The audience at Juilliard’s Peter Jay Sharp Theater had come to hear a reigning diva conduct her first masterclass in New York City. But for Renée Fleming, a Juilliard alumna, the October event was also a homecoming, and Joseph W. Polisi, the school’s president, could not resist making a proud joke. “She studied here,” he said, “but we didn’t know she was Renée Fleming when she was here.”
A smiling Fleming set an informal tone from the start, recollecting some of her juicier moments as a student. “The years spent here are in sharp relief,” she said, before the first of four opera students came on stage. “Once I was asked to perform topless in a Menotti opera, so I wore a body stocking—and everybody was taking polls in the audience, is she or isn’t she?” For the next 90 minutes Fleming, who is known rarely to give masterclasses, remained as amiable and relaxed as if she were in a friend’s living room.
“Nothing like starting with something easy,” she quipped, after Cecelia Hall, a mezzo-soprano, sang the aria “Con l’ali di costanza” from Handel’s Ariodante. Hall, who had recently finished her first summer as a Young American Artist at Glimmerglass Opera, would be performing the Handel pants role at Juilliard a few weeks later. As she sang, accompanied by Nathan Brandwein at the piano, Fleming sat at a table by the edge of the stage, smiling and nodding. Fleming began her critique by complimenting Hall’s pitch. Then she launched into the heart of the session—working with Hall’s breathing and interpretation.
“These phrases are so long,” she said. “You’re thinking about how to measure your breath. It’s a little high and ‘soprano-y’—I want to hear the connection to the breath more. Sing out more and then you’ll find you’re more connected.”
She coaxed Hall to let loose a bit with the role. “Bring a little more bite, a little more bravado. He’s happy, and it won’t last. We want to enjoy the moment.” She reminded Hall that “Handel’s decorations were wild, chromatic—we would consider them in poor taste today. You’re being a little tame,” she said.
“I like that!” she exclaimed, as Hall tried again. “Add a little swagger, emphasize the cockiness of it, instead of ‘I’m singing this really difficult aria and I hope it goes well!’”
Fleming moved around Hall, interrupting her to make fine points. “That was so good until you got to the ‘Ah’ run. ‘Ah’ is difficult. When you sing ‘Ah’ your tongue is going back too far. Definitely back of tongue tension—I can hear it. Don’t be afraid to use a mirror.” Fleming then demonstrated her own technique. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m still a student,” she said. “I wrestle with my voice every day. I put a Hall’s [lozenge] on the front of my tongue and then I warm up.”
She turned to Hall. “You sing beautifully, by the way. You’re fantastic. You want to have fun with this role. Go for the gusto and find all these colors. Handel without color can be dull—just a series of runs.”
Next up was Lei Xu, a soprano who sang the song “Coh (The Dream),” from Rachmaninov’s Opus 38, with Natalia Katyukova at the piano. “Beautiful!” Fleming exclaimed when she was finished. “Your voice is so pretty and your text is clear. It looks so natural. The tessitura is very high,” she added. “You’ve already mastered something that’s so difficult for sopranos.
“Do you mind if I touch you?” Fleming asked, moving closer to Xu, a Chinese singer who is part of the Lindemann Young Artist Development Program at the Metropolitan Opera. “There’s no expansion here at all,” Fleming said, her hand on Xu’s diaphragm. She used the analogy of a barrel to describe proper breathing. “Fischer-Dieskau looked like a pigeon,” she said. “No great singer I’ve heard sings with a collapsed chest. If you’re not expanding, you’re probably tense somewhere, and that’s something you definitely don’t want.
“Yes! That’s it!” she said, as Xu sang again. “That’s nice and relaxed. I’m not asking you to change your voice, just show it to us a little bit more. When you’re really doing well, you don’t even feel like you’re singing anymore, and that’s the fun. Beautiful! I love your voice.”
Paul Appleby, a tenor who is also part of the Lindemann program at the Met, then sang Flamand’s sonnet “Kein Andres” from Richard Strauss’ Capriccio, in a scene that reflects the rivalry between a composer and a poet. Fleming noted the “outbursts of real passion” that occur in the opera, and suggested that Appleby shape his performance into something less carefully polished to fit the setting.
