Bloggy Christmas omnibus

I have attacked at least my fifth Terry’s Chocolate Orange for the season and realized that I am weeks behind on my blogging.

I anticipate that while the half digested Christmas food is still percolating you may enjoy a festive update of the action from the past few weeks.

It’s been a surreal season, with so much happening and so many wonderful experiences.

We are now well and truly and completely underway with rehearsals at Opera North. We did not get a white Christmas as I’d hoped.

Rehearsals started for Fanciulla del West and Macbeth almost simultaneously at Opera North. The two productions are so vastly different. I mentioned a few weeks ago how magical the saloon set is with its catholic iconography and vast swinging doors. Well, seeing the floors of the Harwood populated by swathes of Northern men toting antique guns is something else entirely! The more I have of this Northern experience, the more I like it. I’m not sure exactly what all this is leading to, but the ride certainly is fun.

Something about giving a man a holster and a gun – you just watch how they channel their inner cowboy. This was the first time I’d been back amongst the boys since I’d dogged their steps in rehearsals at Newcastle – the energy that sawed my eardrums in two was now concentrated onstage in a wonderful way. These guys let rip in some of the greatest chorus music I’ve heard in opera. The music of Fanciulla is more beautiful than I anticipated. It’s really interesting to observe the operatic rehearsal process rather than being directly involved in it. You get the chance to soak in all the dynamics of chorus relationships and how that fits into the entity of the production process. There’s always so much going on that I have to work extra hard to stay focused on one aspect at a time. January is the month – no more distractions.

You can observe so much in the moments between the music during rehearsals – where the opera stops and the real-life relationships begin. And how the onstage relationships affect the offstage ones is also endlessly fascinating. For example, the man playing our sheriff Jack Rance. In the opera he is a self-contained but domineering figure, strong and silent, with the villainous qualities always found in bass baritone heroes since time immemorial. During downtimes the other men all congregate together but this singer remains slightly remote and completely focused on what he is doing.

In other words, some never leave their characters onstage. Most of the leads engage closely with the chorus in conversation during their break time and the director instigates a welcoming work environment even creating a Christmas tombola for cast members (rigged!) Also watching our techies interacting with each other is so interesting. There is a definite division between techies and cast members in downtime but when everyone is working together for the common good it’s very cohesive. Sometimes the balance of power shifts according to whose rehearsal it is. For instance, when our conductor Richard Farnes is on scene, the floor is his. If he’s not there, the director takes over. If a group of men manage to break the saloon door in a particularly enthusiastic exit, the techies rush to fix the error with whatever is on hand. They’re always there to make sure Rafael’s cowboy boots are waiting and that his holster is nearby. They are a silent presence most of the time but keep the wheels turning. The chorus members collectively have a modicum of power. Music staff/ company members who come to observe the runs or rehearsals have less power. As an observer, an outsider, I have the least power. If I want to observe, I have to check with the company manager, Jane Bonner, who, outside of rehearsal time, holds huge sway, overseeing the entire rehearsal schedule.

Our male romantic lead, onstage and off, is warm and engaging, with a ready smile, and roguish charm. He’s a cowboy with heart, just a little bit dangerous. His onstage partner in crime, the only woman to appear in our universe, is everything to the men: mother-helper, unobtainable object of desire, defender, and embodiment of all things good and right in a world of men. She teaches bible stories while toting guns. She spurns the affections of the swain Jack Rance. My friend Frances theorized that when Minnie leaves the pack the society and order she has cultivated, the civilized influence of a woman, will leave with her and the men will ultimately revert to a lawless life of savagery out in the goldfields.

They sing of their dreams of going home again. I hear the same desires reflected in this chorus as when it was performed the first time by the homeless initiative at St George’s Crypt. The romance between Minnie and “the Mexican bandit” begins. Jack Rance is filled with a murderous jealousy. There are gun shots and crooked poker games. Minnie gets her man but loses him to Rance. The captured Johnson is all but strung up and ready to be lynched by the men, and he delivers his impassioned plea to them to let his love believe he is far away and not dead (at this moment our lead tenor’s high notes brought every hair on my neck to attention.) Minnie appeals to their spirit of forgiveness. They eventually overturn the edict delivered by Rance. As they head into the sunset together they share one of the most beautiful duets Puccini ever composed. End scene.

