Is this a chamber orchestra which I see before me?

It's been a couple of days since term finished. I'm now back home in Poland and my body has decided some rest is long overdue, and has basically shut down. I'm not really surprised, I've felt some form of crash coming for a couple of weeks now, and I'm just glad I made it to the end of my singing commitments in fair shape.

One of these commitments, one in particular was a challenge, albeit an exciting one. Last Friday I sang in the RWCMD's Opera Gala with the college orchestra. It has to be said, this is probably a form of performing that I am the least used to: static concert with orchestra. It presents a unique set of problems, some of which I was ready for and some of which threw me in the first days of rehearsals.

First of all, the orchestra is behind you, in close proximity. The last time I dealt with a situation like that was performing in the Gate with Opera'r Ddraig and (to a lesser degree due to the size of the ensemble) also with the Rogue Opera Company. However there we had a fairly large stage space all to ourselves as the singers, and a set to navigate, and if anything it was difficult to hear the orchestra in places. With a pit orchestra, being onstage you usually hear very little of the orchestra, and that creates its own set of problems, especially with keeping time. In the college concert hall on the other hand, the sound from the not-so-chamber* orchestra was always close, and always on the edge of being overpowering (I'm speaking of my feeling onstage, not the received balance in the auditorium). That coupled with the acoustic of the hall (which I know to be excellent as far as the audience is concerned, but tricky for myself as a performer) meant that especially during first rehearsals of pieces, where the orchestra were reading the music, and sorting out balance seemed an unattainable dream, I was standing there, singing, but not getting anything back from the hall, hearing nothing but the orchestra. It's difficult to resist the temptation to try and 'give more' in that situation, but we have to, because let's face it: in a loudness war against 40 players, we don't stand a chance. So the only recourse is to stick to what worked in the piano rehearsals and trust that the conductor will sort out the balance somewhere down the line.

RWCMD Chamber Orchestra, conducted by David Jones, rehearsing excerpts from Don Giovanni with Dorothea Herbert and Will Helliwell

The next awkward difficulty was with how static the performance had to be due to the limited ammount of space and also the necessity to constantly sing straight out. For someone who is used to a certain degree of 'acting' even in recital settings, this was a new-ish experience. After all, it's difficult to not let the music and text move you, or in a way even take over your body, and we all want to show that we're not just voices, but it's necessary to find a way to feed that into the confines of a concert performance.

Then we move on to the standard difficulty of moving from working with piano to getting used to the orchestral sound. This has a new dimension because of the proximity I mentioned before. On top the usual issues of lacking the piano's percussive element and the difference in texture, depending on where you stand, you lose half of what's going on. Standing by the first violins for the entire concert, I must admit I missed the cellos and double bass, especially as normally they would be my first point of reference as a baritone.

I guess the only advice that works when shifting to a new sound world is to stick to what you know and get on with it, trusting that those responsible for the big picture will get it right. Thankfully this concert was a success and the experience of working on it was a valuable one. I hope the orchestra enjoyed it as well, I know accompanying is not their favourite job. Not only is it seemingly less rewarding than other types of repertoire, but it's also incredibly difficult, and I have to say I was amazed at how well the players handled it. From my point of view, an orchestra accompanies much less than the piano. Because of the colour, richness, and (let's face it) volume, it feels more like they 'lift' the entire piece, with the voices just sitting lightly on top and being a bit of a finishing touch (soundwise, though we also have the text and story). I personally felt much more like a part of a bigger picture than like a soloist.

I apologise to any singers among my readers, this must all seem like I'm stating the obvious, but in case you hadn't noticed, that's what this blog is mostly about. Besides, it's good to remind oneself of the obvious every now and again.

* With regards to the size of the orchestra in relation to the form of the concert, a friend of mine upon walking into the hall to sit in on a rehearsal said: 'Holy <expletive>!'

