Auditioning

I thought I might try to give you a taste of what it's like to do an opera audition here. This was roughly how my day went today.


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You set your alarm for 2 hours before you have to walk out your door because it takes at least that long to get ready. Ideally, you'd give yourself 3 hours, but that would mean going on 5 hours of sleep. Since you need a basic amount of rest to have enough energy for breath support and to give your cords their "beauty sleep", you figure you'll err on the side of a slightly more hectic morning routine.


The buzzer sounds. After the normal teeth-brushing-contacts deal, you start on makeup. This is a complicated process, especially since you don't normally wear any. But auditions are like interviews; you need to look, as well as sound, your best.


Fixing your hair, ironing the remaining wrinkles from your dress, and a last minute mirror check comprise the rest of the appearance molding. Now it's time for breakfast. At least two bowls of cereal need to jump start you, and you pack a largish lunch for later. Singing is easier for you on a full stomach. (Not all singers feel this way.)


About 15 minutes of warmup eat the rest of your time, and you're out the door for your first class. Three hours later, you walk to a park bench to enjoy the sunshine and munch your lunch. Deep breaths. The nerves are starting to kick in. You stare at the blue sky and the colorful leaves and remind yourself to have perspective. This is supposed to be fun, after all. And, in the grand scheme of things, it's not really important at all.


It's 12:45. Your audition is at 2, so you need to find a practice room to finish getting your voice in line. You wander the halls and happen upon the most resonant one on the fifth floor. What's this? A new piano has recently been delivered! The Yamaha still has its tags on, and its pedals are covered in plastic slip covers. Score!


You sit at the bench to engage your lower abs and take your voice through the rest of your warm up technical exercises. You remind yourself to breathe low and focus on using your whole middle voice. Things feel pretty good, and the high notes are easy today. You run through the Debussy piece a couple times. It's 1:15. Time to stop singing. You switch to just plucking the notes on the piano while speaking the diction. During Friday's coaching, you fixed some vowels, and you want to make them clear, especially since the coach will be in the audience today.


1:25. You decide to switch to the Qi Gong exercise you learned in Opera Workshop. This feels like a form of yoga to you and helps you open your torso, breathe more fully, and center yourself. A great way to energize in the "right way" before your audition.


1:30. You run through a few lines of the Debussy just to make sure you're in voice, and you're ready to go. You walk to the large hall where you'll be singing.


1:40. You pick up the forms that talk about the opera schedule and ask a few questions: Who's your voice teacher? What year are you? What's your voice part? What's your contact info? And is there a particular role you'd prefer? You write down "Chorus" for the spring opera since you know that no role in this show will fit your voice type. The main role is too low. But you'd love to get some more stage experience. Chorus would be fun.


The forms take some time and keep your mind occupied on something other than the increasingly rapid butterflies. Soon, you're sitting in the wings, listening to the other singers. Wow. What gorgeous voices! It's tempting to melt into their sound, as if attending a concert. But you try to concentrate instead on breathing and releasing the nervous energy that's building.


Your accompanist arrives. You look around the wings a bit more. You're seated on rather comfortable but supportive chairs that face the black curtains. The floor has been coated with something that is spill resistant. There's a sign to your right that expressly prohibits any and all smoking. On the left is a big red ring that is to be pulled "in case of fire" to lower the fire curtain. You start to wonder whether anyone has needed to pull that ring in the history of this century-old theatre.


Soon it's time for your audition. You walk onstage into the bright lights. It's just you and the Steinway. Your accompanist walks ahead of you and takes her seat, turning to the right page in her music. Seated in the cavernous theatre are four people: the opera coach you've worked with, a directing student who happens to be in your voice studio (taught by your voice teacher), an opera director you're working with on a departmental assistantship, and the other opera director, who teaches your Opera Workshop. All the people are very kind and call a greeting to you. But you want to do well so much that you're still keyed up.


You announce your piece. "My accompanist and I will perform for you "La Romance d'Ariel" by Debussy."


"Thank you," they say, and they wait.


You stare at your feet for a moment, reminding yourself to stand with appropriate, relaxed posture, and trying to get into character. You raise your head. This is the signal for your accompanist to start. In 2 1/2 beats, you're in. You look at the upper tier in the hall, spotting this as your "montagnes douces". You find your focal points as you go, looking alternately at the first tier of seats, the second tier above it, the immediate orchestral seats, the stage at one point, the gold leaf trim out in the auditorium, but never the people. That would break your focus too much, eliminating the "fourth wall" of the stage and the piece and you. You need to stay in character, as Ariel, the Tempest sprite.

This is an interesting and odd experience. The stage takes your sound and throws it out into the hall, which so large and well-designed that you don't get any reverberation back. You know that's great for the audience since it means the sound stays all around their ears, but it also means that you can't use the room for feedback. You have to go on how it feels and on the immediate sound that's in the one foot radius around you. Are you filling the hall? Are you oversinging? Are you resonant enough? What about breath support? How are those vowels? That diction? How about your gestures? Are you fluid? It's not fresh enough. Where's your energy? Wait - stop - you can't think about that. You are not a singer thinking of technique. You are Ariel who needs to express this wanting, this longing for Miranda, the beauty of nature...and now this sense of loss.

The ending approaches. Here's your last leap to the high C sigh and down the octave. You pause, in character, as the piano sings its final ascent. You wait until the notes cease ringing in the hall before you finally relax your posture and final gaze.

"Thank you," they call.

"Thank you," you reply to them and then say again to your accompanist. You turn to your left and walk back towards the black curtains in the wings. "Break a leg!" you whisper to the next person as you gather your belongings and make your way back into reality.

~Hope