Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts

14 July 2025

Art, Disability, and Technology

 

[We’ve heard a good deal lately about the dangers to the performing arts posed by artificial intelligence (see “Entertainment in the Age of AI’” from SAG-AFTRA [22 August 2022]; Use of artificial intelligence generates questions about the future of art’’ by Jeffrey Brown and Alison Thoet [7 March 2023]; “2023 Writers Guild Strike” [1 June 2023]; AI in the Arts Is the Destruction of the Film Industry. We Can't Go Quietly’” by Justine Bateman [4 June 2023]; “‘The Actors' Strike Dims a Bright Spot For New York City’” by Stefanos Chen [25 July 2023]; The Playwright in the Age of AI’” by Jeffrey Goldberg [7 March 2025].)

[It’s high time, I think, that we hear a little about the benefits of AI to theater and its kin.  Below is a report by Jeffrey Brown of PBS News Hour about an extraordinary opera that uses AI and other technology to bring voices (literally) to the stage that otherwise wouldn’t be heard.] 

OPERA USES AI TO GIVE PEOPLE
WITH NON-VERBAL DISABILITIES A VOICE
by Jeffrey Brown and Simon Epstein 

[Below is the transcript of Jeffrey Brown’s segment on PBS News Hour about Sensorium Ex, the new opera by Paola Prestini and Brenda Shaughnessy, which aired on 10 July 2025.

[The title Sensorium Ex isn’t explained anywhere I could find.  It clearly refers to the opera’s exploration of the human sensory experience and its potential expansion through technology and AI.  

[The word ‘sensorium’ refers to the sensory apparatus of the body or the seat of sensation.  ‘Ex’ seems to signify an expansion or extension of this sensory experience, hinting at the opera’s futuristic setting and themes of artificial intelligence and virtual representation.]

Amna Nawaz, “PBS News Hour” Co-Anchor: At an Omaha, Nebraska festival this summer [Common Senses Festival, 10-25 May 2025; the opera débuted on 22-25 May], new work explores the intersection of art, disability, and technology, asking questions like, who has a voice and who gets to be heard?

Senior arts correspondent Jeffrey Brown reports on this unusual undertaking for our arts and culture series, Canvas.

(Singing: “A bird is made to sing.”)

Jeffrey Brown: A mother sings to her disabled son of her love and hopes for him, but there is danger threatening.

(Singing: “If we say we belong to CORP [an evil corporation out to harvest the son’s DNA].”)

Jeffrey Brown: And, together, they decide to flee. We’re in a dystopian future world, though perhaps not so very different from our own, in which artificial intelligence is being used to create what? Some new kind of life.

The opera titled “Sensorium Ex” is both art and advocacy, aimed at giving new voice and opportunities to the disabled, using A.I. to benefit, rather than harm, and changing the world of opera itself.

Composer Paola Prestini, “Sensorium Ex”: I’m very interested in how art can open up new avenues, and that’s what I felt like “Sensorium” did.

Jeffrey Brown: In this case new avenues to?

Paola Prestini: To listen more deeply and to create more welcoming spaces for folks who express themselves differently and who have different disabilities.

Brenda Shaughnessy, Librettist, “Sensorium Ex”: Say "Paola."

Jeffrey Brown: Prestini’s collaborator, poet Brenda Shaughnessy [most known for her poetry books Our Andromeda (Copper Canyon Press, 2012) and So Much Synth (Copper Canyon Press, 2016)], wrote the libretto and grounded it in her lived experience as the mother of a disabled child.

Brenda Shaughnessy: What do you hear?

Jeffrey Brown: Her son, Cal, now age 18, seen here at 12 listening to music by Prestini played by her [i.e., Prestini’s] husband, cellist Jeffrey Zeigler.

Shaughnessy, who’d never written for an opera before, says this work was deeply personal and often painful, but, for her, necessary.

Brenda Shaughnessy: Nonverbal, nonambulatory. Kids like him don’t get to be part of anything. In a way, I wrote him into the opera because I wanted him to get to be part of the mix, get to be — get to do something, get to be the hero of a story, get to be — be heard.

(Singing: “You belong, too.”)

Jeffrey Brown: And that became the essence of this project, who has a voice and who is heard. Prestini and Shaughnessy were determined to make the answer Everyone” by creating a work for a cast and crew that included some with disabilities such as cerebral palsy, autism, and blindness, writing and composing a story of a mother called Mem, sung by Hailey McAvoy, and her disabled son named Kitsune.

Brenda Shaughnessy: Kitsune’s voice is central to the opera. You can’t — it can’t be sidelined. It’s in the score. It’s the music. It’s in the tech. It’s in the plot.

Jeffrey Brown: But if opera is all about the voice, how to write for those thought to have none?

Paola Prestini: It’s like writing for a person who you love, but the instrument doesn’t exist yet. And so the challenge that we had was, well, how do we amplify the voice that this person does have? Because there are nonverbal ways in which you communicate. And then how do we find, if you will, a deeper expression to the communication device that this actor would use?

Jeffrey Brown: One of the two actors playing Kitsune, 23-year-old Jakob Jordan, who is himself nonverbal, but has a new way of communicating.

Jakob Jordan, Actor (through A.I. voice): For the first 22 years of my life, I felt like a witness to a crime that would happen over and over again. My thoughts were being held hostage inside my head while the wrong words were impersonating me, tricking everyone to believe I was much simpler than I am.

Jeffrey Brown: Jakob was diagnosed as a toddler with autism and apraxia, a neurological condition in which his body and speech don’t respond to the signals sent from his brain.

Here’s how he puts it, along with a bit of his characteristic sense of humor.

Jakob Jordan (through A.I. voice): Basically, my body does not listen to the commands I give it. I may want to ask my friend if he saw that cute girl walk by, but my speaking voice gets stuck in loops, talking about airports or dumb songs and a small variety of other repetitive topics.

It also affects my whole body.

Jeffrey Brown: Only in the last two years came a breakthrough, when he learned to type words with a trained communication partner. When he finishes his sentence, it comes out in an electronic voice.

Jakob Jordan (through electronic voice): I caught the acting bug.

