It’s who you know.
This adage takes on a life of its own when you consider summer programs as a vocalist. Picture this familiar scene: Manhattan, morning, sometime between the months of October and January. As you navigate the terrain between a transportation venue and an audition venue you try to figure out how to kill the hours that remain before your allotted appointment.
New York City is not cooperating. The skies are clouded with inclement weather, a moat of slush forces you to leap from curb to crosswalk, and the bitter air rakes across your precious cords. Forced to seek shelter, you tuck yourself into one of those ubiquitous coffee shops and prepare to while away the time.
Much to your surprise and relief, however, it turns out that you are not the only singer in this predicament. At a corner table in the coffee shop, far from the invasive draft of winter air, sits a group of friends from the festival you attended last summer. They invite you to pull up a chair. You reminisce, you compare notes, you laugh—and the hours that you were dreading pass by in a flash.
For young singers studying classical voice, summer programs are generally the first opportunity to step outside the insular comfort zone of academia. Singers audition for these programs with a specific set of goals in mind, goals that harmonize with their progress in school. Summer programs are a chance to expand upon the offerings of a degree program and beef up the résumé.
Typically, singers set out in search of performance opportunities. Occasionally they aspire to work with a specific teacher or coach, perhaps an individual they hope to work with in their future studies. When the audition season approaches and students and teachers ponder these ideas in lessons and studios, the discussion tends to revolve around the repertoire, the expense, and the overall value of a program. Summer festivals offer a benefit that extends far beyond their practical facade, however. It is the currency of connections, the old “who you know.”
When I was working toward my bachelor’s, my conservatory lacked performance opportunities for undergraduates. The conservatory didn’t even offer an opera workshop class for students to use as a platform for aria staging. I felt I needed to gain some practical operatic experience before auditioning for graduate schools. When I learned that I would be singing a leading role at BASOTI (the Bay Area Summer Opera Theater Institute) the summer before my final year at school, I was elated. I prepared my role with much anticipation, and I imagined that in a few months I would be a more seasoned and confident singer. Eventually that became very much the case, but I also learned things from the various friends and colleagues I worked with that summer that I had never before considered.
BASOTI was a patchwork of ages, levels, and experience, and every singer had a story I could learn from. For the first time, I was freed from the bubble of my conservatory life, and I could observe the divergent paths singers were taking to build their careers.
I immediately saw the breadth of my naïveté, not about singing as it pertained to me but about the big picture of repertoire and the music business. My education had been geared towards recital repertoire, so I knew nothing about many of the operatic warhorses. When colleagues tossed off familiar nicknames of arias, such as a casual “I’m singing ‘Va,’” I had no idea what they were talking about. I had to catch up quickly.
Thankfully, this immersion inspired rather than alienated me. I spent as much time that summer learning about the canon of operatic repertoire as I did preparing my role. Looking back on it, the lessons I learned from my peers, both directly and indirectly, were probably more valuable than the performance experience I wanted so much.
The field of classical music, singing in particular, is becoming increasingly saturated and competitive. As trends shift towards an operatic culture that is youth and beauty oriented, it is more important than ever for singers to acknowledge their role as self-promoters. The best way to be successful in this regard is to understand two important concepts: how to market yourself and where, objectively, you stand amongst the field of auditioning singers.
The summer I spent as a member of the Aspen Opera Theater Center was a turning point for me in this regard. During my summer the program had a concentration of students from the Juilliard School and the Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, both highly competitive institutions. My colleagues from these schools came across as veteran auditioners with aria packages that appeared to be tailor made for them. I arrived that summer floundering in a sea of arias, unable to commit myself to a Fach that felt both vocally comfortable and visually viable.
My colleagues were showing me, by example, that I had to get with the program and get organized. When I discussed the trends of the audition process with them, it became obvious that marketing is key. The repertoire package has to be consistent. I had to figure out how to sell myself as a polished, finished product. I’m not sure if I would have learned without the opportunity to compare myself to these singers and hear about their experiences with the busy New York City audition cycle.
Beyond business, an outgrowth of these summer program relationships offers something that is deeper and more significant: friendship. In fact, at my wedding this past summer, my maid of honor was a singer who became a trusted friend during two summers at the Brevard Music Center. What is surprising about our friendship is that we attended graduate school together but did not socialize until we were in the intimate confines of Brevard—yet another example of how a summer program can deliver something unexpected.
It doesn’t take long to realize that the music world is incredibly small and most singers are connected to one another within only one or two degrees of separation. Attending summer festivals assures singers of an ever-increasing support system of colleagues that branches out like a complicated family tree.
This connectedness can be stifling at times, but it is also enormously helpful. I can find a free place to stay in most major cities in the United States with just a few phone calls—and plenty of people out there will share car rides, meals, drinks, and hot beverages as the audition and competition circuit continues year after year.
Shoptalk with colleagues can be enlightening, cathartic, and just plain amusing. It’s helpful to have a friend in a different musical market, or a different school, to discuss strategy and keep you up to date on what people are doing and where they are doing it.
When I was still in the audition game, I loved to see a familiar face while I was waiting for an appointment. It was a tension breaker for me to have a few minutes of catching up and swapping stories. It is important to maintain focus before an audition, but sometimes my best work came out of being distracted from negative energy for a few minutes.
It can also light a competitive fire in your belly to see a colleague at an audition. Knowing that a peer is listening outside the door can be just the spark a singer needs to show off the improvements he or she has made.
All singers face inevitable decisions in their futures. It’s the nature of the business. Young singers ponder where to continue their education, what summer festival to audition for next, and who to study with. Older singers seek management, look for roommates in New York City, and hunt for an effective and affordable coach. A network of singer friends—accessible on the Web, on the phone, and on the streets of New York—can and likely will help with all these choices. So, when you’re considering a festival experience, don’t underestimate the wealth of opportunities, resources, and companionship that spring from friendships between singers, because it’s not always what you know . . . it’s who you know.
