Thirty-Four Minutes With An Opera Singer
November 18, 2014
Have you ever noticed that “Opera” and “Obama” are both
five-letter words, starting and ending with the same vowels? Coincidence, or conspiracy?
The similarities don’t stop there. Both words are of foreign extraction, both
elicit deeply passionate reactions, and both evoke legends that often have very
little relationship to reality.
After the riotous booing by the electorate after Scene I, Act II, there have been some cast changes, made with the expectation
of a more harmonious collaboration between the leads, the chorus, and the
orchestra. The show must go on.
As you might have guessed, I wasn’t all that thrilled with
the audience reaction, although I have to admit the performances could have
used a little extra polish, so I went looking for some professional advice.
The great American mezzo, Joyce DiDonato, seemed the perfect
place to start. First, my daughter
adores her. Secondly, she loves
baseball, a clear sign of a discriminating temperament: If you don’t know who
she is, she sang the National Anthem (opera singer, baseball fan, and a patriot!)
prior to the seventh game of this year’s World Series. Third, she showed uncommon grace when
something unexpected occurred. And
finally, the woman can really bring it.
Check out the range, check out those high notes.
So, what could Joyce DiDonato teach pretty much everyone in
government, from Barack Obama on down?
Watch this clip of a portion of a master-class she gave at Julliard.
For this half an hour, she just talked to the students. About life, and her (and their) choice of a
career, and the incredible demands that career will make upon them, about
success and failure, about commitment, about hearing that little critical voice
in their heads, and knowing when to heed it and when to ignore it. Most importantly, she talked about the
work. What it takes beyond just talent—the
time in the practice room, the knowledge that you won’t be perfect in
performance (and the audience will remember the botched F a lot more than the cascade of beauty that will surround
it.) She tells these eager, ambitious,
immensely gifted young people to take their eyes, for the moment, off
opera. Instead, they should go abroad,
learn Italian, French and German, since they will be singing in these
languages, read books, look at beautiful paintings, immerse themselves in
living, because only through that extra knowledge of experiencing and loving and
feeling can they truly project on the stage all the emotions that a great
performer must show and a great performance must deliver.
What she’s talking about, without saying it explicitly, is
that her work demands a commitment to excellence, and excellence doesn’t come
easy. Want pressure? How about preparing
for the lead in the Metropolitan Opera’s premier of Donizetti’s torturous Maria Stuarda and knowing that “there
are 100 notes” she’s not perfect on.
That little voice, whispering doubts?
The only way you hold them at bay when you walk on stage is to do the
work, all of it, so the mistakes you make have nothing to do with preparation.
Last week, I wrote about putting humans in charge, about
freeing the individual from the narrow confines of bureaucracy to succeed, and
I suggested that the Democrats learn from the pasting they took by advancing a
broad-based agenda of liberty, with responsibility, on both social and economic
issues. Like DiDonato, celebrate both the effort, and the accomplishment, of
the individual.
This week, I want to take a different tact. Government isn’t just about the individual,
even the Presidency. It's truly like an
opera. Even with the most stellar of
leads, you don’t make beautiful music when the orchestra is dull, the conductor
uninspired, and the chorus flat.
Why do so many of our electeds make such an unpleasant sound? Some just can’t help themselves. But vast majority of others just haven’t
taken the time to prepare themselves for their responsibilities. How many in Washington have done anything close to what Joyce
DiDonato told her audience was a necessity for a life in music? What is their
experience in running large organizations?
What technical expertise do they bring to the committees they head? What
do they know of the private sector, or how legislation is actually drafted and
enacted? Do they speak any other
languages, have they any understanding of the culture in Europe, in Asia, in
the Middle East? What background do they
have in military deployment or procurement?
In short, have they put in the work, so when they get on the big stage, the
false notes they will invariably hit won’t come from a lack of
preparation? Or are they there simply
either because they were “electable” or just kooky enough to make it through
the primaries in an ideologically driven district?
If you want an answer to that, take a look at the three most
prominent pieces of legislation that have emerged in the Obama Presidency:
First, Obamacare, well-intended but poorly thought-out and drafted, which would
have been helped immeasurably if either side had the courage (courage is the
right word) to amend and improve it with the technical fixes that are
commonplace. Second, Keystone, a
pipeline over the United States, which does virtually nothing for the American
consumer and has the potential for significant environmental risk, but does
stimulate construction jobs and economic activity. Finally, immigration reform, a seething mess
of poor planning, appalling opportunism, ugly prejudice, and blatant political
opportunism. We couldn’t do better on
any of these?
Of course we could, if only we demanded better of both
political parties and the candidates they nominate. We don’t because we, too, don’t do the
work. We neither inform ourselves on the
issues, beyond slogans, nor bother to vote. They won’t or can’t, and we let
them be that way.
About twenty years ago, my wife and I went to a performance
of Aida. The male lead, Lando
Bartolini, had been the victim of one of the worst opening night reviews
imaginable (“crushing dullness” was one of the kinder comments.) In Act I, Bartolini appears (to a few
snickers) in tunic and elevator sandals, he looks into the audience with an
expression that surely meant “oh, no, I’m sure they have all read it”
and launches into his big, opening aria, Celeste
Aida. He finishes, frozen, and is enveloped in silence. It must have been the longest few seconds in
his career. Then a smattering of polite applause,
and he exits, stage left.
Right now, there are a lot of people in Washington I wish
would follow Lando’s lead. Maybe if we
promise them polite applause, they will agree to exit?
Somehow, I fear it won’t be that easy. So I suggest we be proactive, and send them
thirty minutes of Joyce DiDonato. Or,
better yet, add the two from her performance at the World Series. Turns out that at the conclusion, she tripped
and took a header in front of millions. Got right back up to
thunderous cheers. When you do the work,
you are prepared for anything.
Michael Liss (Moderate Moderator)
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