November 2012 by Opera 21

November 2012

Contents 2 MELLIFLUOUS MADNESS Meg Martinez discusses the difference between Donizetti’s Lucia and Lucie

4 WHY BE NORMAL WHEN YOU CAN BE AN OPERA SINGER?

Jessica talks about the demands of her voice and the impact it has on her life

7 ANNE, MARY, AND ELIZABETH: CASTING DONIZETTI’S TUDOR QUEENS

Creative Team Editor: Jennifer Choi Jen works in an office by day and lives in the opera world by night. In her free time, she can usually be found in an opera house or in the middle of a late night Rossini dance party. She loves being an active member of the online opera community, bringing together opera lovers on the internet. You can find her at OperaSwag.

Editor: Kim Feltcamp Kim Feltkamp is a mezzo-soprano currently pursuing her MM at Bard College in Dawn Upshaw’s Vocal Arts Program. She has been part of the online opera community as OperaRox, providing interactive opera liveshows and contests to educate and unite the opera community. She is also a published writer. You can find her at OperaRox, Kimozart, and her professional website.

Kevin Ng does a study of Donizetti’s trio of Tudor queens

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Opera21 is a collaborative, submission based magazine for the 21st Century Opera Enthusiast The theme for the upcoming issue is Family & Opera. We are accepting submissions at this time. Guidelines for submissions can be found on our website.

Mellifluous Madness Meg Martinez Meg Martinez is a 19 year old coloratura soprano studying vocal performance and professional writing at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh. She’s a small town Ohio girl with a penchant for nostalgia and an appreciation of fine teas, classic literature, and vintage fashion.

She was merely a young woman swept up in the patriarchal confines of her society, bound by the fiercely feuding bigotries of her family, and she had nowhere to turn. Betrothed to one whom she did not love and loved by one whom her blood bid her refuse, it would seem she could have no happy ending, and indeed she does not. Of whom do I speak? Donizetti’s most heartrending heroine, his baleful bride, his mad murderess—none other than Lucia di Lammermoor. Her famous coloratura outbursts are the epitome mellifluous madness, a delicate balance of absurdity and precision. Most opera-goers have seen or heard the much-touted Mad Scene of Lucia di Lammermoor, but what of her French counterpart, Lucie? Donizetti’s French language version of the opera premiered in Paris in 1839, just four short years after the Italian premiere, having been commissioned for the Théâtre de la Renaissance. Rather than simply translating the existing libretto, Donizetti decided to alter various aspects of the story and worked closely with French author and dramatist Alphonse Royer to revise it. While there are certainly many modifications to be explored, here I propose a study of the differences— musical, textual, and contextual— between the mad scenes. 2 - Opera21/November 2012

The scenes are practically identical in melody, and they are both are commonly performed with the cadenza written by Mathilde Marchesi for Nellie Melba, who performed the role in Italian in 1888. One of the most fundamental differences, however, is in fact of a musical nature—the two scenes as they exist today are not in the same key. While Donizetti originally composed both pieces in the key of F Major, the customary practice for most sopranos has been to transpose Lucia down a step to the key of Eb Major, also interpolating a cadenza at the end of “Ardon gl’incensi” and taking the final note of the scene up an octave. Lucie’s scène de la folie, on the other hand, is still performed as written in F Major, though many sopranos choose not to finish the scene on a high F. There are few modern performance examples Lucie, as the French versionis not often staged, but in recent years it has been sung to great acclaim by sopranos such as Natalie Dessay, Patrizia Ciofi, and Sarah Coburn. Textually, Donizetti created a Lucia who evokes rather strong reactions from others, most noticeably from her bother, Enrico. When Raimondo solemnly assures him of the truth, he cries out, “Wicked! You shall have a fitting punishment,” and there is a stage direction which reads, “Hurtling himself

against Lucia.” Asthon’s reaction to Lucie is considerably less severe, as he haltingly replies, “O frightful night…my sister…a criminal!” While there are stage directions written in for multiple characters in Lucia’s mad scene, in the French counterpart, Lucie is the sole character to have received any direction, serving to further isolate her both psychologically and physically. In Donizetti’s revised libretto, he also removed the role of Alisa, who had been Lucia’s confidante, and Raimond’s role is significantly reduced, providing even less moral support for the already fragile Lucie. Having no external sources of consolation, Lucie becomes more introspective and vulnerable, framing herself as a victim, an object. Whereas Lucia merely exclaims, “The ring! I am cursed,” Lucie in this moment imagines herself to be the object of Edgard’s disdain, and she cries, “Oh heavens! In his anger, he’s throwing away my ring…he’s cursing me!” She declares her brother to be her executioner, a far more violent description than the sole adjective with which Lucia labels Enrico—cruel. Lucie’s outlook is more fatalistic in her references to her impending death, as she definitively states, “Let me end my life. I am leaving this earth to rejoin the stars,” while Lucia resignedly observes, “I am nearing the tomb…already my cold heart languishes.” Stepping back to perhaps the most basic level, the difference between these two scenes is quite obvious: one is in Italian, and one is in French. Too obvious,

