There is no clear career path for those that would direct for the lyric stage. I have had the pleasure of being directed in Opera-Land by those who had been, or indeed still were, singers, conductors, choreographers, film-makers, and upon occasion, the itinerant Director of Plays. And every one of those unique individuals brought to that side of The Table their distinguishing perspective as shaped by their artistic training and maturation. I am sure that there are now academic programs that focus on the training of directors for The Opera And Her Cousins, but when I was in school a few years ago, that specific type of training wasn’t available. Those willing to take the plunge needed reliable assistance from a network of trusted advisors to help them work in an environment that required so many different focuses; the singing, the acting, the movement, the stage pictures, the lighting, the costumes. The list goes on and on, and points up why an operatic journey is so rich and at the same time so precarious. There is so much to consider, so much that can go right. So much that can go awry. It is interesting to me that very few individuals come at this marvelously complicated art-form with multiple disciplines.
I’ve been very lucky to have come into direction in a very organic way. And my story points up the we-can’t-say-it-loud-enough lesson that it all began in school, with just the right teacher and a program that was supported, at least in part, by both the school system and the community. Shades of the television show GLEE, we had the equivalent of a show choir in my high school. And while we differed from the Glee kids in a couple of ways, those being that the most modern music we programmed was Cole Porter, and we raised our own money by performing for PTA meetings and church socials and anywhere else where there was a community gathering and the group had a couple of hundred bucks to spend on keeping some neighborhood kids off the street, (which meant that, if we had had a “Sue,” she couldn’t have shut us up no matter her conniving), what does compare is that there was a certain democracy about our programming. We had input into the musical groupings, the solo assignments, the costuming, and we took turns on the other side of The Table, designing the concept, the staging and the choreography for the numbers. This allowed us to divvy up the work so that we didn’t have to waste rehearsal time. We’d work out movement and motivation and stage pictures as homework, and bring in entire numbers for the group in our own language. Despite the collaborative environment, I don’t remember a single argument. We all had other things to do. We were band members and cheerleaders and athletes and National Honor Society kids and Student Government people, and there just wasn’t time to fight over who kicked when and who sang the high note at the end of the number. It was a really wonderful opportunity to put our ideas on the stage, and to learn to communicate them to a wide variance of people. The loss of this type of citizen-building exercise cannot be fully mourned.
When I went to college, and remember this was still a time when the music and theatre departments didn’t sit at the same table in the dining hall, there was an expectation that the direction and choreography duties for productions presented by the music school would be passed around to those that weren’t shouldering the inherent responsibilities of singing the larger roles. I had the opportunity to direct Oklahoma and West Side Story, and to choreography Of Thee I Sing and Carousel. At the time I didn’t realize what a gift I was being handed for my tuition dollars. I don’t think this would happen in the more plush operatic- or music theatre-focused academic programs of today.
These unique preparatory experiences allowed me in my adult career to combine performance work with directing, conducting and choreography work, and any performer will tell you that the more cross-pollination you can bring to an artistic profession, the better your chances of success and longevity. And if I bring something distinctive to either side of The Table it is the variety in my background that gives me my specific viewpoint.
I have a long-term love-in with The Magic Flute. In my undergraduate work I prepared the role of Papageno, and sang the arias in concert and included one of them in my aria list for graduate auditions. And I accompanied one of my best friends while she studied Pamina. Later on in my career when, on the advice of my coaches who thought I would have more opportunity as a character tenor, I traded-up to the other staff, I learned the role of Monostatos, and always included his little song in my aria audition list. And I had the pleasure of singing in the chorus of a marvelous production at Michigan Opera Theatre, where we were sometimes dressed as big, round, purple Smurf-like creatures. Broadway soprano Rebecca Luker was in the Young Artist Training program that season, and she was an Oompa-Loomp, too. And I remember thinking that that beautiful, talented girl would never be dressed like that again.
I am thrilled to be on the other side of The Table with Verismo Opera, where I appeared in the inaugural production of La Boheme last Summer, and for whom I narrated The Passion of Puccini concert event just last month. I believe that this company is made up of the right people in the right place at the right time, and their mission and commitment speaks to both their artists and their audience. And I am confident that the larger creative team will come together to offer a family-friendly production that focuses on a youthful point of view while offering everyone the meat of Mozart’s marvelous score. I can’t wait, and I hope you can’t, either! If you’re a singer, and one of the characters in this piece falls into your fach, I hope you’ll come and audition for us. And if you are a member of our faithful audience, or a soon-to-be convert to Verismo Opera, will you put us on your calendar for March?
- Aaron Hunt
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