This month is replete with anniversaries for me. It was 25 years ago that I began two of the happiest and most satisfying experiences of my life: my marriage to Kathy and my teaching career at Carthage College. (It is all but impossible to imagine my life without either of these adventures.)
Not quite so momentous yet tremendously important to me all the same was another adventure that began 15 years ago when readers of the Journal of Singing, the official scholarly publication of NATS (the National Association of Teachers of Singing) first caught a glimpse of my name atop “The Listener’s Gallery” CD review column. It was an exciting opportunity that was given to me by Dr. Richard Sjoerdsma, a former Carthage colleague, not long after he became editor-in-chief of the JOS. Dr. Sjoerdsma had been responsible for a similar JOS column, Bookshelf, for more than two decades, and was committed to making a fine publication even better by holding it to more rigorous standards of scholarship as well as writing excellence.
How and why he came to believe that little old me should figure in such an important and challenging undertaking simply boggles my mind. It’s true that I had been a fairly rabid collector of opera and art song recordings for many years, and my work at WGTD (which back then was much more focused on its classical music programming than it is today) only primed the pump, so to speak. Presumably, Dr. Sjoerdsma believed that my inexperience would be at least somewhat offset by my devotion to the topic coupled with my intense wish-to-please personality. I also suspect, although I have never ever shared this suspicion with Dr. Sjoerdsma himself, that he may have also thought of me because I had recently suffered a rather painful professional reversal at Carthage- and perhaps he thought that an opportunity such as this might help mend my bruised self-esteem. Whether or not that entered into his thinking, the fact is that it came along at exactly the right time. (Below is a look at what the cover of the JOS looked like when I began writing for it in 2001. It was several years later that the editor changed the cover to a look much more appropriate for a scholarly journal.)
Every so often I enjoy taking out the September/October 2001 issue of the JOS in order to revisit my very first column. It began with a review of a wonderful two-disk celebration of the complete vocal music of Aaron Copland, which included the first compact disk reissue of one of my all-time favorite recordings: an abridged version of his opera The Tender Land that was conducted by Copland himself. I did cartwheels over that but was actually quite harsh in my assessment of the performance of the great William Warfield in Copland’s Old American Songs. I took issue with everything from his vocal tone to his rhythmic inaccuracies with a bluntness that I think I would probably temper if I were reviewing the same recording today, if only to show proper deference to such an important singer. After that I reviewed a collection of Liszt art songs sung by baritone Thomas Quastoff and an arias album by the stupendous mezzo soprano Dolora Zajick, who is probably my favorite opera singer over the last twenty five years. It was a fun to begin with three recordings that were already on my shelf – recordings that I knew inside out.
Of course, that would not always be the case. Most of the time since that first column, I have been reviewing recordings that take me well out of my comfort zone and into repertoire that may be largely or even completely unknown to me. That’s especially been the case with the many world premiere recordings I have reviewed over the years, including many that have featured the kind of modern music that I would never (and I mean never) turn to for ‘pleasure listening.’ It’s been a healthy and helpful challenge for me to have to forge a well-reasoned response to music that on a more personal, visceral level might have me thinking “ewww” or “huh?” As both a musician and teacher, it has been important for me to broaden my musical horizons and my work with the JOS has contributed mightily to my own artistic integrity.
Although I have sometimes reviewed commercial recordings that one once purchased in a record store but now most likely orders from Amazon (boy, I miss Tower Records, terribly!), the majority of my reviews are of recordings done by my peers – members of NATS, many of whom teach at colleges or universities and are juggling performing with teaching and other obligations. I think that in my first couple of years with the column, I tended to be a bit too harsh with such recordings by assessing them the same way I would assess the latest recording by Renee Fleming and other full-time professional singers. (I once remarked at a NATS convention that I had finally stopped criticizing singers “for not being Frederica von Stade.” The line got a big laugh, but I meant it very sincerely.) With such singers I now go out of my way to accentuate the positive even as I go on to point out whatever shortcomings or deficiencies I deem to be relevant for the reader of my review. It is a delicate balancing act and one I take very seriously. (I should add parenthetically that I am so pleased that every recording I’ve received from a Wisconsin NATS colleague has earned – fair and square – a positive review from me. Perhaps the day will come when someone whom I consider to be a friend will submit to me a disk about which I simply can’t be enthusiastic. But thus far, I have been spared that awkwardness and for that I am grateful.) At any rate, when I am reviewing recordings of this ilk, I try to appreciate the enormous work that is involved in such a venture- on top of all kinds of other obligations the typical voice teacher has. I also try to remember that making and releasing a recording of one’s self is a supreme act of courage and vulnerability to put one’s self before others in this way, and then await the verdict of both public and critics. What could be scarier than that?
