Wade in 'da Wader...

A friend of mine wrote me recently, wondering about whether there are other possibilities for me as a Heldentenor, so I thought I might clarify some things. One of the things about Heldentenors is that they are very highly paid for what they do because there are so few of them. However, their repertoire is extremely limited to music of the hyper dramatic. This consists of some, but not all, Verdi roles, and Wagner. That's pretty much it.

My reluctance to venture into these areas speaks to much deeper issues, though. It hasd been my lifelong dream to become a hermit, but becoming a soloist is to become an extreme extrovert, which is needed to be a singer. Basically it is a conflict of where I would like to go and where I am sent. My physical make-up and, with it, the physiognomy of my voice are things that I cannot change, nor should I. It is the physiognomy itself that determines a vocal Fach. In other words, I think the important thing is to accept what I am and work with that. And, because “what I am” is so specialized and valuable, I should not just accept it, but embrace it.

That being said, most of the problems I have with becoming a soloist are mental/philosophical ones. Why should I spend my time representing the typical hero, the Retterfigur, when I disagree with the whole principal in the first place? Besides, anyone who knows me knows that I am more someone with whom one can have a good laugh than someone upon whom one could rely to save the world. I am just not to be taken seriously. I know that about myself. My lack of talent in broadcasting a serious nature rears its ugly head every time I get mad at Chris and he just laughs.

No one will necessarily know my personally weak character from stage, of course. Hopefully, by now, I have acquired a broad enough palate with which I can play even serious roles. (I have found, actually, that the hero is one of the easier roles to play, in that they do not tend to develop dramatically, but, like a Boy Scout, retain a steadfast personality.)

The other problem is the deepest set of all—my apparent distrust of society in general. I often think, why should I give back to society when society has done nothing but shunned my every fiber, and has rejected everything I have ever had to offer it? If singing is a sacrifice, where I subjugate my own, personal needs and desires to ones that will please the public, then I must be willing to obey the calling itself. When I taught high school students who were talented enough to go onto become voice majors, I always warned them about the possibilities of living their lives poor. They needed to have a “monkish desire” to perform their art, I used to say, their God being music, and them as often penniless, frustrated devotees. Well, penniless is a Bohemian concept that could only prove desirable to someone under 30, I find. And, after frustration takes hold enough that one imagines himself growing old a pilgrim pillaged and needlessly deflowered by his own Deity, one starts to develop newer ideals, ones based on simple things like paying rent and finding a mate.

Yes, music is, somehow, a black hole, gobbling up eagerly my every emotion, making me, in the end, some kind of skeleton with nothing left to give. I, then, am supposed to get naked in front of my fellow man in order to show yet even more devotion to this beast that continues to suck my lifeblood dry? Seeing some of the soloists of our house, especially the tenors, practically shit bricks before they go on stage day in and day out, makes me think that it is just not worth it, folks, and only a fool would think so. It’s funny to think of what the people that sing at Bayreuth must have given up to get there. The system so exists that one must sacrifice so much that, by the time someone actually gets there, there is nothing but a shell of the human left, I fear.

My views are extreme, I know. But, let’s not beat around the bush, music is a dastardly business, kids. Do not go where even heroes dare to tread.

This reminds me of one of my poems: