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‘My dear, there is no such thing as just chorus!’

The Reality Fairy

In a vocal masterclass with a renowned soprano, a colleague is told in no uncertain terms to ‘go and join a chorus and have babies’.

Excuse me?

Another friend, after forging a rather successful solo career, joins an opera chorus and is told, ‘Oh well, you’ve had your career.’

Her response? ‘Actually, I’m still having my career, thank you very much. This is my career!’

Some colleagues of mine, while studying at university, were told, ‘One should never strive to be in the chorus. One only settles to be in the chorus.’

Throughout my many years of study, I had been led to believe I would become a star. I had no intention of investing all my time, money and energy only to appear behind the principals in a curtain call. Yet this is where I stand every night, on the stage of the Joan Sutherland Theatre at the Sydney Opera House. I am a full-time member of the Opera Australia Chorus, and one of only a handful of sopranos in Australasia with a permanent job. I am having a successful career as an opera singer, and I’m happy.

It’s been a long road that has brought me to where I am today, and somewhere along the way I transitioned from singing as a hobby to singing as a career. Throughout my journey there have been successes, career highlights and pure elation alongside heartaches, tears, loneliness, self-doubt, lost contracts and more failed auditions than successful ones. But despite all of that, I can say this with absolute certainty: I couldn’t imagine a life without singing. It is who I have become, and the stage I stand on every night has become my second home.

Of course, when I started out, I didn’t know how my career would unfold, or how many stages around the world I would have the privilege to sing upon, but there was only one way to find out.

There has always been a voice deep within me, whispering words of encouragement to keep going, to keep trudging forward. You will sing and it will work out. You will find your place in the world. Just keep knocking on all those doors. I mean, I wasn’t what you would call ‘the next big talent’ – far from it – but I believed I was too good to throw it all away. I knew this. I just had to convince an audition panel that I would be worth hiring.

In this industry, you’re your own boss. You need to advocate for yourself, and to resolutely believe in the quality of your unique product. Grow that thick skin, survive the knockbacks, get back up again and hold fast to your determination to succeed. Of course, it’s easier said than done, but if I’d given up every time I’d received a ‘thanks but no thanks’ after an audition, I’d have thrown in the towel years ago.

I have never had the blessed opportunity to sing in all the top opera houses of the world. Their names will never flow from my lips, as they do for many others who have had the privilege to perform on such revered stages. This book isn’t about those theatres, nor is it about having a long career as a soloist in the world of opera. It is about the success that comes from travelling along a different path: accepting the stark reality of the industry and becoming a member of an opera chorus.

For some, having the mere thought of joining a chorus might be seen as a failure, or as an acceptance that the big career they have envisioned is never going to happen. It has been seen by some as a path for those who lack ambition, who didn’t quite make it or were never good enough; as a stepping stone to bigger and better things, a transition period, ‘spakfilla’, the ‘waiting room’, the ‘bottom rung’ of a company; or, as some in the industry like to call it, the ‘singer’s graveyard’.

Yet for me, the chorus is the best thing that has ever happened. I have had the privilege – and it is a privilege, earned from hard work and determination – of working in an industry where very few permanent positions exist. Every colleague who I stand on the stage with, night after night, is filled with the same pride, passion and assurance. We are where we want to be.

***

They say it takes a village to put on an opera, and within that vast village is the community we, as a chorus, create. We are presented as a collective, and you probably won’t recognise my name, or the names of my colleagues, printed in the small font near the end of the programme that you may receive for free on arrival at the theatre. We sing onstage most nights, appearing in nearly every opera listed in the yearly performance schedule.

We are townsfolk, peasants, revellers, mourners, socialites, aristocracy, clergy, fisherfolk, office workers, night workers, streetsweepers, prisoners, servants … the list goes on. We can be down the front of the stage, gathered around the perimeter, clustered in the shadows far upstage, or singing into the backs of principal artists. Sometimes our participation is from the darkness beyond the wings, creating the illusion of a far-off group of partygoers or a heavenly choir of angels. But wherever we are, you can guarantee that our presence, vocally and physically, will add to the emotion, atmosphere and intensity of every production we are involved in.

