Carthage’s music department played host to a very special guest today- Kurt Ollmann, a marvelous baritone who was one of Leonard Bernstein’s favorite singers (singing the role of Riff on Bernstein’s one and only recording of West Side Story) and is now a highly regarded voice teacher at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. And in deference to my wife, who is a Racine native and Horlick High School alum, I should add that Kurt Ollmann is himself a Racine native and Horlick grad. And for all the great success which he has enjoyed in his career, he has managed to remain a kind-hearted, down-to-earth midwesterner at heart. And boy, does that matter when it comes to doing a master class at a relatively small school like Carthage with students for whom this kind of thing is a fairly rare and rather intimidating event. In this kind of setting, you certainly want someone who is discerning and honest – but also kind and sensitive.
One of the first times I experienced Kurt’s kindness for myself was at a NATS competition some years ago when a voice student of ours named Aaron Steckman managed to reach the finals of his division, which I believe was junior men. (Aaron was not my voice student but I knew him from several courses he took from me, from chamber singers, and I was his piano accompanist for this and many other occasions.) Aaron sang extremely well in finals but nevertheless finished third among the three finalists- a result which I found mildly disappointing but certainly not an outrageous miscarriage of justice. All three singers sang quite well and Aaron brought honor to himself and to Carthage with his technically sound and expressive performance. After the finals were done, Kurt Ollmann made a point of coming up to me to say how much he enjoyed Aaron’s performance and how he wished he had finished higher in the standings. It isn’t all that often that someone takes the time to say an encouraging word about someone else’s student that they feel was treated unfairly, unless it’s a voice teacher they know well. Kurt had no idea who I was yet was kind enough to seek me out to praise Aaron’s performance. That was a very classy thing for him to do and the memory of that still makes me smile.
We brought Kurt Ollmann back to Carthage yesterday to conduct a master class in which he listened to seven of our voice students, including three of my own students: John Kryl, Mike Anderle, and Bob Petts. Each of them sang a song or aria, and Kurt had about 14 minutes to work with each singer, offering a variety of observations and suggestions on what they could do better. I was the pianist for the class, so I was right there where the action was, with a ringside seat to Kurt’s interaction which each singer. The singers ranged from earnestly hesitant to supremely confident, and it was very cool to see how skillfully Kurt responded to each singer in exactly the right way rather than in a one-size-fits-all, generic manner. (Some master class clinicians have their one “shtick.” I hate that.) And in every case, Kurt demonstrated what is the first thing you need in those situations – a truly discerning ear. After all, in almost every single case you are hearing a given singer for the first time ever and have to assess both them and their singing in what really is a ridiculously short amount of time. He really did great with this tricky challenge.
I was especially intrigued with the work he did with one particular singer (who shall remain nameless) from whom he managed to elicit much fuller, warmer sounds than I have ever heard from this singer. It was a really important reminder that one of the best things about a master class springs out of that challenge of figuring out a singer on one single hearing. Yes, the clinician doesn’t know the singer- which is a problem, in a sense- but it’s also the beauty of the thing because the clinician has no preconceived notions whatsoever about what sounds this particular singer is capable of producing. And that means that there are times in master class when whole new vistas can be opened up that no one thought were possible. And by the way, this isn’t because the regular teacher is somehow asleep at the switch or inattentive to the student in question. I think it’s more that one responsibility of a voice teacher is to help each student find his or her own authentic sound rather than a sound which they might be artificially manipulating into being. That’s the tricky balancing act- celebrating/ embracing the beauty that is already there . . . and yet also guiding that singer outside of their current comfort zone, towards becoming an even more impressive singer in a way that is true to who they are meant to be. It was exciting to hear in a couple of singers some new and tremendously exciting sounds that we hadn’t heard from them before.
