Stand Up Straight and Sing! (29 page)

I find enormous pleasure in singing Schoenberg’s
Erwartung
and Poulenc’s
La voix humaine,
both monodramas. To my knowledge, I am the only singer to perform these two operas on the same evening. Naturally, even for the performances of these monodramas and in song recitals, there are many other people involved in a presentation. It is marvelous to have the opportunity, for example, of working so closely with a lighting designer who has to light only the set and my persona. We can choose whatever gels we prefer; no one else will be disturbed. What is more, in these situations I can rehearse until I drop from exhaustion, having caused no other singer to suffer long rehearsal sessions. These one-person operas pose high levels of vocal, musical, and physical challenges, and I find the same level of satisfaction in bringing them to the stage.

Song recitals can be inspirational, refreshing, glorious. The chance to work with a pianist and to present a whole list of songs, each one different from the other, to an audience waiting to be taken on about twenty different little journeys in one presentation, is something very special. This type of performance is not for every singer or listener. Without the benefit of sets and spectacle, it does not please everyone. But for those of us who thrive in this genre, it is the life’s blood, indeed, to all else that we do. I am so very, very lucky in the piano accompanists that travel this journey with me. Irwin Gage walked with me through all the newness of my profession and for several years was my steady musical partner. Then I worked with Geoffrey Parsons, who accompanied so many singers that he could play any song that I brought to him in many different keys. We used to have wonderful fun with this. I really put him through his paces in a rehearsal in North London, in the reception room where so many of my esteemed colleagues had also rehearsed.

Dalton Baldwin’s knowledge and experience, most particularly in the French song repertoire, is unparalleled. I have also had the benefit of the vast experience of his longtime musical partner, Gérard Souzay. I hear Duparc’s “Phidylé” in my ears, as coached by Gérard and Dalton, to this day.

Phillip Moll’s readiness to perform is always a wonder. He enjoys instrumental ensemble playing as much as working with singers, and his energy never flags. It is very special to us both that we met in those first days in Berlin. Finally, Mark Markham and I have performed together since the mid-1990s and see no reason to pull back now. Whether we are deep into the soul of a song of Hugo Wolf, or in flight in Richard Strauss, or in a virtual smoky cabaret with Duke Ellington’s “I’ve Got It Bad (and That Ain’t Good),” his total musicianship is stunning. We are in ecstasy, too, with our jazz combo. The journey continues.

I do not tend to subscribe to rituals before going onstage. Indeed, I learned early in my performance life that these things need to be kept to a minimum if I am to get the job done well. Surely, as a very young singer in Berlin’s Deutsche Oper, I did take notice of how the more experienced singers looked after themselves and their voices, and I even tried to incorporate some of their customary pre-performance rites into my own preparation. I remember one singer intimating that a raw egg mixed into a cup of tea was just the elixir she needed prior to a performance. That concoction held no magic for me. I did, however, try the “tea and honey” ritual that is the habit of many singers, and I used to prepare this mixture in a thermos and take it with me to performances. Once, while I was rushing out of a hotel in Vienna to sing a recital, my old-fashioned thermos, with its glass interior, fell out of my bag and crashed onto the floor. The noise of the shattered glass astonished me. What would I do? My tea was ruined! Would I be able to sing? How could I go onstage now? Right then and there, I halted that “ritual,” which had become simply a mental crutch. From that moment on, my only drinks have been water and certain fruit juices, which have the benefit of releasing sugar slowly into the bloodstream. Hydration; this is all that is needed.

To harness the energy and the adrenaline coursing through the body at a performance takes thought and determination. I consider performance nerves to be healthy anxiety, when managed. What I require is to be centered, to be quiet. I always arrive at a venue hours before the performance is to take place. For performances outside of an opera house, I take care of my own needs: my hair, my makeup, and my clothing, all because I need that quiet time to prepare, to think. I find it inspiring to acknowledge in my body that beautiful feeling that comes from knowing there are three thousand people out there waiting for me to come out and sing!

Knowledge, in order to embody completely the wholeness of my craft, is essential. For instance, with the Kaddish, as arranged by Maurice Ravel, I have to thank Rabbi Friedlander in London for being so patient in working with me on the transliteration of this great Hebrew prayer. Many people can say these words by heart and know exactly what they mean and on what occasion the words are used. I do not speak Hebrew and therefore for me to presume to sing these words, a great deal of homework is done. But once a performance begins, my sole concern is to offer the music fully and thoroughly, and to enjoy the process.

I will say once again that in every good performance there is energy that makes its circle from the stage to the audience and back again. Even when there is complete silence, this energy is present and alive! It is wonderful to receive the applause that indicates a certain amount of recognition for a performance, but it is also possible to experience a silence that is so full of energy and support that you think to yourself,
I can do anything tonight. I am feeling well, I am feeling healthy, my shoes are comfortable, I think my dress is looking really good. We can go on all night.
What joy!

A great deal of a different kind of work is done offstage in order for me to be able to accomplish this energy release, its reception, and then its return. The practice of hatha yoga came into my life as I found myself in stressful situations, particularly during summer festivals where there would be so much going on at once that I found little space for the peace and quiet preferred in order for me to prepare for a performance. The meditative aspect of this particular yoga practice is spirit-sustaining. I simply had to find a method that would allow me to center myself even on a crowded bus, on a train or a plane or in a dressing room too near a busy stage. It took a lot of practice, as it is not easy to sit and clear your mind, center yourself, concentrate on your breathing and your posture and your chosen “ohm” chants. You have to work out for yourself what it is in your mind that you need to discard in order to center your thoughts. By now, I can practice hatha yoga anywhere. I had to be gentle with myself and give myself the time to become a real practitioner, and today I can speak very strongly to its rewards.

