I’m furiously prepping for the summer season (won’t you join us?), and am popping in briefly to say:
And, as a means of a sorry excuse, here’s the reason posting has been sparse this spring:
(Here’s to warmer weather, speedy housebreaking, and more profiles and articles to come!)
There are a lot of growing pains in the operatic world today. San Diego Opera’s closing has elicited strong opinions from administrators and singers. My Facebook feed is full of commentary: some productive, some vent-tastic.
We’re accustomed to companies closing because of crushing debt; mismanagement. But when a seemingly healthy company like SDO chooses to close to go out on a high note, there are questions. Why? What are they doing with their assets?
The larger, unasked question, is “Is this a fool’s errand?”
We know that, measuring the answer solely by dollars, the answer is yes.
We also know that, measuring the answer by lives touched, the answer is no.
We struggle to maintain a high standard of performance, despite the growing costs and dwindling resources. We ask so much of our singers. Often, we ask even more of our administrators, stage managers, shop staffs, ushers.
We are losing. Losing audiences. Losing administrators. Losing artists.
We could chalk this up to the inevitable backlash of the expansion of the 90s, sure. But that’s a glib, too-tidy answer.
My two-penny thoughts, for what they’re worth. (maybe not even two pennies, actually.)
This news comes as I’m in the middle of a several-day spate of internship interviews. While the rest of the nation may be decrying the work ethic and writing skills of these Millenials, I’m finding these several days rewarding and frustrating, in equal measure. Rewarding, because these young people love opera, love the art form, want to gain experience and knowledge in this wacky, wonderful artistic medium. Frustrating, because their opportunities are shrinking.
We’ve been a niche for a long time, we opera folks. And part of me wishfully hopes that, someday, we’ll be cool again – like bluegrass and mandolin, like using Bach in techno samples. I think it can happen, but I also think that it will take a highly individualized, community approach.
So y’all? Bring a pal to the opera this season. Just one.
You’ll be glad you did. And we will be, too.
The Telegraph UK has an interesting article written by Hanna Furness; a short interview with Tim Rice (That’s Sir Tim Rice to you!), the librettist who might be most well-known (at least to folks of a certain age, ahem) as the librettist for Evita, Jesus Christ Superstar, and The Lion King.
He had planned to be a lawyer.
He was good at tests, and he figured he’d ace his exams.
He didn’t.
In fact, every time he re-took them, his scores went down.
“When I went to do law, I kind of drifted through that and thought I can pass these exams. And I didn’t – I failed three times and each time I did worse and failed by a bigger margin.
“And that taught me so much. I always worry today when I see everybody has to pass – there’s very little failure these days. I think failure is the best thing for some people.
“It tells you whether you’re in the right job or the wrong one. It’s a cliche, but most people are good at something and most people are good at what they’re enthusiastic about.”
Failing stinks. It makes us feel icky – it challenges our perception of ourselves and our relationship with the world.
But oftentimes it either makes us look around for other options, or challenges us to dig in more deeply.
(So maybe it’s a win, even if it doesn’t really feel like it?)
Rock on, Sir Tim.
Often I feel like things don’t count unless other people know about it. (Teh Interwebs make it a little too easy to be out there – twitter, instagram, tumblr, foursquare, facebook…all of it.)
But this article reminds me that it’s the act of creating that’s important.
The sharing is ancillary.
Homework that splits the difference:
Make something.
If you’re brave, comment with your initials. (I don’t want to know what you did…just that you did something.)
Let’s make Monday beautiful.
I’ve been struck in the last few weeks at the number of blog articles addressing the competitive nature of the field, and the relatively low odds of “making it” in opera. There are also a corresponding number of positive articles. (You’ll notice that two of the “you’ll never make it” and one of the “you’ll totally make it” articles all come from mezzo-soprano Cindy Sadler – who has a great perspective on this crazy art form and the accompanying lifestyle.
I’m reading these while we’re interviewing applicants for internships and seasonal positions. Let’s be honest – I’m getting older, the applicants are getting younger, and the things that seem obvious to one party are not at all obvious to the other – and vice-versa. I will say that many of these people are much more put-together than I was at their age. (I’m both thrilled and thankful that Facebook and camera phones did not exist when I was in high school or college…)
I keep returning to several themes:
Personally, I loved the collaborative aspect of rehearsals. I found performances stressful and anticlimactic. I wanted to be known for my brain more than my pipes (not quite sure that worked out… #blondmoment). And I wanted to have a home, to be known in my community. It took me a long time to separate my professional desires from my chosen field, and I’m lucky (oh so lucky) to have found a great niche. Had I been more honest with myself earlier, though, I might’ve found my path a little more directly. It’s often easier to follow someone else’s path, to cede your energy to someone else’s expectation when you feel that they have your best interests at heart. But ultimately, it’s your path….it should look like you.
“You have to determine what success looks like for you.”
For today’s Profile Phriday we’re continuing the conversation with Jonah Nigh – if you missed last week, you can find his blog post about his undergraduate years in a liberal arts school, and how that education was a benefit as he transitioned out of singing. As you can guess, I had more questions for him, and he was both warm and generous in his answers. Here’s his story.
Jonah, you started as a voice major at Lawrence University. Grad school?
Grad school at New England Conservatory.
In your article you talk about the vocal incident that precipitated your transition out of singing. It must’ve been really difficult. Did you make the choice to opt out, or was the medical diagnosis severe enough to make the decision for you?
My come-to-Jesus moment happened during a follow-up appointment at the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary. I had had the surgery, had done the vocal therapy, and went in for a check-in. They said that I was healed, but I told the doctor that I just couldn’t get my voice to move the way it did prior to the surgery. He looked at me and said “I don’t know what to say.” The fact that, from a medical perspective I was healed, but that I had lost so much functionality made me realize that the pursuit of an opera career was not viable. I will say that the doctors said that my injury was most likely a genetic issue, so I felt better knowing that I didn’t do this damage to myself through misused technique. But, they also said the issue was likely to reoccur, and I knew I couldn’t go through the surgery again. But it was still a huge struggle – and I questioned whether or not I wanted to stay in the arts at all.
Why?
Well, because it felt like I had failed, and it was embarrassing. I didn’t want to continue to work in concert coordination, when my friends and peers were performing and I couldn’t. Prior to this I hadn’t really needed to draw a line between who I was and what I did –. So I gave myself some time away from the performing arts, and went to San Francisco. I enrolled in sommelier training.
That’s been a dream of mine for quite some time! But you’re not working as a sommelier now…
Correct – I am not. (I’m the Major Gifts Officer for the Graduate School of Journalism at Columbia University – more on that later.) I enjoyed studying and learning about wine, working for hotels, etc., but I had another one of those CTJ moments at an industry conference. Most of the other attendees were in the food and/or restaurant business, and they spoke about wine with a passion. I recognized that passion – it was the same that I felt when I spoke about music – but I didn’t share it. I realized that these weren’t my people.
Where did you find those people?
First, I moved to New York and took a job as a booking agent which I did not enjoy very much for a lot of reasons. In the meantime I was grant writing on the side to make extra money. I started getting more involved in fundraising at Opera America, and at the time I was considering working towards being a General Manager for an opera company, and many search committees look for people with that experience, for obvious reasons. It was a means to an end, and I never thought of it as a career unto itself. Most of my experience, up until I took my current position, was operatically or musically focused. My move to the Journalism School has been a big change – they approach fundraising in a very different way than the arts world. (Necessarily so – the project I’m working on is centered specifically on New York government accountability.)
Have you found that any of your skills from your training transfer over to your work in development?
Yes, certainly. One example is that I still practice – I may not be singing, but I’m practicing my talking points, working on my professional skills. In my profession, as in musical endeavors, I put in a lot of time preparing for a very short meeting during which I am quickly judged. I can’t riff as easily on New York politics as I could on all things operatic, so I plan out three different scenarios for every meeting and practice them. Just like practicing for an audition and trying to figure out how to manage a wayward collaborative pianist or other unforeseen circumstance, I like to make sure I have plan in case things go awry. (Ed. – I find that planning for that circumstance often seems to ward it away somehow.) I also think that studying music gave me that singularity of focus that allows me to really concentrate on one thing for a long time. It’s funny – the Dean for the School of General Studies here at Columbia, a bachelor’s program for non-traditional students, said his students are primarily former members of the armed services or former professional ballerinas, and that all the professors are frightened of the work ethic of the dancers. The discipline to focus for hours and hours at a time on a singular goal is a skill that is less common than one might think.