Jeffrey Brown: But in our interview, for which we sent questions ahead of time so he could consider and type responses, we heard more of Jakob’s actual voice.

Jakob Jordan (through A.I. voice): Nothing compares to getting to express myself purposefully with the voice I was born with.

Jeffrey Brown: Brought to life through Sensorium A.I., a partnership between the opera’s creative team and NYU’s Ability Project, a research lab in Brooklyn, New York, dedicated to the intersection of disability and technology.

Luke DuBois is an NYU [New York University] professor, engineer and researcher and himself a composer and musician. He first recorded the sounds Jakob can and does make.

R. Luke DuBois, NYU Professor: So we have got recordings of Jakob just doing his thing.

Jakob Jordan: (Inaudible)

[nb: What Jordan said wasn’t precisely inaudible. He could be heard well enough, but what he said was indecipherable. That’s what DuBois meant by “speech like that,” below.]

R. Luke DuBois: Right? So he’s very expressive. Some of it is whistles. Some of it is singing. Some of it is speech like that. And what the system does is, it takes that recording and infers from it the physical body that made it.

Jeffrey Brown: Infers . . .

R. Luke DuBois: Yes.

Jeffrey Brown: . . . means you’re creating his — sense of his body and therefore sense of his voice.

R. Luke DuBois: Exactly. And so what I can do is, I can take a phrase like, “I would like to go sailing tomorrow,” have it cranked through. And then what you would end up with is, you would end up with a recording.

Jakob Jordan (through A.I. voice): I would like to go sailing tomorrow.

R. Luke DuBois: Right? And it sounds like Jakob.

Jeffrey Brown: DuBois and the team use sensors that allow Jakob to control his speech . . .

Jakob Jordan (through A.I. voice): I would like to go sailing tomorrow.

Jeffrey Brown: . . . and, depending on how he moves his hand, give it a kind of expressiveness of pitch and pace. [Jordan manipulates the speech device’s sound by moving his hand much the way a thereminist plays his instrument.]

Jakob Jordan (through A.I. voice): I was never lost.

Jeffrey Brown: Amazing stuff. And it was created specially for and incorporated into the opera, making this a story about the potential evils of A.I., while using its benefits. And this is open-source technology, publicly available for anyone to take to the next step.

R. Luke DuBois: I want this in the hands of everyone who needs it. I have been talking to all sorts of speech researchers all over the country in the last couple years. And they’re all looking at really interesting different angles on this thing. So it’s going to be cool, man. It’s going to be cool what happens next.

Jeffrey Brown: Composer Paola Prestini hopes her work will receive more productions and, offering a blueprint for the future, give new opportunities to those with disabilities wanting to be part of her art form.

Paola Prestini: Create the system and understanding that, yes, it’s a challenge, but these are the ways. And you just do it one step at a time and you get there. All of a sudden, you get the complexity of human life represented on stage.

And that’s why we do what we do. It’s not just a mirror to society. It’s also a pathway to a better way.

Jeffrey Brown: And poet and librettist Brenda Shaughnessy sees the opera and its technology opening avenues for many, including her son.

Brenda Shaughnessy: It’s not enough, in my opinion, for Cal to just sort of sit there on the sidelines not getting to participate in anything. It’s not enough for anybody to just sort of be there disconnected.

What I want is for a kid, a disabled kid, a nonverbal kid, to see this and suddenly say, not just, oh, I could be in an opera, I could maybe be an actor, maybe I could play Kitsune one day. But I also want that kid to say, there I am. I exist.

Jakob Jordan (through electronic voice): I see it.

Jeffrey Brown: It took Jakob Jordan about a minute to type his answer when I asked what it was like to perform on stage in Omaha earlier this summer. His answer was worth any wait.

Jakob Jordan (through electronic voice): It was the most fulfilling experience of my life.

(Cheering)

Jeffrey Brown: For the “PBS News Hour,” I’m Jeffrey Brown in Brooklyn, New York. [Paola Prestini lives in Brooklyn.]

[After the segment, News Hour put up an on-screen text that informed viewers, "An estimated 5 million people in the U.S. and 97 million globally have conditions that limit their ability to communicate using speech alone."  It seemed to be a statistic from the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association in Rockville, Maryland.

[In his more than 30-year career with the News Hour, Jeffrey Brown has served as co-anchor, studio moderator, and field reporter on a wide range of national and international issues, with work taking him around the country and to many parts of the globe.  As arts correspondent, he has profiled many of the world’s leading writers, musicians, actors, and other artists.  Among his signature works at the News Hour: a multi-year series, “Culture at Risk,” about threatened cultural heritage in the United States and abroad; the creation of the News Hour’s online “Art Beat”; and hosting the monthly book club, “Now Read This,” a collaboration with the New York Times.

[Simon Epstein is a multiple Emmy Award-winning producer.  Simon’s long-form productions include three historical retrospectives on the District of Columbia for public television, and the public affairs specials American War Generals, and The Last Days of Osama bin Laden for the National Geographic Channel.  Simon’s work also appears nationally on Discovery Channel, TLC, Animal Planet, A&E, and the History Channel, as well as a number of international broadcast outlets.]

[In addition to the posts I listed above, which all speak about artificial intelligence in regard to the performing arts, I also posted a collection of articles that predate AI, but concern computers and theater in the pre-AI days.  For those interested in the pre-history of AI-infused theater and film, see “Theater and Computers” (5 December 2009), “Computers and Actors, Part 1” (4 October 2021), and “Computers and Actors, Part 2” (7 October 2021).]


07 September 2020

The Metropolitan Opera/Lincoln Center Theater New Works Program


[On Rick On Theater, I’ve written about movicals (20 September 2013, with a supplemental post, “More on Movicals,” on 21 February 2014), the adaptations of films to stage musicals  such as Carnival! (1961), 42nd Street (1980), Moulin Rouge! (2019), and Mrs. Doubtfire (2020).

[I’ve never covered opera at all on this blog, however—because it’s not a topic on which I’m competent—much less operas derived from straight plays.  So now I find an article on that very topic in the Winter 2020 issue (number 75) of the Lincoln Center Theater Review (published on 25 February) and I’m presenting it here—with some supplemental material from the same magazine.

