necessarily have one! How do you approach a new assignment?
PR: There’s always, for me, a little bit of nerves right before a job, before the very first day. I always call it “first day of school” and that’s about what it feels like. Because you go in but you don’t know what you have ahead of you. You know the piece; you know how you’re going to serve it. But it doesn’t serve the artistic process to go in there ready to fight for what’s yours, which I did for a while. I just did. A secure artist can go and listen and think, “Hmm, OK, let me try that,” even if inside, you’re thinking, “That’s ridiculous. That is the dumbest thing I ever heard.” Or you will hear the conductor’s tempo and think, “Could that be slower? What an idiot!” You think those things but you push them away and you try it.
And I’ll be damned, but at least half the time I learn something new and valuable, and I take it with me. I’ll say to the conductor or the director, “I really was not convinced when you first brought that up, but you were right. Thank you.”
So it serves us to be flexible. What we’re dealing with is inside of us. It comes out, but if you’re spending your time watching it, you’re not doing the inside job. It’s like driving and watching the tires. You’re gonna crash.
FG: Now you’re a bona fide opera star. How does the reality compare with the dream that you had before any of it started to come true? Is it the way you thought it would be, or if not, how is it different? Is it better or is it worse?
PR: All of that. It is the way I thought it would be. Some things are disappointing—our recording industry is a disaster. I really had hoped to contribute to that, but I can’t complain about what has been presented in front of me in my professional life, I really can’t. I’m not done. I’m after way more, especially with the diverse repertoire now available. It’s very interesting. But, now, I can get really carried away, and just start thinking about the career, and start talking about the career. How I want to do this and that, and it will start making me crazy—because there is no way I can affect any of that other than to return back to what it is I do. And you let the chips fall where they may. You just have to.
FG: You turn back to those things that you can control.
PR: Turn back to your art. That’s the thing that’s going to make you the happiest anyway. You turn back to your art, which puts you directly in front of and in touch with the reason you became involved in this craft. Because you love it, because you need to say it, and you need to say it this way. If you keep going back to that, it will bear fruit. And if it doesn’t, you’re not doing the right thing. You’re not in the right field. That’s all I can say. If it doesn’t bear fruit, it’s not really your fault.
FG: To keep all that in perspective, I bet that’s awfully hard.
PR: What did [James] Levine say to me? He said, “You have to have a very tough skin to survive this business, but a very soft skin to do it.”
FG: To be as tough as you need to be and yet to keep your sensibilities and sensitivities open.
PR: Completely open.
FG: That’s a tall order.
PR: Who else goes into work every day knowing that as part of the job they’re going to be criticized? And it’s not necessarily a negative thing to be criticized. The nature of the word is negative, but it can be helpful, it promotes growth, so it’s a good thing. But every day, that is what you’re going to see.
You’re also going to get accolades: “Very good, nice. Oh, that was beautiful.” That feels good. Basically that’s expected of you, and you’re going to hear about the stuff you do wrong. You’ve got to be a solid, balanced person to deal with that day after day, year after year. You really do. But you also have to be a little crazy to go and stand up in front of 4,000 people.
FG: And express these emotions to the max!
PR: Exactly. So you have to be really, really solid.
FG: Oh, but it’s got to feel great.
PR: It’s an amazing feeling! It is very cathartic.
FG: Can you tell me some singers who’ve inspired you, whose work you admire?
PR: Maria Callas, absolutely. She’s amazing. I’ve never heard such deep expression, such truth and honesty.
FG: So you believe in listening to recordings?
PR: Yes! It’s part of our research. I won’t ever listen to a Traviata recording too close to when I’m doing it…
FG: Well, no, that’s understandable. But to turn one’s back on all of history…that just amazes me when singers will do that, “Oh, I don’t want to hear that, I want this to be my own.” Well, how arrogant not to have an acquaintance with what has been considered great in this art form!
PR: Well, we’d be re-inventing the wheel every day! It behooves us to know the pitfalls, to know what’s been done. It still will be your own.
