In the midst of this unbelievably busy spring break (which at least is filled to the brim with cool and interesting things- just way too many of them piled on top of each other) the closest thing to R&R was yesterday when I headed down to Chicago with Marshall for our last opera of this current season with the Lyric Opera of Chicago. . . Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro.
This is an opera which is near and dear to my heart, partly because I sang the role of the Count in graduate school- and I also performed in this opera with the Lyric Opera Center for American Artists. . .mostly doing the small but fun role of Antonio, the drunk gardener (not exactly type-casting) but stepping up to the role of the Count on two occasions when the regular count, Paul Kreider, had to be away singing other engagements. (I am realizing only now, more than a quarter of a century after the fact, that the main reason I probably made it into this prestigious apprentice program – they took 12 singers out of almost 500 that auditioned all across the country – is because they needed their third baritone to be young and humble and willing to take as little a role as Antonio -he sings about two and a half minutes -but be good enough to take over the Count for two performances and not disgrace himself or the company. In other words, I was exactly the right peg for that particular hole.) Anyway, I digress…. I mostly wanted to say that I know this opera backwards and forwards and when I watch it from the audience I am enjoying it on multiple levels, not only taking in the performance at hand but also reliving the fun I have had in this amazing work.
This turned out to be a splendid performance, despite some leaden leadership from Sir Andrew Davis, who conducted most of the night as though there were bags of concrete hanging from each arm. Things were SO SLOW! Fortunately the major singers of the night surmounted this with some fantastic singing. We loved the Figaro of Kyle Ketelsen, the Susanna of Danielle de Niese, the Count of Mariusz Kwiecien, and the Cherubino of Joyce DiDonato – world class artists all !
But what made this an exceptional night at the opera began with a sight we have actually seen very little in recent years- a spotlight suddenly shining down on one end of the curtain just before the conductor was to make his entrance. There was a mixture of murmuring and groans throughout the audience, because such a sight means only one thing- there is a special announcement to be made to the audience, and it’s almost always that someone in the cast is ill and either asks for the audience’s understanding OR cannot perform at all. Either way, it all too often means losing a major singer in favor of some obscure American youngster or (once in a great while) some “Dutch Nobody” as Marshall likes to put it. The point is that in these situations you’re almost never trading “up” – or even “equal.” You’re trading “down” and you just hope you’re not trading too far down, from Renee Fleming to Ralna Flatbush.
We had heard that the singer performing the Countess, Anna Schwanewilms, had been under the weather opening night – so we had an inkling that this announcement was about her. And indeed, the announcement was that she was suffering from bronchitis and would be unable to perform- and her place was being taken by a young American soprano named Amanda Majeski, who was part of the opera center. And then, the announcer went on to say that the part of the First Peasant Girl would be sung by Nina Nobody. (needless to say, I’m making that name up.) That’s when we realized that the singer stepping into the role of the Countess was the singer who was supposed to be singing the First Peasant Girl. . . which is a promotion roughly akin to going from asst. water boy to quarterback. Marshall and I looked at each other with pained expression, fully expecting that we would be hearing pedestrian if pretty singing that might border on the inaudible in certain more dramatic passages- and just thanking our lucky stars that there were other great singers in this cast who would still make this performance worth our while.
And then a bit later, the curtain rose on act two to reveal a beautiful, statuesque woman dressed as the countess, moving about the stage with a profound sense of sadness enveloping her frame. And then she opened up her mouth and began to sing the aria “Porgi Amor” with a radiant, flowing sound that easily soared from that far off stage to our seats in the top balcony. And from there to the end of the performance, this young soprano – Amanda Majeski – proceeded to sing this role with assurance and ease and beauty. And at the final curtain calls, it is safe to say that the greatest ovation was accorded to this young lady – not only for her sheer guts, but for delivering the goods so very impressively. What a night for her…. and for her parents, who we saw backstage. (We overheard her mom laughingly tell the guard at the stage door that she was “Mama Majeski” and he knew exactly who she was and why she was there. You could just see on her face and hear in her voice how thrilled she was with what her daughter had managed to accomplish.)
There’s a phrase that says “there are no small parts; just small actors.” But I know from experience that this is a crock of corn syrup. There are indeed small parts because I’ve sung some of the smallest ever written- and the bad thing about tiny parts is that you really don’t get to show the world what you can do. You scarcely get to display your basic tone- let alone your ability to unleash thundering high notes or to caress a beautiful phrase or to plumb the depths of a complex character. With almost all tiny parts, you get to show that you can manage their ridiculously modest requirements – and that’s all. Even the greatest singer of all time would not be able to fully demonstrate their greatness. They might give a hint- but that’s all. And that’s why it is such an amazing gift on those exceedingly rare instances when the star can’t go on and the understudy gets to take their place. And if you are especially fortunate, you take that opportunity and spin gold with it. That’s what this young woman named Amanda Majeski did, and we felt so fortunate to be in the audience to witness her triumph. Who knows what is ahead for her- but at least she will always have this incredible night and this wonderful triumph to claim and celebrate – the night when instead of being Peasant Girl #1, she was Countess Almaviva.
pictured above: Amanda Majeski taking her curtain call at the end of this performance of The Marriage of Figaro.
By the way, I sang three solo roles on that stage back in 1986 – one word in Madama Butterly, one line in La Rondine, and a line and a half in La Traviata. I was the understudy in two other roles in Butterfly, but they were still very very small roles-each one involving a single page of music. And in Traviata, I was the understudy for a role that was even smaller than my own. The role I understudied consisted of the words “La cena e pronta” – which means “dinner is ready.” So it was scarcely worth my while to pray for any misfortunate to befall I was understudying! If operatic stardom was ever going to come my way, it was not going to be that season on that stage. Fortunately, I attained something far more valuable that season, by seeing singers like Placido Domingo and Joan Sutherland up close, night after night, either from just offstage- or even while sharing the stage with them.