The Cinderella Diaries - Part 3

It's hard to believe that our production of La Cenerentola is over.  The past two weeks have flown by in a blur.  And at the same time they've contained an eternity.

In the second week, our rehearsals began to pick up momentum.  We finished staging within two days, and it was an enormous relief to know that the entire opera was now blocked.  After revising a few scenes – reducing the overall levels of faffage – we began to do run-throughs.  It was so satisfying to see the show come together in its entirety.  We had spent so long fussing over little bits and pieces, and now we finally began to see the fruits of our labour.  The opera started to make some sort of sense.

Of course, being Rossini, it didn't really make sense at all.  The whole production was extremely silly in the best possible way – full of slapstick gags and physical comedy.  Most of this was carried out by my two stepsisters, who strutted about and slapped me around and bickered over their shopping bags.  I have to admit, I envied my sisters in a way.  They may not have had the most beautiful phrases to sing, but they certainly got to have the most fun onstage.

Clorinda struts her stuff.

At first I was pretty anxious about the whole physical comedy thing.  It's not that I didn't love the idea in principle.  I just wasn't sure my body would be up for the job.  My knee was still in poor shape, and while I was wearing my incredibly attractive knee support to every rehearsal, some movements were still pretty tricky.  But with time I gained fitness and confidence, and was amazed and relieved to discover that I could run, crouch, lift heavy objects, and even fall to my knees.  As rehearsals went on I slowly weaned myself off of my knee support, knowing I wouldn't be able to wear it in performance.  And it was all ok in the end.

The most exciting part of the final phase of rehearsals is the addition of costumes.  Once again, my stepsisters had the most fun here.  Yes, Alidoro enjoyed playing a dirty tramp.  And Don Magnifico got some amusement out of his teddy bear and pyjamas – not to mention a particularly ridiculous wig.  But when it came to ridiculous costumes, the stepsisters definitely took the cake.  While Clorinda played a label-obsessed rich bitch, Tisbe was some sort of Britney Spears-inspired schoolgirl fantasy gone horribly wrong.  It's not so often that you hear a singer backstage hollering "has anyone seen my nipple heart?"

Tisbe's lovely costume
(I hear she's very popular in Japan.)

In comparison, my costume was what you might call… Spartan.  I got a shower cap and a paint-splattered boiler suit.  Not exactly the sexiest thing I've ever worn.  You'd have to really suspend your disbelief to think that the prince would fall instantly and madly in love with me.

In my sexy Act 1 costume with Prince Ramiro and Alidoro.

The best part of my costume was a fetching floral headdress/veil contraption which I got to wear to the ball.  It made me blind under the stage lights, and it wouldn't stay on without the help of several bobby pins, but I still loved it.

My beautiful veil for the ball

Underneath my boiler suit was the white lace dress I would wear to the ball, so that, with Alidoro's guidance, I could magically "transform" into a vision of feminine beauty.  Between this layering of costumes, the Portuguese summer heat, and the constant running around to fetch things for my stepsisters, I was in a pretty warm situation.  In fact, I can't remember sweating so much in a show since I did War and Peace, and we all had to bundle up for the Moscow winter under hot stage lights.  Every time I went backstage between scenes, I would unzip the boiler suit and start fanning myself furiously with a spare invitation to the ball.

When I wasn't recovering from the heat, I would enjoy another favourite backstage activity: dancing.

Yes, you heard me right.  While I'm waiting in the wings for my next entry, I like to get down and boogie.  The hustle, the robot, the mashed potato – you name it.  If it suits the music and the moment, I'm all over that cheesy dance move.  I know it sounds silly, but dancing backstage keeps my energy up between scenes.  It helps me stay focused, so I'm still mentally "in the show".  Sometimes if I'm lucky, I'll catch the eye of a castmate in the opposite wing and get them to crack a smile – or even to join in.

Cenerentola Gangnam style!

The second week of rehearsals also brought a first for me: my first ever stage kiss.  See, mezzos don't usually get to play the ingénue.  We're more often secondary characters – sisters, mothers, witches, or maids.  If we do get to play a love interest, it's usually a male one.  Which means kissing the soprano, not the tenor.  But even in a trouser role, I've never had the experience of kissing another singer in a show.  That is, not until I played Cenerentola.

Kissing onstage is one of the more surreal things an opera singer has to do.  It's weird enough kissing someone to which you have no romantic attachment whatsoever.  But to do it in front of an audience?  Awkwardness central.

