I miss you. It would be hubris to believe that you miss me, with all of the other fantastical things going on out there in the internet. But ’tis true that I am poorer without you.

My recent silence is almost unprecedented, and it’s past time to break it. The perennial dilemma is whether to do the work or write about it. Historically, I’ve managed both. Lately, I’ve had to choose.

Tomorrow, our fulltime administrative staff doubles. (From 2 to 4.) And next week, we welcome 44 artists, staff and interns. Our scenic and costume shops are up and running. Many truly and honestly exciting things will come from our corner of the musical world in the next few months; stay here, and I swear I will tell you about them.

Recently, it has taken all of my recent time and psychic energy to prepare for them, and as a producer, that is my prime responsibility. Actually, my only responsibility. If I don’t properly lay the groundwork – even for a good reason like this blog – the actual product suffers. People aren’t supported, the work isn’t fluid, communication is compromised, and the music-making shows the strain.

I spend all summer every summer exhausted and exhilarated, but it’s almost impossible to describe what I do. Depending on the day or the hour, I am a whack-a-mole expert, a traffic cop, a mediator, a cheerleader, a bean counter. I listen, cajole, pray, pontificate, stew, and listen some more. On the face of it, you might not think that Lorne Michaels’ life on SNL might not appear to intersect with mine. But in that, you would be wrong. He provides my current inspiration on being a producer, via Here’s the Thing.

The take-aways:

Producing is an invisible art: if you’re any good at it, you leave no fingerprints.

The only way you can manage creative people is with very loose reins.

Help people do their best work. Help when somebody’s in trouble. Otherwise, stay out of the way.

You have to be bad before you can be good.

And, my favorite: “If you look around the room, and you’re the smartest person in the room, then you’re in the wrong room.”

If a young person you know and love is a talented musician, you may be torn. You may (not unjustifiably) see the pursuit of a musical career as an exercise in heartbreak. Although there may be big decisions to be made when that precociously gifted child gets to be an adult, there’s a good chance that things may naturally sort themselves out by then. In the meantime, embrace it. There are few better places for a young person to find out what she’s made of.

This blog entry from the Denver Post is spot on.

“What can we say about our years of careful parenting if the ultimate message to our children is “I know you love your music, sweetie, but you’d better not try to pursue it as a career – you might fail”?… Let the kid study music, already…  The young musician will find his way, or hers, and get stronger and more resilient all the time. The kid will learn to listen to an inner voice that isn’t yours, or mine, but the kid’s own heart. Isn’t that the channel we want our children tuned into, after all?”

What the What???

Not surprisingly, there’s been a lot of response, more than I can wade through. And although I knew immediately that I had to respond, it took a while to sort out how. A turn-the-tables parody on how to manage supercilious MBAs or ivory-tower academics? An explanation of how I expected more from (and gave more credit to) my own toddlers than this approach deigns to give its “creatives”? (Oh, and I hate that word, despite the fact that people I respect tend to use it.) And does the author acknowledge that “creative-but-difficult” is not an inevitable combination?

I spend a significant amount of my time surrounded by – actually, exponentially outnumbered by – highly creative people. And most of those are young creative people; folks who are just figuring out how to ply their talents in the real world. Part of what my company does is make a contribution to their process of figuring out how to shape their professional adult lives while being good stewards of their unique gifts. My response (and please forgive today’s post length) is neither clever nor catchy (nor creative:)), but it is honest, heart-felt, and born of experience.

The HBR article essentially asks “What are the keys to engaging and retaining creative employees?” Quotes below shown in italics.

1. Spoil them and let them fail: Like parents who celebrate their children’s mess: show your creatives unconditional support and encourage them to do the absurd and fail… Creative people are the natural experimenters, so let them try and test and play.

Is unconditional support the same as “spoiling?” Everyone (and I don’t believe anyone is truly and completely “non-creative”) needs unconditional support under-girding the individual successes and failures of daily life. We should celebrate the mess always. But truly creative people don’t stop there, and HBR doesn’t get that. As far as “letting them fail”… no one can live well who lives in constant fear of making a single mistake.

2. Surround them by semi-boring people: The worst thing you can do to a creative employee is to force them to work with someone like them — they would compete for ideas, brainstorm eternally, or simply ignore each other… The solution, then, is to support your creatives with colleagues who are too conventional to challenge their ideas, but unconventional enough to collaborate with them.

Putting a stereotypical high-strung “diva” in a hierarchy with a team of “semi-boring” colleagues. Now that’s a recipe for success. Truth is that we all need competition – the healthiest kind. Surrounding creative people only with folks who will never challenge them is a recipe for disaster from any perspective I can think of.

3. Only involve them in meaningful work: This all-or-nothing approach to work mirrors the bipolar temperament of creative artists, who perform well only when inspired — and inspiration is fueled by meaning.

The article does go on to say that this should be applied to all employees, so that’s reassuring. But artists “perform well only when inspired?” Seriously? Has the author never met a writer or painter or musician who cranks out endless just-show-up-and-work hours so that the cream can rise to the top? “Bipolar temperament?” The gent’s exposure to “creatives” must be serious whacked.

4. Don’t pressure them: Creativity is usually enhanced by giving people more freedom and flexibility at work. If you like structure, order and predictability, you are probably not creative. Don’t constrain your creative employees; don’t force them to follow processes or structures… don’t ask where they are, what they are doing or how they do it.

The artists I know have a healthy craving for structure and order in many parts of their lives. In the best scenario, structure in one area frees up imagination for other arenas. If the author handles “creatives” by letting them do whatever they want, whenever or however… well, how do I sign up for some of that? Sounds like a good way to bypass adulthood completely.

5. Don’t overpay them: There is a longstanding debate about the relationship between intrinsic and extrinsic motivation. Over the past two decades, psychologists have provided compelling evidence for the so-called “over-justification” effect, namely the process whereby higher external rewards impair performance by depressing a person’s genuine or intrinsic interest…The moral of the story? The more you pay people to do what they love, the less they will love it.

Wow. OK, I know all about how we’ve discovered that token external awards sometimes actually debase the work they’re meant to reward. (What’s better? Having your child play well for the love of the game or getting a trophy for showing up?) But this goes beyond that. At the heart of this statement is a belief that creative people are actually paid enough to live. In the business world the subject of “overpayment” barely starts at six figures. In the real world of “creatives,” it means cobbling together enough honest work to pay rent. Artists have plenty of intrinsic motivation, and paying them enough to live on won’t “impair” their performance.

6. Surprise them: Few things are as aggravating to creatives as boredom. Indeed, creative people are prewired to seek constant change, even when it’s counterproductive. Creatives love complexity and enjoy making simple things complex rather than vice-versa… You should at least let them create enough chaos to make their own lives less predictable.

The most creative thing in the world? Making a complex thing simple. And if you don’t understand that, you should just be quiet. As for letting artists “create chaos?” They are not undisciplined children. (Oh, and BTW, unpredictability ≠ chaos.)

7. Make them feel important: As T.S. Eliot noted, “most of the trouble in this world is caused by people wanting to be important”. And the reason is that others fail to recognize them. Fairness is not treating everyone the same, but like they deserve.

Well, sure, every single one of us wants to be important – in the best sense of the word. To know that what we do has meaning. But you see, artists already know that their work is important. Trust me; it’s too hard to make your way in the world as an artist, and if you don’t believe in the work, you’ll give up pretty quickly. They don’t need to be treated in with artificial patronizing VIP handling; all they want is for those around them to respect the work they’re engaged in enough not to dismiss it. Pandering ≠respect.