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you say? Well, there are more complex implications to be found within this contrast than initially thought, and they reflect changes in society as much as changes in musical traditions. In the Classical era, composers began writing operas in the vernacular, an innovation which gained popularity in the Romantic era as countries became more industrialized and the middle class grew in both size and income. As a result, opera houses were experiencing the largest audiences yet, but French audiences wanted to see more operas in French—thus the commission of a French language version of Lucia di Lammermoor, which had met with such success when it premiered in Italy. The same year that saw the premiere of Lucie de Lammermoor also saw the first performances of La Fille du Régiment and La Favorite, two of Donizetti’s most well known French operas. While it could easily be said that Lucia and Lucie are essentially the same opera, it is imperative to recognize the linguistic, societal, and contextual variances defining the two productions. To be cognizant of these details helps one to a more effective listener and observer, and it will probably make the experience more satisfying and enlightening. Let us take advantage of our modern world’s endless access to knowledge; go on—let out that inner nerd and do some research; that is, after all, what helps keep history alive.

Why be normal when you can be an opera singer? Who I really am and who my voice needs me to be Jessica Jessica is a soprano living and working in Baltimore. She has been writing A Soprano Steps Out for nearly eight years, a candid personal journal of the highs and lows of life in general, but especially becoming a singer. The blog chronicles auditions, first dates, lessons, performances, failures and successes. Jessica’s operatic roles include Mimì, Musetta, Donna Elvira (twice!), Micaela, Nella, Lauretta, Despina, Ines, Miss Pinkerton, Polly from The Threepenny Opera and a few premieres of new operas, which she especially enjoys. She is happy to announce she’ll be singing a Bach cantata with chorus and orchestra this December, which is exciting because she never thought she could sing Bach, and it just goes to show you how silly and pointless limiting thoughts can be. Jessica is fortunate to be married to a wonderful pianist, have two very special cat children, to be able to walk to her day job everyday, and to live in an 1867 townhouse that for some reason isn’t lucky enough to have any ghosts. Please stop by the blog, or write her at sopranostepsout@gmail.com. The general public has a lot of ideas about what an opera singer should be. These ideas usually include a horned helmet, a pretentiously high speaking voice, big hair, a boatload of jewels, and plenty of demands. There’s a whole persona that the normal person expects. So when I tell someone that I’m an opera singer, they are usually very surprised to find that I’m a normal-looking and (generally) normal-acting person. The truth is, we get paid to sing just like anyone gets paid to do anything else. Our path is different than other vocations in

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some very distinct ways, but not in the essential way: we have to do a lot of hard work to be really good. Classical singing is an athletic and intellectual discipline as well as an art form. So you would not believe the long lists of dos and don’ts that have been hammered into our psyche. This usually starts during our early high school years, about the time someone discovers that he or she has “a voice.” From that moment on, we begin to live as servants of the voice. When we are working on a long role, we must carefully plan our time so

that we do not wear out our voices by over-singing unfamiliar music. There are many components to learning a new role, starting first with the text. We must translate it and then repeat it aloud over and over again until it is natural. Then, we work to incorporate the rhythm with the text. And last, we add the melody. The task of being fresh for a performance while still feeling wellprepared for its demands requires careful coordination and thought. We wear huge scarves (although you have to admit they are fabulous) and lug five gallon drums of purified water around with us. Super-size containers of vitamin C and other herbal remedies clutter our apartments and we have long lists of time-honored techniques to battle dry hotel rooms, allergies, and vocal fatigue. We avoid smoke, drafts, and strong drinks before an important performance. And shaking hands during cold season causes a singular sense of panic. You would not believe the horrifying acts of prevention we perform when on board airplanes, where dry air is our enemy. We vocalize at random times and in random places just to make sure our voices are still there. Chances are that if you know an opera singer, you have been embarrassed by the public display of one or more of these behaviors at one time or another. I mean, you should see me—first, I have to sit on the aisle. Then, I drink two to three bottles of water on a three-hour flight and I bring my own travel blanket with me so I can wrap myself up like a burrito. I slather Vick’s Vapo Rub all over my nose, I bring my own green tea, and I usually take my shoes off and put on ridiculous fluffy socks. I do get sick less often than most people, so it must be working! We do all these things, you see, when we would much rather just not have to care. We know we are acting weird. If there