[LCTR, a publication of the Lincoln Center Theater, devotes each issue to one production at LTC.  This one was on Lynn Nottage’s 2003 play Intimate Apparel (produced Off-Broadway at the Roundabout Theatre in 2004) which LTC was presenting with the Metropolitan Opera in its operatic adaptation at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater.  (The opera of Intimate Apparel, composed by Ricky Ian Gordon. was in previews when the theaters all closed on 12 March 2020 due to the coronavirus pandemic.  It’s scheduled to reopen in Spring 2021.)

[In 2006, the project that became the Metropolitan Opera/Lincoln Center Theater New Works Program was launched to develop new operas through a collaboration between a playwright and a composer, a pairing set up by the New Works Program.  The plan’s first real success was Two Boys, composed by Nico Muhly with a libretto by playwright Craig Lucas.  The opera was staged at the Met in October and November 2013 by Bartlett Sher (who’s also directing Intimate Apparel).] 

“A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR”

by Alexis Gargagliano 

Collaboration makes theater possible. There is a special electricity that emerges when a multitude of artists, and ideas, come together to tell a story. They create a whole world that the audience can see, hear, and believe. The opera of Intimate Apparel embodies that collaborative magic. Even its conception was the result of bridge-building—the opera bloomed out of the Metropolitan Opera/Lincoln Center Theater New Works Program, a groundbreaking enterprise between two constituents here at Lincoln Center Plaza. It champions the creation of new operas by pairing playwrights and composers. The first flower of this collaboration, Nico Muhly’s Two Boys, with a libretto by the playwright Craig Lucas, premiered at the Met in 2011. [This appears to be an error; the opera premièred at London’s English National Opera in 2011, but débuted at the Met on Monday, 21 October 2013.] The next collaboration will be seen at Lincoln Center Theater. Intimate Apparel [began previews on 27 February 2020 and was scheduled to open on 23 March], like the earlier Two Boys, is directed by Bartlett Sher, Lincoln Center Theater’s resident director, and features music by the celebrated composer Ricky Ian Gordon and a libretto by Lynn Nottage, the Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright [twice: in 2009 for Ruined and 2017 for Sweat] whose acclaimed play has been transformed into a mesmerizing opera.

All the characters of Intimate Apparel experience desire and longing, and each of them has dreams much bigger than the world around them can sustain. In this edition [of LCTR], we sought to explore their longings, their limitations, and the world they must navigate. Lynn Nottage sat down with the writer and historian Paula Giddings to discuss the creation of the opera and the necessity of telling the stories of people who would otherwise remain anonymous [“Remember Me”; articles in Issue 75 on LCTR can be read at https://issuu.com/lctheater/docs/lctr_intimateapparel_singlepages_022420]. Ricky Ian Gordon shared stories about his unusual childhood and his creative process [“Lush Sounds”]. A poem by the poet laureate Natasha Trethewey takes us inside the dreams of an elevator operator, a working-class African-American woman like the heroine of Intimate Apparel [“2. Speculation, 1939”]. The historian Annelise Orleck paints a picture of the Lower East Side and the many communities that called it home in the early 1900s [“The Young Immigrants”]. The fashion writer Constance White illuminates the work of black female designers [“Stepping Into the Spotlight”]. André Bishop, the producing artistic director of Lincoln Center Theater; Peter Gelb, the Metropolitan Opera’s general manager; and Paul Cremo, its dramaturg, spoke to us about starting the program, their passion for fostering new work, the germination of Intimate Apparel as opera, and the extraordinary collaboration and vision that bring opera and theater to life [“Something New”; see below]. Finally, this issue also features the art of Ellen Gallagher, Sanford Biggers, and Titus Kaphar, which invites us to see the world and our history anew.

 *  *  *  *

“SOMETHING NEW”

An Interview with André Bishop, Paul Cremo, and Peter Gelb

Our editor, Alexis Gargagliano, spoke with André Bishop, the producing artistic director of Lincoln Center Theater [since 2013; artistic director since 1992]; Peter Gelb, the Metropolitan Opera’s general manager [since 2006]; and Paul Cremo, its dramaturg and the director of the opera-commissioning program [since 2007]. In Gelb’s handsomely appointed office, they discussed the creation of the opera Intimate Apparel, the Metropolitan Opera/Lincoln Center Theater New Works Program, and the burgeoning of contemporary operas in the United States.

ALEXIS GARGAGLIANO How was the New Works Program started?

ANDRÉ BISHOP It was Peter’s idea. He was interested in developing new work—the Met could bring many musical forces to the table, and Lincoln Center Theater could bring accomplished playwrights. That was the beginning. 

PETER GELB Shortly after I was appointed as head of the Metropolitan Opera, we met for the first time to discuss this idea. I wanted to develop a whole program of ways to reenergize the Met. One avenue was to create new work. We were intrigued by the idea of developing work with librettists from the world of theater and bringing stage directors into the development process from the onset. André and I both felt that we could help improve the odds for success with new works by nurturing these collaborations at a very early stage.

AG Had you seen something at Lincoln Center Theater that sparked this idea?

PG Seeing things like Contact [a “dance play” developed by Susan Stroman and John Weidman which ran at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center in 1999 and then moved to the Vivian Beaumont Theater in 2000; in 2000, it won the Tony Award for Best Musical, the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Musical, the Outer Critics Circle Award for Outstanding New Broadway Musical, the Drama League Award for Outstanding New Broadway Musical, and the New York Drama Critics' Circle Award for Best Musical] made me realize that André was encouraging the creation of work outside traditional bounds.

AB We had done a couple of sung-through musicals [e.g.: Hello Again (1994), A New Brain (1998), Falsettos (2016)]. So doing something sung through with no dialogue, or hardly any dialogue, was not new to us or to our audience

AG Had there been much crosspollination among the institutions at Lincoln Center?

[Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, houses 12 resident arts organizations.  In addition to the Lincoln Center Theater (Vivian Beaumont Theater, the Broadway house; Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, the Off-Broadway theater; Claire Tow Theater, for experimental productions) and the Metropolitan Opera, these include the New York Philharmonic (David Geffen Hall) and the New York City Ballet (David H. Koch Theater), among other, smaller performing arts organizations and facilities. The Juilliard School and the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts are also part of Lincoln Center.]