Auditions - a rant

It's been a busy term in college. Not only the standard workload of classes, ensembles to learn and assessments to complete, but several additional projects: Orpheus in the Underworld, concerts, collaborations with composers, managing Opera'r Ddraig's finances... but despite all that going on, what defined the term for me were the auditions. It seemed relentless, there always being an audition on the horizon, but now that I look back, I realise there were only 4 of them! Still, spaced out every 2 weeks or so, it was a pretty full-on 2 months worth.

I have to say, while they are in no way a pleasant experience, I do feel I'm doing better at them than last year (regardless of the outcomes - I'm still waiting for responses from all of them). I suppose it's mainly down to 3 things. Firstly, for the first time in my life I feel reasonably secure in my technique. There's plenty to improve, but at least these days it's consistent. Secondly, I have found much better audition repertoire for myself since I 'discovered' the top of my voice. Last year I was auditioning for opera courses with arias I had been singing for years, back when a top G was a feat (and not a guaranteed one at that!). I sang them fine, but they didn't show off any of the aspects of my voice that could be considered 'selling-points'. I couldn't have honestly said that I felt I sang them better than anyone else in at least some way (and if you don't feel you're bringing something exceptional to the table, then I'm pretty sure the panel won't feel it either). Finally, the amount of experience I've accumulated this past year (and let's face it, it's been a busy one: 6 operas, with substantial roles in 3 of them; first professional engagement with an opera company; vocal boot camp in the Rockies...) has significantly changed my outlook on the whole thing. I know I'm unlikely to succeed in any given audition, but I'm also able to think that I'm good enough to stand a fighting chance, and not to let the hopelessness of this profession get me down.

Why is it hopeless? I suppose that is putting it a bit harshly. It's just hard. These past months have given me a glimpse of the future, the dreaded 'year of fear', out of college, looking for work, living from audition to audition, probably working part-time to get the money for train fares... Then what is an audition? It's a day of stress, travel, preparation, all for a 5-15 minute window of opportunity. Before you get that opportunity however, you sit (or pace) in the waiting-room, surrounded by countless other singers, some of whom will (probably unknowingly) say things that intimidate or put you off. That is if there is even a waiting-room! I recently did an audition where there was only a freezing corridor. Then you enter a room, and your first glimpse of it is always a surprise. It's never what you expect it to be (listening through the door to the 3 or 4 singers before you, all of whom are of course amazing!), and neither is the panel. Even though they spent 10 minutes chatting to the person before you, they barely give you a single glance. Or maybe they're so far away you can't make out their faces. Or maybe they're so friendly you're taken aback. Hopefully you've had some time for a chat with the accompanist about tempi, odd corners, etc, but it's only now that you'll hear him play your intro (always a scary moment, especially if it goes horribly wrong). Fingers crossed that you won't be constantly worrying about the piano. The singing bit is the easiest part, it always seems to be just a bit worse than in practice, which is fine. Then a short chat with the panel, hoping they won't ask off-putting questions like 'So what are you doing about the middle of your voice?' (and I thought I had sung quite well at that one!). Or perhaps no chat, just a 'Thank you, bye!' (what did I do wrong?). Then back on the Tube, train, hours to run the whole thing back in your mind (even though it all goes fuzzy the moment you step out of the audition room) and try and think why the panel behaved the way they did and what to change for the next audition.

And how many of these will it take before you get a break? How much will you end up spending on travel? How much is the stress going to ruin your health? Why are you even doing this in the first place?

Well, the answer to that is: Because once you start rehearsing, you will be reminded that this is the best job in the world, and when you step onto the stage, it just gets better!

Dare to do more! - Natalie Dessay

We'd known since last year that she was coming, but it seemed too good to be true. Even as plans changed at the last minute I found myself worrying that it might not actually happen... but it did! Today we were visited by Natalie Dessay, who spent half a day working with our sopranos (and Joe). Originally we were all to have had the chance to sing to her, however circumstances forced her to shorten her visit, which was a shame, but still, we got a rare opportunity handed to us!

She insisted that the class be closed and straight away said she was probably more nervous than we were. All nerves were soon forgotten once she started working with our girls though. I'm not going to write a long spiel about what an incredible person she is, but I will confess to being surprised at how friendly, down-to-earth, genuine, unassuming and warm she was. Watching her work just put a smile on my face, and the fact that every now and again we were treated to her singing was an added bonus! In fact, everyone left the room with huge grins on their faces :) (or should I say: :D )

I could go on about how amazing it all was, but I don't want to come over as star-struck (even though I admit I actually am!). I'd rather post some quotes from her that I jotted down during the class. Perhaps some of you will find them helpful / insightful or funny, I will personally probably find myself revisiting this post to refresh my memory of a great day.

The one thing that she said to almost everybody, referring to many different aspects of performance, was this: Dare to do more! (Dare to be pianississimo; Dare to move; Dare to do it faster; Dare to take more time; Dare to use more ornamentation; etc) I think that sums up what I felt her approach is all about: never holding back anything, infusing every word, every note with intention and energy, heightening every contrast to the extreme, etc. Cliches? Perhaps, but hey!, if it works, it works.

Quotes:

Accompany yourself with your body! - on posture/stillness, not getting stuck and allowing your body freedom to move

You can't think and plan to the end, because you're not supposed to know what you're going to say. - on recit

If you have an aria on 1 idea, you have to work harder to add contrast to keep the audience surprised.

It's easier to sing if you're in control of the orchestra, than when being controlled by the orchestra. - on daring to 'drive' the piece rather than sit in the back seat

Using vibrato protects the voice. - on vocal hygiene, she also was an advocate of as round a sound as possible without losing clarity of text

If you want us to follow the text, you have to build it for us by using the punctuation.

Coloratura is not a question of voice, it's a question of articulation and precision.

In French music almost NEVER portamento. And even when it's written... think again!

Dare to go as far as possible with interpretation, even if you don't keep it when you go to perform. - on daring to deliberately sing flat and 'ugly', or just to not sing on ahs and ohs

Because you're able to do it so fast... maybe a bit faster? - on coloratura

Dare to add everything you want... but in style! - on ornamentation

Do you have a cadenza for this? (...) I don't like it, it's too simple.

Invent something that I wouldn't invent myself. - again on ornamentation, which allows you to show your personality and imagination

What is better for your voice, to go up, or to go down? Up? Well then go up! - on cadenzas

And finally our favourite quote, when working on Manon's aria Adieu, notre petite table:

I know it's written forte, but I think that's stupid. I called Massenet on the phone and told him it can't be like that.

The best thing about today was that everyone enjoyed it, including Natalie Dessay. In fact, there's another quote: Now that I see you are good, I will come back, which was a joke of course, but she mentioned returning a couple of times, so fingers crossed!

Photos by Kiran Ridley

New music adrenaline

I recently took part in a concert showcasing compositions by students from my college's Contemporary Music Department. The concert itself was by all accounts a great success: packed audience, satisfied composers and a jolly time in the bar afterwards. What I would like to focus on, however, is the atmosphere in the Green Room.

It's a funny thing, performing new works. It's only when I do it, that I come to realise how I've come to rely on what I'll call (probably inappropriately) 'stylistic context'. What I mean by that is everything that tells us what the music on the page is supposed to sound like, but isn't actually in print. And rest assured, I'm not talking about in depth research, as that's something I just don't do, as it's just not a workable approach for me (for various reasons, not just laziness). It is amazing how much information we acquire through osmosis, though, simply from exposure to recordings, performances, conversations with colleagues, interesting facts imparted by conductors, or their personal theories forced on us in rehearsals. Thanks to that, I have an idea of what Mozart should sound like, what constitutes romantic music and what approach to use when singing in that style, etc.

When faced with a brand new piece freshly printed off by my dear composer friend, I have no idea what I'm aiming for. This time I was fortunate enough to have said friend on hand to help me learn his piece, and also to play in it. Even so, our work was focussed on 'what' to sing, rather than 'how' (and I don't mean technique). The lack of 'stylistic context' made me feel incredibly unsettled, to the point when even after singing the right notes, I would stop and apologise for making a mistake. And even though the composer obviously must have a vision of how his music is meant to sound, some of my actual mistakes went unchecked, even up to and including the performance (I'm sure I constantly sang an F# rather than F in the climactic phrase, which I only realised later, while the composer was fine with it all through rehearsals). Maybe my interpretation was just that convincing? (doubtful)

How does this have anything to do with the Green Room? Well, I thought my unease in singing contemporary repertoire stemmed from me being A) not a very good sight-reader, B) used to learning things off copy over a longer period of rehearsing (I learnt said 6 minute piece in 2 days, which is pretty quickly by my standards), and C) not having much experience in performing new music. It turns out that it's more common than I thought, even amongst instrumentalists. All the acts returning to the Green Room had comments like 'we almost lost it' or 'I have no idea if that was right'. There were also a fair few stories about concerts and recordings of works whose composer later congratulated performers for conveying his thoughts perfectly... yet half the music did not match what was on the page. British über-politeness, or lack of 'stylistic context'?

I will admit that I find that unsettled feeling I mentioned rather thrilling. Yes, it's stressful, but also exciting! And in the end, if the composer misses mistakes, then the audience have no chance at all of hearing them. All you have to do is your best, and if anything goes wrong... it was deliberate!

I was once told by a conductor: 'it sounds great, and although it's actually wrong, it would only be a problem if the composer was conducting you'. He also happened to be the composer ;)

Unexpected awe

There had been some buzz around college about Music Theatre Wales' touring production of Mark-Anthony Turnage's first opera Greek, with posters visible on notice boards and a workshop for vocal studies students organised and led by the cast and creative team of the show. Not being a fan of contemporary opera myself, I wasn't planning on going to see the performance in Newport until Joe (counter-tenor in my year) convinced me to give it a chance. Worst case scenario: I'd enjoy two drives, dinner and an interval in good company and endure 90 minutes of contemporary opera. The company was indeed good, as for the opera...

I am lost for words. It was possibly the most enthralling piece of theatre I have ever seen. A minimal production, relying on the acting abilities of the cast of four singers to convey the transposition of the Oedipus myth into cockney London. The strength of the acting was key, as the show strikes a balance between 'sung' operatic passages and what is best described as 'accompanied straight theatre'. For the most part the transitions are seamless and greatly enhance the dramatic impact of what we see on stage. I wouldn't describe the music as easy, but through the use of clear motifs and flirting with popular musical styles, it is accessible enough to allow even a skeptical listener to enter the sonic world of the piece fairly easily and focus on the drama, which the music accentuates and helps develop.

One of the most striking scenes was the riot, in which the orchestra abandoned their instruments for shields (which they proceeded to bang) and acted as a chorus of protesters, shouting at the audience, while the cast armed with megaphones delivered slogans to rile everyone up. The second powerful scene was when Eddy realizes the curse has come true, goes through an a capella mental breakdown, then proceeds to gouge his eyes out. I have to say at this point, that while the cast and players were all excellent, Marcus Farnsworth stole the show for me as Eddy (and I'm not just saying that because of baritone loyalty).

It's not easy to take an established myth and present it in a fresh and engaging way. Greek does it successfully. Even though we know what's coming, the way it is set to music, the modern spin on the language, the powerful performances from the singer-actors, all make it a completely fresh experience, and let's be honest, it's not a particularly pleasant one. The impact is a lasting one, though. No wonder the show won the Outstanding Achievement in Opera award at the 2011 UK Theatre Awards.

My voice sounds tired? How very dare you!