Any fitness expert will speak of the necessity of remaining as physically flexible as possible throughout one’s life. I tend to stay in hotels that have swimming pools so that I may carry out an aerobic routine in the pool. I have long ago given up thinking about how it looks to those who stop their conversations near the pools to watch! The swimming pool’s chlorine is not the best for health, especially hair and skin, and it is not good for me to be in a place where I cannot open a door or window and allow some of that chlorine to escape. So I must be aware of this and limit my time as necessary. But as many a traveler knows, exercise bands can go a long way to “getting the job done.”

Of course, there is what one might consider the glamorous side to the life of a performer. It is a privilege to meet people from all walks of life, to meet heads of state, or to have a kindergarten class in Florida draw, color, and then send twenty different versions of your performance dress that they have seen on television, and to see my own face and hair sometimes in the most amazing color combinations. Or to meet a kind young woman in the Midwest who arrives to turn the pages for a recital and who announces, almost nonchalantly, that at her birth seventeen years ago, her parents decided to give her the same first name as mine, spelled the same way. “Yes,” she said, “my parents named me after you!”

It doesn’t get much more glamorous than that.

I HAVE ON
more than one occasion had the honor of appearing before statesmen—sometimes on short notice. In the autumn of 2002, I was having a grand time in Seoul at the city’s Arts Center. I was so happy to have the opportunity to present a song recital on one of the evenings, straight from the classical canon: Schubert, Brahms, Ravel, and Wagner. All great music, offered to a most welcoming public.

Later in the week, with my jazz group, we presented an evening of the music of Duke Ellington. It was just the kind of performance experience I so cherish: the music of the great Europeans on one evening, swiftly followed by the music of a great American that same week. It was total delight to offer these different genres of the world’s music, and of myself!

We were preparing for our final performance in Seoul when I received a message from Atlanta that President Carter wished me to sing at the ceremony in which he would be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, in only a few days’ time. I was happy that the date was free and, looking at the map, thought it would be an easy trip from the Far East to northern Europe. I could not have been more wrong. The trip would necessitate flying back to the middle of Europe, or thereabouts, and then flying north to Norway, as there were no direct flights from Seoul. And so we made the long flight to Norway via London.

The awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize attracts worldwide attention and recognition, of course, and it was a pleasure indeed to sing on this occasion and for a fellow Georgian: the peanut farmer and Sunday school teacher who had risen to become our President. The hallowed halls of the Oslo venue are so beautiful in shades of blue, with marble and gold leaf everywhere. It was such a glorious feeling to be included in the ceremony.

I chose music that would befit the occasion and the man, I felt. From Handel’s
Messiah
, I sang “He Shall Feed His Flock.”

He shall feed his flock like a shepherd,

And carry them in His bosom,

And gently lead those that are with young.

This was followed by one of President Carter’s favorites, “Amazing Grace.” Inspiring words about President Carter were spoken, and his acceptance remarks were beautiful, humble, and uplifting. It was a wonderful morning.

One of the guests who spoke to me afterward stated that as a youngster, she had attended a concert by Marian Anderson and had remembered the experience all her life. She was no longer young. The photograph that had been taken that evening showed a young girl standing next to the great Anderson, a photo that was kept, I was told, close by at all times. I found this very moving, and even more so when this woman asked if, now, she might have a photograph taken with me. We took our photograph. President Carter, having been so gracious in thanking Mark Markham and me for the performance, was now on the other side of the room as he waved and mouthed the words
Thank you.

The trip to Norway was complete.

A SIMILARLY WONDERFUL
message led me to a memorable visit to the White House and with President Obama. I learned that I was to receive the National Medal of Arts through the National Endowment for the Arts. When I discovered that two very good friends, John Williams and Michael Tilson Thomas, would be honored at the same time, it gave an extra lift to the spirit. Tremendous joy and equally wondrous gratitude, arriving in the same package!

Our new President would present the medals, and there would be a reception at the White House. This was all scheduled to take place in November of 2009, only months after President Obama had taken the oath of office, but had to be rescheduled when Washington, D.C., experienced a “nonpolitical” shutdown of the government due to a storm, a hurricane, and an earthquake, all in short order. The date was changed to February 2010 and just happened to fall on the date that President Obama would have to spend hours and hours, prior to this White House ceremony, with those of the opposing party in discussions of the Affordable Care Act. But, true to form, the President rushed into the East Room, where we all waited patiently, and began his remarks with a lightness of heart that was nothing short of amazing. He apologized for being a few minutes late because, as he stated, he “had this other thing” that he “had to do.”

The room erupted in laughter, and happiness threaded the rest of the day. It was the most wonderful thing to have the President place the medal attached by lovely grosgrain ribbon around our necks, and all of us accepted the President’s invitation to enjoy the tremendous ambiance of the White House along with the deliciousness of the spectacular buffet.

With our invited guests, the twenty honorees for the arts and the same number for the humanities visited the rooms of “the People’s House” and enjoyed most thoroughly this unique opportunity, this most special occasion with our President.

THE CHALLENGES
of this profession are too great if one is not committed fully. A difficult, demanding profession can feel easier when you are doing something that you love. Little things can take on far more importance than they deserve: the hotel fails in its service or your performance dress comes back from a pressing looking much as it did when it left your hands. I try hard at such times to abide by what my aunts always told me all those years ago: “Get on with it.” Whenever I have the opportunity to speak to budding professional musicians, I tell them the same thing: “You really need to be committed to doing this and understand what you are asking of yourself. Rehearsing is endless, continuous discovery is vital, enjoyment is crucial. This profession will often take you away from your family and friends, familiar and comfortable surroundings, not to mention the difficulties of travel itself.” Be certain that you are willing to offer this much of yourself to your craft, as only then will you have all that is inside you to offer for those occasions when your craft might well be realized fully.