This time last year we were printing the finalised scores for our first fully staged production - Hopes & Fears, and I want to take a moment to reflect on the project and get some perspective on what we achieved in creating it.

In 2019, inspired by our memory of our beautiful and talented friend, Laura Monaghan, Panaretos Kyriatzidis and I created an opera that spoke about the true experience of living with cancer through the music of Debussy.

The Hopes & Fears project began in early 2020 with a quiet and powerful meeting between myself, producer Dominic Mattos, and founder and director of Shine Cancer Support, Ceinwen Giles.  We met on January 30th, just three months before Covid would change everything - perhaps most of all for people like Ceinwen, whose immune systems would never withstand this dreadful threat.

This was when I first heard Ceinwen's story.  Diagnosed with an extremely rare cancer just weeks after the birth of her first child, and with the odds stacked against her, Ceinwen was one of the lucky ones.  She survived.  However, her life would never be the same.  As with most cancer patients, Ceinwen was in what is known as 'remission' and will probably remain so for the rest of her life.  From having a high-flying career in the aid sector, travelling regularly to some of the most remote and deprived places on earth, Ceinwen had to start again.  She was told that ever being too far from a state-of-the-art hospital was now out of the question.  This compelled her to found Shine. 

When we think of cancer patients, we imagine people in their 60s, 70s, 80s and beyond.  Traditional cancer support charities mainly focus on the practical and emotional needs of these older age groups.  But, as Ceinwen explained, people in their 20s, 30s and 40s, maybe newly married with young children, perhaps completing studies, many with mortgages and full-time jobs, caring responsibilities for parents, and all the chaos of work and family life, cancer poses a whole spectrum of different concerns.  

It was stories like Ceinwen's that engendered Hopes & Fears.  Not only by using the recorded voices of five cancer survivors, but also by weaving their experiences and emotions into the libretto, we created an opera that, as The Stage put it, brought "light and shade" to one of the most "painful" universal tragedies.

To inspire the libretto and feed into the work, I spoke with six volunteers.

My first meeting - on the outskirts of Oxford - was moving in ways I had not predicted.  The conversation I had was frank, gripping and at times hilariously funny (if inappropriate).  The interviewee spoke about the struggle for a diagnosis as her cancer - in an intimate area - was mistaken for a sexually transmitted disease.  She was both philosophical and blunt.  Her words were the first of the opera - "time is a balancing act."  It's a powerful idea when spoken by someone given months to live.  I recall her celebrating her weekly trips to Sainsbury's with her husband but wondering if she was "really living her best life" if the supermarket shop was the weekly highlight.  Yet I understood what she meant.  It's the little things which make us human that are so important at times of crisis.  These are precisely the little things that many of those with cancer, or in remission, have lost completely since the pandemic. 

My second interview took place in London, face-to-face, on February 18th 2020, just a month before this would have been completely impossible.  This time, the person I spoke to had been in remission for many years having had a brain tumour in his early 20s.  We talked about how isolated he had felt during his treatment that had taken him away from his carefree London life working in bars and clubs, and back to his family in Scotland.   My favourite moment was when he laughed about a visit from his friends.  Sick of the pity of everyone he met at home, his mate's greeting of "you still walk like a fucking penguin, eh?" was exactly what he had needed.  He spoke about burning his radiotherapy mask when he was given the all-clear, and the way his parents responded to the idea that their son might die.   And how, just months before, jumping up to sit on the kitchen counter, his mum had revealed that she had always known that the day he did that once more would be the day she knew he was better.

And then the world closed.  Every other interview was conducted over Zoom, and we were all uncertain as to if, and when, the project would ever happen.  As the Arcola had not yet announced whether or not the Grimeborn Festival would not go ahead, we had to keep going.  The show had to be written.

On the day that Boris told us all to "stay at home", I conducted my third interview for the project.    Having been told he had just months to live, this person was still going strong years later.  He talked about how he felt his veganism and his new outlook on his physical health had kept him going, and about the painful subject of how he had had to explain his illness to his children and be as "honest as he could."  He spoke of the guilt he felt about how his illness had cut a scar in the lives of his family.

Then, thinking about children, my whole world changed again for a rather different reason.  I gave birth to my first child, a daughter, Madeleine; born at the peak of the first Covid wave.  As I was processing all these stories of human sadness, resilience, weakness and strength, my own world was turned upside down in the best possible way.  

By now, I had begun the process of writing the libretto, even though there were a few more conversations to be had.  I remember early mornings with Madeleine awake and feeding while I pieced text into Debussy's music.   It was an unusually hot, sunny April and by 5am the light would already be streaming into the house as I worked, and Maddie napped.  It was a strange experience to be writing a piece so close to death with life so much around me. 