AB There has been very little collaboration, and certainly not like this. We wanted to show that companies on this campus could actually work together and learn from one another.

PG The key ingredient in the collaboration was the arrival of Paul Cremo, our dramaturg. He’s been the field general of this whole project.

PAUL CREMO I think your initial conversations happened in 2005, and I came on board in 2007. You decided not to give commissions with a guaranteed premiere date; instead, it was a more theatrical model, where the end result of the program is the workshop. This allows the pieces to develop freely, without the pressures of a production looming.

AG How did you begin?

AB Once we had raised the money, we matched ten composers with librettists. Some fell away and we added a few more. The other rule we created was not to decide whether a work was appropriate for Lincoln Center Theater or for the Metropolitan Opera until after the workshop.

 

PG At the workshop, each piece is performed with a piano and singers. If we’re going to do a full production, we collectively decide whether it’s a chamber-sized work or a grand opera-sized work. One of the challenges that we face all the time, when I talk to directors who are working here, is how do you connect the audience to the stage? That problem doesn’t exist with the Mitzi. The audience and the stage are one. [The Newhouse is a small amphitheater.  It seats 299 theatergoers in seven semicircular rows.]

AB It’s because it’s small—there are only 290 seats—and it has a thrust stage, which means the last row is only seven rows back. If a director and a designer know how to use that configuration, it’s a wonderful thing. On a larger scale, this is true in the Beaumont as well. That’s why I think these musicals we’ve done in the Beaumont seem so refreshed. Part of it is that the productions, if I can say this, are good productions, but part of it is that the audience is suddenly seeing South Pacific [2008-10] or My Fair Lady [2018-19] on a stage, in a pattern of movement and scenery they’ve never seen before—and the last seat is only thirteen rows back. [The Beaumont, a larger amphitheater, seats 1200 patrons in 13 rows, including a loge.]

PG André is too modest to say it himself, but if not for him the Beaumont would never have been successfully harnessed theatrically. It wasn’t until you took over that the possibility of its really being successfully utilized was achieved.

AB When Jerry Zaks was resident director [1986-90], he did some very good shows there before my time. But when I arrived we put in the orchestra pit, because I very badly wanted to do musicals.

PG The directors who staged these wonderfully successful musicals, particularly someone like Bartlett Sher, have become masters of moving action around in a way that the audience can appreciate from all sides.

When Bart made his debut at the Met with The Barber of Seville [2006] we didn’t have a thrust stage to offer him, so he did the next best thing—he created a passerelle [a semicircular ramp or catwalk that extends from the stage of a theater around the orchestra pit], which brought the action of the stage around and beyond the orchestra pit and literally into the audience.

AG Were there writers creating new works, too, or was it all adaptation, like Intimate Apparel?  

PG It varied. The young composer Matthew Aucoin wanted to write an opera based on the Orpheus myth. André suggested that we pair him with Sarah Ruhl, who had written one of the great plays based on the Orpheus legend, Eurydice [2003]. Matt and Sarah hit it off amazingly well. The opera [also entitled Eurydice] will have its premiere this season at the L.A. Opera [premièred 1 February]. They joined us as a commissioning partner once we went beyond the workshop stage, and it will play at the Met two seasons from now. On the other hand, the opera Two Boys, which Nico Muhly composed, had an original libretto by Craig Lucas, and Bart Sher directed.

AB Craig had written the book to The Light in the Piazza [2003 in Seattle], which was the first show Bart did at the Beaumont [2005].

AG How did the Intimate Apparel conversation start?

PC I had been speaking with Ricky Ian Gordon about possible writers to work with. I suggested Lynn, and Ricky said, “I’ll read her stuff.” We initially planned to have Lynn write something original, but after Ricky read Intimate Apparel he fell in love with it, and Lynn agreed to adapt it.

AG André, what did Lynn tell you about her original conception of Intimate Apparel?

AB My memory is of her telling me that she had originally thought of Intimate Apparel as a musical or an opera, but that she was unknown then and it would have been a bigger, more expensive production and she was afraid that nobody would produce it. So she wrote it as a play.

PC Her father had loved opera. In Lynn’s play Ruined [2008; 2009 Pulitzer Prize for Drama], there are monologues that are like arias. We talked about ways to sort of expand the play a bit, adding a chorus, ensembles. Lynn’s an avid student, and read a bunch of librettos. Ricky talked her through what he needed. He started writing the first notes in April 2012.

PG The development of an opera or a musical is much longer than that of a play. There are more moving parts and it requires more development, more workshops—Intimate Apparel had four. The first workshop was in 2015.

AG How did it change?

PG It got better. (Laughter)

PC The basic bones and the structure were always there because the play existed. But Bart, for instance, after the first workshop said that the boundaries between scenes could blur a little and be more fluid. The opening of the piece also changed. We were trying to get the main character, the seamstress Esther, and her situation clearly established up front. And, in terms of the music, there has been some tightening, shortening, making things more efficient. In the third workshop, Ricky discovered the possibilities of the chorus and started using them in different ways, almost like underscoring.

PG When a composer hears his or her work performed, it’s different from just looking at the notes. It inspires him or her to do more.

AG Does that also change the conversation between the librettist and the composer?

PC They work hand in hand. Their collaboration is the key to it all.

AB Some of the better pieces that have come out of our program so far have been good not only because the composer is good—and it is a world of the composer, really, the opera world—but because the libretto was so strong. In the case of Eurydice and Intimate Apparel, they’re both extremely powerful pieces of writing, adapted by the playwrights from their own plays.

AG What challenges do the playwrights face?

PC Playwrights have a learning curve adapting an existing piece. They first have to throw out nearly half of their text, and that’s challenging (it takes longer to sing something than to say it). This play was very close to Lynn’s heart. She wrote it after her mother died, and she felt that it was a way of communing with her ancestors. She found it really difficult to cut out so much of the great detail that was in the play, but we worked together to isolate the most important text. Then Ricky could show Lynn how the music could tell that story to fill in some of the colors and details that were cut from the text. It’s hard, I think, for any writer. In the theater world, the playwright rules; in the opera world, the composer rules. So the playwright has to step back a bit and hand it over and let the composer run with it.

