Interview with Barbara Hannigan

I'll never forget the first time I saw Barbara Hannigan perform.  It was two years ago in Gothenburg, Sweden.  She started off with some Rossini and Mozart, singing and conducting simultaneously with flawless elegance.  Then in the second half of the programme she came trotting out in head-to-toe black leather, and gave the most wacky and electrifying performance of Ligeti's Mysteries of the Macabre you could imagine.  It didn't take long after that for Barbara to become my major girl crush on the classical music scene.  I mean, she's just so effortlessly cool!  Whether she's performing Lulu in pointe shoes, conducting Fauré’s Pelléas et Mélisande, or premiering a composer's new work, she always kicks ass and looks good doing it.  So of course I was pretty excited to participate in her masterclasses at the Lucerne Festival.  Barbara is an incredibly open and generous teacher.  She gives us advice on everything from technique and professional etiquette to choosing the right skin products and overcoming jetlag.  In the hours between the dress rehearsal and the final concert, we share a cup of tea at Barbara's Lucerne apartment.  As I sip my Throat Soother (with honey, of course) Barbara talks to me about the masterclasses, her trailblazing career, and what it takes to be a star soprano.

Barbara Hannigan (Photo credit: Elmer de Haas)

You moved to Europe in your early twenties.  What was it like adjusting from your life in Canada?

It was very difficult actually.  I had left home, which was Nova Scotia, when I was 17, and then when I was 23 I moved to England…  I studied there for one year.  I was extremely lonely.  It was a very big city.  Even though everyone was English-speaking I have to say the culture shock was pretty intense.  I felt that there was quite a strong prejudice at the school I was at, from the vocal department, against contemporary music.  I had a lot of trouble getting any teachers to even hear me.  They wouldn't let me audition.  So that was even more isolating.  After a very lonely and frustrating year in England, I moved to Holland… and then I went to the Hague Conservatory.  I did a one-year opera programme, but then I kind of kept my foot in Holland because I was working there.  I kept one foot in Canada and one foot in Holland, and it pretty well stayed that way until I made the complete move to Holland, which would have been 2001.

Did you always know that you wanted to stay in Europe?

No, I didn't know that at first, and like I say the loneliness was really hard for me to deal with.  Just the bureaucracy of a country with which you're not familiar – I mean being an immigrant or a resident, it's really hard.  All the day-to-day things that seem so easy in your home country: banking, hospitals, you know simple things, are just – it seems impossible in the new country.  Doctors, everything.  It's really really hard to negotiate for yourself and it takes a lot of time and energy.  I think it was in 2001, when I went to Holland looking for a short-term place… In September of that year I ended up basically being handed a wonderful apartment in Amsterdam.  Which was owned by Reinbert de Leeuw, the conductor and mentor of mine, who's a very important figure in my life.  I was able to live there at a rent that I could afford and choose myself, for a good 5 years.  I just decided to stay after that.  That was it.

What draws you to contemporary music?

I think I've always liked it since I was a child.  I think part of the reason maybe that I enjoy it was that I felt like I was walking in snow that nobody else had walked in yet.  I was making my own path and my own footprints, and I didn't have to follow the length of someone else's steps.

Making new footprints

There was no kind of tradition… When I was younger I was intimidated by the "tradition": this is how you sing this song.  Which seemed to me to have nothing to do often with what was on the page.  Whereas in contemporary music, you sang what was on the page.  So I could identify with it and I knew I could do that.  Now I realise that that's actually what one should apply to all music.  But at the time I felt free in contemporary music, I felt like I could expand and that I was ok and I could be myself.

I think another thing that drew me to contemporary music is that, you know, I moved to Toronto when I was 17.  I went to university for my bachelor when I was 18 – that's very young.  My voice was clear and I had a strong musical sense – not sophisticated, but I had good pitch and good rhythm.  My voice needed to catch up, and so while it was catching up I was the darling of the contemporary music people because my voice was very pure and clean.  I didn't have any bad habits and I didn't scoop and I didn't have a big vibrato, so it was kind of what a lot of composers really enjoyed working with.  And of course I was game for anything.  I was really open-minded. 

How do you approach learning a new score?