The fourth interview focussed on a friend and colleague’s experience of her own cancer, but also, and perhaps more poignantly, on enduring the disease taking her father.  We discussed the physical brutality of his cancer and how weak he became. For the first time in these interviews, the grief was overwhelming as she described how they had never managed to get him back to Ireland and to his family in his final months.  It struck me how much more intense the pain of loss was than the pain of enduring the disease had seemed for the other interviewees I had spoken with.   This agony became the crux of Hopes & Fears as Clair de Lune accompanied the Lover's excruciating discovery of their partner's death.

My fifth interview was with Ceinwen herself.  Bubbly and self-deprecating, Ceinwen brought such humour to her experience.  Even as she described the impossibly painful thought of "looking at her child" and wondering whether it would be better to leave no memory of herself behind for her, or for them to have time together, although she told me "I'm going to cry now," she was so strong and stoic.   Her description of being sent a tactless French vicar in hospital and requesting a Buddhist monk instead had me in stitches. 

My final interview was with a lady who had never had cancer but with whom I wanted to talk about the experience of supporting a family member through it.  As she was so busy at the time with home-schooling and work, we never met, but she sent me a recordings of herself speaking about her husband’s illness. She talked about her pregnancy and the fear that she would give birth to a fatherless baby.  She explained how "numb" she felt when her husband was diagnosed with leukaemia just days before her 20-week scan.  She spoke about how, as a society, we need to talk more about cancer and not be afraid of the word.  She spoke about how she kept going throughout her husband's illness before hitting rock bottom much later. 

Her words never made it into the show (mainly because they were professionally recorded and did not technically work with the others) though everything she said was inspirational as I created the relationships between the patient characters and those whom they loved.  I want to share some of her words now:  "I am thankful every single day that my family is complete, that I'm not a single parent, that my husband got to see my daughter, watch her grow."

As lockdown eased a little we decided to make a video to try and raise some funds for Shine. Like all charities, so much of their sponsorship and event income had disappeared during the pandemic and we wanted to give something back. Even if only something small.

It took a year, but by August 2021 we were in rehearsal.   The process was one of the most profoundly moving I have ever been a part of.  Just hearing the opera sung through for the first time brought the room to tears. One of the most powerful experiences we had during this time was performing the piece to Ceinwen and her family in their garden, filmed by BBC London.  Her work had been so central to the piece, but as a Covid shielder, there was no other way she could have seen the show.  As the piece took shape I realised that we had made something very special and very beautiful.

 When I look back on this project, I am hugely proud of the work we created as a team.  I am so thankful for the talents of Jorge Balça, who directed the piece, and Panaretos Kyriatzidis who made it musically possible, and to all the cast and crew who threw their hearts into the work at such a strange time in the world.   

 But there is sadness looking back too, perhaps inevitable sadness when you speak to so many fantastic people, all living under the shadow of cancer.  It was the day we performed for Ceinwen that I learned that one of the people I had spoken to was no longer with us.  The shock I felt was like a punch in the stomach; what I could not have imagined was that the person cancer would take away was the one person I interviewed who did not have, and never had had the disease.  

Next week, as part of the celebrations for Her Majesty’s Platinum Jubilee, we will be putting together a series of concerts in collaboration with TLC and the Earl’s Court Community Trust. Through research for this event, we’ve discovered the lasting interest that Queen Elizabeth II has had in the world of classical music. Ahead of the Jubilee, we thought we should share some of our findings!

While Queen Elizabeth II is not an out-and-out classical music afficionado, and she has only rarely been seen in the Royal Box of the very Royal Opera House, her love of music and her contribution of the musical life of the UK throughout her reign should not be under-estimated.

Her relationship with the world of classical music goes back to before she ascended to the throne, when she was awarded not one, but two, honorary degrees in music – a Bachelor of Music (BMus) from the University of London and a Doctor of Music (DMus) from the University of Wales.

Over the course of her long reign, Elizabeth II has appointed a whopping four Royal Masters of Music. and each of her choices has sustained the vibrancy of British classical music and composition.  Rather than impose her more traditional tastes on the arts world, she has instated some extraordinary contemporary composers to the post, including the first ever woman to hold the role - Judith Weir.

In 2005, the queen also established "The Queen's medal for music," which has been awarded to opera and singing talents such as Brynn Terfel and Emma Kirkby.  In the words of Britain's most celebrated composer, Sir Charles Mackerras, this medal is " a concrete symbol of the esteem which most of us feel musical life in Britain deserves.”

