Christian Soldiers

I came back from Munich on Monday. I sang for two agencies there and had a lesson with this teacher that the Dream Agent recommended. I was able to stay the whole week, thankfully rent-free at the apartment of a friend of mine who is doing a gig at the Wiener Staatsoper. She and her husband have the most amazing DVD collection and like to read, so I was pretty much set.

The auditions were complete and utter horror stories from which I am still reeling. Why do mean people have to exist? I still do not understand the amount of pettiness there is in this business.

In a Maelstrom of inevitability, my train arrived in Munich on Sunday, more than a week ago now. I found A.’s apartment shut up as though someone thought not to return for some undetermined long stint. In December, that translates as ‘I found the apartment bitterly cold inside.’ But in an hour or so, my extremities began to dethaw, a big cup of tea spurring them on.

That next morning, I sang for the notorious opera agent Haase. In 2003, when I sang for him last, I finished my aria, he walked to the door, opened it, showed me out, and as I passed him, said “We cannot work together.” Ok… And, I am going back to him for what reason? Why in the world would I sing for someone who treated me like shit last time? That was a question that seemed especially poignant after the second audition with him.

I warmed up at about 8:15 AM A.’s place for 15 minutes before heading out for my audition. (8:15 AM is an ungodly hour for me and most tenors of the world to be singing. I believe the Italians say it best: “A tenor doesn’t even spit before noon.”) Then, at the audition, I had to wait for another 1.5 hours before I sang, with no chance to warm up after the cold trip over… This is not good. I sang Florestan’s aria for Herr Haase, and, I must say, I sang it rather well considering. After I finished the piece perhaps most famous only because of the great number of people who cannot get through it at all, Herr Haase said, obviously unimpressed:

“You know, Mr. F, many people want to be soloists. I think that if you pursue this, you will just be frustrated. Yes, you could sing in Pforzheim, or Regensburg or Ulm, but not more. I do not know if you would earn enough at these places to live. That is my decision.”

At times like these, there is a secret desire for a comeback that I never dare say…something to the effect of “You cannot foresee with any certainty what the future will bring. And, it’s Dr. F, not Mr.”

I think the only thing that I really disagreed with there was his assumption that, after one hearing, he could chart my entire career as a singer. I do agree with him that I could be a soloist in a D-House such as the ones he mentioned. Where we diverge, though, is that he assumes I could never progress beyond that. Unfortunately, Mr. Haase did not want to take the chance on me as representing someone that sings in small houses is probably not lucrative enough for him.

The Munich story is so long. I will just give you this first installment, so as to muster up the energy to tell you the second and third parts soon. All in all, Munich has emphasized what I have thought all along: that this adventure which will eventually see my career lifting off the ground is one which will take many turns, will require unending persistence, and that same amount of energy but to the second power.

Onward.