The entire feeling of the rehearsal process for Fanciulla is very different to what is going on down below. Between runs for this production and university lectures/ research, I’ve been observing the principals and chorus in action during music calls and blocking. Things are much darker in Macbeth. I’ve enjoyed watching the witches do their thing, delivering multiple babies or heirs to the throne onstage to freak Macbeth out (pity the poor single female vessel who must bear all these children!) and watching Lady Macbeth freaking everyone else out by dancing at weird angles on tabletops. I’ve bonded with the female principal playing The Lady – she’s American, just bought a house in Louisiana and will be spending Christmas there. It’s so interesting to observe her confidence in action that again translates to her offstage demeanour. It really has been inspiring just watching rehearsals in which the principals work through the motivation behind their blocking and this singer really has that ability to assimilate blocking into her physicality so that it reflects the inner character of Lady Macbeth. It’s been fascinating learning about their career paths and the different shapes they have taken. For example, The American has been able to travel the world as a freelancer and has been versatile enough to step off a plane and perform a role at the 11^th hour which has led to her being in demand at different companies. The principals have all worked their way through the ranks but from their position they seem less threatened and more open and approachable than people whose position is perhaps more precarious (though to be honest all the singers throughout the company have been very inclusive so far.) I’ve enjoyed sharing chats with the smaller principals as well, the younger and older women and men. It’s wonderful that ON acknowledges that many in their ranks have been there for over 20 years (they get special acknowledgement in the programmes etc.) The company has a structure whereby it attempts to include every chorus member in a special role in some capacity every few productions – which is a really wonderful incentive for people to stay in the company as there’s some visibility. Many a full life is lived as a professional chorister – and sometimes this is indeed their WHOLE life, as is the case with a middle aged fulltime male chorister who I had a fantastic discussion with en route back to Leeds from Shrewsbury. He didn’t have much going on for Christmas (it’s amazing when you think everyone’s life is so full compared to yours, and you learn the truth) but his eyes lit up when we talked about upcoming rehearsals in the New Year. These people can’t wait to get back to work. It’s their job, but also their community, their lifeblood, everything. The camaraderie of onstage relationships is carried into reality and it’s very often hard to see where the art ends and life begins.

Being in a rehearsal at ON is a bit like being in an international airport. There’s different nationalities, waiting lounges, grounded airtraffic, and a director at the centre of it all trying to figure out just where to tell everyone to go. And you don’t want to miss a thing. Fanciulla is like the domestic terminal – our Lancashire and Welsh Minnies (the lead and cover) both have their sleeves rolled up and muck in at every opportunity, they don’t mind you stopping them for a cup of tea to share your ambitions and tell you exactly how it is. They are both ridiculously talented but just get on with it. I got to talk about Cardiff at length as one of the had studied with Dennis O’Neill (incidentally I have to make a big decision about whether to study with this man in Cardiff or choose the Royal Northern College of Music – more on this later.) Then there’s the international terminal of Macbeth, with five languages being spoken at once. We have a previously known NZ business colleague of mine, Austrian born and NZ raised, who is now in the UK. We have a director and choreographer who both speak at least five languages. There’s Italian language coaches. And we have a Hungarian tenor who does not speak a word of English. This makes for a fascinating rehearsal process experience especially when it comes to blocking. Bela often looks so adorably lost when it comes to being placed somewhere onstage, it tends to make everything that much slower but also interesting because you can see the small machinations in the process between director and actor that much more clearly. I make the effort to engage Bela in conversation for precisely this reason and speak to him in German and Italian.

College auditions

Speaking of talented singers who are lost in an Anglophonic world, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting a wonderful Belarusan tenor on my travels to London for auditions at the Royal College and Guildhall. I’d had a sensational experience auditioning for the Royal Northern College in Manchester the day before, where I’d somehow managed to breeze my way through the first and second rounds and charmed the head of school with my Puccini and my Shirley Valentine monologue. (It was such a thrill to see my name come up on the recalls board, and there had been some discussion of scholarship offers while in the audition as I could never afford school independently.)

So while I was now tired, I was travelling again from Leeds, this time to London, and today for two separate auditions. Things had already got off to a bit of a start with delayed trains (weather related) and I arrived late and exhausted for my RCM junket. I'd been up since 5am. I collapsed on one of the common room couches upstairs as the administrators had very kindly moved me to a later audition time that day. I’d had some fairly negative audition experiences since arriving on the UK shores but yesterday’s experience had been so positive and I was feeling fairly confident I could repeat things today. The Queen’s eyes watched over me as I lay in wait.

I had quite a lot of time so which was great because I could get started on my floor exercises (not the best location in student digs, I don’t recommend the cleanliness of the floors.) Why is it that I am so motivated around audition times – I always need an event to spur me to this kind of preparedness but I want to be in this routine every day or I know deep down I will not improve at the speed required. Only I can fix this problem.

Got ready to sing and even better, I found I had my Opera North accompanist with me (I’d had a shocker at the RNCM the day before, though somehow still got through to the panel.) This room was bigger and more like a real audition setting too. I was auditioning for the Postgrad course which is super competitive – they expect you to be at professional level by this point and polish is all that’s required. I sang my heart out in Korngold and Mozart, but it wasn’t enough. I had to wait outside the room until they brought forth an envelope – nothing like the RNCM auditions where you have to wait for several hours until they hear everyone and then you get a decision about recalls. I think on the whole while you have to wait this is definitely a fairer way of doing things – and less brutal! I hated standing with my accompanist and guide Vasili for a little envelope with my name on it – how nerve-wracking to open it and get the good or bad news. In this case, it was a no-go. Vasili was far more distraught than me, I really just took it in my stride because I hadn’t warmed to the RCM anyway despite its hallowed reputation, but he really could not accept that I hadn’t made it after assuring me I would breeze through. Annette stated that there had been several candidates that morning who she’d been shocked to see turned away, and it’s just the nature of the beast. It is difficult to outline just how stiff the competition is as a soprano to anyone outside the opera world.

Vasili had a lot of wisdom to impart to me about opportunities and options for heading forward. We swapped numbers and I headed out as I was tired but knew I had another audition on the horizon later that day so had to stay focused. I found an overpriced café with Wifi in Kensington and settled in. My workmate Nick disrupted my regular activities by sending me some much needed Monty Python via YouTube. He gave me a gift of cocoa mulberries for Christmas too, bringing my man present tally this year to the grand total of four – a personal best (I never, ever get presents from guys.)

After attempting to purchase something in Kensington (an error in judgment,) it was bye to the Queen and I headed to my Guildhall audition. Here I performed the Marietta again and the Mozart and despite fatigue I felt I had sung my absolute best of all three auditions – alas, it was not enough to get me through to the next round. Vasili made good and phoned me after the audition and I filled him in. I left with a dejected heart and rather teary but there was no point in wondering about it now. Later after asking for some feedback I received a rather unfortunately worded email stating that the panel had seen me as sincere and well-intentioned (a death knell).I think this feedback hurt the most out of any I’ve received in a while because it was indirectly saying my personality was not good enough to be an opera singer.

I had a best friend to catch up with in London and interesting characters to see on the tube, like the guy in the photo below with the puppy in his bag. The lovely Chris met me at the door as Rahila was at a work Christmas party. The gang caught up together over chicken and later we headed out to a club with the worst 90s music in England to dance. I wanted karaoke but there was none to be found. I had my first sip of Guinness and Rahila got hit on so we went home.

The next day Rahila and I slept in, had a cracker homemade breakfast (made by her) and headed to Oxford Street. What a crush. The giant singing clock came to life and we went inside M&M's world for sensory overload. We rode the merry-go-round at the pop up winter carnival and then bought tickets to see Billy Eliot. With the worst luck in the world of public transport, leaving the house in good time we were still 15 mins late to the theatre - there were roadworks up and down the bus route and then the underground broke down! Rahila swears this never happen. But Billy was good, Northern English inspired fun. We topped it off the next day with Christmas high tea. Pictures from London below.

Chorus auditions

After the London experience it was straight back into the round of rehearsals and auditions in Leeds. I was helping out with chorus auditions where I had met people who had arrived in UK around two days ago from Poland, smoldering baritones, hyperactive mezzos, and most of all got to see the humanity and humility of the experience of what we go through every day as singers and as auditionees reflected back at me, while picking up tips on the business of opera along the way. All of these people were dedicated, they were hard working and well prepared. All of them just needed a job, like anyone else. And here they were, putting themselves right on the line for their chance. They were just as worthy as any others to get it. Why not?

One gentleman had come from Scotland. He began to sing his Traviata aria and had not realized just how much he had hurt his back in an earlier injury until he began. He had to sing through the pain and came out wincing. It had been a grim audition, he had not been able to perform to his capacities but valiantly pressed on even though the pain must have been excruciating. I saw examples again and again of this bravery in action.

