Category Archives: Opera

Unique

April 26, 2011 admin Leave a comment

There’s a quote of Martha Graham’s in “The Art of Possibility” that I wrote down a while ago. It sits in my stage make-up box. I read it before every performance.

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

I sat down earlier today to write a brief synopsis of “Carmen and the Bull,” a little children’s opera that I created for Union Avenue Opera’s educational programs with Springboard St. Louis. In the middle of writing the summary, it occurred to me that the heart of that quote was all over my silly made-up opera lyrics. Little Ferdinand and his new friends spend a lot of time understanding and fully appreciating what it is to be unique…and, though they use other words, they are definitely “keeping the channel open.”

Maybe not so silly after all. Thanks, Martha.

Okay, maybe a little silly

Musical Theater, Opera

In step

January 4, 2011 admin Leave a comment

The Last of the Red Hot Mamas closed last Sunday night. It feels like it was a month ago. The next day, I made my way to Quincy, IL to start rehearsals for Muddy River Opera’s production of Pirates of Penzance. When we walked into the Quincy Starbucks, my friend and traveling companion remarked that we clearly weren’t in St. Louis anymore. The orders were placed slowly, the orders were taken slowly, and the orders will filled slowly. If folks moved at that pace in the Central West End, there would be annoyed comments from the peanut gallery. Let’s not even think about what would happen in New York City.

Michael Kelly, from Country Cork,
lost his sweetheart while on holiday in New York.
Last of the Red Hot Mamas, New Jewish Theatre
Photo by John Lamb

I went home for New Year’s, and on my way back up to Quincy, I listened to the fellows on Radio Lab. The story was about cities: how they live and die, and what makes them feel the way they feel. Do people make the city, or the city make the people?

They did some experiments.

They recorded the pace at which individuals from different cities delivered information: how fast they talked. And then, they recorded the pace at which individuals moved down the street: how fast they walked. Not surprisingly, people in bigger cities covered more topics and more ground in less time than those in smaller ones: the pace was faster. And apparently, we all have an internal tempo that agrees with one pace more than another. I wonder if the people who absolutely love NYC have an inherently faster internal tempo, or if they naturally adjust when they get there? And if they can’t adjust…

Regardless, I feel my internal tempo slowing down in Quincy. I don’t know if that fits into the Radio-Lab-guest-scientist theories, but it’s true. Red Hot Mamas feels like a month ago, and I’m okay with that. I’m enjoying the pace. I’m happy to enjoy the resting time before I head back to St. Louis, the city that sets my metronome a few ticks higher–but not too high–day in and day out.

Opera

Turning heads

July 16, 2010 admin Leave a comment

I spent a few days earlier this week visiting dear Chicagoland friends. We had the week off in between Pirates of Penzance performances, and there was a newborn baby to see. Friends are a strong lure, but a baby, well, she has pull. After a couple of days with the new parents and child, I can honestly say that no one turns heads like a stretching, yawning, sleeping 8-pound girl.

It’s true that I observed heads turning all the time in Italy last month. Italian men don’t apologize for turning and looking, much to the delight of the married-with-children women on our choir trip, but it’s not like that here in the States (except in locales that I don’t frequent.)

And yes, heads turn with (mostly) great precision on UAO’s set of Pirates. Even if a chorus member turns his head at the wrong time, he must do so with conviction. A crisp head-turn on the wrong beat is better than a slow and sloppy one at the right time. There’s not time for apologies.

The only time I see heads boldly turn stateside, and not involving jazz squares, is when there’s a newborn involved. I saw it on the L, in a busy restaurant downtown, at a coffee shop in Oak Park, on a bench by the Chicago river. No apology necessary for staring and smiling at a baby girl who’s been kicking outside the womb for a mere 6 weeks.

Occasionally when I’m away midweek, I feel like I need to have an excuse for why I’m not at home and working. Everyone else is, so shouldn’t I? Never mind that I am working all weekend and that I miss important events during the year because I have nighttime rehearsals, Christmas Eve services, and non-negotiable performance dates. Yet, thanks in part to all of the hardworking professionals around me, I feel like I should be at home and working.

This week, however, that little baby taught me to let go of the apologies, turn my head with conviction, and enjoy the free time on a Monday and Tuesday that lets me stop and stare and smile.

The maidens who fear pirates, right before a big head-turn.
Photo by Ron Lindsey

Opera, Out of the Box

Reading, writing and art

June 29, 2010 admin Leave a comment

This morning, I took a break from contemplating the ups and downs of the operatic rehearsal process, and popped on-line. I quickly found myself reading the New York Times Magazine article about David Mitchell. How I ended up there, I’m not sure. My book club read his “Cloud Atlas” many, many months ago, and it sparked a good conversation. This morning, the author’s name caught my eye.

I love that reading inspires writing. Mitchell suggests that all the reading he did as a kid made him a writer. Reading about him made me want to finally finish a post that I started writing a couple of weeks ago. It’s akin to wanting to hit a practice room after attending a great performance, I figure.

The bit that suddenly jumped off my computer screen (and made me happy to have read the entire article instead of the first couple of pages) was Mitchell’s quote,

“I’m interested in human mud because, as you age, your life gets muddier. As an artist I think you realize that’s where art is art. I can only say it in very simple terms because it’s a very simple thing: art is about people, it’s not about experimentation.”

