Marshall and I were in Chicago last night to attend the opera- and there were two surprises. . . one pleasant and the other not so much. The pleasant surprise was that just as we were walking into the big Border’s store on the corner of State and Randolph, we ran into two music students from Carthage, Taylor Weinstock and Rachel Page, who had just finished ice skating. What a blast to see two familiar faces in the heart of downtown Chicago. I’m still smiling about that.
The more unpleasant surprise happened after the opera, when Marshall and I were meeting our friend Laura, who plays cello in the Lyric’s orchestra. The backstage area was rather empty, it turns out, because there was a party going on elsewhere in the house for a coach and prompter whose last performance was last night – and the company was throwing him a little farewell bon voyage celebration. So lots of chorus and orchestra members and other staff members from the Lyric were sticking around for that, which meant that traffic at the stage door was especially light. In fact, as Marshall and I were standing there waiting for Laura, basically the only other people waiting were a middle aged woman and her cute, curly-haired little boy (who was dressed to the nines in a little suit and tie.)
Before too long, Laura came out to greet us and as usual asked us how we liked the performance. For this particular situation, honesty is the best policy. (This is not one of those situations where someone is asking you if you like the raisin-stuffed squid souffle they just served you for dinner – or whether or not you like the new dress they’re wearing. Those are both situations in which a lovely lie is entirely permissible and perhaps even required under certain circumstances.) So we told her we enjoyed it somewhat but not quite as much as some other things we’ve seen this season. Then I said “and the baritone. . .” and when words momentarily failed me, I stuck my finger in my mouth as though I was gagging. Truth be told, the singing of baritone Boaz Daniels was not good in any way. He was underpowered, out of tune, unmusical. etc. as Marshall and I proceeded to state in no uncertain terms.
As we proceeded to talk about other aspects of the performance, I noticed several more young children coming into the backstage area- like the first little boy they were all dressed to the nines – and then we realized that coming out of the opera house to meet them was the aforementioned baritone, Boaz Daniels. And as they hugged, kissed, and then posed for a photograph, we suddenly realized that we had been standing backstage with the baritone’s wife and young son. Frantically, I rewound the conversation and realized with great relief that when we had been talking about the baritone, they had been on the other end of the backstage area and almost certainly would not have caught any of what we were saying.
We hope.
I would not change one iota of my opinion of this baritone or his singing. He was decidedly down a step from his castmates and is almost certainly a singer who gets hired because he’s good looking and not because he’s an especially accomplished singer. And this particular role was at least two sizes too big for him. But from what we could tell in this backstage encounter, he’s a very nice person and devoted dad – and somehow knowing that about him made my caustic comments about his singing seem terribly ill- mannered. And when I think of how awful it would have been for his wife to overhear us expressing our displeasure about his singing, I get the shivers.
I’m not entirely without manners when it comes to opera. I never ever ever ever Boo – unlike some diehard fans who believe that having plunked down the money for a ticket entitles them to express their displeasure in whatever way they choose. I think booing a performer is absolutely barbaric. But dissecting their performance afterwards (Marshall and I are usually doing so as we are leaving the auditorium) is for me an essential part of the opera- going experience, and tiptoeing around a singer’s poor performance just doesn’t feel right. But maybe I’ll try to lodge my criticism in a little quieter fashion – at least until we’re safely stationed in Marshall’s car for the ride home.