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was any way we could behave perfectly normally and still be opera singers, believe me, we would. We live with the paradox of needing to be ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Good singing itself is a paradox. It’s all about figuring out a way to balance immense tension and breath pressure with an ease of production and freedom of resonance. Add that to remembering words, notes, cues and movement while making it all look easy. Inside, I am an effusive, silly person who is really quite a ham and loves to be the center of attention. But in classical music, and specifically opera, tradition and protocol are everything. So, most of all, we have to be seen as serious artists. Being correct is important, being note perfect is expected, and being lovely, well-turned out, and poised is essential. I must prove to the conductor, the stage director, and all the people involved in hiring that I am a smart singer and a good colleague. This is vital in the interest of—no, the need—to be re-hired. Once, not too long ago, I was having a coaching with a gentleman that I’ve known for quite some time. He was my director in grad school for a production and since then we’ve collaborated on various projects. We were working on an aria and conversing about the character. Eventually, we started discussing the similarities between her personality and mine. I am always interested to hear how others describe me, because I suppose I am interested to know how I am perceived. He said, “You seem like a person who takes herself and life very seriously.” I was struck by that, because I don’t think of myself in that way at all. But when I stopped to think, I realized that he had made an incredibly accurate

description of me. As singers, we do have to take a lot of things seriously. Even one bad performance can badly damage a reputation. Just one cancellation due to illness can mean we don’t make rent. And a bad review is demoralizing in every sense. When my whole family is out at the bar enjoying cocktails before my cousin’s wedding, I am sitting in a hotel bathroom with the door shut and the shower on trying to steam my vocal cords into submission so I can sing The Lord’s Prayer after coming in on the red-eye. Not until after the ceremony can I have the vodka I’ve been dreaming of, and then only if there is not another performance tomorrow! And we all know that humans can’t be careful and disciplined and perfect all the time. Not even uptight classical musicians. We all have to have a place to let go and express. And despite everything I’ve just said about the work of making an operatic sound, I’ve discovered that singing is one of those places where I can let go. Maybe I can’t be this way during the work of rehearsal, where it is important to be professional and focused , but when I’m inhabiting a character and performing for an audience, I can be the silly, carefree wild pony Jessica! As Musetta in Act One of La Bohème, I can

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indulge my coquettish, materialistic side. This is the side of me that secretly does want lots of large jewels. As Violetta, I can be a grand lady of Paris’ demimonde, who lives only for pleasure. Living for pleasure! It sounds fabulous, doesn’t it? Champagne every day, handsome men, parties, and a fantastic house. Everything paid for…not having to worry about your voice! Isn’t that a thought. I may be worried about my voice, but Violetta doesn’t care. She sings “Sempre libera” because her heart is over-flowing with emotion, not because she wants to show everyone what a fabulous singer she is. And becoming Violetta instead of my voice’s indentured slave makes everything somehow easier. The minute I step off the stage, I know I have to be the other way again. There is no room for error, little room for silliness, and a lot at stake. I suppose I must have a masochistic streak and somehow enjoy that aspect of it, too, or I would never have chosen classical music as my life’s pursuit. But it is such a profoundly joyful experience and such fun to share a part of who you really are, even if it’s for just a few minutes onstage, that it makes up for all the time we have to spend “being good.”

Anne, Mary, and Elizabeth: Casting Donizetti’s Tudor Queens Kevin Ng Kevin is a first-year university student who dreams of a career in the opera world, which is the reason he’s currently spending his time studying cell biology and doing chemistry labs. He started blogging at Nonpiudifiori a few months ago, born out of the need to talk to opera with somebody whose response was more insightful than “wait, you mean like Sarah Brightman?” For sopranos, there are certain sets of roles that will open the door to becoming a part of opera legend, and Donzietti’s trio of Tudor Queens is one of them. Since the bel canto revival in the late fifties, singers such as Maria Callas and Leyla Gencer have proven that Donizetti’s operas are more than tweety coloratura showcases. Instead, they are vehicles that feature not only the vocal but also the dramatic artistry of a singing actress. This is especially true in the case of Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, Maria Stuarda, and Elisabetta in Roberto Devereux. These operas, written in 1830, 1835, and 1837 respectively, feature three different Tudor queens, and each one requires a huge range of technical, expressive, and dramatic skill. Ever since Beverly Sills first sang the three lead soprano roles together in one season in the early seventies, performing what has become known as Donizetti’s ‘three queens’ has become a rare achievement 7 - Opera21/November 2012

that is on par with the Brünnhildes or the Trittico heroines. Other sopranos who have sung all three roles include Leyla Gencer, Edita Gruberova, Montserrat Caballé, and most recently, Mariella Devia. Each role has very different vocal demands, making the task of tackling all three a rather monumental one. Anna Bolena was written for Giuditta Pasta, who also premiered Bellini’s Norma and Amina around that time. The role of Elisabetta in Roberto Devereux was written for Giuseppina Ronzi de Begnis, who was noted for her Donna Anna and Elena in Rossini’s La Donna del Lago. Although Maria Stuarda was also written for Ronzi de Begnis, it was premiered by Maria Malibran, whose repertoire included Zerlina and Cenerentola. It is difficult to find a soprano who simply has all the notes required by the three roles, let alone the ability to cope with their varying tessituras and vocal demands.

The Metropolitan Opera opened its 2011-2012 season with Anna Bolena, starring Anna Netrebko in the title role. Although it was considered a shocking choice for opening night, Netrebko’s star power proved enough of a draw for those who were unfamiliar with the opera. Despite a production that was traditional almost to a fault, Netrebko and the rest of the cast proved that the opera works on a dramatic as well as a musical level. Anna Bolena’s music is quite varied, ranging from the legato lines of ‘Come innocente giovane’ to the explosive coloratura of ‘Giudici, ad Anna’ to the emotional extremes of ‘Sul suo capo aggravi un dio’. However, the crown jewel of the opera is the final scene. It is often considered a mad scene, even though she merely reminisces about her past, and in it, Donizetti alternates between dramatic recitative and beautiful legato lines typical of the era and caps it with the dramatic ‘Coppia iniqua’.

in the final scene would make the role forbidding for lyric mezzos.

Although the technical demands are by no means insignificant, one of the most important requirements for a successful Anna Bolena is the ability to make the character dramatically interesting because so much of the opera focuses on the main character. Vocally, the role is suitable for any lyric soprano with accomplished coloratura. Apart from the finale of act 1, the orchestration is never particularly heavy, and apart from the trills in ‘Coppia iniqua,’ which are often not performed, Donizetti is more forgiving in terms of coloratura than Rossini or Handel. One of the greatest challenges for sopranos singing Anna Bolena is the need for great stamina. Although the tessitura is actually quite low, the high, floated lines

The role is often sung by lyric coloraturas who have tackled roles such as Lucia, Amina, or Norina; personally, I prefer slightly larger voices in the role: Fiordiligis or Capuleti Giuliettas who can manage the heavier passages with ease. Maria Stuarda is certainly no innocent young woman: the historical Mary Stuart escaped imprisonment, raised an army against her half-brother, and was suspected to have been involved in the murder of her husband. Interestingly enough, mezzosoprano Joyce DiDonato will take on the role this December at the Metropolitan Opera, and it will be interesting to hear how she changes the character to suit her darker voice.

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Maria Stuarda has always been arguably the most popular among the three, due to the fact that the title role is relatively easy to cast and because of its rather infamous confrontation scene. Although the title role was written for Ronzi de Begnis, who sang roles as heavy as Donna Anna and Norma, and was premiered by Malibran, who was arguably a mezzo, the part of Maria Stuarda is commonly performed today by coloratura sopranos. Maria Stuarda requires more vocal finesse than Anna Bolena or Elisabetta, particularly in her act 2 aria and her act 3 duet with Talbot. However, there are scenes where vocal heft is required as well; the confrontation scene can tax a light coloratura soprano, and the prayer in act 3 calls for long, sustained high notes over a full chorus.

Roberto Devereux is the least commonly performed opera among the three: according to Operabase, it is being performed by only two opera houses this entire season, one of which is a concert performance. It is easy to see why – the role of Elisabetta is heavier, more dramatic, and arguably less glamorous than Anna or Maria. However, I believe this is the opera that works the best dramatically. There isn’t a single scene that drags, and all of the music is thrilling and works to propel the plot forward. The finale of act 2, in which Elisabetta angrily signs Roberto’s death warrant in face of his refusal to name his lover, is particularly effective. The most demanding part of the role is undoubtedly the final scene. After nearly two hours of heavy, dramatic singing, Elisabetta must sing two demanding arias requiring legato, excellent breath control, and high pianissimo passages, all the while conveying the emotional journey of guilt, bitterness, loneliness, and anger, all within a short 20 minutes. It should come as no surprise, then, that sopranos who can master Elisabetta are not commonly found. Montserrat Caballé, with her

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legendary breath control and large voice, was one of the best exponents of the role, as was Leyla Gencer. Beverly Sills and Edita Gruberova, two other famous Elisabettas, were vocally too light for the role, but made up for this with dramatic intensity. Although Gruberova is currently the most famous champion of the opera, Sondra Radvanovsky and Angela Meade will be singing the role in the near future, and both have the requisite technique and temperament. Presenting Donizetti’s Tudor operas is a challenging and ambitious undertaking, whether one or three sopranos are hired. However, these operas are definitely worth performing – the characters are glamorous, the plots are exciting, and the music is beautiful yet gripping. And although all three lead roles have their individual challenges, there is currently no shortage of good bel canto singers, allowing for more and more productions. Dallas and Minnesota recently performed all three operas, and the Metropolitan Opera and Washington National Opera have plans to present the trilogy.