Luckily my prince was someone I already knew well from Scotland.  It did also help that he wasn't straight – but then again, what tenor is?  Anyway, when I finally lost my stage kiss virginity it wasn't too weird or uncomfortable.  Being a seasoned stage kissing pro, my prince went in for the smooch without question.  And before I had time to get squeamish, it was all over.  Ok, so it was a bit weird when the director started critiquing our kiss and giving suggestions for angles and timing.  But I got over the weirdness after a few repetitions.  After a while it was just another piece of staging.

Thank goodness I didn't have a stage kiss like this!

As the dress rehearsal approached I developed a bit of a cold.  I was a bit worried, but not in any panic.  Luckily, although I felt a bit congested, the cold didn't seem to affect my voice.

Until it did.

The day of the dress rehearsal arrived, and I got through most of the opera without incident.  But in my final scene, my voice suddenly cut out.  I kept trying to clear my throat between phrases, hoping it was just a matter of removing some bothersome bit of phlegm.  But it was no use.  My voice had checked out, and had no intention of returning.

It was a terrifying feeling, being voiceless onstage.  I'd never experienced anything like it.  I imagine it's something like what a fish would feel like if he were swimming in open water and suddenly heard the theme from Jaws coming around the corner.  Exposed.  Helpless.  Doomed.

Uh-oh....

I finished the rehearsal marking quietly down the octave.  My final aria, which was supposed to be full of high notes and sparkling coloratura, was practically inaudible.  The performances were the very next day.  What would I do if I couldn't sing?

Over the next 24 hours, I went on a voice-saving mission.  I put myself on vocal rest, using a combination of written messages and mime to communicate with my colleagues.  I went to bed early and slept as late as possible.  And I guzzled water by the bottle-full.

ALL OF THE WATER.

The morning of the performances arrived, and I was in a real state.  I had dreamed of singing this role for so long.  I had been so excited to be cast.  I had talked about it to everyone I knew.  After all that build up, would I be able to sing the damn thing?

I arrived hours early at the theatre, intending to do a slow and careful warmup.  Instead I ended up crying in the toilets for a good half hour.  I had never felt so anxious about a performance in my life.

It took a spell on the theatre floor, practising all the deep breathing exercises known to man, but eventually I calmed down, drank more water, and began warming up in earnest.

And by some miracle, my voice was actually there.  Maybe it was all the hydration.  Maybe it was all the careful technical work I'd done singing the role into my voice.  Whatever it was, I sang through that cold.

I made it through two performances, and it all went swimmingly in the end.  Between scenes I spent a lot of time dashing to the toilets (I had drunk a LOT of water after all) and sucking on VocalZones.  But I still had time for the odd backstage boogie.  And we all had a load of fun.  Because, with Rossini, how can you not?

And they all lived happily ever after.

After such an intense work period, it's a shock to realise that the whole thing is over.  I can't help feeling a bit of the post-show blues, and wishing we could do just one more performance.  But luckily there's no time to dwell on my bel canto bereavement.  I'm already in Switzerland for the next project.  More on that soon…

The Cinderella Diaries - Part 2

So much has happened since I first arrived in Ferreira do Zêzere. Time has flown by, and we're now into the second week of staging for La Cenerentola.

The past week has been intense, to say the least.  It all began bright and early on the first day with a musical rehearsal.

The first sing-through of an opera is always a bit rough.  It takes time to get used to the other singers, to understand each other's voices and musicalities and really gel together.  And of course you want to make a good impression on the director, the conductor, and the other singers.  So at first everyone feels a bit stiff and shy.

"Wait... you want me to sing it now??"

But once the initial nerves wore off, it didn't take us long to warm to each other and really bond as an opera family.  Rossini's operas call for a lot of energy and humour.  Luckily this is something our cast has in spades.   We're a lively bunch of singers with an even livelier director, and our rehearsals have been full of belly laughs.

One thing we bonded over immediately is our astonishingly bad sense of direction.  One night after a couple of glasses of wine, I realised I had no idea how to find my way home in the dark.  My stepsisters had already left, and the women are staying in a different place than the men.  So my male colleagues, being chivalrous, decided they would help me find my way.  The only problem was that they were even worse at navigating than I was (and trust me, I'm really really bad).  Before we knew it we were hopelessly lost.  We finally gave up after an hour or so of wandering aimlessly around the Portuguese countryside.  It was almost midnight and after all, I didn't want to turn into a pumpkin.  So we headed back to the men's house and I slept on their couch.  We've got on like a house on fire ever since.

As for my stepsisters, they're as lovely offstage as they’re nasty onstage.  It's hard to pretend to be afraid of them when I know they're so sweet in real life.  Every minute they're not abusing me they're helping me up and apologising profusely for their fictional abuse.

Between the long hours of rehearsal, we like chat and relax together as we enjoy the delicious local coffee, the mouth-watering fresh fruit, and of course, my favourite Portuguese pastry, Pasteis de Nata.