I’ve also found that I have an ability to read people from all of those years of working collaboratively on music and performing. I’m not afraid to call out the elephant in the room and find a way to work through it, rather than around it. And there’s so much to be said for knowing how to present oneself; in my position, having that kind of poise and confidence is crucial. (Especially when I’m not necessarily feeling confident about the subject matter at hand; I can at least fake it and make the presentation go smoothly!)
In a recent profile, Jeff Gaynor spoke of music school as a trade school of sorts. Going from a liberal arts undergraduate program to a conservatory graduate school, were you surprised by the differences in the programs?
I was. At Lawrence there was a core curriculum to tackle, papers to write, Plato and Faulkner to battle through…I only wrote one paper as a graduate student. My graduate program really focused on honing our performance skills.
What kind of advice would you give to a student entering school?
I will say that my most marketable skill has been my writing, and I would urge any student considering a conservatory course of training to make sure that you get that piece.
I’d also tell them that your job for the next 4 years as a voice major is to focus on technique and musical growth. You don’t have to be at a conservatory but you do need a great teacher. Make that your focus.
Think of this as the start to your career path, and start with as broad a perspective as possible. My vision of success as an 18-year-old was very narrow; it started and ended onstage at the Met. But when you are in a career that relies on your body working in an extreme way, and opera is extreme, you have to be cognizant that you run the risk of injury and possible physical failure. The recent Winter Olympics offered case study after case study on that very point. I’m an example of one of countless stories of singers opting out for a variety of reasons; while I was embarrassed when I did it, looking around 10 years later I’m so grateful for having figured out a new path.
As a closing point, I’ll quote something that a professor once told me. “You have to determine what success looks like for you.” As you get farther along into your career, whatever that may end up being, you need to a take a dispassionate look at where you are and ask yourself if you are truly accomplishing what you set out to do. The landscape looks different for everyone.
Ed. – Links to last week’s posting and Jonah’s website with his original post added above and in this postscript. Mea culpa!
Jonah is a friend-of-a-friend, and joins me in the ranks of “reformed singers.” I recently read a thoughtful essay he wrote about his transition: the precipitating event and the aftermath. The article is focused through the lens of the liberal arts course of study he pursued (initially unwillingly!) as an undergraduate. I loved the article – it’s witty and touching. Next week Jonah and I will talk about the process of moving out of singing, transferrable skills, and his advice for folks who are questioning.
The article is here.
Some highlights:
I did not actually want a liberal arts education prior to coming to Lawrence. Like most teenagers, my definition of success was myopic in scope, and as an aspiring opera singer I could not fathom the need to study statistics, psychology, or any other subjects that were not immediately applicable to getting on a stage, singing loudly in a foreign language, and wearing a fabulous costume.
and
My story could easily be miscategorized as a cautionary tale for aspiring artists–as a warning to make a “Plan B” just in case a career in the arts doesn’t work out. On the contrary, a liberal arts education does not negate one’s unique capability or potential of being an artistic practitioner.
Many thanks to Jonah for allowing me to repost. Please join us next week for the continued conversation!
I’m so grateful to the people who have allowed me to share their stories on these pages. Some are just starting out on their career journey, some are established and highly regarded; all of them are quality people who successfully made a big transition into a career that they love.
If you’ve not had a chance to read them, here they are in a convenient list!
Jeff Gaynor (National Center for Supercomputing Applications)
Sarah Andrew Wilson (The Levine School)
Nigel Boon (National Symphony Orchestra)
Nathan DePoint (Fort Worth Opera)
Gia-Ninh Chuang (Fitness Professional)
Annie Burridge (Opera Philadelphia)
Tracy Cherpeski (Life Coach/Personal Trainer)
Kim Pensinger Witman (Wolf Trap – my boss!)
Tonya McKinny (Manager and Mom)
Jennifer Empie (U.S. State Department)
Melissa Collom (Performer/Planned Parenthood)
James Lynn (Insurance)
Mark Bradley Miller (Photographer)
My colleague Kim Witman wrote a beautiful piece about a wonderful woman who practically created the Wolf Trap family. She retired a few weeks ago (two, to be exact), but she’s thankfully still around – and for that I’m quite grateful. She’s a role model, an inspiration, and I’m lucky to call her friend.
Thank you, for everything you’ve done for us, Ann McPherson McKee.
Indirect Routes 