PG There’s also a technical aspect of a playwright’s learning to write a libretto, of writing words that can be sung. Not only does there have to be fewer of them; they also have to be fit, in the right way, into a singer’s voice.

AG I marveled at the libretto—how Lynn could write such a complex play and then distill it into essentially a poem that can be sung.

PC That’s something else that changed. Hearing the workshops, Ricky got to see where singers were struggling with certain things—like particular words on high notes—and he could lower them or change the emphasis in a line to make it sound more natural.

PG Sometimes even experienced composers forget the capabilities of a human voice, and the workshop will remind them of what’s possible and what isn’t.

AG Was there a moment in one of the first workshops where you felt a particular electricity?

PG I thought it had great potential and was excited by it from the very first workshop—I think we all felt it. We knew it was something special.

AG How did you decide that it was going to be at the Mitzi?

AB I had assumed this would be for the Beaumont, with a full orchestra. It wasn’t until the third workshop that Bart said, “I think we should do it in the Mitzi Newhouse with two pianos.” He was right. In the Mitzi, the words and the music are just right there. You don’t have to strain. We have these incredible singers in this relatively small theater. It’s going to blow the roof off it.

AG How often are new operas produced?

PC Well, during the thirteen years that this program has been in existence there’s been an explosion of contemporary opera in the U.S. Back then, maybe between two and five new operas premiered in a year.  At the Met, prior to this program, there would be years between the premieres of original operas. But in 2018 over forty new operas premiered in the U.S.

Opera was seen as this sort of far-off, grand thing, and too conservative. But younger composers have seen what’s possible. They don’t have to compromise their musical style or values, and they see that new dramatic subjects can be embraced. And opera companies have been inspired by the idea that new operas can bring in new audiences.

AG What are your hopes for the program in the future?

PG There are a couple of projects still in the pipeline that are coming along really nicely. And André and I have been in discussion on adding composers, and Paul’s been vetting them.

*  *  *  *

 “SAID & SUNG” 

There is a long history of plays being adapted into operas. Plays by Pierre Beaumarchais were adapted by Mozart (Le Nozze di Figaro) and by Gioachino Rossini (Il Barbiere di Siviglia). Friedrich Schiller [plays were adapted] by [Gioachino] Rossini (Guillaume Tell), Gaetano Donizetti (Maria Stuarda), and Giuseppe Verdi (Don Carlos)—who also adapted plays by Victor Hugo (Ernani, Rigoletto) and others. Notable operas were based on plays by Victorien Sardou ([Giacomo] Puccini’s Tosca), Eugéne Scribe and Ernest Legouvé ([Francesco] Cilea’s Adriana Lecouvreur); and Pierre Corneille’s Pertharite, roi des Lombards formed the basis for George Frideric Handel’s Rodelinda. Other notable adaptations include plays by David Belasco (Puccini’s Madama Butterfly and La Fanciulla del West), Alexandre Soumet ([Vincenzo] Bellini’s Norma), and Oscar Wilde ([Richard] Strauss’s Salome). Shakespeare has been the most frequent theatrical source, with his plays A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Othello, Macbeth, Falstaff [The Merry Wives of Windsor and Henry IV], Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet among those adapted as operas by [Henry] Purcell, Verdi, [Charles] Gounod, Bellini, [Ambroise] Thomas, and others. In the past century alone, there has been a wide variety of operatic adaptations of well-known plays.

*  *  *  *

“A SELECTION OF OPERAS FROM THE PAST HUNDRED YEARS BASED ON PLAYS”

[LCTR provided the list below, but I can’t duplicate the format on Rick On Theater, so I’ve had to devise a different presentation for the same information.  I’m afraid it’s not as easy to read, for which I apologize to ROTters.  I’ve added the dates of the source plays in brackets and an occasional additional detail.]

PLAY: Woyzeck by Georg Büchner [1836] – OPERA: Wozzeck by Alban Berg – DATE OF PREMIERE: 1925

Porgy by Dorothy & DuBose Heyward [1927] – Porgy and Bess by George Gershwin – 1935

Lulu by Frank Wedekind [Earth Spirit (1895) & Pandora’s Box (1904)] Lulu by Alban Berg – 1937 (incomplete); 1979 (complete)

Le Viol de Lucrèce by André Obey [1931] – The Rape of Lucretia by Benjamin Britten – 1946

The Little Foxes by Lillian Hellman [1939] – Regina by Marc Blitzstein ­– 1949

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare [1595/96] – A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Benjamin Britten – 1960

The Crucible by Arthur Miller [1953] – The Crucible by Robert Ward – 1961

A View from the Bridge by Arthur Miller [1955] – Uno sguardo dal ponte by Renzo Rossellini – 1961

Antony and Cleopatra by William Shakespeare [c. 1607] – Antony and Cleopatra by Samuel Barber – 1966

Summer and Smoke by Tennessee Williams [1948] – Summer and Smoke by Lee Hoiby – 1971

La Balade du Grand Macabre by Michel De Ghelderode [1934] – Le Grand Macabre by György Ligeti – 1978

The Ghost Sonata by August Strindberg [1907] – Die Gespenstersonate by Aribert Reimann – 1984

Greek by Steven Berkoff (based on Oedipus Rex by Sophocles) [1980]Greek by Mark-Anthony Turnage – 1988

La Mère Coupable (The Guilty Mother) by Pierre Beaumarchais [1792] – The Ghosts of Versailles by John Corigliano – 1991

A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams [1947] – A Streetcar Named Desire by André Previn – 1995

A View from the Bridge by Arthur Miller [1955] – A View from the Bridge by William Bolcom – 1999

The Tempest by William Shakespeare [1610-11] – The Tempest by Thomas Adès – 2004

Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe [1589-92] – Faustus, the Last Night by Pascal Dusapin – 2006

