Have you always been a singer?
I started singing at the age of three. There was a lot of music in my house. My father had a Victrola that played 78s on one side and recorded on the other. I have a recording of me singing, “Zippity Do Dah.” I started playing the piano when I was four, and the trumpet between eight and 14. I started to study voice when I was 14, which is to say I went to one charlatan after another! Eventually, I went to Temple University as a voice major, studying Applied Voice in the Music Education department for two years. Then ten years later, I went to Carnegie Tech after I’d married my childhood sweetheart.
You were quite young when you married. Was it difficult to combine a nascent singing career with married life?
Sadly, yes. He married me as a singer but didn’t have a clue what that meant. It might have been different if he’d been able to retire early and live off my earnings—if I’d been as successful in those days as Beverly Sills! As it was, the marriage started going wrong very early on because we were both very young. I was still singing in school productions, and he didn’t like that. For the sake of our marriage, I stopped singing and had three children. To be honest, I didn’t feel like I had any alternative. Ten unhappy years passed—unhappy, but for our three children—and then we went to therapy. The outcome was that he “allowed” me to sing in a few small productions associated with my synagogue.
Of course, this level of involvement wasn’t enough for me, and I started to do more singing. I succeeded in getting into a show on the music fair circuit with Jan Peerce and Geraldine Brooks, and Tony award winner Gary Beech from The Producers. They had five theaters, and it was at that time the biggest East Coast summer stock production. Jan cornered me one day, took hold of my cheeks and said, “Sheyna maidle (which means ‘pretty girl’ in Yiddish), stop doing this and go back and study.” And I felt like God had spoken to me!
Was it difficult for you to return to studying at that stage?
Not at all—and that amazes me, because at that point I hadn’t sung a classical note in 10 years! I went to see Robert Page, who was teaching at Temple, and with whom I had always wanted to study. His response was, “I’ll take you on a trial basis. How many children do you have, and how serious are you? Because I don’t have time to waste.” So we started on the Vaccai book, which I had never heard of, and started singing Schubert lieder. Then we worked out of an aria anthology. When we’d completed our third lesson, I asked him, “Well, what do you think?” And he replied, “Are you crazy?” I took that to mean I was doing OK!
Less than a year later, I made my debut with the Pittsburgh Symphony at the Ambler Music Festival, with Robert Page conducting. Phyllis Curtain, Ezio Flagello and Seth McCoy were the leading soloists. I had a moment of performance hysteria before I had to go out, and my throat closed down. I said to myself, “Wait a minute. You’ve done this before. You’ve done this; you want this.” The feeling went away, and I went out there and took this absolute magic carpet ride. That was in June 1975.
And then I called Jim DeBlasis, general director of the Cincinnati Opera. He said, “You study for another year, and then come back to sing for me.” I sang for a man named Bob Peterson, who was running the YA program there. In February, 1976, I was the mezzo in residence for the Cincinnati Spring ensemble. We performed pieces in people’s homes—Figaro, Butterfly, Cosi. We did concerts with an orchestra for the performing arts school kids—The Little Sweep and the final act of Carmen. That was where I met the late Barbara Karp, who was the artistic director of Pittsburgh Opera. She hired me to do Falstaff in 1977. She became my mentor and lifelong friend. Sadly, she died last May.
In 1976 I also did Showboat and Mamma McCourt in Baby Doe with Francis Bible. That was my operatic debut, in Cincinnati, 27 years ago. So it has only taken me 27 years to make my Met opera debut!
Going back to studying and starting work must have had an enormous effect upon your family life. Was it easy to cope with, or did you find it difficult to adjust?
At first it was difficult, largely because of the lack of money. In 1976 I was starting to travel a lot and was gone about 20 weeks. Leaving the children to work was the hardest thing. I had to get a live-in housekeeper—my whole salary went to paying the housekeeper. David Bamberger called and wanted me to do Naughty Marietta. When he told me the salary, I told him I couldn’t do it for that amount because it wouldn’t pay for the housekeeper. I had to advertise to get her, but it never worked out quite right. Later on, my mother-in-law would come and help, and that worked better. Then my marriage ended, and life became even more complicated. My husband would come and stay with the kids, but something didn’t seem right about that arrangement. In 1980, I made a decision not to sing any more opera, because it felt wrong leaving my children under somebody else’s care. So I didn’t do opera again until 1986.