I avoid singing it for as long as possible, depending on how much time I have.  This is because I am a good sight reader, but I don't feel that sight reading – like literally reading at sight – is good for the voice.  I feel that one should familiarise oneself with the score, with the lay of the score, with the landscape of the score, before you sing it.  So you know where the uphills are, you know where the downhills are, you know where you're coasting, you know where you're going through passaggio.  You have an idea of what are going to be the most virtuosic passages, and those are to be practised extremely slowly.  There is a method about it, and that's probably why I get frustrated if, on occasion, I get the score late, because I feel like my method has been interrupted and I can no longer work at the pace that I feel serves the music best. 

Barbara performing in Alban Berg's Lulu.

Are there any particular performers that really inspire you?

I have a lot of respect for lots of different singers, and for many different reasons.  Like I love the way Bartoli sings – I'm pretty well sold on everything she does because she has so much joy and pleasure in singing.  But I also like someone that's more muted in a way, like Anne Sofie von Otter.  I do appreciate her a lot.  Lorraine Hunt Lieberson is a singer whose voice I really love.  Renée Fleming is someone for whom I have a lot of respect and in some repertoire I just adore her voice.  Then also someone like Fritz Wunderlich, like the older singers, I also appreciate for various reasons.

But it's not really singers from whom I draw my inspiration as a performer.  In fact I don't use them as examples for me when I'm making sound.  I will think of the way Glenn Gould articulates a certain phrase… I think about the martial arts actor/comedian Jackie Chan.  His transitions, his sense of rhythm, is pretty amazing, and I'd also imagine him when I'm singing.  Danny Kaye.  Julie Andrews, I think, is a pretty phenomenal performer and I admire her greatly, and I do often write "Julie Andrews" in the score.  There’s a Sound of Music moment, really, in most contemporary music I sing.  I'm sure she would just laugh her head off if she ever found out!

The hills are alive... with the sound of contemporary music!

Then film characters or a scene with a particular actor, how to play something.  Christoph Waltz in Inglorious Basterds – the Quentin Tarantino film for which he won the Oscar.  I mean he was playing the bad guy so well and with such pleasure and articulation and timing.  He was a pretty big influence for me.  So in my singing I’m not influenced by singing.  But I appreciate singers.  Very much.

How does it feel to go from the role of performer to the role of teacher?

I kind of feel like both are just leadership positions, so there isn't really a big change…  I find the teaching tiring because I get involved emotionally.  It's very hard not to notice the hopes and dreams of people.  You also see people's particular sensitivities.  Or you want someone to open something up and you can't get them to do it, and you're trying to help, and it can be hard.  So I find that tiring.  Of course, six hours a day of being in front of other people is a lot.  Somehow in an opera when I'm just singing it's easier – although even a six-hour opera day is really hard, I find six hours a day of masterclasses is even harder.

Barbara teaching in Lucerne.

We've been starting every day this week with a yoga class.  How do you find that health and fitness serve your singing?

In a really big way it serves my singing, partly because it gets me in good physical shape so that nothing can phase me.  Even if I'm doing a dance show.  I'm in strong cardio shape.  I always go running...  I really try to be physically strong.  Just so that there isn't anything that can phase me in an opera staging.  But also the other reason is that it's good for your mind.  It's good for you mentally to be physically strong.  First of all the yoga or the running, it really has a meditative quality so that it clears the mind.  Then it also gets rid of a lot of toxins or negative feelings in your body, so that you can be more positive towards your work.  I think generally physical fitness gives us positive endorphins, and therefore we're better disposed to serving the music.

You’ve often talked to us about discipline.  Why is this such an important part of your life?

Well because I want to have a long and enjoyable career, and I find that the way to enjoy your work is to be prepared and to be disciplined about it.  Performance anxiety, for example, is greatly alleviated by preparation.  Preparation can't happen if you have a chaotic life.  You may think I have a chaotic life because I spend all these months on the road, but I'm regulating my schedule as much as I can.  My daily schedule, my travel schedule, what I eat, where I eat, with whom I eat.  You know, who gets my energy, who doesn't.  I spend a lot of time alone.  As much as I can.  I like to be alone, and I just feel like the discipline is related to keeping me as calm as possible so that I can handle the stress.  Because the stress of having a career at the pace which mine seems to be moving right now is very high.  I don't think there's a lot of people that could handle that.

Singer, conductor, superwoman.

You've carved out a very unconventional career path.  How did you deal with it when people were trying to steer you in another direction?  How did you handle the naysayers?

Well, luckily my teachers were quite supportive of my path, whatever it was.  That was really important.  They believed in me.  I was always lucky.  I had one teacher who wanted me to sing the bel canto [repertoire], and yet when he came and heard me sing a really contemporary music concert once he was kind of flabbergasted because he realised that this was like home for me.  And over the years he's become incredibly supportive.