Caligula by Albert Camus [1938] – Caligula by Detlev Glanert – 2006

Our Town by Thornton Wilder [1938] – Our Town by Ned Rorem – 2006

The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde [1895] – The Importance of Being Earnest by Gerald Barry – 2011

Doubt by John Patrick Shanley [2004] – Doubt by Douglas J. Cuomo – 2013

4.48 Psychosis by Sarah Kane [2000] – 4.48 Psychosis by Philip Venables – 2016

Compleat Female Stage Beauty by Jeffrey Hatcher [1999] – Prince of Players by Carlisle Floyd – 2016

Angels in America by Tony Kushner [1991 (Part 1); 1992 (Part 2)] – Angels in America by Peter Eötvös & Mari Mezei – 2017

Hamlet by William Shakespeare [1599-1601] – Hamlet by Brett Deane – 2017

Endgame by Samuel Beckett [1957] – Fin de Partie by György Kurtág – 2018

[In the name of completeness, I think it’d be nice to identify the plays from which the opera adaptations in “Said & Sung” were derived.  So, following my format for the list above, here they are:

La folle journée, ou le Mariage de Figaro (1784) by Pierre Beaumarchais – Le Nozze di Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – 1786

Le Barbier de Séville (1775) by Pierre Beaumarchais – Il Barbiere di Siviglia by Gioachino Rossini – 1816

Wilhelm Tell  by Friedrich Schiller (1804) – Guillaume Tell by Gioachino Rossini – 1829

Maria Stuart by Friedrich Schiller (1800) – Maria Stuarda by Gaetano Donizetti – 1835

Don Karlos, Infant von Spanien by Friedrich Schiller (1783-87) – Don Carlos Giuseppe Verdi – 1867

Hernani by Victor Hugo (1830) – Ernani by Giuseppe Verdi – 1844  

Le roi s'amuse (The King Amuses Himself) by Victor Hugo (1832) – Rigoletto by Giuseppe Verdi – 1851

La Tosca by Victorien Sardou (1887) – Tosca by Giacomo Puccini – 1900

Adrienne Lecouvreur by Eugéne Scribe & Ernest Legouvé (1849) – Adriana Lecouvreur by Francesco Cilea – 1902

Pertharite, roi des Lombards (Pertharites, King of the Lombards) by Pierre Corneille (1651) – Rodelinda , regina de' Longobardi by George Frideric Handel –.1725

Madame Butterfly: A Tragedy of Japan (from the 1898 short story "Madame Butterfly" by John Luther Long) by David Belasco (1900) – Madama Butterfly by Giacomo Puccini – 1904

The Girl of the Golden West by David Belasco (1900) – La Fanciulla del West by Giacomo Puccini – 1910

Norma, ou L'infanticide (Norma, or The Infanticide) by Alexandre Soumet (1831) – Norma by Vincenzo Bellini – 1831

Salome by Oscar Wilde (1891) – Salome by Richard Strauss – 1905.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare (1595/96) –  The Fairy-Queen by Henry Purcell – 1692

Othello by William Shakespeare (1603) – Otello by Giuseppe Verdi – 1887

Macbeth by William Shakespeare (1606) – Macbeth by Giuseppe Verdi1847

The Merry Wives of Windsor (1597) and Henry IV (1596-99) by William Shakespeare – Falstaff by Giuseppe Verdi – 1893

Hamlet by William Shakespeare (1599-1601) –  Hamlet by Ambroise Thomas – 1868

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (1591-95) – Roméo et Juliette by Charles Gounod – ­­­1867

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (1591-95) –I Capuleti e i Montecchi (The Capulets and the Montagues) by Vincenzo Bellini – 1830

[Some opera libretti are entirely original, the complete invention of the librettist.  Most operatic plots, however, are based on some source material such as a myth, a work of literature, a historical event, or some other inspiration.  The same was true for decades for the musical play. 

[Like the stage musical, the favorite source for most opera librettists was and is the straight (that is, non-musical) play.  As we can see from the lists above, Shakespeare has been by far the most popular foundation for an opera plot; some of the Bard’s plays formed the basis for multiple operas, from the classic period right up to contemporary operas.

[Even some strikingly modern (and post-modern) scripts have been adapted into operas—not just Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller, but Alfred Jarry and Samuel Beckett.  If the Met/LTC New Works Program succeeds, there may be even more operas based on experimental dramas. 

[It remains to be seen, of course, how readily the operatic audiences will take to new operas.  Sixty-five years ago, when Tennessee Williams tried to experiment with the dramatic form, he was rejected (Camino Real, 1953) and Beckett’s absurdist masterpiece Waiting for Godot (1953, Paris; 1955, London; January 1956, Miami; April 1956, New York) largely confused audiences and critics alike.  I wonder if opera will fare better in the 21st century.]


29 November 2012

“Don’t Sing With Your Mouth Full”

by Daniel J. Wakin

[In the article below, Daniel Wakin, classical music reporter for the New York Times, describes some of the issues opera companies and singers cope with when there are scenes on stage that feature food and eating or drinking.  I’ve never been much of an opera fan, but we in theater do encounter some of the same problems, even when singing doesn’t enter into the mix.  Handling and eating or drinking food or beverages can offer unique challenges for both the performers and the stage crews, as you’ll read.

[Wakin’s article appeared in the “Dining” section of the Times on Wednesday, 9 May 2012.  The on-line edition of the article was revised to correct earlier versions which incorrectly identified the composer of the opera Tosca as Giacomo Puccini; it is Giuseppe Verdi.]

Hansel and Gretel stuff pastries into their mouths, topping them off with toasted gingerbread witch. Leporello pours out a fine Marzemino wine from northern Italy for Don Giovanni, then nibbles at a piece of pheasant. Schaunard calls for Rhine wine, roast venison and dressed lobster for his fellow Puccinian Bohemians at the Café Momus in Paris.

And that’s just a sample of this season’s menu at the Metropolitan Opera.

Opera, of all the art forms, is singularly associated with food, whether because of the appetites of well-girthed singers or the sensual pleasures celebrated in its rich ragout of music, emotion and stagecraft.
 