In the meantime, I remarried. It was good for a long time. He was very supportive of my career and took care of three children who were not his own. We made an agreement right up front that he would help me. He agreed because he believed in me.
Five years later, his life started to fall apart. My children had left home and my career was building momentum, while his was falling down. I suddenly realized that I was putting a great deal of energy into fixing his career, but he wasn’t doing anything to fix it himself. I told him that he had to start putting some energy into resolving his own problems, otherwise I would have to go. We ended up in therapy, where the therapist asked me if I would be willing to live with him in his present state. I said no, because he wasn’t willing to grow.
The marriage ended one month later and we left each other in September 1992. That October I auditioned for Opera Theater of St. Louis for the fourth time, having received three letters saying, “Thank you very much, but we have nothing for you.” This time, I walked in with a different frame of mind, telling myself firmly, “It’s time for these guys to hire me.” I planted myself in front of the five gentlemen sitting at the table and just laid it out: “Here’s the list; what do you want to hear?” They asked for “Smanie, then Seagull” (Nina’s aria). Then Colin Graham said, “Would you mind singing ‘O don fatale’ now?” I asked him, “How far would you like me to go?” I got the job, and that shifted my entire career. I sang Madame de la Haltiere in Massenet’s Cendrillion there. The following season, I sang the old lady in Candide. And after that, I made debuts at Chicago Lyric, Santa Fe, Washington Opera, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Boston Lyric. Those jobs all came from people who had seen me in St. Louis. I think things finally started happening because I took the energy and started putting it into myself and my work, rather than putting it into marriages that weren’t working.
Do you adopt any particular approach for maximizing your physical energy?
Staying in shape is so important for classical singers and even more so for women. I overheard a story of a director who ridiculed a singer for her size, even though the singer was a character mezzo. There are no two ways about it—you have to take care of your body no matter what Fach you are in.
I’m a certain age and believe there should be no age discrimination, but unfortunately there is. God forbid that you don’t sound well on a particular day. You have to be really careful. That’s along the same lines as taking care of your body.
I was recently in a production of Pirates and was having to dance all over the place. It was in Santa Fe, at an altitude of 7,000 feet. As you can imagine, hopping and skipping, singing and dancing all over the stage was great fun! But you can’t do that if you’re not in shape, no matter what your age or Fach is. So when I work at Santa Fe, or places like that, I have to train constantly to be sure that the altitude doesn’t get to me. I would advise any professional singer to take care of their body, to stay in shape, perhaps to do yoga.
What do you do to maintain your fitness?
I have my own regime. I work out, do yoga, and do cardio at a gym. I do about 20 minutes on the bike and treadmill, three to five times a week. I aim to maintain a steady four miles an hour on the treadmill. When I can manage that, providing I’m not getting tired, I’ll raise the elevation. I also do weight training. I’ve worked with several different trainers now, and I try to vary the routine, or I get bored.
I do yoga every morning, using Rodney Yee’s AM yoga tape. I chose that one after seeing him on Oprah Winfrey! If possible, I take the videotape with me when I travel, but sometimes I just take an audio tape.
Do you use any other tools for your emotional, physical and mental well-being, with the aim of improving your work?
Oh yes. In September, I began to work with a lady called Rae Tattenbaum. She works with a biofeedback process called InnerAct. The objective is to stay focused on the work at the moment—she has lectured all over the country on this topic. She works with many singers and was recommended to me by John Cheek. It’s fascinating. The biofeedback program is delivered via electrodes taped to your skull.
One thing that happens for me, with this program, is that my memory focuses in a different way. It’s amazing—I get blocking faster, and it sticks. I had to do a stage rehearsal at the Met. They gave me the blocking two days before. After just one hour and 10 minutes, I was able to do the stage rehearsal, never having been on the set before. And I only made one blocking error! I’m telling you—it has changed my life.
How do you keep your voice in shape?