Last day of homeless initiative and Christmas markets

I met the wonderful Jen from Liverpool and our Essex lad Lea at St George’s Crypt as we prepared for the last day of term for the Switched ON project. Jen is one of these people who gets so emotionally invested in the work we are doing, it is absolutely inspirational to watch. The first day of my attendance I was as emotional as she was watching these amazing people sing to each other for the first time and become transformed through the power of music. I could clearly see now that they had come such a long way and felt privileged to play a little part in this wonderful Opera North project.

I could hardly believe that we had such a cohesive group in only a short time. They had made a commitment to returning each week to Switched ON. More remarkable yet was the fact that they had memorized lyrics, music and staging for two pieces with less than 8 hours of studying/ rehearsal altogether. Today would be the day their hard work was unveiled to the world.

I was involved too, playing the role of footpath preacher in the setting of the tavern. I was trying to persuade the wicked to repent their ways and turn their back on the demon drink. This part was really me!

I have to say at this point what a remarkable job Lea our pianist did with everyone. Yet another of the good ones I have met on my trip here, his boater hat and cheeky eyes won everybody over. Everytime the “and my dear old faithful dog, will he know me?” section of the chorus came up Lea would relate his story of his own boyhood dog who he had loved that had passed away. I knew Lea would be having a quiet Christmas as most of his family were gone. We are all linked in this world by an invisible thread, this is certain, and I do not think mine or Lea’s experience was necessarily all that different from the homeless people in the room.

We finally got together to present the culmination of our weeks of work. This time we had an audience. I observed how the energy shifted in the room as our young actors felt some nerves of performance but they shone. The chaplain introduced himself to me. He had been a repetiteur for many years, and an atheist. Encountering God, he gave it all up to serve the church – but sometimes missed the piano.

The session came to an end and I'll see everyone again in the New Year. The best and hardest part of my week – sharing with these people and then turning my back on them to head out into the world til the next time. I went to the Christmas markets in Leeds and bought a lot of useless things, including a Christmas pudding beanie for my best friend who had extended an invitation for me to come to Christmas. Armed with parcels, I headed to Opera North for another exciting instalment of Fanciulla del West.

Sunday in the park

It was the weekend before Christmas and I was still searching for my new church. Luckily one was on hand not too far away. Like all churches in the UK it was almost impossibly beautiful. One of the best things about the UK is no matter where you live, you can literally travel 200 metres down the road and find a piece of history.

I arrived to find a simple Christmas presentation already in progress and families with children all around. This seemed to be quite a welcoming place. During the carols it felt so good to let go in worship for the first time in a couple of months. All that travel seemed to put a bit of distance between God and I but we always get close again. I was really the only one in church with my arms outstretched but as a worship song I knew well began I gave it all up and found myself in His presence. Not a bad place to be.

Mince pies and the hallelujah chorus after the service and I was on my way to meet you. I have to say you put a spring in my step. Your face makes me smile, I can’t help it. We had lunch and you insisted on paying which was unnecessary but lovely. There’s something so guileless about you, I can’t put my finger on it. You try and hide but you can't. You say I’m a woman of the world but I’m sure there’s so many things you’ve seen that I’m glad I haven’t. I tried to talk about your family but you started getting upset.

At lunch you couldn’t sit still. I loved the way you stood there looking lost in the supermarket wanting to know what to buy to cook for me. Sometimes you are so awkward. Or you will look at me intently. It is difficult to look into your eyes for too long.

We walked back the secret way and saw street after street of beautiful trees and old buildings. I like being near you and I like you better like this, when it’s you talking and not the drink. When we got to the top that overlooks the fields we stopped for a long time. I would have liked to have kept walking with you, beside you, my friend, my brother.

When we came back that afternoon the twilight had changed your eyes again. We watched Alice in Wonderland and Raymond Brigg’s Snowman. You were the most childlike here, the most vulnerable. You cooked for me and soon we’d spent the whole day together. I baked a cake and put on Christmas music. I went out for some shopping. When I came back, half the bottle of champagne we’d bought to share had gone.

I want to be a real thing for you in a world where you’re lost. You said you want to come to church with me – you used to go but hadn’t since your mum died. Maybe you will, maybe not. I know you're somewhere I can't follow. I just want you to know though, you’re not alone.

Listen to Dave Dobbyn’s Beside You from The Islander on Spotify here.

To be continued.