I’m suddenly remembering something unfortunate from over ten years ago. When I was attending my very first national NATS convention, which was in New Orleans, I happened to recognize a woman who had sung on an album of duets that I had recently reviewed. I actually went up to her to introduce myself and tell her that I had written a glowing soon-t0-be- published review in which I actually likened the blend of her and her singing partner to the great Montserrat Caballe and Shirley Verrett. It’s not that I said that they sounded just like them but rather that in both cases it was an attractive blend between voices of rather distinct, contrasting colors- vs. a blend that’s achieved between two very similar-sounding voices. She was obviously excited and said that she would watch for the review with great interest. Imagine my dismay when I read the column when it finally appeared and discovered that I had spent a significant amount of time in the review pointing out flaws of one kind or another. I didn’t regret a single thing I had said (it was all perfectly valid criticism) but I very much regretted having led her to think that the review would be more enthusiastic than it actually was. If I ever bump into that singer again, I plan to offer her a very sincere apology for my carelessness and maybe (with the permission of my wife) even offer to buy her lunch. I feel like I owe her some kind of recompense. <This reminds me of my favorite Apology Card- which came out many years ago from Recycled Paper Products. On the front is a very small frog with a stricken-look on its face, and below are the words “Should I Apologize?” On the inside it says “Or Do You Want To Hit Me First?”>
Actually, the vast majority of my reviews over these last fifteen years have been quite positive, and it has certainly made me happy to receive some warm thank you’s along the way. One of the first was when I received a lovely hand-written thank you note from the widow of composer Richard Faith, who appreciated the review I’d written of a disk of her husband’s lovely songs. And it was certainly an amazing thrill to hear from a soprano by the name of Evelyn Lear – someone who sang leading roles at the Met and at many other major opera houses around the world. I wrote a glowing review of a major multi-disk set devoted to her and her husband, baritone Thomas Stewart, and she reached out to thank me- both in an email and in a phone call as well! I can still picture myself on our back patio, talking with her on the phone and scarcely believing such a thing to be possible! On the other hand, I remember an experience at a NATS convention when I sought out a superb young singer whose debut CD generated one of the most enthusiastic reviews I have ever written – a review which was quoted on the front page of his website. I thought that all I would have to say is “I’m Gregory Berg” to elicit a smile of recognition- but nothing. “I write for the Journal of Singing.” Still nothing. “I enjoyed reviewing your CD.” Finally a glimmer of recognition…. sort of. Certainly it was not the genuflection that I had naively expected. But probably the most sobering slice of humble pie I was ever served in regards to my column was when I went back to my alma mater in the fall of 2002 for my 20th class reunion- and eagerly went up to my former voice teacher to see what he thought of my column. (I had been writing it for a whole year by that point.) It turns out that he was one of those teachers who scarcely glanced at the journal (horrors!) and never made it to the very back where my column is located. In short, he had absolutely no idea what I was doing for the journal. So much for being famous. On the other hand, some accolades I wrote about German soprano Elisabeth Grummer are quoted in the Wikipedia article about her- something I stumbled on completely by accident! So there have been at least fleeting moments where I have felt like a Big Deal, even though they are invariably balanced by other moments when I am brought down a peg or two.
Of course, it isn’t about getting attention for myself – just as it isn’t always just about writing rosy reviews with cascades of compliments. I have found myself compelled to write some very negative reviews over the years and have probably done so without giving too much thought to how such a review might be received by the singer or composer in question … which in one respect is maybe a good thing because it frees me to be honest with my assessment. Recently, I received in the mail a letter from someone responding to the negative review I had written about their first opera. The moment I laid eyes on the return address name, my blood ran cold and I could hardly bring myself to open up the envelop, fearing that they were going to call me an idiot and a jerk and read me the riot act. Imagine my relief when I finally opened it up and read one of the most thoughtful and articulate letters I have ever received. Yes, this composer was unhappy with what I said about their opera- but his thoughts and concerns were offered up respectfully. In this day and age where all kinds of people are bombarded by hateful attacks across the internet, it was lovely to be reminded of what a mature, civilized disagreement looks like and sounds like.
I am grateful that this opportunity came my way fifteen years ago- and also grateful that it still gives me such pleasure. It’s not easy. It takes time for me to listen to these recordings often enough and thoroughly enough to be able to talk about them intelligently. It takes time to do background research in those instances when it is necessary. And above all, it takes time to do the actual writing, especially because I am trying to write to the exacting standards of our esteemed editor. If these were reviews written in the breezy style of a more run-of-the-mill publication, I could write these columns in my sleep. But this is writing of an entirely different order, and it takes a tremendous amount of time and focus to produce what is called for. Among the steepest challenges is that this kind of writing is not in first person, so I never get to say “what I loved most about this” – at least not in so many words. Yet I want there to be a personal quality to my review, and for my voice to resonate even within this kind of restricted, scholarly writing style. And I need to say something substantive that will be a genuine help to anyone reading the review in question. It’s little wonder, then, that when I am past my deadline (and I am always past deadline) I am usually frantically finishing my column at 2 in the morning. In those moments, I start to think that it’s time for me to step away from this gauntlet and give way to someone else. But whenever I finally finish the column and send it off to Dr. Sjoerdsma, I suddenly find myself excitedly anticipating the next column and the one after that. And I guess as long as I continue to feel that way (and as long as he will have me) I will keep manning “The Listener’s Gallery” and give it my very best effort. I know there are plenty of people around who could do this – and probably do it even better than I can – so I remain humbled and grateful for this opportunity and determined to be worthy of it. I also endeavor to measure up to the sterling standard of such JOS colleagues as book reviewer Debra Greschner (who has been at this even longer than I have) and such distinguished contributors, past and present, as Carol Kimball, Robert Edwin, Judith Carman, Kenneth Boseman, Leslie Holmes, and many many more.
More than anything, I try to do the kind of work that will please the man who first offered me this extraordinary opportunity fifteen years ago, in the hope that he does not have too many regrets about doing so. Thank you, Dr. Sjoerdsma, for teaching me – in so many ways – about excellence and the joy it brings.