Queen Elizabeth is patron of over 600 musical institutions including: Help Musicians UK, National Brass Band Championships of Great Britain, London Symphony Orchestra, Royal Academy of Music, Royal Choral Society, Southbank Centre, Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music and the rather niche Piobaireachd Society, which encourages the study and playing of the classical music on the bagpipe.

During her reign culture has thrived in the UK and classical music and opera have flourished.  Queen Elizabeth has been very much a part of that...

Oh, and her favourite music?  Well, for her 90th birthday she revealed her personal top ten, and here it is:

• Howard Keel – ‘Oklahoma!’

• Dolores Gray and Bill Johnson – ‘Anything You Can Do (Annie Get Your Gun)’

• Gary Barlow and the Commonwealth Band featuring the Military Wives – ‘Sing’

• Fred Astaire – ‘Cheek to Cheek’

• Vera Lynn – ‘The White Cliffs Of Dover’

• George Formby – ‘Leaning on a Lamp-post’

• Praise, My Soul, The King Of Heaven (hymn)

• The Lord is My Shepherd (hymn)

• Lester Lanin Medley

• Regimental March Milanoll

Our concerts will take place from the 1st to the 5th of June in and around Earl’s Court. Buy tickets for our concert on Sunday 5th June and find out more information via the link below.

Masterclasses have really become a 'thing' of late.  Three or four emerging artists work on their repertoire with a big-star singer/instrumentalist/pianist/conductor in front of a live audience. The audience gain a sneak preview into the mechanics of the musician's life, a little bit of voyeuristic nosiness, while opera companies can make a little money from these relatively cheap to produce events and emerging artists can sup up some wisdom.  Everyone's a winner...right?

Yes.  On balance, I would say the masterclass is a good addition to the classical music repertory of concert, recital, and show.  However, a good masterclass depends on some magic ingredients.

1). The leader - There are some big names that draw a crowd who are excellent masterclass givers.  There are some who are not.  A great masterclass leader needs to tread the fine line between entertaining an audience but supporting and not embarrassing a singer.  This requires humour, genuine passion, and the ability to instantly create a sense of warmth and rapport with people.  It is also important that a masterclass leader is sensitive to the technical journey each singer is on.  The relationship between emerging artists and their teachers is a sacred bond that it's vital a masterclass leader doesn't fiddle with.  Suggesting technical ideas for a singer to try with their teacher is great but undermining the foundations a singer is building their performance on can be very dangerous.  The final minefield for a masterclass leader is 'ego'.  While a stream of personal stories, accolades and adventures might wow the audience, eventually it becomes very tiring.  Great masterclass leaders can drop in the odd personal memory, but always remembering that the emerging artists are the most important people in the room.

2). The performers - Masterclasses as not for the faint of heart.   It is always best to hear musicians who are already relatively advanced on their vocal/instrumental journeys and have enough confidence to not be shaken and upset by the masterclass leader's comments or suggestions. They need to be able to play with the ideas put forward by the masterclass leader and be open-minded enough to give different things a try.  They also need to be honest and open about the effect of the work they are doing and give feedback.   This is what makes a masterclass so intriguing - the growing rapport between a pedagogue and a student and the improvements that can be achieved, even in a short period of time.

3). The pianist - We often don't give accompanists/collaborative pianists much thought (unless they're destructively bad!). However, during a masterclass they can sometimes become the centre of attention. Good masterclass leaders are just as liable to make suggestions to the accompanist to help the performer as they are to make them to the performer themselves. Good masterclass accompanists need to be as open-minded and fleet of foot (or finger) as possible. 

4). The venue - This is a controversial one, but I always feel that the best masterclass venues are intimate and not too formal or daunting. Masterclasses can be a wonder of new friendships, support and warmth, but the barrier of a huge stage, bright lights and formality can make them overwhelming and judgemental experiences.  The best masterclasses I have been part of have been those where the performers feel a real connection with the audience, and the audience feel as though the fourth wall of the teacher’s studio has simply been torn down to reveal the process.  It's often tricky to get this sense of intimacy in large or prestigious venues.    I say this is controversial, because I know some masterclass leaders and performers who prefer the distance a large venue gives.  The singer and masterclass leader can escape the audience a little more and create a learning bubble when the audience is in the dark.  Yet, I still feel that it's more fun when everyone feels part of the journey.

5) The audience - Last, but by no means least, a responsive, attentive audience who want the emerging artists to achieve their best is a vital ingredient to a successful masterclass.  In many ways, this is true of any performance.  Performers tend to have a sixth sense when it comes to audience enjoyment, and the more engaged they feel an audience is, the better they perform.   When an audience actively listens, sits forward in their seat, laughs, murmurs, and breathes in the right spots everything feels much better.  It doesn't take much, just entering a venue wanting the performers to do well and appreciating it whenever they do. 