The Best.

Since the first day, our staging rehearsals have moved ahead at warp speed.  Every day the director sets a goal for how many pages we'll get through, and come hell or high water we get through those pages.  Thankfully I feel very secure by now with my music.  My character, however, is another story.

Rossini's Cenerentola is a bit different from the Cinderella most of us know.  First of all she has an evil stepfather instead of a stepmother, and it's a servant of the prince instead of a fairy godmother who helps her go to the ball.  But more importantly, there are no helpful mice or magical wands to help Cenerentola find her prince.  She has to get by with her own spirit and determination.  And she doesn't accidentally leave behind a glass slipper.  She intentionally gives the prince one of her bracelets.  She tells him to come and find her.

So she's a unique kind of heroine.  On the one hand she's a victim of circumstance.  She's constantly bullied and belittled by her stepfather and stepsisters.  But on the other hand she's very strong.  She doesn't let anyone crush her spirit.  She insists on singing while she does her chores, even when her stepsisters try to stop her.  She still dreams of finding love, and even plucks up the courage to ask if she can go to the ball.  And when she arrives at the ball, she doesn't just let the prince make all the moves.  She sets her own terms: take this bracelet, come and find me.  Learn who I am before loving me.

Rossini's Cenerentola may be sweet, but she's certainly not passive.  As her feisty coloratura passages imply, she has fire in her belly.  She isn't a wet blanket or a timid little mouse.  She's a real protagonist.

The audience has to be on Cenerentola's side.  They have to want her to win.  So from the very beginning, even as she stays in the background cleaning, she has to shine with a certain kind of charisma.

Which is easier said than done.  How do I stand out as the star when I'm wearing rags and my two silly sisters are preening like peacocks in the foreground?  Even under the most ideal of circumstances, I'm not used to being the centre of attention.  How do I create my own spotlight without seeming to try?

Kid, you gotta have star quality!

I guess you could say that my diva skills are a bit rusty these days.  Since moving to Germany, I've mostly been getting work in choirs.  It's been at least six months since I've performed as a soloist, and at least a year since I've performed in an opera.

So as we began staging this week, I kept blending into the background.  Again and again my director would point out that I was turning away from the audience, or hiding behind a chair.  I didn't even realise I was doing it!  I was just so accustomed to shrinking back, being a secondary character in someone else's story.

"Oops... was I doing it again?"

One day after rehearsal, the pianist was telling me I had to give more onstage.  And I launched into a very familiar story.  I'm not a stage animal, I told him.  Acting doesn't come naturally to me.  I'm an introvert.  Despite my year at the opera studio, I still have so little experience onstage.  Other singers my age have done so many more roles.

The pianist listened to my excuses patiently.  Then gave me a puzzled look.  You're not such an introvert, he said.  Offstage, you're one of the most lively singers in our cast.  Why can't you bring that personality with you onto the stage?

......oh.

I was flabbergasted.  I had never thought of myself as lively or having a big personality.  But once I really thought about it, I had to admit that I've come out of my shell a lot in the last few years.  Yes, I am still an introvert in my own way – I still need some quiet and solitude to recharge.  But when I want to, I can be the life of the party.

So maybe it's time now to move past the old "introverted" label.  Time to embrace a new role, and take on the spotlight.

"Non piu mesta accanto al fuoco staro sola a gorgheggiar.."

With five days left until opening night, and the whole second act still to stage, we've got our work cut out for us.  The next week will either make or break me.  So it's time to step up now.  It's time to get up from the fireplace and let my inner diva shine.

The Cinderella Diaries - Part 1

I've just arrived in Ferreira do Zêzere in Portugal.  No, I’m not on holiday.  I'll be spending the next two weeks here rehearsing and performing the title role in Rossini's La Cenerentola.

This is not just any opera role.  For me, Cenerentola is a dream role.  I began learning the aria "Non piu mesta" last year at the opera studio, and I was immediately hooked.  Something about this aria just clicked for me.  It felt like home for my voice.  Comfortable but not boring.  Challenging but satisfying.  I loved the thrill of the extreme high and low notes, the rush of the coloratura, and the sweetness of the lyrical sections.  The aria became a fast favourite for me: a staple item for recitals and auditions.  And I knew that someday, somehow, I had to perform the entire role.

It was such a good fit!

So naturally I was excited to discover that the Zêzere ArtsFestival would be putting on a production of La Cenerentola this summer.  I was determined to get cast.  When I did masterclasses with my teacher in Paris, I chose to spend the week focusing on "Non piu mesta".  By the end of the week the aria was in fairly good shape.  I recorded the final performance and sent it to the festival, asking to be considered for the role.

A few months later I received the email: I had been cast as Cenerentola!  Needless to say, I was thrilled.  After all, what girl doesn’t dream of being Cinderella, if only once in her life?

Bibbity bobbity boo!

Of course, it wasn't just the glamour that appealed to me – I knew it would also be a great learning opportunity.  Since graduating from the opera studio, I had only been able to find concert work, and after months of "parking and barking" I was chomping at the bit for the chance to sing opera again.  I would be able to learn and perform major role in the standard repertoire – and one which suited my voice very well.  In short, it was a dream come true.  I got the score and immediately set to work.

Learning a role can be a rather long and tedious process. It's the boring side of opera – the unglamorous grunt work which the audience never sees.  First there is the task of simply learning all the dots.  You spend countless hours studying the score in every possible way.  Bashing out notes at the piano, listening to recordings, and toting the score around to countless cafes, buses, airports and libraries for silent study.  If you have a substantial enough sized role to learn, as Cenerentola is, after a while the score becomes something like an extra limb.  It just automatically goes with you everywhere.

Of course, some days you take a more passive approach to score study...

After you've learned the notes, you of course need time to sing everything in: to practise the role technically and musically, and really get it "into your voice."  Here is where trusted teachers and coaches step in – to lend a second pair of ears and help you sound stylish and polished.

But all this is just the first phase of learning a role.  Because after all, opera is performed from memory.  Singers are expected to show up to the first day of staging knowing everything from heart.  To get to this point, you can’t just know the notes.  You can’t just have it "in your voice".  You have to really get the role under your skin.  And there’s only one way to do that: repetition, repetition, and more repetition.

This is the point where you start to go a bit mad.  You sing bits of recit to yourself while washing dishes, waiting for the bus, or chopping vegetables.  You mutter your text to yourself as you ride the train or walk down the street.  Inevitably, people think you're a bit crazy.  After a while, you get used to receiving weird stares from passersby because, without realising it, you were just muttering through that tricky bit of the duet.

When I first looked at the score for La Cenerentola, it was a bit like staring up Mount Everest.  Surely the task was unsurmountable!  How would I ever learn to sing all those notes, not just accurately, but with elegance and style, and from memory?  How would I ever know so much music so thoroughly that I'd be able to sing it all under pressure, in front of an audience, while following complicated staging?  But of course I knew it wasn't impossible.  I just had to keep chipping away at it, and eventually everything would become second nature.

I will conquer you, Everest!

Learning La Cenerentola has had its own unique challenges.  Some of these I was prepared for, and some came as a total surprise.  Of course, having sung the aria, I knew there would be a lot of coloratura and high notes.  Not a big problem per se – that’s the kind of thing my voice does rather well.  But when I looked at the full score, I was confronted with an unexpected enemy.  Patter.  Lots and lots of patter.

For the uninitiated among you, patter is the art of singing lots of words very very fast.  The most well-known examples of this are Figaro's opening aria in The Barber of Seville, or the Gilbert and Sullivan classic Modern Major General.  La Cenerentola is chock-full of patter – sections where you have to rattle off a series of tongue-twisting Italian words at a million miles a minute.

Learning the patter was a big task for my brain, as well as my teeth, tongue, and lips.  There was no way around it but to spend hours speaking the words to myself, over and over, getting gradually faster until it became automatic.  Even when I knew the words well, I often found myself stumbling over the syllables.  There was just so much coordination involved!  Everything had to keep clicking forward like a well-oiled machine.  If I let my mind stall just a millisecond too long, or involved my jaw too much in the articulation, I was done for.  The words flew by and I was left behind.

Just keep going, just keep going...

All of this meant that I most definitely got used to looking like a crazy person.  I needed to get the text into my muscle memory.  And so I would spend every spare moment speaking the patter to myself, wrapping my tongue around the syllables and familiarising my lips with their unique shape and order.  To anyone who has seen me wandering around talking to myself in Italian over the last couple of months, please accept my apology.  I'm not crazy, I swear.  I'm just an opera singer.

The last couple of months leading up to my arrival in Portugal, I've had my share of ups and downs.  At times it's been a struggle to fit my role study between travel and rehearsal schedules for other gigs.  And with my recent health problems, there were times I was worried I wouldn't be able to move onstage at all!  But just like a fairytale, everything has come together in the end.  I've found time to practise and prepare everything, and also managed to get some good lessons and coachings on the role.  And thanks to a combination of medication, physiotherapy, and one very sexy-looking knee support, I'm now able to move naturally and without pain.  So here I am, at the ball and ready to dance.  I can’t wait to get started!