I admit that I had been dragging my feet on posting a post-Italy trip post because I couldn’t quite find my way into it. I had all of these ideas about art reflecting life, and life reflecting art, and art reflecting art, but then David Mitchell had to announce that I was making things too complicated. Art is about people.

The Caravaggio exhibit at the Pitti Palace in Florence then, is that about people?

A couple of weeks ago, I was standing in that exhibit, in the Medici’s old house, listening to a lot of strangers commenting to each other in various languages, all looking at the same 17th century artwork. Yes, art is about bringing people together.

This particular exhibit highlights the aptly labeled “caravaggeschi,” the artists who were greatly influenced by the one great artist (who was, I can’t help but emphasize, influenced by other great artists). Yes, art is also about the people who create it.

The paintings themselves are clearly of people: Biblical scenes, political figures, pretty faces…I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Caravaggio’s Tooth Puller. Definitely about people.

My favorite part about that painting appeared the next day in the Santa Maria Novella train station. I was guarding backpacks and suitcases while my travel buddy grabbed some provisions. Guarding backpacks and suitcases in a busy train station affords ample time for people watching (art!), which is half the fun of traveling. A little girl walked back and forth with her mom, panino in hand, then mouth, then hand, then mouth. Suddenly, she yelped something of an Italian barbaric yelp, and before a second had passed, her mother’s hand, armed with a napkin, took the place of that panino and pulled out a tooth. The girl was jumping at that point. No grimace of Caravaggio’s Tooth Pull-ed, but a holey smile of straight up happiness.

Art reflecting life? Life reflecting art?

Sunday night, some friends hosted a fundraiser for Union Avenue Opera on a rooftop downtown. Yes, there was some singing in English, Italian and French. There were flimsy swords, impromptu dance moves, scary pirates, sirens blaring, winds a-blowing, dogs barking, and napkins flying. Most importantly though, the roof was filled with a lot of people having a good time. How artistic.

Scary pirates in collared shirts. Frightened damsels in dresses.

Photo by Dana Stone, UAO administrator extraordinaire.

Opera, Teaching

Aunt Elise on vacation

May 4, 2010 admin Leave a comment

After eating breakfast in Portland, Oregon last week, I accompanied my nephew, his little brother, and his mom to pre-school. “Does anyone know anything about opera?” I asked the smallish circle of 3, 4, and 5-year-olds. Only a couple of hands went up. During the next 15 minutes, they all tried a little bit of opera singing and acting, they watched me do the same, and they even processed a bit of what they heard and saw. I’m a big fan of catching ’em while their young. I think they might be too.

That night, I went to my brother’s neighbor’s house, the wife of whom incidentally grew up next door to us in St. Louis. Small world. Guitarist, singer, composer, rockstar Walter Parks married one of those beloved next-door neighbors (there was always a smooth path between their house and ours), and he gave his first house concert in his wife’s sister’s living room.

photo by Tim LaBarge

He invited me to sing along. “Just improvise some operatic oohs above the melody.” Huh? I wondered what these Portlanders would think. They’re accustomed to hearing folk/songwriter/blues singing (they live in Portland, after all), but operatic oohs, not so much. Turns out, they liked it. I guess it’s good to catch ’em while they’re older, too.

Cabaret, Musical Theater, Opera

A lotta keeps

April 19, 2010 admin 2 Comments

I had hoped this weekend’s Lotte Lenya Competition finals would provide some career-path clarity. After all, standing up in front of a panel of judges and curious audience members twice in one day should shed a little bit of light on how it feels to be nurtured, appreciated, and scrutinized all at the same time–in a nutshell, how it feels to be a performing artist. If it feels bad, then maybe it’s time to change directions. If it feels good, then maybe it’s time to punch up the efforts and take advantage of the momentum.

Of course, nothing is ever that simple, and clarity rarely comes with want.

After the singing was over on Saturday night, the judges disappeared to continue the “lively discussion” they had started earlier in the day, promising to return with a list of winners. The audience shuffled about, awaiting the results. The singers nervously chattered in the green room, awaiting the results. A couple of shufflers walked by some chatterers and stopped. “You,” the lady who showed up to Kilbourn Hall on a whim said to one of my colleagues, “you made me cry. I have no idea why; it must have been something in the music, or what you did, but you made me cry.” Bingo. Job well done, dear contestant.

When the judges returned, the audience welcomed the 15 singer-actors with applause. It was an applause filled with a similar kind of “You made me cry” affection. Ah, I think we did our jobs, dear contestants.

After introductions, each of the three panel members said a few (and sometimes more) words. Then more applause. And in the end, everyone–audience, judges, directors, administrators, singers, accompanists–seemed to be singing, “there might be a box, but we’re not sure what it is, so don’t worry about fitting into it. We like what you’re doing. Keep working on it. Keep expressing the music according to its style. Keep expressing the drama that inspires the music. Keep inspiring the music with the drama. Keep letting the story come out of you and keep telling it. Keep stirring our souls. Keep us laughing. Keep crying. Keep us crying. Keep sharing the excitement. Yes, keep sharing.”

Inspiration came, mais hélas, clarity cameth not. “Everyone has her own path,” Lisa Vroman (and thousands of people before her) affirmed. Okay, great, but how do I get one and who’s going to give me the topo map? I want a path, I want a path!

And then I looked back and saw it. “Hey, there it is!” I thought. I don’t suppose I know where it’s going, but I’ve been making one all this time, and I think I’ll keep on…

Elise LaBarge