Marcy Stonikas sings a passage from Ariadne auf Naxos
Marcy, you saved Seattle Opera in January, when another singer got sick, by going on at the last minute as a replacement emergency Tosca! What was that like?
You know, I can’t really remember—I was so 100% going on adrenaline, just trying to get through the role and make sure I was in the right place at the right time, singing the right words.
David McDade, how often have you played the piano part in Ariadne auf Naxos?
Whose side is the piano on, in this tug of war between serious and comedy?
David McDade: The clowns. I create a sort of dance-hall atmosphere for them in the Prologue, and I’m the dominant instrument in Zerbinetta’s aria. But once Bacchus arrives I join with the “serious” harps, and in the final pages I play extravagant arpeggios as the music swells and the fireworks go off. So if I begin as a comedian, I am certainly won over by the love story!
How do you sync what you’re doing, particularly in the big Zerbinetta aria, with all the craziness that’s happening onstage?
David McDade: I just follow the maestro, and the onstage craziness actually syncs with me. Our onstage pianist, actor Kyle Cable, learned the piano part so he could mime it effectively onstage. Someone told me they thought he really WAS playing the part onstage!
David McDade accompanies Sarah Coburn as Zerbinetta in the recitative of her big aria
John Keene, why is the harmonium in this opera?
What’s the technical challenge of playing the harmonium?
John Keene: The instrument I’m playing, which belongs to David Dahl of Tacoma, is about a hundred years old. Some later harmoniums had electric mechanisms, but this is a period instrument which you operate by foot, pumping pedals to operate its bellows. It’s not very precise, rhythmically; it doesn’t respond like a piano. That’s why Strauss wrote mostly chordal progressions, which can be more vague, rhythmically. There’s often a delay, based on how full the bellows are. The lower pitches require more air and respond slower. I’ve had to learn how to keep the bellows full of air—something you don’t have to worry about when playing the piano.
John Keene accompanies Issachah Savage as Bacchus
Phil Kelsey, Seattle Opera has now done four productions of Ariadne auf Naxos. What are your fondest memories of working on this piece?
Another memory I have of that 2004 production: my stepson, who was then about 19 or 20, and a fan of heavy metal, came to it and he’s talked about it ever since. His favorite opera ever. Chris Alexander’s production totally sells the show to that demographic.
As the celeste, what’s your role in this opera?
Phil Kelsey: The celeste is associated with Bacchus. That’s why, in the Opera proper, the celeste contributes one little four-note pattern in Ariadne’s opening aria and then does not play again until Bacchus comes in with “Circe! Circe!” I have a 41-minute long rest. After that I play a lot, mostly to characterize Bacchus and his magic. The celeste is a kind of magic instrument. In the Prologue, it accompanies the Composer’s final conclusion: “Musik ist eine heilge Kunst” (Music is a holy art).
Phil Kelsey accompanies Kate Lindsey as the Composer
Strauss was obsessed with the genius of Mozart’s transitions, particularly how he shifted between comedy and serious in operas such as Don Giovanni. What do you think about the twists and turns, the about-faces between serious and silly, in Ariadne auf Naxos?
David McDade: The Prologue is all about transition. The music changes with every thought, and the dramatic tension never lets up, so it’s one of the finest conversations in music I know. Often things turn on a dime – BAM! we’re in a new scene - but so organically that it works.
Phil Kelsey: Yes, the Prologue has this mosaic quality. It’s all accompanied recitative, a fantastic text, with musical snippets of stuff you’ll hear later. Musically, it’s hard to follow the Prologue unless you already know the opera; it’s as if the characters are wearing only part of their costume. But that’s also the fun of it. The text is crucial. In America, Ariadne only started taking off once we had supertitles in our opera houses.
The Opera is much easier to follow, musically. The transitions are not so abrupt; as Ariadne is finishing her big aria, suddenly a few clowns peek out around the corner, and ok, now we’re doing something else. And when the comedians leave and the nymphs return, there’s a brilliant transition—Strauss kicks us down a half step, harmonically, and suddenly we’re in a completely different key. With a million more sharps.
David McDade: And that final love duet is just one tune after another, a seamless flow of song where I’m not even aware of transitions. Ariadne asks “Is there no passage? Are we already there?” Indeed!
Okay, saving the hardest question for last. What is Ariadne auf Naxos about?