As far as having agents, I mean I had an agent early on who basically wanted me to sing – I think his dream for me was to be like Edita Gruberova…  He thought of all contemporary music as "squeaky gate" music, that's what he called it.  So he just lumped it all into one category.  He really went out of his way to make sure that I didn't sing this music anymore.  At a certain point I just – I left him because I felt… I was unhappy and he was probably frustrated, and so I left and I went for a long period without any management…  So it was a struggle, and I mean I'm really happy that I remained true to my repertoire.  I really sing the music that I like to sing and I do not sing music I don't like.  That includes saying no to a lot of contemporary music that I don't want to sing, or a composer with whom I don't feel an affinity.  It was kind of a hard path, and it was only four years ago that I joined my manager, with whom I have a very positive and supportive relationship.  It took a long time to get to that stage, I mean I'd already been performing professionally for 20 years – since I was 19.  And I was 39 when I moved to a really big manager.  So that's kind of something, you know?

Thanks for chatting, Barbara!

Interview with Neil Semer

I first met Neil in September 2013, soon after I had moved to Cologne.  I told my friend I was looking for a voice teacher, and he said "well, why don't you try having lessons with my teacher?"  I came to watch his lesson, and then had one of my own.  Before I knew it I was hooked.  Neil was the teacher for me!  Since then I've had several lessons with Neil, both in Cologne and in Toronto.  As I've written about before, I also attended his masterclasses in Paris.  We've had our ups and downs (there was a brief traumatic period where he thought I was a soprano - I'd rather not talk about it), but throughout all of it Neil has been a wise and inspiring figure in my life.  He is always teaching me something new about my voice and myself.  So it was a pleasure to sit down to a pre-lesson breakfast with him at Maifield Restaurant in Ehrenfeld and pick his brains about life, singing, and the pursuit of a fulfilling career.

 

Neil Semer

Can you tell us a bit about your background?  How did you get into teaching?

I began performing, and I always just liked to play piano for people.  When I was singing with other singers on the stage I would very often just offer help, if anyone wanted to work on anything during the break or after the rehearsal.  I would just start working with people, and that was something I always did.  I never thought of it as teaching at the time, but I loved singing, and working on singing and working with singers.  So it just started there.

Can you describe your job a bit for us?  What does a typical year look like for you?

My main studio is in New York, but I teach every several weeks in Toronto and I go to Europe four times a year where I teach generally in Copenhagen, Dresden, Cologne, Frankfurt, Berlin, Biel, Paris, and London.  I do that four times a year.  One time a year I have my annual Neil Semer Vocal Institute in Germany which I've been doing now for 18 years.  Those are two two-week courses in different corners of Germany.  And I go to see people's performances whenever possible, and I have a family.  So it's busy.  It's a busy year.

What is your favourite aspect of your job?  For example, do you enjoy giving private lessons or masterclasses more? Why?

I love them both.  I guess I would have to say that giving masterclasses is really pleasurable, it's kind of like my current version of performing.  It has that kind of special kick of a performance on some level.  But I also love the intimate one-on-one, working heart-to-heart with an artist.  So I love them both.

 

Me and Neil at his Paris masterclasses.

What is the hardest aspect of your job?

Dealing with people's delusions.  This is to a large degree an ego-driven profession, and if a person's ego needs are not in alignment with their gifts, that is difficult.  I'm by nature a very honest person, and I really try to facilitate change and growth and really create what is possible.  But if a person is fixated on what is impossible, it is very hard to work with.

One of the unique things about your teaching is that you take a more holistic approach.  You talk to your students about their spiritual and emotional development as well as their vocal development.  Why do you feel this is so important?

Well, we're not purely physical beings.  It is foolish to think that the voice can be mastered only by looking at it mechanically.  And our spiritual and emotional issues get played out in our singing, whether we wish them to be or not.  So I address them as part of understanding vocal mechanics.  Simply because… blocked emotions create blocked breath.  The desire to be seen a particular way will exhibit itself in certain body postures that may not serve your singing.  Fears about certain things will stop you from doing some of the necessary actions to master the passaggio.  I work very clearly about vocal mechanics and I always start with that – giving a clear idea of how alignment, space, breathing, diction, resonance, passaggio events work – I deal with them very specifically and very physically, at first, to master those skills.  But once the physical skill is mastered, the ability to coordinate it and make music from it – it involves the heart.

You have the unique position of teaching regularly in both Europe and North America.  Do you notice any significant differences in the way the industry works in these two continents?

Yeah, there are specific things, sure.  America has larger theatres, so often one needs larger voices.  In Europe, the size of a small lyric house sometimes allows for a more refined music-making.  Although obviously finesse is valued in both places, the canvas on which it's drawn is a little different, because of the size of the theatres.  There are many more theatres in German-speaking countries, so that makes for more opportunity, although there are also many more singers competing for jobs over here because everyone comes here.

Culture is more of a priority in Europe, honestly, and so there's just a different feeling to the work here.  That's hard to describe, the difference in feeling, but it does feel different…

Things are actually more age-conscious in Europe, which I think Americans don't often realise.  It's not against the law to ask a person's age here, which it would be in America.  And people do get fixated on numbers here, to a degree that as an American I find astounding.  How does the person look, in terms of visuals, is all that's important – does the person look right for the role?  Whereas here actually the number itself seems to carry more weight at times than what they're actually seeing in front of their eyes, or hearing in their ears, which I find very unfortunate.

Which of the great singers do you really admire?

My ears were formed very young by people like Ezio Pinza, Cesare Siepi, Renata Tebaldi, Callas, Björling, Pavarotti, Domingo, Bastianini, Batistini, Titta Ruffo, Rosa Ponselle, Giuseppe DeLuca.. These really great singers from the past – I just used to devour their records, and really study them.  And so that really informed – does inform – the way I look at singing and the aesthetic from which I teach.  Today some great singers that I really admire include Joyce DiDonato, Juan Diego Florez, René Pape, the young Bryn Terfel, Cecilia Bartoli...  These are some of the people I think have something truly special at this time.

In your opinion, what does it take to be a successful singer?

Well, the obvious thing is an instrument, and a musical sensibility/sensitivity, a gift for language, a gift for musicianship… But it is also essential to want it desperately.  Lamperti said "don’t sing unless you'd die if you didn't", and I find that to be very good advice.  If you can imagine yourself doing anything else for a living, one should.  It's only for those people who can’t imagine doing anything else.  Like myself, I had to do this.  It truly felt like death to even consider not doing it.  And I think that's a good reason to be in this profession.

Francesco Lamperti, 1811 - 1892
Expert Italian singing teacher and author of The Art of Singing

What do you think is the biggest challenge that young singers face?

How to find your window of opportunity.  The place where you'll find opportunity, the time you'll find opportunity...  The ability to be lovingly, but brutally, self-critical.  I once heard Pavarotti say "I'm my own fiercest critic but I never forget that I'm Pavarotti."  And I thought that was a really excellent kind of balance, that he respects who he is and what his gifts are but is also extremely honest with himself, even when the news is not positive.

Wise words from the great Pavarotti.

What is the one piece of advice you would most like to give to the singers who are reading this?

Follow your passion.  Whether that be to this profession or away from it.

Thanks for chatting, Neil!

To learn more about Neil Semer, check out his website here.

On being unfinished...

Last June I had a lesson with a new teacher.  He was very well-known, and came highly recommended by my friends.  People raved to me about the progress he had helped them to make in their singing  So naturally I was curious.

The lesson began, and after a bit of friendly chat, I sang my showpiece aria for him.  And then he started in on me.

He tore my singing to pieces.  Everything had to be done differently - completely differently.  I started the aria again, he stopped me after almost every note.  It was an extremely frustrating process.  We hardly got through the first page before the lesson was done.

The experience upset me very much.  At the time, I was at the end of my year at the opera studio, and I thought I was singing with a very good technique.  Naturally, with graduation only weeks away, I wanted to believe I was a finished product.  I wanted to think of myself as "ready" for the profession.

All tied up and ready to go.

But this man was telling me that I was wrong.  This man was telling me that I still had a lot of work to do.  He thought I had to re-learn my approach to singing completely.

I never went back for another lesson.

In September I moved to Cologne.  It was a new city, a new beginning.  And I was looking for a new teacher.  My friend recommended his teacher, who had an excellent reputation throughout Europe and North America.  I was intrigued, and after observing my friend's lesson I had a lesson of my own.

Like the teacher I had met in June, this teacher wanted to change my approach to singing.  Once again, I was told that I had to make big changes to my technique.  "Brynne," he said, "you have a lot of work to do."

It was a terrifying thing to hear.  But this time I was ready to hear it.  In June I had thought of myself as reaching an end.  Now I felt I was starting out again, and I was able to approach the lesson with an open mind.  So I took in what he said.  I got down to work.  And gradually I began to hear significant changes in my singing.

Nobody ever wants to hear that they have a lot of work to do.  But the truth is, we always do.  A singer's work never stops.  We are on a never-ending road of progression.

It just. Keeps. Going.

Since September, I've continued studying with my new teacher.  It's hard work, but it has its rewards.  I've just come back from a four-day masterclass with him in Paris.  It was an amazing week of inspiration and learning.  I feel like I've made a big leap forward in my singing - and I've watched other singers do the same.

A masterclass can be a transformative experience.  You have the opportunity to work intensively on your craft with an expert teacher.  Furthermore, you are in the company of several other singers who are doing the same.  Singers of every age and level attend masterclasses.  From young students to experienced professionals, we all have the same desire to continue working on our voices.

Singing can be a lonely profession.  Once you're out of education, you develop your voice and your career largely in isolation.  Sometimes you find yourself wondering, am I doing the right things?  Am I on the right track?  Am I the only one struggling here?

Is anybody else out there??

Which is why it is so wonderful to spend time with other singers in a masterclass.  It puts everything into perspective.  Suddenly you realise that you're not alone.  In my class this week there were many different voice types and styles.  There were light lyric voices and enormous dramatic voices.  High sopranos and low bass-baritones.  We even had a couple of singers who performed musical theatre and pop.  But regardless of everyone's individual vocal identity, we all had something in common.  We were all on the same road.

It was humbling to witness the talent and hard work of the other singers in the class.  And we learned so much from watching each other learn.  We empathised with each other's struggles, and we shared feedback about what we had heard.  We often exchanged opinions and experiences over coffee, lunch, and dinner.  It was a privilege to be in such friendly and sympathetic company.

Some magical things can happen in a masterclass.  When so many singers get together, all intent upon learning, there's a special kind of energy in the room.  You often find yourself trying things you might never have dared to try before.  You go further, you dare more, and you understand more deeply.  And you recognise some important truths about yourself.

You know when you're in a lesson, and something suddenly clicks for you?  Like you've had a "Eureka" moment?  Well, these moments happen even more in the intense atmosphere of a masterclass.  Often you hear or see something from another singer, and you suddenly understand something very important for yourself.  We all had thousands of these "Eureka" moments throughout the masterclass.  In fact, I don't think there would be enough bathtubs in Paris to provide for all of them!

It was an intense four days.  A lot of ideas and emotions to be taken in.  And on the evening of the fourth and final day, we gave a concert.

It was a daunting task to perform our pieces after so much precise and detailed work.  Suddenly we had to take everything we'd learned and put it into practice.  And what was more, we had to really perform our pieces.  We couldn't just stand there looking like we were solving a math problem while we thought about our technique.  We had to be in character.  We had to smile and sob and scream, all the while not letting on that we were thinking about our upper passaggio.  It felt a bit like rubbing your tummy and patting your head.

Nevertheless, everyone seemed to pull it off with panache.  I was amazed to hear people incorporating what they had learned into their performance.  And it was a real pleasure to watch everyone sing in full performance mode, dress shoes and all.  We all finished the concert with a feeling of euphoria.  We had accomplished so much!

But as we celebrated over wine and curry, we were all brought swiftly back to reality.  One by one, our teacher began taking us aside to give us feedback.  And he didn't pull any punches.  He recognised the progress each of us had made, but he also told us where we had faltered and what we needed to work on.

Despite our accomplishments this week, we still have a lot of work to do.  Because there will always be a lot of work to do.  This is what our teacher wanted us to understand.  That it's never safe to rest on your laurels.

Don't rest on your Laurels.  Don't rest on your Hardys either.

When you give a performance, you like to think of yourself as polished and complete.  A finished product.  But the truth is that noone is ever a finished product.  A performance, no matter how successful, is only ever a snapshot of where you are right now.  It's one moment on a never-ending path of improvement.

The greatest challenge of singing is that no matter where you are on your path, no matter what you're learning, you still have to be able to drop everything and perform.  When the moment arrives, be it an audition or an opening night, you have to put on the best show that you can.  Give yourself to the moment, accept where you are now, and show it off to the best advantage possible.

