Versatility and its effects on the Opera Singer

Mardi-Gras Beignets with color sugar and a Gran Marnier cream filling Bakery Bar, New Orleans

It's August in New Orleans, and I've called off of work because of nausea. I was commuting between Baton Rouge and New Orleans until I could find us a place in the city; I was exhausted.
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The day after graduating with my Master's, I flew out to Ohio for my first professional world premiere. During my stay, I received news from the owners of the bar I worked for that they had decided to let me go, my schedule as an opera singer was something they couldn't accommodate. After I came back from my first gig, I was in a rush to find a day job and move out of dreary BR. 
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It had been a few hours that I had napped in the cheap hotel room I had rented, and my headache and nausea had subsided. I decided (as an early 20-something) that since I was in New Orleans with nothing to do, that I may as well walk down Bourbon St.  and experience the Big Easy by myself.

So, I strolled. I weaved through the off-season crowds in the French Quarter, with nowhere to go and no schedule to follow. The yelling and cheering coupled with the bright lights of Bourbon where overwhelming, and so instead of ducking into a busy bar on the main few blocks, I found myself stepping into an older, quieter building perched on the edge of the brightly-glowing street. This bar was considerably quieter and considerably darker than the others: I had found myself at the oldest structure used as a bar in the United States, Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. I ordered a Hurricane (duh) and protected the open top of the plastic cup as I picked my way through the people to the back of the bar. There, amongst a quiet crowd, sat a piano. 

Manning the piano was a man in his late-40's, deftly flashing his fingers across the keys as he sang into a microphone. Queen, Guns n' Roses, Billy Joel. Everyone's favorite songs from yesteryear to that very summer. I was entranced, and found a corner of a booth to huddle in as I nursed my (very) strong drink. I later learned this seasoned performer's name, Lucky Lee, and he had been playing at Lafitte's for 20-something years. As the crowd waxed and waned, I slipped into a spot across him at the piano and enjoyed his performance while the crowd dwindled in the wee hours of the morning.  Finally, i worked up the courage to request a song, one that wasn't very popular. As he sang, I found myself happily singing along, the internal itch of a craving having been scratched. 

That was how I met Lee, and how I came to spend a year singing with him on Bourbon St. Singing with him for 4-6 hours a day, 2-5 times a week gets you a lot of practice singing popular music. It also makes you learn a lot about your craft and the people who listen. I wholeheartedly believe that I learned more about people and performing from my time on Bourbon than in my 6 years of schooling (not that I didn't learn anything, I certainly did my best to learn what I could from academia, and I had some wonderful professors.)
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I never have considered myself to be a typical 'opera singer' type. Tattoos, Piercings, dyed hair. All of this used to be considered relatively taboo, though many companies are beginning to relax this. I grew up on rock music, and didn't start to think about singing classically until I was around 16.  I've never been a 'Jewel-toned wrap dress and a smart heel' sort of singer. I bartended throughout my Master's degree, and after. I try very hard to have many varied experiences to stay flexible and open as a human being, without compromising the integrity of who I am. I am a huge proponent that being versatile is integral to life not only as a performer, but as a human being. 

During my tenure as the resident opera singer & menace of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, I learned much about people. You truly never know when something you sing will affect someone. Perhaps it's someone's first dance. Maybe someone's parent used to hum along to a song when they cooked. Sometimes, it's the silliest, simplest things that will stay with your audience. I learned that being vulnerable and actually connecting with your audience can do wonders for a performance. I was scared, at first. Am I doing well enough? Is this good enough to get paid for? What if the person who paid for a request doesn't like how I sing it? 

It doesn't matter. If they didn't like you, they wouldn't request you sing for them. You wouldn't be hired if you couldn't do well enough. Even if you mess up horribly, 90% of people will giggle it off with you. The other 10% weren't going to like it anyways. Even if you're famous, even if you're the best opera singer in the world, you'll make many mistakes. Learning to make them with grace (or with a cheeky smile) can make your life easier. Learning to be versatile in your craft will teach you to let go of blunders, and adapt to mistakes on the fly. 

These days, it's not enough to simply be a good "opera" singer. More companies are casting their singers for musicals, and many new works are starting to use more contemporary pop vocal technique as a stylistic choice. While I had excellent vocal instruction during both my degrees and after, I noticed that whenever I mentioned a piece that didn't use the classical style of vocal technique, it was often dismissed (it didn't help that my voice professor in undergrad-a fantastic Mezzo-Soprano and someone I look up to greatly-wasn't fully convinced I wanted to sing opera, and was worried I'd move to musical theatre...I'm not sure why). Voice teachers, I hope that if you ever read this you also don't hesitate to instruct your students on healthy contemporary vocal technique. 

Singers attend universities in order to prepare themselves thoroughly to have a long and successful career. What with the rising popularities of new works and musicals, it's essential to teach developing singers a healthy technique in all styles. Nobody knows how their career will play out during their years singing, so it is imperative to prepare young singers as thoroughly as we can. 

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I guess Nancy was right, I wasn't ever going to only sing opera for the rest of my life. But, if I didn't start singing pop and rock and jazz (and recently, some country), then I wouldn't be half the performer I am today. I wouldn't know I could be silly onstage, and I'd be frozen in fear and anxiety. If I didn't sing with Lee, and stuck only to more formal, traditional environments,  then I would have been too scared to look out into the crowds, and see how people enjoyed it when I performed. When I looked up, I found people smiling, connecting with their friends & strangers, maybe even tearing up. There were groups of friends singing along like their lives depended on it. There were older couples dancing. There was joy and sadness and disappointment and reflection. When you have the privilege to perform at a bar, look up. You get to see all of life in front of you.

Dear reader, when you're nervous or uncertain or overwhelmed, I hope you can look up. 

White Trillium, Standing Stone State Park, Tennessee