But writing about that reminds me of what I find to be the scariest part of master classes for me as a teacher- the fear that one of my students will get up there, sing well, only to have the master clinician say a few words, make a couple of gestures, demonstrate a couple of notes, and have my student suddenly singing ten times better than they ever have before. A tiny part of me would be thrilled – but the rest of me would feel some weird mix of horror, embarrassment, humiliation and bewilderment. But of course master classes do not typically work the way I just described and the A Ha! breakthroughs tend to be more modest in scope. But they do happen, of course, and when they do I think most voice teachers (if given truth serum) would have to admit that some tiny part of them might be thinking “why couldn’t I make that happen?” or “why doesn’t he/she respond like that to my suggestions?” or “how did I miss that?” or the dreaded “am I a terrible voice teacher?” Oh, the emotional wringer that a master class can represent for a voice teacher! Oh, the intense vulnerability it can uncover even in the hearts of experienced teachers.
Of course, what master classes are really about is not that Teacher X is so much better than Teacher Y – or smarter or more insightful or more imaginative. . . although there are certain teachers who really do deserve to have the term master attached to their name. But I think more than anything, master classes are an exciting opportunity for a singer to be seen and heard by new eyes and ears- by someone who does not know them or their personal history or their idiosyncrasies- who forms an unflinching first impression of what they see and hear in that one and only moment. And it’s exactly because of that blank slate that the guest clinician can often see and hear things that even the best teacher might easily miss. And it’s also the guest who does not have preconceived notions and thus might ask that certain soprano to sing with much greater fullness and warmth than might seem possible to those who have heard her week after week. A good guest teacher isn’t afraid to ask for whatever it is that they find missing in a singer- and it’s pretty amazing how often a singer finds a way to offer up that certain something. And beyond that is how different teachers say the same thing in different ways, and so often it is just a matter of hearing something put a little differently that can illuminate the proverbial light bulb above the singer’s head.
I should probably feel like a grizzled veteran by now, since I’ve been teaching here since 1991, but I don’t. I feel like I am still very much a work in progress as a teacher – and as such, am still prone to spells of self-doubt, even with the wonderful stable of students that I have right now – the best I’ve ever had in my entire teaching career. And that means that in something like a master class, I still feel like I’m on the hot seat or frying pan or chopping block (choose your metaphor) as much as any of my singers who are actually singing. But yesterday was the first master class where I found myself enjoying myself from start to finish, delighting in every breakthrough and not even tempted to grimace. It was also cool that I was in complete agreement with every single thing Kurt had to say, including every bit of advice he had for John, Mike and Bob. And I have to say that I was so proud of all three of my guys both for how well they sang and for how responsive they were to Kurt’s input. For John, Kurt had some terrific advice for using his body more effectively. For Mike, he offered superb guidance on how to sing the big act three recitative from The Marriage of Figaro with much more convincing theatricality. And his advice for Bob to go for a richer sound for his climaxes was absolutely on the money, in my opinion. And for that matter, he gave great help to all seven singers- plus he helped them enjoy the experience.
What was SO exciting was that it seemed like everyone was there to learn and grow and not to show off. And when I say that, I am reminded of one of the most memorable experiences I ever had as a singer in a master class – back in the summer of 1984, at the Blossom Festival – when I sang for a marvelous teacher named Marlena Malas. At that point I had never sung for anyone so famous, and while I was excited to receive her advice, what I wanted more than anything was for her to say “you are going to be the next Robert Merrill.” And believe me, I pulled out all the stops and poured out every ounce of glorious tone that I possibly could. And when I finished, she asked me “how old are you?” I answered “24” with a big grin, thinking she was about to say how amazing it was to hear that kind of sound from someone so young. Instead, she shook her head somewhat sadly and said “someone your age should not be singing like this.” And from there she proceeded to read me the riot act- quietly, gently, but firmly taking me to task for pushing my voice so hard and for trying to sound like I was 45 years old. It was a shattering experience, not just because I failed to wow this famous voice teacher from New York City, but also because I had gone into this class with almost no interest in learning anything, and for that reason I felt so stupid. And from that point on, I vowed never to go into a master class with that kind of foolish cockiness, but instead with as much humility as I could muster, anxious to learn and grow.
Because in the end, for as fun as it is to impress a stranger with impressive credentials, it’s even more fun to learning something – to walk out of a class singing better than when you first entered. That’s what it’s all about.
pictured above: guest clinician Kurt Ollmann works with John Kryl, who sang “Non piu andrai” from Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro.