For those of you who may not know me personally, I have a confession to make. This may be shocking.
I love pop music. Sure, in my eight years in Boston, I went to hear the BSO, sang in a bunch of early music groups, performed a few operas, gave recitals, and even worked on a few musicals. But when it comes to making my heart glad or giving words to an unquiet heart or getting pumped up before a show, I don't turn to Anne Schwanewilms' luminous recordings of Strauss or Felicity Lott's Poulenc or even Dawn Upshaw's gut-wrenching Anne Trulove. I turn to Joni Mitchell, Justin Timberlake, Jamiroquai, Beyonce, the Funky Meters and sometimes, like today, Taylor Swift.
When I was singing Flute at my first 'big house' - it's hard to believe that was five years ago - I was nervous as hell. Not just a big name house, but also a really BIG house - balconies that seemed to go up and up and up and a stage that never ended. I thought I was singing well. The company peeps said they were pleased. My colleagues were supportive. The production was beautiful and I was having a good time, despite feeling incredibly green. And then the first round of reviews came out.
Slam after slam against the 'talentless American,' comments about 'shooting off powerful top notes, just not necessarily the ones Mozart asked for,' a conflation of critiques about the character and the costume (which, of course, the singer has direct control over the production design, didn't you know?) and my age and my voice that made me sit on the floor of my room and cry for almost a full day. That was the day before I started final revisions on my dissertation with a vengeance (har har har), certain that I would never have a career as a professional singer, and determined to finish that dissertation and graduate as soon as possible. After the first few shows, we had quite a bit of time between performances. I'd make multiple pots of tea and spend hours proofing - today, we do all the French footnotes; tomorrow, all the English footnotes; the next day, every single citation. Send to adviser, repeat. My flatmates were absolutely lovely and didn't question why I wouldn't come out of my room for a full day and then spend three hours watching The West Wing while eating take-away curry. I suspect they knew a woman on a mission when they saw one.
And then the most extraordinary thing happened. I got another bad review. For a performance the critic did not attend. How do I know the critic did not attend this performance? Because the other cast was performing that evening, and they identified all of the principals from my cast by name. I laughed so hard I probably started crying again. I went on my research trip to the Britten-Pears Library, I ate some more take-away curry, I finished my dissertation, I sang my first Britten opera, and then I graduated. And I kept singing.
What does any of this have to do with Taylor Swift?
It's five years now since that soul-shredding experience, and I still remember the nasty words in the papers. I still remember the despair and doubt and incredible uncertainty as to whether or not I could do my job or not. Luckily, I've had five more years of professional singing experience, with my fair share of very good and very bad reviews (and everything inbetween), and those five years tell me that you can't please everyone, and you really can't please people who are determined to be displeased. I'm in a run of a beautiful production right now. My first Handel opera, my first role with NINE ARIAS (Lord, give me strength) and so much recit I feel like chatty Cathy, my first opera with baroque gesture, my first twisted ankle, and all at a Handel festival that sold out five performances and the dress rehearsal too. I'm singing alongside some of the most generous colleagues, lovely people and great singers to boot, and we've put the last 8 weeks of our lives into what I believe to be a truly special experience. There's been more press coverage of this show than any show I've ever sung, so it's a real shock to wake up every morning to another three or four reviews from news outlets across Germany, and even into the UK. I'm not a guest in this house - this is my 'home house' - so I've also gotten a lot of support and positive feedback from my colleagues and house administration, and it makes me feel so good. Which made today absolutely inevitable. The first review that one could call downright mean. Most of the less-than positive reviews, I shrug off, but this one actually made me laugh. Why is that?
Because five years ago, I thought my career was over before it began. That a few scribblers' opinions (I'll not call them critics, as a critic implies critical thinking, and calling them writers implies a command of language) could knock me out of the game entirely. And this simply isn't true. It just means there's one person who came to the show who really didn't like what I was doing.
Feedback is good but, like Miss Jean always said, consider the source. If your board of directors - your coach, your teacher, a conductor who knows your singing, maybe your agent - says you need to take a second or third look at something, you probably should. There's merit in fresh eyes and fresh ears, and constructive criticism is essential for growth and development. I had some years of serious uphill battles, fighting against old habits and old voices in my head, trying so hard to get out of my own way, and I came out on the other side. I am absolutely convinced this will happen again and again, because the voice changes with the body and the body changes every day. This career is not a sprint - it's a long-distance obstacle course marathon tough mudder at night wearing a corset and heels. But I'm not out of this party until I say it's time to go, and I'm just getting warmed up.
Which brings me back to Taylor. Because someday, I will be singing in a big ole city. And all that person's ever gonna be is mean.
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