Photo by Fiona Bailey

This month, we’ve asked our wonderful social media intern, Edie Bailey,  to share their thoughts on trying to get into opera directing.  Not only to bring their work to your attention, but also to give them a chance to express how they feel about where they are and what we might do to make their journey better.   Just like everyone at The Opera Makers, Edie is unpaid for the day-to-day admin they do. Sadly, we are currently only able to pay our team from production-based funding, though we are actively seeking core funding.  

So,  I’ve been asked to finally come out of hiding. As The Opera Makers intern this year, I’ve been creating all our social media content and enjoying the anonymity that has given me. 

It seems appropriate that in the same week as my first ever headshot shoot, I am now becoming more of a public facing member of The Opera Makers team. For some reason, I have shied away from both things for a while. My own anxiety around being photographed aside, this is the conundrum of working ‘backstage’ in the arts.  Quite often, the people behind the scenes want to be invisible, but they are also fiercely creative and passionate about what they want to see on the stage.

I want to share with you what it is like for a young person trying to make it in the opera industry.  So far on my journey, I have mostly been asked to do the fading into the background side of arts administration. As a person with fairly severe anxiety, this is something that comes quite naturally to me; but as an artist and aspiring opera director, forcing myself to hold my tongue and act in a purely supportive way can be quite creatively challenging.  

To explain, I am currently working as an assistant director, trying to build up my experience in professional opera productions to move towards directing productions of my own. The role of an assistant director is, effectively, to be as supportive to the director as possible in their vision of the opera they want to create. It is not a directing role in any sense, it is an assisting role. It is, of course, an important job – crucial to a successful rehearsal and production process; but it is a naturally silent role. Indeed, in my most recent production I was told that I was doing a good job specifically because I held back from speaking. This is the nature of the position, but it seems to mirror my experience since leaving university. As a young and relatively inexperienced person in my position, undertaking unpaid internships and low paid opera work is not particularly creatively stimulating. (I must emphasise that this is not an admonishment of The Opera Makers; indeed, the very fact I’ve been asked to write this post is an example of how supportive they are of me and my journey.)

Then, on the other hand, because I work in a restaurant (so I can afford to eat and pay my rent) I don’t even have the time to pursue my own creative exploits. I can barely even commit enough time to my internship and assistant directing work, let alone create art. This is my experience, certainly, and it feels like a lonely one. The fact that I am queer and non-binary in an industry where queer and gender non-conforming people arent really celebrated or even highlighted only builds on this feeling of loneliness. There are hundreds, if not thousands of young artists in London struggling to pursue what makes them truly happy while also trying to make ends meet. It would be amazing if there were some sort of under 25 and struggling backstagers network... particularly post-covid, the opportunity to meet people in the same boat as you face to face is so important.

When you are the only person you know doing what you do it becomes hard to value yourself, and to realise if you are getting something out of your work or whether you are being exploited.  Sometimes you just have to rely on your gut instinct.   It’s difficult to know that something is wrong when you don’t have the experience of how it can be done right.

I realise how whiny I feel like I’m being. I love what I do, and I am so privileged to be doing it. Opera is, in my opinion, the most radical, innovative, and emotionally rousing art form there is, and I am so lucky to be able to be part of that creative process. As an unpaid intern, I have been able to attend and take part in events that have been so inspiring to me and the people who have been generous enough to agree to employ me have effectively paved my career path. In an industry where it’s all about who you know, I feel like I already know so many of the right people. Moreover, the experience that I share here is one of a person who has lived a very privileged, upper-middle class life; where attending private schools for 15 years certainly enabled me to do what I do now. But in light of that, I have always wanted to be financially independent; though I am so grateful for the opportunities that my parents gave me, I have always sought my own path through my own hard work.  So much so that when I got a job that meant I was able to pay my own rent for the first time I was overjoyed. 

So where do I find myself concluding this? There certainly are opportunities for young people in opera, but you tend to have to have a lot of experience and contacts already to get them. But how do you get that experience in the first place? In my case university provided me with a jumping off point to create whatever I wanted, and that seemed to set me down the path that I’m on now. It certainly is a lot of unpaid and low paid work with a hell of a lot of luck. And to refer to how I started this blog, it seems to be a lot of putting up and shutting up. 

When I finally get to a point when I create my own productions, I aim to provide all my creative colleagues with equal collaborative and creative opportunities. This might seem like a romanticised and over-ambitious goal, but I fundamentally believe that it is achievable. Not only that, but I also believe that approach amounts to a far more creatively stimulating process and successful production. Here’s hoping I get to achieve that one day.