Barbara Karp once told me you have to sing a recital at least once a year, because that is how you keep your voice healthy. Last year, I was looking at a very limited schedule, so I started to look into teaching positions at universities. I was one of two final applicants at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. Part of the selection process was that I had to give a 20-minute program. I hadn’t sung a recital in a long time. It reminded me of why I became a singer. It was wonderful to sing Schumann and Barber and make music happen with the voice. I made a promise to myself that I would keep singing recitals.
What’s your range and Fach?
My singing range is a low E flat below middle C to a high C. I can squeak up to a high E flat and to a low B flat. I love my voice. I want to caress it and take such good care of it.
My voice is a lyric mezzo with some heft in it. Because of my age and my physical build, I sing character Fach. But I believe one must always sing with one’s voice, not with what someone else thinks one should sing with.
What were your most difficult technical problems, and how have you resolved them?
Without a doubt, coloratura. I broke it down like a pianist would. I was listening to Barbara Karp practicing the Goldberg Variations on the piano and I realized that you can do that with coloratura. I change the patterns, rhythms, staccatos—you shift it around till you get it, but Marcellina’s aria is still a killer!
What are the hardest things you’ve done as a singer?
I had a real tough time when I did Tobias Pickers’ Fantastic Mr. Fox, wearing a mask two feet long. I could hardly see the conductor! I had a 10 to 15 foot long tail, and boots, and had to sing two high Cs!
The John Copley production of Barber of Seville was another one. Every single night during the intermission, I’d rehearse the entire bit in which Berta has to remove her clothes inside of a bag while singing a rather difficult aria. I practiced during the intermission so that I could do it without even thinking about it. There were pantaloons, stockings, shoes, bodice, skirt and knee socks to get through, and then at the penultimate note, I would break open the bag and there I would be in a red nightgown! You can see a picture of that on the website.
Any low points in your career?
I didn’t have a critical success when I did Amneris. They said I sang it well, but that I wasn’t visually what they wanted to see.
Did you ever feel like quitting?
Sure. At one point I gave myself five years and said I was going to find something else to do. I could have become a shrink. But the career happened. I started to teach when I was divorced the first time. I loved teaching and still do, but there’s nothing to match the excitement that builds every time I go onstage. As long as I still get that way and feel totally exuberant, I’ll do it—and I’ll continue until I can’t do it anymore. Even working with young people in Pirates, I still get excited, even though I’m a lot older than some of them.
Does it feel unusual to be working with singers younger than yourself?
It is different, but I use the opportunity to get information to take back to my teaching experiences. When I was at Glimmerglass this summer, I devised a survey to learn exactly what was missing from singers’ education. I saw a lot of young singers who didn’t know how to walk, talk and chew gum. I have very specific ideas about what singers need to learn and what they aren’t learning. Awareness of who’s on stage with you. They don’t understand timing, like if there’s a laugh in the audience, you need to wait before continuing, and how you do that. They don’t understand the importance of looking into someone’s eyes when you sing with them. They need to learn movement and character work. Singers should make sure they understand their text. They need good musical discipline. And they have to know about not upstaging!
Who are the people who have had the greatest influence on your career?
My friend Barbara Karp taught me so much about music, life and style. She was a child prodigy at the piano, an actress, a director, and even tried her hand at screenwriting. I learned from her to just listen to the music, because it will tell you everything you need to know. She taught me to be the messenger of the music and be specific. To be as specific as you can about everything you do as a character.
How did you find your current manager?
I sang for a lot of managers, but Michael Eliasen, who was a coach in New York and is now heard of Curtis Music opera department, was my coach at the time. He arranged an audition with someone who worked at Barrett, and I signed with that company. John Anderson came there in 1985. He and I have worked together really beautifully. He has a very open ear. I also think he gives good advice— he’s honest with a no-nonsense approach. And that’s why I’ve been with him since 1984.
Do you pay a retainer?
If he had charged a retainer I wouldn’t have signed.
Matthew Epstein has also been very helpful to me over the years. I went and sang for him. I have great respect for him. He sat me down and gave me advice on repertoire.
How did you get your job at the Met?
I covered at the Met in 1995. I had sung for Leanore Rosenberg and Charlie Riecker, and then I did a stage audition for James Levine and Jonathan Friend.. I sang three arias: Cendrillion in English, Berta’s aria in Italian, and the Cabaletta from “O Mio Fernando.” The report I got back was that he was very impressed. He offered me a cover contract for Sarah Walker in Fille du Regiment. There was no performance, but I took it. Later, they came back with several offers. I was unable to take them until now. So I’m very grateful that I didn’t get that teaching job!