It's been a long week. Circumstances are such that not only am I getting on with my set work for college, but also taking part in the 2nd year's end of term concerts, which means working in their sessions as well as my own year's. All that plus a singing lesson and 2 coachings working on very challenging repertoire... And on Friday I was told that my voice sounds tired! No wonder. That did not stop me from heading off to coaching after hearing said line and working on what I jokingly call 'the unsingable song', namely Mahler's Ging heut Morgen übers Feld with its ppp top notes and other assorted technical difficulties. The coaching was fine and the song isn't as unsingable as I had feared, even with tired voice.

I have never been good at what singers call 'marking'. I would never attempt to sing my way through a rehearsal in 'half voice', as my current theory is that doing that badly would tire my voice out much more than singing properly at (almost) full pelt. As for 'popping it down an octave', well, I can see some sense in that, however only with music that I know is absolutely dialled into my voice and body. At this stage in a singer's career this is hardly ever the case, as most of what I perform is repertoire new to me, and even if it's revisiting roles or pieces I've done before, my voice and technique change so rapidly that it is often a case of relearning to sing old pieces with a new voice. Maybe I'm too hung up on 'singing it in' and have a tendency to overwork my voice? Then again I never practice hard passages to self-destruction, sing scales until I crack or warm-up to within an inch of losing my voice (common 'rookie errors' among young singers). I also learn music silently or falsetto, working out a game plan for singing it before properly opening my mouth. The 'singing in' and practice come when I'm sure I know what I'm doing and the aim of the game is to cement consistency. Once I have consistency, why risk unbalancing it by trying to mark my way through?

I may be wrong, and even if I'm not, this is probably an approach that won't work for everyone. Tiredness happens, especially when like this week, we have to sing a lot and want to give it a 100% because we're working with a visiting tutor and want to make the most of it. Singing when I'm tired makes me all the more focused and pushing myself is what stretches my stamina. Of course, if I felt I was in danger of hurting myself, I'd just stop singing or do the 'octave down' thing, but as a last resort rather than default practice.

I say all this, but probably only because I can look forward to a weekend of silence, so please disregard the above and treat it as a snapshot of my thoughts after this week only. Perhaps next time I'm in a long production period I will turn to marking and report on here for comparison.

Disclaimer: The author is not a singing teacher or established professional, but in fact just a student and probably has no idea what he's talking about, so don't try this at home!

What is it about song...?

Just to air my brain out after last night's song recital with my year group in college, I thought I'd jot down some thoughts I had on the differences between performing lieder and opera.

I don't get to perform songs as much as I'd like to, especially the more intense ones, in a proper lieder recital setting. Yesterday's affair wasn't in fact that kind of setting, as it was in the RWCMD Foyer, a fairly traffic-heavy venue. It's amazing, however, how a performance of intimate songs can transform such a busy space into an oasis of calm for an hour, especially as some of the audience were just passing through and actually stopped to listen.

I think that's the magic of lieder: they draw the audience in, rather than emote in an over the top way, as opera (arguably) does. An aria tends to impress more than move people. Performing song therefore feels completely different to me, than performing opera. In fact, while I do enjoy concerts of operatic excerpts with piano, compared with a recital it feels like an incomplete art form. One can (and should always aim to) perform a song to its full potential in a recital, whereas opera without production values and an orchestra will only ever be a pale facsimile.

Singing songs, I also feel much more exposed and vulnerable. The relationship between singer and pianist has to be that of shared thought, emotion and musicality, and the slightest disagreement instantly comes across and kicks us back into the real world. But if it works, the feeling is almost like creating a new reality, conveying the full impact of a feeling or significant moment. The actual performance space melts away, and all that's left is a feeling that the audience have been invited to inhabit the performers' shared mind. Looking across the audience after my colleagues finished their songs, I could see many glazed looks, but not out of disinterest, but from pure focus.

It was a fantastic evening, a joy to perform and then listen to everyone else. I must also say that it felt great to present the audience with Polish repertoire and see that Karłowicz and Paderewski could give the likes Wolf or Tchaikovsky a run for their money.

Also, I can't wait to do Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen with orchestra in May!