‘Hello! My name is Pan and I'm a vocal coach. And pianist. And musical director. And piano teacher. I work as a freelance musician. And as MD of The Opera Makers. And St Paul’s Opera. Also at Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance. And at Morley College. As what? As a tutor. And accompanist.’ It was hard enough explaining all that to payroll, let alone my extended family in Greece. (What do you mean you accompany people? Where to? Can't they go alone? So you teach them singing? No? But you work with singers, so what do you teach them?!)

I have worked at Morley College for 6 years and it holds a special place in my heart. If you don't know anything about it look it up - there are courses for absolutely everything you can think of, from Sewing 101 to Zumba and from Mandarin to Assertiveness for Leaders and Managers. Zumba is not my forte so I work for the Opera and Vocal departments. During my time there I have met a vast array of singers, from absolute beginners to aspiring professionals, with a good dose of seasoned amateurs in between.

A few years ago, as we were auditioning people for an opera course I co-run, it transpired that many of the singers we saw were completely unfamiliar with the concept of vocal coaching, or were under the impression that it was another name for singing lessons. Which brings me to the reason for writing this: if people with a certain degree of training and understanding under their belts didn't know the difference, chances are that my aunt Toula won't either, so I'll try to explain it in as simple and comprehensive a way as possible.

But before I attempt this, there is one more question that needs answering: why does a singer need a vocal coach? Unlike instrumentalists, singers have no direct perception of how their 'instrument' sounds at the time they are using it. While instrumentalists in most cases eventually stop having lessons, a singer needs regular (or at least occasional) monitoring, even when they are at the highest level. But it doesn't stop there: such is the immensity of a singer's multi-tasking that they have to work with an array of people who give them input: apart from singing teachers and vocal coaches, also language coaches, directors, movement directors, experts in a certain field, era or musical style, even physicians or body-work practicians.* The important thing to bear in mind is that, in the Venn diagram of who does what, there is a lot of healthy overlap (as well as a few grey areas).

The shortest answer I can come up with when asked what's the difference between a singing teacher and a vocal coach is: a singing teacher comes from a predominantly singing background, a vocal coach from a pianistic (or sometimes conducting) one. Of course that's an oversimplification and there are some notable exceptions. Also, it is not to say that a coach can't be a singer or a singing teacher can't be a formidable pianist (I know quite a few of those). The main differences are the perspective and the area (or areas) of expertise. The latter is very much a personal thing and can be as varied as each individual's training, interests, influences, circumstances, idiosyncrasies and so on. Bearing in mind the overlap mentioned above, the line is usually drawn on one word: technique.

Technique in classical singing is a bit of a minefield. I could go on and on about it but that would be beside the point. What matters for this blog is this: singers usually build their technique with their singing teachers. Some teachers like to concentrate exclusively on that, others teach more holistically, and others avoid even the mention of the word like the plague. So what does a vocal coach do then?

When a singer comes to my studio, the first thing I ask is: how can I help you today? There is no right or wrong answer to that, and I think there's no reply that would surprise me nowadays. Here are some of the things that a vocal coach can help with: accuracy, either musical (rhythm, pitch, intonation) or of the text (diction, pronunciation, inflection); musicality (style, phrasing, dynamics, interpretative choices); building familiarity with the piano part; recording a learning or backing track; getting performance practice; character work; choice of repertoire - the list goes on. What it all boils down to is a single word: interpretation. So, in an oversimplified conclusion, a vocal coach comes from the point of view of interpretation whereas a singing teacher from that of vocal production. However, the webs linking these two inextricably connected concepts are very intricate, and at their heart is vocal technique - the bone of contention and the cause of much debate.

A few years ago a very distinguished and reputable singer asked me a question during an audition (it was me auditioning, this happens too!) about how I would explain a certain technical concept to a singer. I mumbled an answer skirting around the subject, not sure where they were going with that. Their reply was an unequivocal 'a vocal coach must not talk about technique, that's only between the singer and their teacher'. This got me thinking, and I have since discussed it with a host of people, especially as I am building a deeper understanding of and fascination with the subject matter. Historically, conductors and composers of opera had years of singing lessons as part of their training, which made it possible for them to understand how to write for/work with the voice. So why be so militant about it now?

The reason is simple. The bond between a singer and their teacher is that of absolute trust and is almost sacred - or so it should be. Being a singer is extremely exposing, which in turn makes singers extremely vulnerable. Not being able to hear your own sound is hard enough; getting feedback that comes in direct conflict with what you've been slaving away with in your practice room and with your singing teacher can be completely demoralising. Anything that is said to a singer should be done with a lot of care to not jeopardise this relationship (unless it is so obviously faulty that it is detrimental to the singer’s health or development or there is significant cause for concern). Having said all that: the bottom line of singing technique is effectively how the sound is produced. All of the aforementioned areas that a vocal coach is expected to work on are intrinsically connected with exactly that: sound production. And this is where the lines are blurred. So where does one draw the line, blurry or not?