“Do you mind doing it again?” she asked.
“Anything for you,” he replied.
“Ah, sweet mystery of life,” she trilled.
After suggesting that Appleby not “over-pronounce” in the scene—so his excellent diction wouldn’t distract from the meaning of the words—she went to work on his breathing. “Try this idea—that the voice is on this solid cushion here,” she said, indicating the center of her body. “Men have a tendency to want to push out, and then it isn’t supported sound at all. I want to hear that crescendo come from resonance and not from breath pressure.”
As the lesson neared its end, Fleming reassured Appleby, “You have a beautiful voice and it’s only going to get more beautiful. Gorgeous!” She continued, “When you first sang it, it was so ‘arts song-y’ in a way. When I think I’m being super-musical, I’m always singing to myself.”
As Appleby left the stage, Fleming told the audience, “I’m just playing, because they sing so beautifully already. Teaching singing is a balancing act. You fix one thing and something else breaks. The coordination effort is just so astounding.”
She drew a laugh when Emalie Savoy, who was last on the program, explained that Salome, in Massenet’s Hérodiade, is searching for her mother. “There are lots of lost babies in opera,” Fleming said. “People had a lot of trouble holding onto their babies.” Then Savoy sang “Il est doux, il est bon,” and Fleming smiled as she listened from the table. “From the first phrase you command the stage,” she said. “You have enormous presence. I love the color in your sound. It’s very distinctive. The vibrato is exciting. But I’m not convinced of your tempo. I think I can help you with some of the transitions.”
When Savoy began again, Fleming said, “I’d love to hear more difference in the words. Let go of singing in one position. Keep the line, but don’t stay in the same resonance.”
Working on Savoy’s breathing, she said, “It’s a beautiful, shimmery vibrato, but I don’t want it to get in the way. It’s scary to sing soft. It takes a tremendous amount of courage to let your voice go soft. I’m going through that in Der Rosenkavalier right now. [Fleming performed the role on the Met’s 2009-2010 season.] Your work is never going to end!”
Fleming had some final tips for Savoy. “You’re using way too much voice pressure and that’s why it’s sounding forced,” Fleming told her. “Save it a little bit. Think of those pitches as still being flexible. When you hear that ‘Eeeee,’ that’s voice pressure.”
During a question-and-answer period, Fleming emphasized the importance of fitness for singers—especially as they trim down to meet today’s aesthetic standards. “I’m more relaxed in my body than I’ve ever been, and now that I have core strength, I trip less,” she said, responding to a question about Pilates. Then she poked fun of herself in an anecdote about the recent opening night of Der Rosenkavalier.
“I was thinking, ‘What’s wrong with my costume?’ because I kept stepping on it,” she said. “There was a funny bulge in my stomach, and finally someone said, ‘Your petticoat is on backwards, Renée.’ The bustle was in front. You have to have a sense of humor to be in this business.”
Someone asked, “Do you feel pressure in your chest when you sing high?”
“These muscles become more engaged when you’re going up for a high note,” she said, indicating the muscle group. “Yes, you’ll feel some tension here. On a high note, there’s no change in how I take a breath. Half of what I do is about long phrases. Support is very tricky for young singers. Instead of collapsing or pushing out,” she said, “you tell yourself you’re going to create a bit of resistance here. If you’re only inhaling low, you don’t feel the cushion of air that is necessary for support.”
“How do you project a pianissimo in a large hall?” someone else asked.
“It’s a mind-over-matter thing,” Fleming said. “You have to have the courage. Singing soft feels naked, exposed. Every part of you wants to control it. You have to do the opposite and let it go.”
Fleming described “years of singing brilliant high notes in the dressing room” before she could produce high notes reliably on stage. “Be patient with yourself,” she counseled the singers in the audience. “Be your own cheerleader, and keep trying. Be responsible for your own improvement—that’s so important.
“And don’t forget to be artistic.”