Just a few nights at any opera house will drive this home. Hardly a performance goes by without some reference to a meal, enough so that cookbooks and even scholarly articles have been devoted to the subject. Opera luminaries have dishes named after them, like peach Melba and Melba toast, inspired by the Australian soprano Nellie Melba. The Met even has a backstage kitchen for meeting the culinary demands of librettos, and singers regularly face the challenge of timing bites between musical phrases.

“Every single opera, at least if it doesn’t refer to food, it refers to some sort of passion, and that’s one of the things people relate to,” the soprano Carol Vaness said. “For even Wagner, it’s got that ‘food of the gods’ feeling to it.”
 
David Anchel, a former opera singer, thinks there may be an element of oral fixation to the phenomenon: food goes in the mouth, and song comes out of it. But opera’s foodiness, he believes, comes mainly from something more basic. “Opera is about life,” he said. “How could you describe people’s lives without having them eat? It’s a very passionate thing, often.”

Mr. Anchel is well qualified to explain the connection. A frequent opera-going companion of mine and one of the best nonprofessional cooks I know, he sang with many small companies, briefly ran a catering business and found a ready supply of cookbooks in the bookstores where he used to work. Years ago he even proposed (unsuccessfully) a PBS series based on opera meals, in which he would sing scenes and cook dishes that might have been served in them. “I could be the operatic chef,” he said.

That fascination with the crossroads of food and music began 30 years ago when he and his wife, Julia Heyer, were young singers and would invite colleagues for parties that started with opera readings. “After we sang through the opera I would cook a meal” in its style, Mr. Anchel said. “I really thought this was a way to understand better what the characters were all about, if I knew exactly what they were eating.”

Food is so central to the operas of Giuseppe Verdi that the University of Notre Dame musicologist Pierpaolo Polzonetti has written papers on the subject. He has come up with what he calls the laws of “gastromusicology” to explain what food can signify in opera.

“The first law is that no meal can be sad,” Mr. Polzonetti said. “No matter what, when people eat, people seem to be happy, even if something bad is going to happen.” Other laws hold that meals show social cohesion, and that the presence of food or drink “excludes immediate catastrophe” (except, as in operas like “Simon Boccanegra,” when poison is involved).

The title character of Verdi’s “Falstaff” is one of the great operatic eaters. His bill at the Garter Inn, as he recounts at the opera’s opening, is for 6 chickens, 3 turkeys, 2 pheasants, 1 anchovy and 30 bottles of sherry. In “Macbeth,” Verdi prescribes a “sumptuously prepared feast” for the banquet scene in which Banquo’s ghost appears.

Another Italian, Puccini, larded his operas with meals—particularly “La Bohème,” a story of starving artists in 19th-century Paris.

In their chilly garret on Christmas Eve, Rodolfo, Schaunard, Colline and Marcello dine on a cold roast, Bordeaux and pastry. Later, outside the Café Momus in the Latin Quarter, vendors hawk an effusion of Parisian street food: oranges, dates, hot chestnuts, nougat, whipped cream, candies, fruit tarts, coconut milk, carrots, trout and plums from Tours. At a table, the bohemians order sausage, roast venison, turkey, Rhine wine and lobster. They also eat “a poem” of a chicken, as Colline sings, and stew—a sumptuous evening in contrast to their friend Mimi’s consumptive and tragic death.

Opera companies have to deal with these meals and often provide real food. The Met’s has a fully functional kitchen inside its room for small props, equipped with a Kenmore refrigerator, Corian countertops and a pot of rosemary that Mime uses for his potion in the current production of Wagner’s “Siegfried.” (Hanging in the prop room are two unappetizing fake severed heads belonging to John the Baptist in Strauss’s “Salome.”)

Grocery shopping is done at the Fairway Market several blocks away on Broadway. Michael Albergo, a prop man, prepares much of the food, taking heed of gluten or dairy intolerance among the chorus and singers. He cooks chickens in a convection microwave, and cuts them up ahead of time to make it easier for a singer to rip off a drumstick.

“If there is going to be the ubiquitous opera chicken, I would prefer it to have been cooked in the last 45 minutes rather than the last 45 days,” said Thomas Hampson, the baritone. As Don Giovanni, “I remember once getting a piece of chicken that really was roadkill,” he said. “I finally found a handkerchief and relieved myself of it.”

Sometimes prop managers prefer precooked food. For “Bohème” the Met used to order chicken from its cafeteria, but discovered that KFC was much cheaper.

Yes, much of this food gets eaten. While the practices of singers differ widely, a surprising number chow down on the props. Some do so for dramatic reasons. “When you’re faking your way through it,” said Kate Lindsey, a mezzo-soprano, “people can see through that action.”

Others are simply hungry. Singers generally eat lightly before a performance, and stage food is a handy snack, especially three hours into an opera.

Eating onstage has its perils. Singers have to worry about slipping on fallen food or sullying expensive costumes, and must make sure they have swallowed before opening their mouths to sing. “You always have to time yourself as far as ‘What can I consume between lines?’ ” said Richard Paul Fink, a baritone. “Can I have a full drink and a swallow? Can I consume this apple?”

It is standard for singers to make requests, especially for wine stand-ins. Favorites are flat soda (to prevent burping while singing), iced tea, Snapple and apple juice. The soprano Patricia Racette says she prefers watered-down lemon-lime Gatorade because it delivers a boost of sugar and electrolytes, and keeps her mouth moist.

The bass-baritone Luca Pisaroni, playing Leporello in the Met’s recent “Don Giovanni,” asked for vegetable sausage, said James Blumenfeld, the Met property master. “It was the most disgusting thing I ever smelled,” Mr. Blumenfeld said. He added that the bass-baritone James Morris is known for preferring bananas when he is playing Scarpia in the fatal meal scene of Verdi’s “Tosca.” One of Mr. Albergo’s biggest jobs is Humperdinck’s “Hansel and Gretel.” The witch in the tale has invited the unsuspecting and hungry siblings into her house for a good fattening up before consumption. She tempts them with apple tarts, meringues, chocolate mousse, Black Forest cake, rice pudding, creamy Swiss rolls and mountains of profiteroles. Mr. Albergo helps lay out a spread of real pastry, provided by Rockland Bakery of Nanuet, N.Y.