I'm coming full circle to my first question: ‘how can I help you today’? This is always the decisive factor for me. I have no other agenda in my coachings other than to help the singer do the best they can under the circumstances. If they want to discuss something technical I will not discourage it, as long as I have anything meaningful to say and do so with respect of them, their potential relationship with a teacher and the effort and time (and money) they have spent developing a most difficult and delicate craft.

As if all this was not confusing enough, there is another part of my (and most vocal coaches’) identity: that of the repetiteur. If you’ve never heard the word before, a repetiteur is a rehearsal pianist, usually for opera or ballet. You see, it’s a bit cheaper to hire a pianist to play the orchestral part than an entire orchestra when a piece is being rehearsed. Though there is again a lot of overlap (and in a healthy and creative rehearsal environment the repetiteur’s input is requested and valued) they are decidedly different things. There are repetiteurs out there who are not interested in coaching as well as coaches who don’t do repetiteuring, but they are rare breeds. 

Here is a final thought. Through many years of personal experience and observation alike I have come to realise that musicians are often asked by their teachers to achieve a certain result, but much of the time (always depending on the individual, their approach to teaching, depth of understanding etc) they are not shown how to. Though it is important that each musician, singer or otherwise, keeps an open and inquisitive approach to learning and explores ways to use their instrument as best they can, this lack of guidance can stall one’s progress (as happened in my case) or even be downright damaging. If there is one thing I aspire to do as teacher and coach and I find most rewarding it is bridging this gap.

So, next time I have to explain to aunt Toula what it is I do, I can send her a google translation of this blog. Or I can just say... 'It's complicated'.

* If you thought that being a musician in general is an expensive enterprise, being a singer in particular takes the prize in that department by a few miles!

becca marriott

How do we diversify the Arts?

It’s a huge question, and one that keeps being asked, and still the answer evades us.  From classical music to ballet, acting, painting and film making - statistics don’t lie.  While culturally and ethnically diverse artists are increasingly prominent and rightly recognised and promoted for their talents, the number of people entering the arts industry from these backgrounds is still woeful.  Furthermore, young people from lower socio-economic classes are a real rarity – particularly in the classical music world, and especially in opera.

For opera to become truly diverse, we need to see and hear, be directed by, and written for by artists of all cultural and economic backgrounds.  How can this dream become reality?

I believe that only a two-pronged attack will slowly lead to true diversity.   The first prong is education.  Many people have talked and written about the tragic loss of music education in our schools, so I want to ask instead, “What is a career in the arts?”

To entice a new generation of diverse artists, a career in the arts must look like a promising option – at present, it does not.

Show us the money…

I am one of the lucky ones.  While I grew up in a run-down terraced house in North London, primarily looked after by a single mother who did not work, and who managed the home and two children on £500/month child maintenance; both my parents were art lovers.  My father was an academic, my mother a former ballet dancer.  Our house was full of books, instruments and classical music.  Deciding on a career on the stage would never be derided.

And yet, when in 2010 I decided to leave my well-paid job as a PA and Office Manager and follow my dream of becoming an opera singer, my mother and father were worried.  Particularly my mother, who had come to understand the power money has over one’s life, begged me to reconsider.  Her only concern was for my financial future. 

Her own story is worth a mention.  She left school aged 15 to pursue a career in ballet which, for many reasons, never took off.  She understood how cruel and insecure working in the arts is.  Before her, her more working class, northern mother had longed to be an actress.  Her family had insisted that “the stage” was not a career and that working in the arts would leave one financially and morally bankrupt.    Fortunately (or not, depending how one looks at it), my grandmother’s own love of performance allowed my own mother to break the cycle and pursue her dream career.

Even though I have been able to pursue my dream career; I have struggled, and I believe held myself back in many ways, as I haven’t been able to just stop earning. Throughout my masters degree I worked as both a singer and a tutor. Partly because I needed the money, and partly because of my background - the idea of not earning was unthinkable. When trying ton enter an industry that requires such long and intense training, the years of unpaid full-time hard work is a real barrier to singers from lower socio-economic backgrounds.

What am I really trying to point out here? 

I believe that the biggest barrier to diversity in the Arts, particularly in opera, is the insecurity, financial volatility and moral dangers that the industry is still plagued by. 

The larger percentage of those who follow a career in classical music find themselves freelancing precariously.  If the current Covid mess has taught us anything, it should be how shaky and terrifying a freelance career can be.  A pittance of state sick pay, no holiday pay, pitiful maternity allowance, no meaningful government help despite ever increasing NI bills, no pension and no job security.  Not to mention, that when one is employed, the pay is often dreadful.  My first professional – I say again professional – job in the arts carried a fee of £25 per show…and no, that wasn’t in 1912, but 2012.

When people from lower socio-economic backgrounds consider their options, they want to choose careers that will help them escape deprivation, not ones that will leave them penniless.  The idea of investing up to £15,000 a year in fees and ending up a poor bohemian when it’s all over is unattractive to say the least.  Let’s not forget that Murger and Puccini’s bohemians were all upper-class rich boys playing pauper-artists; almost 200 years after Murger’s birth, very little has changed.  The arts world is still a playground for those wealthy enough to not need real jobs.

And what of the moral dimension? 

One of my best friends, from a working-class background, told her mother she wanted to be an actress.  Her mother replied – “What? An anorexic?”  I have other friends whose parents believe their operatic careers are as close to prostitution as one can legally get.  The MeToo movement has been a step in the right direction, but stories of young singers (both genders) feeling the need to begin sexual relationships with older conductors, casting directors or superstar singers are still rife.  Anxiety and depression are par for the course in the performing arts and opera is no exception.  Where are the HR departments?  HR departments?  Don't make me laugh...

Such moral concerns certainly bar access to careers in the arts for women from more conservative cultures.

If we want to diversify our industry it needs to change. 

Worldwide, but in the UK in particular, major opera companies need to properly employ a pool of singers on year-round living wages, rather than do everything legally possible to avoid their singers becoming what are legally and inescapably employees. 

What are currently summer festivals need to support artists all year round, rather than using all their funding to prop up one, star studded, lavish season, and their current, heavily private, funding needs to be matched by the state. 

Opera houses throughout the UK need to be funded so that they can offer real jobs and training to artists; even if this means artists taking on a mixture of performance and clerical work. 

There needs to be financial backing for artists who can prove they are working to the benefit of all, even if the work they are doing is unpaid, or low-paid, with guaranteed living wages, and all the benefits that employees have.   Perhaps opera companies could offer emerging artists administrative roles alongside stage and training opportunities, helping to shape and support individuals and give them work experience in all areas of the sector they love. 

All opera companies need to be open and transparent about how their artists can access pastoral support if they feel that anything untoward is happening in the workplace.  Company directors need to be alert to the age-old, slimy route to success that is “the casting couch,” and  they need to stamp out any whiff of such practices.  The industry needs to become radically more attractive to work in to attract really diverse artists. 

I believe that it is possible, and moreover necessary to make the arts industry a real industry; and not just for artists, but for the economy as a whole.  One of the UKs greatest exports is culture. In the coming years of automation and technological advance, as industrial jobs fizzle away, transforming the way we support, promote and market the arts could boost the UK’s worldwide standing and economic growth massively.  

I recently gave birth to my first child.  I genuinely do not want her to pursue a career in the arts.  It shouldn’t be like this.  Until it changes, the arts will remain a playground for the upper classes. 

becca marriott

It all began in 2012, when I was approached by Adam Spreadbury Maher, the then artistic director of the King’s Head Theatre, and asked if I would like to work on a new adaptation of La Bohéme. Since co-creating and writing the new English libretto for this Olivier Award nominated opera, I have created adaptations of, La Serva Padrona, Tosca, La Traviata, Cosi fan tutte, and with The Opera Makers, I am working on a radical new version of Cavalleria Rusticana and I Pagliacci - The Clowns, as well as Hopes & Fears, an intertwining of some of Debussy’s most beautiful music to tell the stories of two women with cancer.

But where does one start with adaptation in order to keep the core of a composer and their original librettist’s message, while at the same time, rocketing a work into a more modern, relatable context?

Well…the most important thing is to find the universal story at the heart of a work.

For example: Un Ballo in Maschera is just a story about a man who falls for his best friend’s wife, and a wife who, though she desperately loves her husband’s best friend, is unshakeably loyal to the man she married. Bohème is a coming of age story about a boy who falls for a girl from a different class. Tosca is a story about a woman who would do anything to save the life of the man she loves. La Traviata is about a woman who, although she loves Alfredo, realises she cannot be with him because she will ruin his life.

There is nothing “traditional” or “old fashioned” or “outdated” about these narratives. In fact, they turn up time and time again in television dramas, soaps and even sitcoms.

The more difficult challenges for the would-be opera adaptor are the anachronisms. If you want to update Traviata for example, what is a courtesan in 2021? In Bohème Mimi dies of TB, the disease of the poor and deprived. What are the social illnesses killing people in the new(ish) millennium? Really, these “problems” should not need “solving” because they are what will have drawn a good adaptor to an opera in the first place.

For example, when adapting Bohème, the story of addiction we wanted to tell in order to move twenty-first century audiences was part of the lure of La bohème. TB killed poor desperate people in the nineteenth century - heroine addiction is killing the same strata people today.

If the story is respected in these two ways, you can chop and change opera a considerable amount without losing the composer’s intentions; but you need to really explore the themes and plots of the piece - the universal aspects and the more specific ones.

becca marriott

Artistic Director, Becca Marriott, explores the value of art and opera in times of crisis...

In a recent article in the Sunday Times a colourful quarter page graphic proclaimed that the number 1 most useless job as...

...artist. 

Ironic of course, considering an artist would have been commissioned to create the image.  

In times of crisis, Art seems like a luxury; but history screams loudly that it is not.  

When we think of the First World War, many of us will engage with it emotionally and empathise with the men who suffered and died on both sides because of poetry, literature and cinema. 

World War Two was a musical war - dotted with gramophones, songs and dances to release the human spirit trapped by terror, hunger and despair.

The Vietnam War was arguably brought to an end by a single photograph – a girl aflame with napalm sprayed from a US army plane.

The truth is that, in times of crisis, Art reminds us that we are human. To fight an enemy, be it fascism or a disease, we must constantly be reminded what we are fighting for – the freedom to express ourselves and our culture.

However, the greatest argument artists can make as they lobby governments to save an industry which has been decimated by lockdown, is the economic one.  A trip to the theatre, or a gallery, means so much more to the economy than the ticket price.

From the train ticket you bought to reach your culture fix, to the meal out or the drinks afterwards, the nice dress you purchased to wear to that date at the opera, the alcohol tax receipts from arts venues (art and alcohol are, for better or worse, bedfellows), the Arts Industry is big business.  It employs not only the painters, dancers, singer and actors, but hidden artists; designers, wardrobe mistresses, wiggies, graphic designers (think about the programmes and posters); as well as technical, administrative and service staff.  The Arts Industry employs thousands of people in the UK, many young, all aspirational.

Artists regenerate areas.  In 2010 I was party to some of the discussions of the developers of the huge new housing project on the site of the Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre, as I was co-creating an arts festival in the area.  Why did these men of money want to talk to a penniless grass roots charity coordinating small literary events and fringe theatre and comedy?  Simple – everyone wants to live in Bohemia. When an area has an artistic vibe, property prices rocket.  It’s a long-established pattern.  Cheap area; artists move in, little galleries, shops and theatres pop up, gentrification begins, and the area becomes expensive.  It’s a world-wide trend.  Artists are responsible for creating some of the most desirable places in the world to live; from Bloomsbury to Montmartre, The East Village to Monti; and with the big property price tags come big government tax gains.  

These pennies in a country’s pocket are easily measured, but what about the subtle ways in which the Arts contribute to our GDP?  Without downtime, be that an amazingly constructed television drama, a trip to a museum, a date at a West End Musical, or a stroll around a gallery, would our workforce be as productive?  Even fascist states and totalitarian regimes recognise how vital it is to maintain The Arts and offer them to the people.

Furthermore, experiencing Art improves our ability to empathise and encourages kindness.  

If we want a kind, generous and productive population we need The Arts.

And what about Opera?

While The Opera Makers are dedicated to producing smaller and medium-scale opera without reducing the operatic experience, it could be argued that grand opera is just a step too far in a starved economy.

A close friend of mine, who works mainly in improvised, stand-up and sketch comedy, asked me: “Why is Opera so expensive?  Why can’t a huge (and regularly full) theatre, like the Royal Opera House pay for itself?  It was then I pointed out that they employed a full-size orchestra, an entire chorus, a dance company, and in many instances nearly twenty principal artists per show, all on good wages.   Then there’s the set, costume, wigs, design, theatre maintenance etc…

…should grand opera retreat?

No!

Because all of this excess is opera’s very raison d'être.  Yes, smaller scale opera is fantastic at drawing people into epic scale stories.  I am a huge proponent of this relatively new form.  But, grand opera with all the trimmings is a hugely important form.

Opera most closely translates from the Italian as “the undertaking”.  This theatrical form has, at its very heart, the idea of being the absolute extreme in theatrical endeavour; encompassing dance, singing, acting, orchestration, the biggest sets, the boldest costumes, the grandest theatres.  It is the pinnacle of stagecraft.  

Asking: “Should full-on opera exist in these cash strapped times?” is like asking: “Should anyone enjoy the Christmas dinner binge in the age of moral veganism and obesity?”  

We need excess, just as we need moderation.  This is the nature of being human.  As a race we have always dreamed of Babelian towers.

Opera feeds that need.