The author finishes with a discussion about keeping “creatives” in their own little isolated orbit, neither allowing them to manage other people nor truly lead. For “natural innovators are rarely gifted with leadership skills.” Yes, I will agree that the nature of some creative people’s gifts means that they are not suited to inspire and lead other people. But you see, the same thing applies to the poor folks that the author would consider “semi-boring” or non-creative. We are not all suited to lead. But some amazingly creative people are the best leaders we could ever wish for.

Phew. Thanks for going along on the rant ride. And because there are true artists out there who have said all of these things better than I, let’s close with Hafiz, a Sufi poet from the 14th century. Let the HBR folks build cages in which to put us. We will happily continue to drop keys for those who make our lives beautiful.

The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.

Watching a show grow from a glimmer in our eyes during the audition tour to a fully fleshed-out world the next summer has to be one of the most exciting things I can think of. (And yes, I know I need to get out more, but all the same…) The life cycle of a WTOC production is only about six months. And when the roller coaster of conception, birth, growth, maturity and death are all measured in weeks, the ride is both terrifying and gratifying.

The Beginning: November

Whether it’s the birth of an idea or a child, the beginning always sparks our imagination. The possibilities are endless. For us, the process of conception happens while listening to all of the glorious voices we hear every autumn. Everything sparkles with promise, and the only true disappointment is that the number of offspring are limited to three every year :)  Once we choose and name our projects, the artistic teams and performers go through their own processes of birth and discovery as they get acquainted with a new story (or approach an old one in a completely new way!)

Childhood: January-March

It’s all about exploration. Dreaming about what could be. At this point there are many parents, all concerned with different aspects of growth. Our offspring is now taking shape in the real world, so hard-and-fast parameters are entering the picture. But there’s still time for brainstorming and what-iffing. The costume sketches above – courtesy of Vita Tzykun, designer for our August Falstaff – come from this early period. The show is still a work in progress, but (as with any child) it bears signs of what will become an undeniable personality and unique life force.

Adolescence: April-June

The rubber hits the road. All of the preceding exuberance and extravagance must be harnessed, disciplined and molded into something that has a chance of blossoming into the best possible mature version of itself. Renderings, models, spreadsheets, orchestra parts, dog-eared scores. By this time there are dozens and dozens of people shaping our opera, for it truly does take a village.

Adulthood: Summer

Sacrifices have been made, lessons have been learned, and the show blossoms. It makes its mark on the world, on the performers and crew, on the audience, and it benefits from all of the hard work of growing up. It’s time for the parents to be proud, to reflect, to enjoy.

What Comes After: August

For me, here’s where the analog is dearest. Just as a person we loved is never truly gone from our lives, this little slice of inspiration and entertainment we call opera leaves behind palpable traces of itself. We’ve all learned something about ourselves just by being a part of it, and it becomes part of us. Those of us in show business are truly lucky, for the sadness of saying goodbye to these brief but fully-formed new worlds is mitigated by knowing that in a few months, we get to start all over again.

P.S.

We haven’t done a lovely “period” production at The Barns in a few seasons. Truth be told, such a thing is hard to accomplish well within the limited resources of a small company. But our Falstaff team is doing everything they can to deliver us a beautiful Victorian era design, tinged with some fanciful Shakespeare/Elizabethan accents. Can’t wait.

P.P.S.

What is it with the cold temperatures? I should not have to cycle in 27-degree weather in April. In Virginia. Not cool. Or maybe too cool…

Summer, anyone?

Preliminary costume sketches above, for our August 2013 Falstaff, are by designer Vita Tzykun, and are a work in progress!

Making music – in real time, in front of real people, without a net – takes many things. Skill, preparation, natural talent, dedication. But one thing might trump all those. Courage.

There are more difficult jobs, to be sure. We who traffic in the world of inspiration and ideas are lucky. Most of us manage to pay the bills and are spared true danger and physical exhaustion in our work. We are privileged. Our problems are, as my kids would say, first world problems.

But people get tired. And when they do, they should rest. If they can. For fatigue, as Mr. Lombardi says, robs us of courage. And if we are not courageous, the fire goes out, both for us and for our audience. So tend that energy wisely, folks.

