Keep Your Head Down and Do the Work (Part I of III)

I started my master’s work with Dr. Ian Howell at New England Conservatory in 2019. I found myself flying high–I knew nothing about the opera world, but I believed fully and unequivocally in my ability to be immediately successful in it. That was a nice couple of weeks. 

Week one was full of hearings. I sang the same aria for everything: “Dawn, still darkness.” As an immigrant with a sibling, I know the Refugee’s plight; the fear of the immigration officer, the pain of separation from my “twin.” I believed that aria showed the best of everything I was as an artist.

So it stung extra hard when my teacher told me to stop singing it. 

Purely technical reasons. I was tensing my jaw and blowing out the middle. It’d work itself out in a couple of months, but it wasn’t a viable professional product at the time. “In fact,” he suggested, “it may be wise not to audition for companies this season.”

I heard his strong, wise counsel and elected to ignore it, deciding to take my first audition as a “learning experience.”

After the first PFO, Dr. Howell sat me down again. “There are no auditions for ‘experience,’” he explained, “because if you blow the first one, you might not get a second.” I had one booked for the next day. I considered canceling, but in hopeful naivete, I took the four hour bus to New York City. 

I remember sitting in the waiting room feeling like nobody and nothing. The singers around me were talking about teachers they had experiences with, casting directors they’d impressed, gigs they’ve had. Nobody addressed me. Suddenly, my resume seemed thin. My voice, when I walked out, was comparably thin–the sensual, serpentine lines of Oberon’s aria seemed more like stressed-out sighs. The panel was kind, all smiles and “thanks for coming.” Within the hour, I was informed I would not be called back. 

The grace of God was a friend who took me out for drinks afterwards. Of course I was upset–but it was nicer to be upset on a rooftop bar. Within minutes we were laughing, howling, sharing projects and dreams for the future. We had no concept, of course, of the global crisis that would make this all seem small in months, but for the moment, it was enough.

The ride home was full of miserable rumination. I hated knowing that I would walk back into the studio and report that I’d failed. I hated knowing that this audition might keep me from others. I hated knowing my teacher was right to say I should have waited–but what I hated more was believing I would only ever be waiting. I would always be working on my technique, I would never be good enough to be heard, I would keep my singing secret, lest I embarrass myself in temporarily believing I could ever be good enough to do this.

I was down. But what defined my direction is what happened next.

(I promise this story has a happy ending–come back next week for the next chapter!)

Stay Honest, Stay You

–Lucas