Singers are very interested in what other singers over the age of 40 are doing about hormone replacement therapy. Would you care to comment?
I’m taking Premarin 0.625, which is estrogen only. I’m fortunate in that I don’t have cancer in my family. I called my gynecologist, who is a big opera fan, and she came to me in Santa Fe and said I should go on this. She says that as far as she’s concerned, if it’s estrogen only, it’s OK if you don’t have family history of cancer. “How long do you want to sing?” she asked me. I started at half this dosage, five years ago when my estrogen levels were way down.
Why does she think it’s going to help the voice?
Vocal cords are made out of the same elastin as the mucous membrane in your body. When the mucous membrane dries up, the cords also dry up. That’s why there’s increasing dryness around the throat as you age.
I have some proof that it’s working. I had a bad case of acid reflux while working at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. I didn’t know what I had at first; I was coughing. Lyric sent me to this ENT, Robert Bastian. He’s fabulous— Elizabeth Futral goes to him, as do many other singers. I’d never had an exam like this before. “Your cords are in terrific shape,” he told me, and put me on protonics. Now I’m on Nexium.
You do have to be careful what you eat and what you drink! Last night for example, all the singers in my cast went out and all had beers. They asked me, “Don’t you drink?” I said “No, I don’t even take Advil 24 hours before singing, because I’ve heard stories about people rupturing vocal cords.”
I always have to ask this one: can you tell us about some of the strange incidents that you’ve experienced?
There are so many! But some do stand out … During the Ambler Festival of 1979, I got a call from the director of the Mendelssohn club. “Quick, come over, the artist who is singing the Mahler 3rd is having trouble. I want you to sing for Sergiu Commissiona, the conductor.” I’d never done the Mahler 3rd, but I went over to listen to the rehearsal. The singer didn’t have the top notes, so I learned the music in about an hour. They still couldn’t decide if the singer was going to cancel or how they were going to make it work if she did. Finally, they called me and asked me to stand in front in the chorus, disguised in a white shirt and black skirt, ready to take over if she stopped. I agreed. They were paying me all of $300! When she got to a certain point in the music, she couldn’t sing a D an octave above middle C, and so I was supposed to jump in and sing those notes. The problem was that during the performance, she “forgot” to stop singing. I started to sing before realizing she hadn’t stopped. A strange moment followed as I looked at the conductor and he looked at me. I stopped singing. The singer continued but soon reached the point where she just couldn’t keep going, so then I stood up and finished it.
That was a strange experience, but as a result, I later sang in the last concert to be performed at the Ambler Festival: the Haydn Harmonimesse with Benita Valente, John Cheek and Jon Garrison.
Another time, I went to Monte Carlo to start rehearsals for L’Opera de Monte Carlo. I got the job because they saw a videotape of a job I did in Milwaukee—my manager sent it to them cold. When I arrived, Gian Carlo Menotti came out of the dress rehearsal for another production and asked, “What are you singing?” “The mother in your Consul,” I replied. He peered at me and said, “The mother? You’re too young and too pretty!” I said, “MAKE-UP!” That made him laugh. Afterwards he told me that I had made him cry when I sang the mother.
And what about the future? What do you still want to accomplish?
I’d love to record an album called “Songs for My Grandchildren,” but I understand I’ll have to raise $20,000 to do the project.
Do you have any advice for singers just starting out in their careers?
I believe that there’s room for everyone to do what they’re supposed to do. This competition business is just toxic as far as I’m concerned. I told this to this to Susan Graham in 1991 before she made her Covent Garden debut as Cherubino, the performance that launched her international career. I said, “There’s plenty of room for you and Cecilia Bartoli. She can’t sing all the jobs.” And now look at her career. I remind Susan of that conversation every time I see her.
And your personal philosophy?
The most important thing is to believe in yourself. Before I sing, I always ask—pray—for the ability to sing as beautifully as I can, to fulfill the role as musically, emotionally, and dramatically as I can, and to concentrate. That is the most important thing to me.