Why is this on my mind? Because I leave today for a week to visit my son on the west coast and my brother in the Rockies. On the road and off the grid. See you again in April, with increasing frequency as we hurtle toward this next wonderful summer of opera.

Three Monday evenings in April (15, 22 & 29), I’ll hold forth on all things operatic. What’s the difference between an aria and a cabaletta? What is a coloratura tenor? Where did opera buffa come from? How did we get from stylized and formalized bel canto to  free-wheeling Falstaff in the course of a single composer’s lifetime? What’s the difference between a mezzo and a contralto? Why are all of these people singing at once?!?

I adore teaching, and I am always aware of my former identity as an “Opera Outsider.” Now that I’m in the opera cult, for better or worse, I’m happy to brainwash other folks. If you’re in the DC area and would like to join us, click here for the official description and registration information.

If you don’t have time to listen now, here’s the summary. Beethoven’s metronome markings (indicating the speed at which the composer indicated his music should be played) are freakishly fast. And as you might suspect, musicologists have many theories as to why. One of those theories is that he knew they couldn’t be played that quickly, but that he never wanted them to sound too comfortable.

I don’t know that it’s true, but I want to believe it is. There are a million reasons that “classical” music – as recently as a half-century ago still a part of our cultural identity – has been sidelined, and the retreat to comfort and safety is one of them. I have neither the expertise nor the time to tease out the complex cause-and-effect dance that landed us here, and I’m not sure that where we are is a completely a bad place to be. But I do reserve the right to rail against being too cautious and to fear what might happen if we don’t spend at least a little time outside our comfort zone.

Stravinsky famously said, in response to a musician who said that what he had written was too hard to play, “You don’t understand. What I want is the sound of someone trying to play this.” (Emphasis mine.) Is that what we crave? In opera, this largest and most audacious of musical forms, do we prefer the sound of someone hitting all of the marks or the sound of someone trying to achieve the impossible?

La traviata

It’s a “snow day” here in Virginia. The actual snow was a bit of a bust, but I’m not complaining. It forced a break from routine which was spent away from the computer, with La dame aux camélias and Henry IV as my companions. Not bad company, that.

I hate the word “recital.” I have to default to it periodically, for it’s the only accurate scientific shorthand description we have for this intimate thing that is a singer and a pianist, creating small worlds in sound. The unflattering connotations of “recital” aren’t really negative, they’re just pale and dry. Sins of omission, actually. To “recite” means to repeat things from memory. And that does no justice to the magic that can happen.

My two recent song experiences were from opposite sides of the footlights.

First, I had the privilege of playing a beautiful and crazily varied group of songs for a quartet of former WTOC singers. I should’ve blogged about it at the time, but there were no minutes left in those days. As always, when I get a chance to be a musician again, I discover things about the world that I had forgot existed. So enamored am I with these performing opportunities that I sometimes believe that their power and intensity only exist onstage – that the audience, while appreciative, can’t possible take away the same sense of discovery and renewal that I experience while making the music.

But then, a few days later, I sat in Row N of a theatre, on the receiving end of an evening of song. And in 90 minutes, I saw the world through different eyes and ears. I was inspired and angered and soothed and energized.

It’s all about story, folks. The power of unadorned, honestly told story.

It’s why I adore singer-songwriters, and I think we should take a page from their books. Yes, they write their own material, and the autobiographical nature of it gives their listeners intimate and immediate traction with their stories. But I daresay that a classically trained singer who has completely internalized a song written by someone else can bring the same intimacy and immediacy to her listeners. And should.

Some opera singers have personalities and souls primarily tooled for the big stage and the sprawling experience. And they are happy there. But if you need more, spend time with song. At best, it will only pay a few of your bills, but that’s not why you do it. It is neither frivolous or indulgent, for if engaged in honestly, it will make you a better singer, actor, person.

In the meantime, let’s come up with a word that does this storytelling justice.