David McDade: This opera illustrates conflicting attitudes about “high” and “low” art and ultimately demonstrates they are aspects of the same theatrical experience and complementary to each other.
John Keene: At first you think it’s crazy and impossible, and what you find out is that there isn’t a wall between the two worlds. They morph into and out of each other - we're all more alike than we are different.
Phil Kelsey: It’s difficult to reduce Ariadne auf Naxos to something that fits in a fortune cookie. That said, it’s either: “You think your life is over because he dumped you, but it’s not true.” Or: “Another opening, another show!”
David McDade: And—perhaps on a personal level for Strauss and Hofmannsthal—it reveals the often unspoken loneliness at the heart of every artist.
Photos: David McDade (Jonathan Vanderweit), John Keene and Phil Kelsey (Alan Alabastro)
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Last year in Seattle, you were fantastic as Hoffmann’s young male sidekick Nicholas; here you are as the young male Composer, and coming up next you’re Cherubino in San Francisco. Do you like playing all these male characters?
Sure! Think about it—how many actors regularly get to change genders when they do their jobs? I think it’s happening a bit more frequently nowadays, as people push boundaries and tell stories with more psychological intensity. But there aren’t too many art forms where you get this opportunity.
But as a mezzo soprano, it happens a lot.
A casualty of the job! But I enjoy it. I don’t even think of it as gender anymore. We’re all human. We’re much closer to each other than society would like to admit. Our culture trains us: “Oh, you’re a boy, so you need to be more like this,” or “Girls are like this.” But the beauty of theater is how it gets to the heart of any character, to their humanity, who they are inside. And we all have both feminine and masculine within us. When I’m working on a trouser role, maybe I recognize and honor more of that masculine energy within me; but it can flow and shift really beautifully. It’s sad that most people feel they can’t explore the fluidity between their feminine and masculine sides.
Is it hard for a young mezzo soprano to do a trousers role for the first time? To do something they’ve been trained NOT to do their whole life, by family and culture and religion?
For me it wasn’t that hard because I grew up playing soccer with the boys. We didn’t have a girls’ team for the longest time. So I never felt strange about acting as a boy, moving as a boy. Now, when I did my first stage kiss with another girl—that was a little strange for me! (laughs)
How old were you when you first sang a trousers role?
19, summer after freshman year at Indiana University. It was Cherubino, I sang it at the Bay Area Summer Opera Institute (or BASOTI). That summer was really formative for me, in terms of deciding to go into opera. I got lots of encouragement!
How old were you the first time you sang the Composer?
That was just two summers ago, at Glyndebourne. The Composer is a great character. Strauss was adamant that Hofmannsthal not model the character on Strauss. I get the sense, from reading their letters, that the Composer is modeled on their understanding of Mozart, this child prodigy. I find the Composer has a lot in common with Cherubino, another Mozart-type character. He’s got this wild energy. I love how Strauss composes screams into his vocal line (demonstrates)—sort of like a donkey braying! The musical line can become really jagged and disconnected. I love that frenetic energy, loose and slightly insane.
Speaking of high notes, is the Composer really a mezzo soprano role?
You know, a soprano debuted it. It’s high, and it stretches the voice. It’s a hard sing! But every time I come back to it, it feels easier. When you’ve worked on a piece and then you put it away and come back a year later, it’s like planting a bulb—it’s there, rooted in the ground, and it can blossom again each time you do it. The more grounded or rooted you are, the more weightless you can appear.
How old is the Composer?
I think he’s 16, 17 years old. He’s a prodigy whose genius was discovered by his parents at a young age. I don't think he came from money, so they sent him off to school to develop his talent. I think he basically lives with the Music Teacher—this man who is his friend, parental figure, and psychologist.
I think the Composer’s idealization of Ariadne comes from the fact that he didn’t have much of a relationship with his own mother. He has this really idealistic idea of what love is, of how a fully-formed adult woman loves, because he never had any real experience of women.
So he’s never met anyone like Zerbinetta before.
No, he’s been completely sheltered. And at first he can’t understand her at all. A woman? What? Legs? What are those things? He’s lived all his life in stories and poetry, not in real life. So when he meets Zerbinetta, he doesn’t see her as a sexual object, because he doesn’t yet know that part of himself. And she can’t understand WHY he doesn’t see her as a sexual object.
And thank goodness for that miscommunication—since they can’t understand each other at first, they spend more time trying to figure each other out, and that’s how they come to fall in love. Now we have a few less Ariadne-specific questions for you. What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you onstage?
As I exited the stage one time, I ran directly into a door post because my eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark. The next time I came onstage, I had a HUGE, egg shaped bump protruding from my forehead.
What’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you onstage?
I was doing a Hoffmann in which the tenor had a quick change into shorts after the Prologue. Unfortunately, the quick change happened a little early...on stage...during his “Kleinzach” aria. Those pants fell right down while he was standing on a table. I don't think anyone onstage was able to keep it together in that moment!
Describe an artistic achievement that you’re proud of.
Seattle Opera Artist of the Year!... and definitely premiering Amelia here in Seattle. It was a huge opportunity, and an incredible project.
Describe an artistic challenge that made you grow.
There are so many! I definitely grew from stepping in for Rosina in The Barber of Seville at the very last minute one time. I had 24 hours to study the video and figure out the cuts before getting onstage. I didn't even have time to panic. So it became rather liberating because I improvised my way through the night!
What’s the biggest public misconception about opera singers?
That they are these fancy, elite-minded people. I know so many opera singers who come from really humble backgrounds -- people who grew up on farms, sang in church -- people with really normal lives who didn't really ever even know that much about opera until someone helped them discover their gifts and the music.
What music do you listen to regularly?
A lot of folk, acoustic, coffee-house sorts of stuff. I honestly don't listen to opera to relax because I listen to it so analytically. I can feel the sensations of the singers so acutely as they move through a phrase that my sympathetic system gets stressed out! Opera is never background music for me—it requires my full attention when listening!
Take us through a normal performance day for you.
I sleep till 9 or 9:30, then get up, take my dog out for a walk. Have my coffee and my toast with peanut butter. Hit a yoga class (or do it at the apartment). Relax in the afternoon -- read or nap depending. Then, I fix a protein-rich meal to have before I go to the theater. Eggs, avocado, cheese... major staples to my routine!
What do opera lovers have in common?
The time-less enjoyment of the art form. The fact that there is ALWAYS more to learn. Each opera you study takes you into so many eye-opening aspects of history. It's endless, what you can learn.
What’s the public’s biggest misconception about opera?
That it's hard to understand and that it's only for a certain economic class of people. Even outside of the words, the music tells you so much. And opera is really an art form that is meant to be enjoyed by everyone...it's often not as expensive to go see as some pop concerts and sports events.
Opera can be pretty outlandish. How do you keep it real?
By trying to connect to the truth of the emotions that the character is feeling at the moment. We can always connect via empathy with some element of what this character is feeling.
What excites you the most about opera?
The combination of the orchestra, the voices, the staging, the costumes...it's a total senses experience. We don't get that vibratory experience when we're listening at home, but when we're in the opera house we feel the strength of each instrument -- all working together to create incredible sounds.
What’s the best way for someone who’s new to opera to learn more about it?
Commit to a season. Get some season tickets. Go to the info sessions before and after the performance that are offered by practically every opera company. They will inform you about so much. Take advantage of all the free educational outreach that is offered (it makes the ticket price feel REALLY affordable when you take advantage of these perks!)
Discover what touches you - why certain operas grab you more than others and then pursue that. You'll probably learn something about yourself and they way music speaks through you, in the meantime. Just commit to that one season, and see where you are after.
Sarah Coburn sings a passage from Zerbinetta's "Als ein Gott"
Sarah, congratulations on your first Zerbinetta! Had you sung the big aria before?
Nope, I hadn’t studied a note of it. I learned the whole role from scratch, which has been a wonderful challenge—no old bad habits! It’s one of my favorite roles now.
It’s such a huge role. How long did it take you to learn it?
Quite a while—with two little kids running all over the place, it’s can be hard to find time to sit down at the piano and study new roles. I’ve had to become very efficient with my study time. For this and for Rosenkavalier, my husband speaks German very well so he helped—he would quiz me.
Take us through a normal performance day for you.
I usually try to take a little nap in the afternoon, and sometimes I can sync that with my youngest daughter’s nap. Usually I eat about 2 pm, and then bring a sandwich with me to the theater, to my dressing room. No garlic or onions! We pregnant women are extra sensitive to smells. With my colleagues I have been high maintenance in the smell department; sorry, guys!
Let’s talk about Zerbinetta. What does she learn in this opera?
I thinks it’s more a question of confirming what she already knows. For all her theatricality, she really isn’t very dramatic; she knows love comes and goes, and you just need to go with it. At the end, she may walk off with the Composer, and they’ll have a wonderful relationship for a time...but not forever.
Sarah Coburn as Zerbinetta and Kate Lindsey as the Composer in a tender moment from the Prologue to Ariadne auf Naxos
What’s the appeal of the Composer, for Zerbinetta?
He’s different from every other man she’s met. He’s innocent, idealistic, unapprochable. She’s more jaded. She’s had lots of relationships, and I think she’s used to men treating her a certain way. “People think they know me,” she says, “because I play the coquette onstage. But there’s more to me than just that!” And she reveals some vulnerability, in her duet with the Composer, which appeals to him.
But he’s not going to transform her into a total romantic.
No. Nor an honest woman. I think she has learned to take life as it comes. I don’t think her past was all that peaceful.
That’s right, she tells Ariadne that she (Zerbinetta) has been marooned on these desert islands herself. Can you give us the story of Ariadne auf Naxos from Zerbinetta’s point of view?
Sure, I was hired to do my thing, singing and dancing, part of this comedy team. We do this all the time—we have a fabulous little show, entertaining, light, and funny. In this case we’re supposed to follow this really serious, long, heavy opera, and I’m worried that the audience is going to be worn out by the time it’s over. But then we find out that we have to do both shows at the same time, and everyone except Zerbinetta freaks out about it. I just think, “Whatever...we’ll make it work!” I’m used to being quick on my feet, in situations that require spontaneity and flexibility. We’re not a high-budget operation and we’ve probably had to deal with worse before.
Does she like doing the superimposed comedy-meets-tragedy mash-up?
She likes a challenge. She likes competing with the Prima Donna; that makes it fun. As a singer I identify with that; I don’t like being onstage alone. It’s more comfortable for me if there’s a colleague to push and pull, to compete with. So we interrupt this opera, and try to superimpose comedy on top of this tragedy. And then, when the guys are not successful in cheering Ariadne up, I send them away and take up the challenge myself.
And then you sing a 15-minute long aria. How on earth do you do that?
Prayer.
Is there anything else like it? The mad scene in Lucia, maybe?
No, that’s different, because you don’t have to look pretty or calm. For me that’s the easiest part of the night, in Lucia, because you can just let go. Zerbinetta is absolutely different, vocally. It’s not bel canto. It needs to be placed very deliberately. Much of it is disjointed; leaps that don’t come naturally.
And Zerbinetta is the opposite of Lucia here—she’s absolutely in control.
Cute, and charming, and flirtatious, and in control, yes. With a daunting new role like this, what I have to do is convince myself that I’ve done it a million times. It needs spontaneity, freshness of thought. My wonderful teacher, Rita Shane, always said, "You don’t recreate; you always create.” You may have had a great performance the day before, but if you try to do exactly the same thing again, you will fail—you’re not the same exact person that you were the day before. It’s tricky.
What’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you onstage?
I broke my little toe at an orchestra tech for Rigoletto—I caught my toe on a table as I was running across the stage, and as I came over to my father, I looked down and saw my toe sticking out at this weird angle. I said to him: “My toe is broken, please don’t step on it!” So I covered it up with my nightgown so I wouldn’t have to look at it, and we sang the duet, and he’s telling me “Piangi, fanciulla,” which means, “Weep, child...” and I did! Real tears! Real tears that day!
What’s the biggest public misconception about opera singers?
A lot of people say to me: “You’re so small! How can that big sound come out of your body?” There’s a misconception that you have to be a big person to have a big voice. What you need is a big head, with space for the sound to resonate. I have a very large head for my body size. I once shared a wig with Placido Domingo! (It was Tan Dun’s The First Emperor at the Met, we had these long Chinese-style pony tails.) There’s a terrible trend going on right now, of changing the way opera is cast, to get people who look good onscreen. Opera is about voices, not looks. Opera-lovers are people who’ve gotten hooked at some point by the experience of a human voice that just nails you to your seat. That’s what makes you an opera-lover for life, and there’s nothing else like it. Renee Fleming singing Arabella did that to me, and Deborah Polaski and Deborah Voight in Elektra. And Lawrence Brownlee. I’ll never forget, I was 23 years old, we were in the Met finals, and Larry sang that spectacular aria from Italiana. That’s what it’s about.
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