Corrections or additions?

This article by Elaine Strauss was prepared for the February 7,

2001 edition of U.S. 1 Newspaper. All rights reserved.

Madwomen In the Attic

For many musicians the criterion of a good performance

is conveying the notes and nuances of a musical score. Mezzo soprano

Laura Brooks Rice ups the ante. In addition to demanding fidelity

to the written page, she believes that effective song recitalists

should express their own opinions through the musical material they

perform.

Collaborating with pianist J.J. Penna, Brooks, in a performance at

the Unitarian-Universalist Church of Princeton Friday, February 9,

at 8 p.m., uses poems by American women to let us know what she

thinks.

Called "Madwomen in the Attic," the program consists of

readings,

as well as song settings of poetry. The concert title is borrowed

from the groundbreaking 1979 book by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan

Gubar,

"The Madwoman in the Attic," a seminal collection of essays

about 19th-century women authors (recently reissued in a second

edition)

that has become a classic of gender studies.

Both book and concert honor the literary heroines who dared to unleash

their voices, rather than submerging their creative powers in the

conventional role of submissive wife, daughter, or lover. Still,

Brooks,

interviewed on the campus of Westminster Choir College of Rider

University,

denies that her concert is a feminist salvo.

The program, assembled in 1997, is Brooks and Penna’s eighth

collaboration.

"Glenn Parker, my previous accompanist died five years ago,"

Brooks says, "and I thought I would never find another

collaborator.

The relationship between singer and accompanist is unique. When I

heard Penna audition [for an opening at Westminster Choir College]

I knew he would be right. I knew he had an interest in what mattered

to me, and I began talking to him before he came. I wanted to do an

American music program. We talked about a lot of composers. It’s

difficult

to find musical settings that don’t get in the way of the poetry."

Brooks and Penna designed the first part of the program, selecting

from the works of four American poets and grouping them under three

themes: Gertrude Stein and Dorothy Parker (the satirists), Edna St.

Vincent Millay (the lyricist), and Emily Dickinson (the universal).

The second half of the program consists of William Bolcom’s "I

Will Breathe a Mountain," a setting of 11 poems by American women.

"With Bolcom the words are uplifted," Rice says. "Penna

and I are both lovers of words and this program appeals to poetry

lovers as well as music lovers."

"Penna and I are good friends," Rice says. "We have a

similar sense of humor and we think alike musically. It’s a good fit.

He understands the voice, and I guess I understand his needs as

pianist.

We have a good time at what we do."

Born in Florida, in 1955, Brooks grew up in Atlanta. Her father, now

retired, was vice president for personnel at Napa Auto Parts; her

mother was a housewife. She has an elder brother, now director of

planning giving at Georgia Tech. Both parents were originally from

Tennessee and have retired to their home state. "There was always

all kinds of music around," Brooks says. Her grandmother and great

grandmother played both piano and organ. Brooks remembers her great

grandmother still active at the organ at age 100.

After Brooks was established at the San Francisco Opera in the 1980s,

her parents put together a scrapbook. The first entry was from her

kindergarten teacher, and consisted of a note saying, "Laura sings

like a bird." Brooks began piano study at age six. She began

formal

voice lessons at Georgia Southern College and began graduate work

in 1977. Brooks’ mentor for her Indiana University master of music

degree was Margaret Harshaw, who made a reputation as a Wagnerian

soprano in the 1940s. Today Brooks draws on what she learned from

Harshaw, both in her professional activities and in personal matters.

"Harshaw’s teaching was very disciplined," Brooks says.

"From

her I learned how to master my voice and how to teach. Today I get

a particular satisfaction from teaching. I love the one-on-one."

Harshaw, Brooks remembers, addressed the problem of consistently

turning

in a good vocal performance despite daily ups and downs. Brooks quotes

her mentor as saying, "You don’t feel like singing 80 percent

of the time." "When you wake up you may not be in good

mood,"

she adds, "you may not be feeling healthy in the throat. If you

have had a difficult day, you may wake up with dry throat. Famous

singers have said that they wish they could take their voice and put

it into case. But, however you feel today, your voice is your

instrument.

That’s why we stress technique, so you can perform through any kind

of vocal distress. The problem is that you are your instrument."