We are all a work in progress.  We pursue a challenging and relentless learning process that never ends.  But that's the reason we chose to be a singer in the first place.  Because we'll never stop learning.  We'll never stop improving.  And we'll never stop trying to be the best that we can be.

On the Dream Team...

My singing life in Glasgow was pretty simple.  I had lessons every week with the same teacher, and I trusted her with everything.  Whatever I was working on, whatever I had trouble with, I would bring it to her.  As far as I was concerned, her word was gospel.  I didn't quite go so far as making a bracelet that said "What Would Kath Do" - but trust me, I came pretty close.

It was nice, having that consistency.  One teacher, once a week, for everything.  But here in Ghent things are more complicated.  First of all, we are not assigned private singing teachers at the opera studio.  If we feel we need private lessons, we're expected to arrange them for ourselves independently.  Secondly, this is almost impossible to do!  The nature of our irregular and ever-shifting schedule makes it quite difficult to fit in regular lessons with one person. 

Nonetheless, I have found a couple of good teachers here, and between the private lessons I arrange with them, and my various lessons and coachings at the studio, I get a rich and varied education from an assortment of teachers.  Unlike Glasgow, where I relied on one teacher for everything, in Ghent I'm learning to consult with different people depending on what I need. 

Here is a brief catalogue of my Dream Team - all the various teachers I work with.  Some of these are specific teachers, and some are more like a category of teacher.  They each play their own role and have their unique teaching style.  You may recognise a few of them yourself...
 

The Technician

This is the person I trust to work with me on the fundamentals - the nuts and bolts of singing.  She teaches me how to use my instrument.  In her words, she shows me when to change gears, so that the next time I'm driving through traffic, I can look straight ahead with confidence instead of constantly looking down trying to figure out what I'm doing.  Our work is very physical, and also very analytical.  I sing a lot, and I think a lot about how I'm singing.  There is much drawing of diagrams.  I try to see The Technician regularly to work on my overall technique.  I also might go to her for help with vocally challenging repertoire, or when I need to solve a specific technical problem.

The Psychologist

This teacher deals with the psychology of singing, rather than the physical reality of it.  The philosophical rather than the practical.  She is very wise, and loves to say deep things like "there are no intervals - there are only pitches and breath".  The Psychologist wants me to stop listening to myself, stop analysing every note I sing.  She trains me to trust that my voice will work for me.  I used to think The Psychologist was the polar opposite of The Technician, and I had to choose either one approach or the other.  But then I realised that this is just the next step - the one I can take once I've done the necessary work with The Technician.  The Psychologist helps me progress from practice to performance, start trusting my technique, stop micromanaging, and let go.



The Musician

In other words, my coach.  Every singer works with at least one of these.  I work with quite a few coaches at the opera studio, but there is one in particular who I see regularly and who I would trust beyond anything.  He is my second pair of ears, and he helps me to realise what I want to do musically.  He isn't really concerned with how I produce my sound - he just wants to see what I do with that sound to make music. The Musician is a musical encyclopedia, full of knowledge about the history and background of the repertoire.  He uses this knowledge and his excellent musical taste to advise me on how to sing expressively and stylishly.



The GP

The opera studio calls this woman "the vocal consultant", and she sees us every once in a while for sort of a "check-up" session.  She has a more gentle and holistic approach to teaching: she's not there as a surgeon to pick apart the details of our technique - she's just the friendly family doctor who wants to make sure everything's ok.  Since most of us have our own individual teachers, she doesn't want to interfere too much with the specific technique we're learning with them.  Rather, she listens to what we're doing and makes small adjustments and suggestions here and there.  She points out bad habits, things we don't realise we're doing.  She makes sure we're singing healthily, and diagnoses any problems we might want to address.

The Dramatist

This one's pretty obvious.  Because it's one thing to sing musically and confidently with good technique, but you have to say something with all that beautiful singing.  The Dramatist works with me on my dramatic interpretation.  Just like The Musician is my second pair of ears, The Dramatist is my second pair of eyes.  He makes sure I'm actually being as expressive as I think I am.  And if I'm not, he jumps around like a caffeinated ferret until I am.  I've had a few different people fill this role - some are directors, some are teachers, some are both.  Since acting is not my biggest strength, there's often a lot of jumping around like a caffeinated ferret.





