Complimentary

"Everyone likes a compliment.” - Abraham Lincoln 

It is only several hours before the show opens here in Bozeman, Montana (Intermountain Opera Theater). Today has been so wonderful - woke up rested, went running on the trail near our cabin - 

and then indulged in a regular routine well-known to those in theater.

[Opening night cards.]

I remember getting used to this tradition and really worrying about if I was “doing it right.” There isn’t a way to do them right or wrong (okay, maybe telling really inappropriate jokes in a card to the president of the board might not be a good idea. That would be “wrong.”).

But I wanted to take the time to really thank people for what they had brought to the rehearsal process. One colleague here was a colleague eight years ago at Merola. Another one had me play a separate audition for him while we were here and then we had a nice lunch after. A third is a full-time mom with many children, but she has devoted some volunteer time to coordinate some opportunities for school kids to hear more about our profession and stories. It does take a village to put on an opera, and to keep a company (of any size and in any location) running.

It is human nature to like to receive compliments. We actually need them. Mark Twain said, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.” 

However, it doesn’t seem human nature to give good compliments these days. In this day of social media (a very beloved mentor who does not use the platforms calls them all “My Face,” which gives me such a chuckle every time I think about it), people are complimenting themselves, while really accounting for how inadequate they feel. I got reports from a friend that she encountered someone who was so self-“complimentary” that it was grotesque. 

This will kill art if it continues.

One of the lifelines that we all have is to compliment each other - to bring out the best in each other so that we in turn can do our jobs and bring this gorgeous art form to life. It matters not if the people are managed professionals in the highest places, or if they are still students, on the way to figuring out this business. 

One of the best compliments I have ever received happened a few days ago. I was in rehearsal and the different managers and directors of InterMountain Opera Bozeman asked me if I was interested in being interviewed about my job on this production. I was interviewed and wrote about it here, and was pleased to read the article today. The columnist, Rachel Hergett, did a wonderful job in writing about the things which we spoke. You can read the article here. In asking me to do this, my colleagues paid me a compliment about my work. 

But the cycle must continue. I wrote to all of my colleagues today, thanking them wholeheartedly for their efforts to bring this piece to life. 

I paid an inadvertent compliment to my barista today too (I have no internet at home, so necessity in terms of keeping up with the world brings me to coffee shops while here). He brought me some espresso with some foam on top - and I took a picture of the image. He said, 

“The biggest compliment I get is when someone takes a picture.” 

Here’s to compliments of all shapes, sizes, and types. 

The layers of translation

I had the pleasure of sitting down with a newspaper reporter today who interviewed me for a music column in Bozeman, Montana. I am here for Intermountain Opera Bozeman (click here for more information) as the rehearsal pianist and vocal coach for a double-bill of Puccini’s Suor Angelica and Gianni Schicchi. 

One of my favorite questions that she asked was, “how do you do a translation?"

Translation is a very personal question. I know some who cover their scores so much that you can barely read them (a conductor who I served in 2009-2010 was the epitome of this), I know others who don’t do nearly enough translation. 

Be it written into one’s score or into a separate notebook (I do both), translation is such a deep, complex issue. 

Level 1: Know what each word means in and of itself. 

Level 2: Know the grammar and part of speech and function of each word. 

Level 3: Know the figurative or idiomatic meaning in your native tongue.

Level 4: What is magical about this sentence? How else could have a librettist or librettist-composer said what they said? Why is this the choice they came up with?

Level 5: What does the composer say about the translation (what does the harmony, rhythm, texture, color, dynamic level, orchestration have to do with the part)?

Take for example, the beginning of Rinuccio’s aria in Gianni Schicchi. 

He is addressing his aunt (who also functions as his guardian) in this scene. At the beginning of the opera, the Donati relatives have learned that their rich, heir-less uncle has left his considerable wealth to a monastery. Zita (the aunt) is horrified at the suggestion that the family employ a village bumpkin to help them scheme (and not honor the will, thusly, keeping the wealth for themselves). 

The words are: Avete torto! 

If you were to do a reverse-translation exercise (taking the original language to English, and then re-translate it), you could get the line:

Hai sbagliato. 

Why didn’t Puccini use that? A few suggestions:

1). Avete torto is easier to sing-say.

2). Avete is in the formal (the above hai is informal), still showing Rinuccio’s proper respect for his aunt. 

3). The rhythms set up the orchestral entrance in a more clear way (the orchestra rests underneath Rinuccio’s words). 

(I’m working on setting a poem of Robert Frost myself these days, so the question of text-setting is one on the brain of late.)