Last night was a first for me. I never thought sitting in the audience was going to become harder work than being on the stage. The closing concert was an introduction to a nervous condition at least some parents must experience while attending their children’s dance recitals, piano recitals and school plays. There I was trying to sit still while my Master Class students did that singing thing in front of a bunch of Opera loving Italians. A cold sweat would have been better. I got overheated. When I had to wipe my brow dry, I knew I needed to calm down.
Yesterday morning, with all those singers, my work had already finished. They all allowed me to push and shove them toward the best artistic results I could envision for them, and all the twitching in the world that I might do in my seat was not going to help any of them in any way. In fact, I could have made a spectacle of myself already, without intending it. It wasn’t until after the program came to the inevitable finish-line that I had the freedom to think back over just how well everyone had done.
There are lots and lots of arguments about what is needed to save the economic viability of the performing arts, and I have my own angle, but what is needed by each and every singer is the approval of an appreciative audience to confirm that the artist’s efforts had the intended effect. Who cares that a teacher might be increasing the humidity of the room by sweating every detail? The members of the audience shouldn’t, and don’t care that the artists are taking great big risks by following the advice of a sweat drenched teacher. They are there to enjoy something that this nation may be justified to claim as their invention. Italy was certainly integral to bringing Opera to maturity, and, back in my day, I assumed that if I could make Italians applaud my singing, I was doing something right..… You know, that singing thing.
Well, the attending Opera lovers affirmed all the singers’ efforts with one of the artists singled out for particular attention. He gathered into his singing almost everything I had thrown at him over the desperately few days we worked together, finished his second aria to receive enthusiastic applause and bravos. He graciously bowed and proceeded to exit the room, but before he could make good his escape, a voice, not mine, was heard from the audience: BIS! For the non-Italian non Opera devotee that means: “Play it again Sam”, or let us hear that thing again. The artist hesitated in mid stride and turned his head to look back over his shoulder. I’ve never seen a happier smile. It was almost as big as mine.
Those moments of triumph are exactly what artists need for inspiration to ever more risk taking in this art form suffering from apathy, mediocrity and let’s just play it safe singing. The organic gift cannot be improved, but the gift must be put to the best use possible. When that is done, the gift itself becomes less important. After all, great painters aren’t considered great artists because they used the best quality materials. The best performing artists are often not the interpreters in possession of the best instruments. Violinists might have to wait a long time after they are recognized as great artists before they can afford a Stradivarius. Singers can never buy a new instrument.