Brooks finds what she calls "enormous

satisfactions"

in having mastered her voice. "I’ve been able to take what’s God

given and perfect it so that I can move people, and move self,"

she says. "It sounds egotistical, but it’s really not. When I

was asked by Harshaw if the sound of my own voice moved me, I

sheepishly

said `yes,’ and she said `good.’ I credit Harshaw with, not only

shaping

my voice, but helping me shape myself as person," she says.

"Through

understanding the physical aspects of using my voice I discovered

that the voice was an integral part of my being."

In 1980 Brooks won the Metropolitan Opera Auditions, whose televised

transmission is eagerly watch by scouts from opera companies

throughout

the country, and the San Francisco Opera invited her to make her debut

as Grimgerde in Wagner’s "Walkuere." San Francisco then

invited

her, first, to its summer Merola program, then to its two-year Adler

training program. At San Francisco she covered for Marilyn Horne and

Tatiana Troyanos. "It was an honor to learn the roles," she

says. "There are separate rehearsals for the understudies. They

want to know that you’re completely capable of stepping in, if need

be."

Brooks recoils at the notion that an understudy might yearn for the

illness of a principal singer as a route to public performance.

"You

never want another singer to get sick," she admonishes.

Then she goes on to tell what happened when, during a performance

of Mozart’s "Cosi fan tutte," when Troyanos did get sick.

"I had been told that Troyanos was okay," Brooks says,

"and

I went home. They phoned in the middle of the last act. I hurried

to the theater, and they fixed me up with a costume. I finished the

opera for her. It was a nerve-wracking experience to jump in,

mid-performance.

I was glad to know I could do it. There are plenty of people who help

you — the prompter, who feeds you the beginning of your lines,

and the stage manager who sees that you’re ready to go on when the

time comes, and who calms you down and tells you you’ll do fine."

Rice moved to the East Coast from San Francisco on the

advice of her New York management. "Something told me I didn’t

want to live in New York City," she says. Then her father, in

the course of business negotiations in Newark, had dinner in

Princeton,

liked the town, and found his daughter an apartment.

Rice came to Westminster Choir College as an adjunct in 1984. She

is now associate professor of voice. "Every year I’ve had

wonderful,

smart students," she says. She also works with young professionals

in New York, where her class is full.

Teaching keeps her voice ready for performance, says Rice. "I’m

always reiterating the physical aspects of singing, and demonstrating

for students. Hearing my students perform well helps my own

performance.

We inquire how to be an honest performer and how to express ourselves

physically. Bad performances are also instructive. One of the leading

causes of bad performance is distraction. You don’t want an audience

to wonder if the singer will miss a high note, forget a word, or

fidget

with her skirt."

A performer in both opera and concert, Rice is articulate about the

differences between the two. "Opera is so much bigger than

recital,"

she says. "The act of singing opera is big. You have to create

a large sound." She’s talking about filling a vast space with

her own lungs and larynx.

"It’s a larger-than-life art form," she adds. "You have

to create a character, and the problem is how to make this

larger-than-life

character look real. Of course, you have the costumes and lights and

you’re collaborating with others. In a recital you’re delivering

words.

I say to my students, `I’m interested in your expressing your opinion

through this poetry.’ There’s no orchestra to sing over. It’s more

intimate. You can really connect to people. In opera you connect in

a different way because you’re playing a character. You’re not you

in opera," she states with simplicity.

Rice is direct, not only in her manner, but in her appearance. A large

woman, she wears form-concealing clothing of unadorned black. Her

face is radiant against the intensely dark setting, her long

honey-colored

hair restrained by a black bow.

Her directness, ably supported by pianist Penna, comes through on

a CD released last year. In songs by Wagner, Mahler, Brahms, Duparc,

and Faure, they produce a seamless interplay between voice and

keyboard.

The two parts are inextricably intertwined. Rice’s communication is

private and confidential. With quiet passion, she confides in the

listener. Penna mirrors and enhances her ever-shifting moods with

his elastic playing. Expect similar quality when Rice and Penna

release

a second recording, "Madwomen in the Attic," later this year.

— Elaine Strauss

Madwomen in the Attic, Westminster Choir College,

Unitarian Universalist Church, 50 Cherry Valley Road, 609-219-2001.

Laura Brooks Rice, mezzo-soprano, and J.J. Penna, piano. $10.

Friday,

February 9, 8 p.m.


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