The Visiting Master



Like Yoda, this is a master of the craft who comes into your life for a short duration to impart their wisdom to you.  Unlike Yoda, they don't die after imparting their wisdom - they just move on to impart their wisdom elsewhere.  At the opera studio we are lucky enough to have masterclasses with various singers, conductors and repetiteurs who are working at the top of their field.  Although these teachers won't work with us regularly, in a very short time they can make an enormous impact.  A good masterclass can be an amazing, mind-blowing, heart-stopping, and inspiring experience.  Imagine working on your aria with someone who has sung it at the Metropolitan Opera or at Covent Garden.  They have seen it all, they have done it all, and they know their stuff like nobody else does.  If these masters are as articulate, energetic and passionate as they are talented (and most of them are) they can change your life with their teachings.



The Peer

Of course I cannot neglect to mention a very important teacher for all singers: other singers.  Whether through classes, rehearsals, performances, or discussions over lunch and coffee, we are constantly learning from each other.  Everyone has their unique strengths and weaknesses.  If you're struggling with something and you see someone who does it well, pay attention.  Chances are they're learning something from you too.  It's a shame that the opera industry so often turns singers against each other.  We start to see each other only as The Competition, rather than as friends and colleagues.  The truth is we can achieve more if we work together.  Learning from your peers is invaluable.

The Teacher-in-Disguise

Ok, this might sound a bit corny.  You know that person who's really annoying you?  The one you don't really like, who always seems to disagree with you?  Well they're a teacher too.  The fact that they're bringing up such strong feelings is probably an indication that there's something to be learned from them.  Perhaps they irk you because they're actually reflecting a part of you that you don't like.  Or perhaps they're confronting you with some truths that are really hard to swallow.  Or perhaps this is just an opportunity to learn more patience, kindness and understanding.  In any case, pay attention to this person.  Like everyone else in your life, they have something to teach you.  I've encountered more than a few Teachers-In-Disguise, and I'm sure there are plenty still to come.

So there it is, a brief overview of my Dream Team.  Not exactly simple, is it?  But I'm starting to get the hang of it.  The trick is to know who I need when.  Sometimes I need an intense session with The Technician, and sometimes I need The Psychologist to get my mind in the game.  I might want to polish something with The Musician, or I might want The Dramatist to help me bring life to an aria.  Maybe the GP will flag up something I'm doing poorly, or the Visiting Master will give some much-needed inspiration.  Or perhaps I'll get a powerful lesson from a Peer or a Teacher-In-Disguise.  Whatever the case, I'm extremely lucky to have such a team of teachers and advisors helping me out.  With them on my side, I feel like I can conquer anything.



On gaining confidence...

The past week has been both amazing and terrifying.

I’ve been participating in a series of masterclasses in Stuttgart.  I already know Stuttgart pretty well.  I used to come here every summer to sing in a festival choir.  But this visit was very different.

When I was in the festival choir, I usually travelled with other Canadian singers.  And even if I did fly out alone, by the time I arrived at Stuttgart airport I would be surrounded by old friends, most of whom spoke fluent English.  We would all stay in the same hotels and explore the city together and have an awesome time.  Don’t get me wrong, we worked hard (in rehearsals that were led in English), but as we were in the choir it was a pretty low-pressure gig. 

There was a lot of this.

This time, I travelled alone and arrived alone.  I stayed in a flat with a German couple.  Thankfully, I wasn’t the only English speaker in the flat – there was a girl from New York staying there with me – but conversations at the breakfast table were never fluid and almost always involved a German-English dictionary.  In the masterclasses, although our brilliant teacher was able to speak to one girl in French and to myself and the New Yorker in English, everyone else was taught in German.  And this time I wasn’t there as a chorister.  I was there as a soloist.

All in all, it was a pretty daunting experience.  Travelling alone, singing alone, and on top of it all dealing with a foreign language.  I had to be independent, I had to have my wits about me, and most of all, I had to be extremely confident.

Confidence has never come easily to me.  I’m the kind of girl who agonises over making decisions.  Who asks for people’s opinions on everything.  Who hesitates at every corner.  Who shies away from confrontation.  Who constantly compares herself to others and worries about what people think of her.

I’m not entirely sure where this has come from. 

I have a few theories.  Maybe it’s because of my nationality.  As an overly-polite Canadian my first instinct is always to blurt out “excuse me” and “I’m sorry” (sometimes followed by “eh”). 
 

It might also be because I come from a family of reserved introverts whose idea of a holiday is sitting around reading books.  Or maybe it’s because I absolutely detest obnoxious people, and my worst fear is to become one of them.

But really?  Those aren’t so much explanations as excuses.  The fact is that, like many people, I struggle with self-confidence.  And if I want to accomplish everything I hope to accomplish, I need to overcome this.  I need to start believing in myself.

Right.  Ok if you’re anything me, at this point you are banging your head against the wall.  Because you’ve heard this sentence a million times before.  “You need to start believing in yourself”.  “YES!” you may scream, “I KNOW I do!!  But HOW???!”

Ah.  Therein lies the real question.  How do you start believing in yourself?  Where does confidence come from?  Well I can certainly tell you where it doesn’t come from.  It doesn’t come from other people.  It doesn’t come from new makeup/hair/shoes/whatever.  It doesn’t come from losing weight or getting a new boyfriend.  And if you go around whinging to people that you don’t believe in yourself, that’s not going to help either.  In fact it will probably make matters much worse.

The fact is, people can tell you a million times that you’re awesome, but in the end the real confidence has to come from yourself.  So how do you get it in the first place?

Well, I don’t know if I have the perfect answer, but I think I’ve learned a lot about confidence this week.

The most exciting part of these masterclasses was that we had the opportunity to sing solos with a very well-respected German conductor.  I’m more than a little bit in awe of this conductor.  He conducted the festival choir I sang in.  From the time I was 19 I would hide in the safety of the alto section while he reigned over all of us from his podium.  Not that I was scared of him per se.  He was just this distant, revered authority figure.  Working with him as a soloist was something completely different, and I wasn’t really prepared for it.

The first day we saw the conductor, we greeted him with a standing ovation.  Then we got a chance to run through our arias and ask questions about tempo and articulation.  Naturally he spoke to all the others in German.  And when the time came for me to sing, guess what?  He spoke in German.  Very fast German.  And my reaction was kind of like this:

WHAAAAAAT???!

I stood there frozen.  I knew I should ask him to speak English, but I was too scared to say anything.  So I concentrated as hard as I could and tried to take it all in.  Understand him, I willed myself.  Come on, you have to understand him!  I knew every word coming out of his mouth was a pearl of wisdom, and I had to catch them all.  I knew some German – surely if I tried hard enough I would get it.

Finally the teacher saw that I was lost and started translating everything into English for me.  Then the penny dropped.  He paused and said “auf English, oder?” then switched to flawless English.  I was really embarrassed.

The next time I saw the conductor was the rehearsal for my aria.  He was no longer a distant figure on the podium – he was up close and personal.  I had to stand right next to him as he conducted, and immediately I changed from a 27-year-old soloist back to a 19-year-old chorister.  I kept my head in my score.  I giggled and smiled apologetically, and answered his questions with a voice like a mouse.


Kinda like this mouse, but not as cute.

He was not happy.  He asked if I could sing it any louder.  I was baffled.  I was singing with full voice, and I have a pretty loud voice.  So I answered honestly that no, I didn’t think I could sing it louder.  Then, like one of those slow-motion moments in a horror film, he asked to hear another singer do the aria. 

I was devastated to realise that this conductor, who I worshipped like a demigod, didn’t like my singing.

In the end he did let me keep my aria.  And the real problem was explained to me.  He didn’t think I was too quiet – he thought I was too shy.

The next day was the performance, and I gave myself a big pep-talk.  Come on, I said.  You’re no longer a little chorister in the alto section.  You’re an experienced soloist.  You’ve done this a million times.  This is just like any other concert.  Smile, hold your head high, project to the audience.  You know what you have to offer, so show it!

This time I sang very differently.  I didn’t hide behind my folder.  I sang out.  It wasn’t a perfect performance, but it was a performance.  I acted like a soloist.  And it felt great.

Like this.  Only it was Bach not Wagner.


Afterwards, the conductor said that “the shy girl sang beautifully.”

The concerts and masterclasses are over now, and I can’t believe how much I’ve learned.  But more importantly, I feel I’ve gained loads of confidence.  It’s not like I think I’m amazing and I can conquer the world.  But I have made significant progress.  And here’s the weird part: it wasn’t just despite my mistakes, but in part because of them.  See, I didn’t just prove to myself that I could do stuff.  I also showed myself that when things went wrong, it was still ok.  I could handle failures as well as successes.

Sometimes confidence eludes you.  Sometimes it’s there, and sometimes you have to fake it.  But most of the time you just have to go for it and show yourself what you’re capable of doing.  You can’t just decide one day that you believe in yourself.  You have to prove that there’s something to believe in.  So don’t sit there worrying if you can do it.  Do it!