Ms. Lindsey, who played Hansel this season, said she avoided swallowing a lot of the pastry because dairy products create phlegm and can make it difficult to sing. “I developed a technique where I looked like I was eating, but smeared a lot of it all over my face,” she said. While pretending to drink milk, she learned to breathe out through her nose to avoid inhaling it.

And it is not just leading singers who indulge onstage. At a 2010 production of Benjamin Britten’s “Albert Herring” at the Santa Fe Opera, Ms. Lindsey, who was singing the role of Nancy, said she was amazed at how many extras and cast members were grabbing the food, not all of it real. “You had to watch out because there was fake ham,” she said. “You could end up eating plastic.”

“Herring,” set in a Suffolk market town in 1900, provides a fairly specific menu of English cuisine before its broad upgrade of recent decades. Children sing with glee in Act 2 about the May Day feast:

Jelly!
Pink blancmange!
Seedy cake! Seedy cake! (with icing on)
Treacle tart!
Sausagey rolls!
Trifle in a great big bowl!
Chicken and ham!
Cheesy straws!
Marzipan!

No such specifics are found in John Adams’s “Nixon in China,” which features one of the best-known feasts of modern opera, the banquet scene in which the character Chou En-lai and the American president toast each other during Richard Nixon’s groundbreaking visit in 1972.

But the historical nature of the subject would have made the details easy to provide. The Nixon Foundation has the official menu, which includes “spongy bamboo shoots and egg-white consommé, shark’s fin in three shreds, fried and stewed prawns, mushrooms and mustard green and steamed chicken with coconut, almond junket, pastries, fruits.”

Maybe all that was too hard to sing.

[I never had to contend with eating and singing as the performers about whom Wakin writes have, but I have had to work with food on stage as an actor.  Sometimes it’s just a matter of cleanliness rather than performance issues.  I was doing a contemporary play about a group of college and post-college friends living together in a large house.  In one scene, I came into the living room with a cup and a coffee pot and I was supposed to pour myself a cup of coffee and drink it during the scene.  Simple enough.  Now, the play was part of a three-play rep, and we’d had a couple of days off while the other plays performed, so we had a run-through rehearsal before our performances picked up again.  During the regular rehearsal period, my coffee pot was filled with plain water, which was fine, and that’s what I expected this afternoon.  But when I poured the liquid from the pot into the cup, what I got was days-old brown liquid with thick green mold growing in it!  Well, of course, I wasn’t about to drink any of that, but what was worse was that it was gross enough looking to stop me in mid line.  Thank goodness it wasn’t a performance, of course—though I hope I’d have managed to do something in that case to have covered the glitch.  (It probably shouldn’t have been necessary to make the note, but from then on, one of the prop runner’s routine tasks was to check the coffee pot at preset to be sure it was clean and filled with fresh cold coffee.)

[Speaking of covering, one performance I was in required a collaborative effort during a meal scene to cover a missed entrance.  (I may have told this story before once or twice.  See, for instance, “Short Takes: Theater War Stories,” 6 December 2010 on ROT.)  I was acting in a production of Jean Anouilh’s Romeo and Jeannette, a family play in which one scene is dinner.  Part way into the scene one character has an entrance but the actress missed her cue, leaving us all stranded on stage.  The rest of the cast  just improvised an entire little domestic scene about preparing to sit down to dinner that Anouilh never wrote.   I recall it lasting several minutes, but it actually must have been much shorter.  No one in the audience, it seemed, had any idea we were making up a scene as we went along. 

[One food scene taught me a great lesson about my own acting.  I was in graduate school and my MFA class was doing a production of The Wood Demon, Chekhov’s early version of Uncle Vanya.  It was one of the first plays I did after starting to study acting seriously, having performed in college and in community theater as an amateur for several years.  Wood Demon starts with a long scene of a large banquet meal served outdoors with nearly the whole cast—Wood Demon has more characters than Uncle Vanya—around a huge table.  We’d carefully selected foods we could easily eat while speaking lines, with an eye also to food that wouldn’t congeal or go bad under the hot stage lights.  But what we couldn’t predict was where some of the place settings would end up once the scene got underway and actors moved glasses and plates around some as the action progressed.  Now, when I was an amateur, I could be flustered if things weren’t almost exactly the way we’d rehearsed them.  I was always afraid that I’d upset something or attract undue attention if I had to step out of the prescribed blocking.  At almost every performance or rehearsal of Wood Demon, though, something I was supposed to handle  was farther away than it was supposed to be, often in front of another actor.  I had learned to be confident enough in my own work—and to trust my fellow actors enough—simply to reach over, even stand up if necessary, and get what I needed . . . just as if I were a guy eating at a long table among friends and family!  No one noticed this little change in my stage work except my acting teacher, but I knew that I’d made a small but hugely significant breakthrough in acting technique.  For me, it was a little like an agoraphobe taking a step outside his apartment.

[Finally, I was working as a teacher and director in a middle school where the theater program was immensely important (I had many students whose parents were pros in the business, from soaps to the Yiddish stage).  I was directing my first full-length play at the school and we were doing Thornton Wilder’s The Skin of Our Teeth.  (I know—who does that deeply philosophical play with 5th-, 6th-, 7th-, and 8th-graders?  Well, I didn’t select the script; it had been chosen before I was hired.  While many of the kids didn’t really understand the play—neither did some of the parents, I learned later—they did a terrific job anyway.)  My Henry, the central family’s son, was an 8th-grader and in one scene at the end of the play, he comes back home from war and digs a potato out of the fireplace coals and eats it ravenously.  Now, I’d very explicitly instructed the stage manager and prop crew—all students, of course—to be sure the potato every night was well-cooked, fresh, and cold.  Nonetheless, one night, the young actor bit into a raw potato that had been placed on the set—and he chewed it noisily and ate it.  Of course, I scolded the stage manager after the show to impress on her that this shouldn’t happen to the actor again—but Henry liked to play the tough guy and insisted it was perfectly cool, no problem at all!  (I insisted the student stage manager prepare the props the way she was supposed to anyway, irrespective of the actor’s bravado.  I had to teach her to do her job, didn’t I?—that was my job, after all.)]