Hoarse Play
The auditorium for tonight's performance in Algona
ALGONA, IA - Tonight we had our first full-length Così Fan Tutte since the week before our vacation. After having only two full-length performances of the opera in a span of eight weeks, tonight's show began a stretch in which we have four full performances over the final three weeks of the tour. Things were a little bit rough tonight. On the good side, we tend not to make the same mistakes twice. On the bad side, we have an uncanny ability to make new mistakes.
In addition to battling the layers of rust on our
production, we were also trying to overcome the lingering sicknesses that have
plagued me and Brian. He's much better off health-wise today than he was
yesterday, but in a prudent concession, some tasteful cuts were made in the show
to make his evening a little easier. I'm a firm believer that there's no need to
overextend while still in the healing process. Indeed, in such matters, it is
far better to cut than to bleed.
What I did not count on, however, was my own vocal struggle. I'm still recovering from my bout with some sort of sinusitis. Though I've been able to bark my way through our children's performances, I was physically challenged by the rigors of tonight's full Mozart opera. By the middle of the first act, I found myself nearly hoarse. I needed to make adjustments in order to finish the night in one piece. Vocal teachers always emphasize that, in moments like these, our technique will have to carry us through the storm. Keeping that in mind, the rest of the evening was an ongoing effort for me to sing effectively and healthily. I had to rely on internal sensations as my guide, rather than what I heard with my ears. By the end of the first act, I had found a comfortable approach that would adequately see me through the end of the night's work.
Of the evening's gaffes - and there were several - one humorous moment stood alone. Late in Act II, the character Fiordiligi instructs the maid, Despina, to retrieve a military uniform and accoutrements from storage. As written, her command is as follows:
Go up to the attic...and bring me two helmets, two sabers, and two complete uniforms they left there.
In tonight's performance, our always fabulous Fiordiligi gave instructions that went something like this:
Go up to the attic...and bring me...two swords...and two uniforms.........that they left here last weekend.
I love this so much because of the phrase, "last weekend." It kind of begs the question: what was going on at Fiordiligi's house last weekend, and why would people be leaving military uniforms behind? Was it a Halloween party? Did she host the potluck barbecue after the annual Gettysburg Battle Reenactment? The possibilities are endless.
The performance as a whole was nevertheless quite enjoyable, and the modest crowd in attendance was gracious. During intermission, we were paid a visit backstage by the venue's custodian, who was effusive in his sincere and heartfelt praise of the performance. On top of that, he wanted to apologize personally for the turnout; he enjoyed the show so much and regretted that more of his neighbors weren't there to share the experience with him. It was a quintessentially Iowan sentiment.
While putting on a show in the face of health struggles and occasional memory lapses, it's always nice to be reassured that our efforts are almost always received with true gratitude and warmth. I'll take that kind of reception over a technically flawless performance any day of the week. Besides, without our imperfections - on stage and, indeed, in life - where would we find the inspiration for our laughter?
What I did not count on, however, was my own vocal struggle. I'm still recovering from my bout with some sort of sinusitis. Though I've been able to bark my way through our children's performances, I was physically challenged by the rigors of tonight's full Mozart opera. By the middle of the first act, I found myself nearly hoarse. I needed to make adjustments in order to finish the night in one piece. Vocal teachers always emphasize that, in moments like these, our technique will have to carry us through the storm. Keeping that in mind, the rest of the evening was an ongoing effort for me to sing effectively and healthily. I had to rely on internal sensations as my guide, rather than what I heard with my ears. By the end of the first act, I had found a comfortable approach that would adequately see me through the end of the night's work.
Of the evening's gaffes - and there were several - one humorous moment stood alone. Late in Act II, the character Fiordiligi instructs the maid, Despina, to retrieve a military uniform and accoutrements from storage. As written, her command is as follows:
Go up to the attic...and bring me two helmets, two sabers, and two complete uniforms they left there.
In tonight's performance, our always fabulous Fiordiligi gave instructions that went something like this:
Go up to the attic...and bring me...two swords...and two uniforms.........that they left here last weekend.
I love this so much because of the phrase, "last weekend." It kind of begs the question: what was going on at Fiordiligi's house last weekend, and why would people be leaving military uniforms behind? Was it a Halloween party? Did she host the potluck barbecue after the annual Gettysburg Battle Reenactment? The possibilities are endless.
The performance as a whole was nevertheless quite enjoyable, and the modest crowd in attendance was gracious. During intermission, we were paid a visit backstage by the venue's custodian, who was effusive in his sincere and heartfelt praise of the performance. On top of that, he wanted to apologize personally for the turnout; he enjoyed the show so much and regretted that more of his neighbors weren't there to share the experience with him. It was a quintessentially Iowan sentiment.
While putting on a show in the face of health struggles and occasional memory lapses, it's always nice to be reassured that our efforts are almost always received with true gratitude and warmth. I'll take that kind of reception over a technically flawless performance any day of the week. Besides, without our imperfections - on stage and, indeed, in life - where would we find the inspiration for our laughter?
Posted: Tue - March 29, 2005 at 11:15 PM
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Published On: Mar 29, 2005 11:32 PM
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Published On: Mar 29, 2005 11:32 PM