My colleagues and I are all highly skilled in acting, movement, stagecraft, telling a story, quick costume changes, juggling multiple props, and adapting our characters to whatever scene we inhabit or whatever costume we wear. Each of us is well-versed in several languages, has a high level of musicianship and holds several academic qualifications in our area of expertise. Some have taken the classical route, while others have studied a broader curriculum of drama, musical theatre and dance. I am surrounded by an array of magnificent voices within the chorus, and even though we all sing as ‘one voice’, I know that every one of us is individually capable of standing down the front of the stage as a soloist and taking on principal roles. Some of us want to pursue solo opportunities, and Opera Australia engages a number of choristers in this capacity, while others are more than happy to remain a part of this magnificent sound, not interested in taking the solo path at all.

When among it, this level of singing can hit me with its sheer force. It can reduce me to tears with its barely whispered pianissimos and transport me to a place of absolute transcendence. The elation of being a part of something so visceral, so powerful, can be spine tingling. Anyone who has sung in a choir, in a professional ensemble, in a congregation or surrounded by a crowd at a sporting event – or has sung along to their favourite song in an audience at a live concert – knows that feeling too. When I go to the theatre, I am as moved when the stage is enveloped by the glorious sound, energy and physical presence of an opera chorus, musical theatre ensemble or choir as I am by exquisite solo moments.

The chorus is written into a score for a reason. The composer knows the impact our collective sound is going to have on the audience, the production, the story and the drama. We are an integral part of any opera, and therefore one that should always be given the respect it deserves. Yet there are still some people who look upon the chorus, or the singers within it, as secondary somehow, as less successful than those singers standing down the front and taking a solo bow.

It is disappointing when we hear comments like, ‘Can you make a living out of being in the chorus?’, ‘But what’s your actual job?’, ‘Oh, you’re only in the ensemble’, ‘Are you in the chorus because the solo career never took off?’, ‘Don’t join the chorus, you’ll ruin your voice!’, ‘You’ll ruin your solo career’, ‘Let me know when you’re doing a role and I’ll come and see you’ and ‘Once in the chorus, always in the chorus!’. And then there’s my favourite: ‘Have you given up your principal career?’

There have been times in my career when I have been approached by a member of the public wanting to chat … until they realise I’m in the chorus, after which they politely excuse themselves and walk away. Their loss! I recall an encounter at an opening-night function when, after enjoying a rather lengthy conversation with a lovely gentleman, he then proceeded to ask me my name. His reply shocked me: ‘Oh yes, I think I’ve heard of you. But you haven’t done anything substantial, have you?’

If it hadn’t been for an interruption that prematurely ended our encounter, I would have asked him to elaborate on what he meant by ‘substantial’. Did he judge it by the size of a role, or by how many roles a singer may have clocked up? I think the number of characters that I have portrayed, before and since joining Opera Australia, is impressive. But what is substantial is the number of times I have performed on the stage of the Sydney Opera House, or any stage for that matter. So yes, I would define my career as ‘substantial’ – bloody substantial, actually! What a shame we didn’t get to continue our conversation.

After winning a competition to fulfil a year-long contract in a European opera house, a friend remembers the congratulatory comments he received on the opening night of a production. Before settling in Europe, he had sung full-time in an opera chorus for several years, a fact that he had proudly added to his biography in the programme. One particular comment stayed with him, even after 25 years; an audience member, after praising him, added, ‘… and to think you came from the chorus’!

A job in an orchestra, an ensemble of very esteemed musicians, is deemed a successful and viable career, one that is respected across the industry and revered by many. And so it should be. Of course, there are those who will advance to solo careers based on their exceptional talent and possibly a little bit of luck, but they are rare. Why is a chorus job not held in the same high regard? Why are singers taught, programmed and conditioned differently?

When I spoke to colleagues and friends who have been choristers here and overseas, a very clear pattern emerged. They would be encouraged to audition for casual chorus work during their postgraduate study as a way into a company to gain experience, with the hope that over time they would be employed to understudy roles, but certainly not full-time chorus. Some were directed towards further study overseas, joining a young artist programme and securing an agent, giving them the impression that a singing career would not be possible in Australia at all, which is disappointing. I agree that since Covid, permanent jobs within arts industries all over the world have become more difficult to secure. But Australia is the home of a successful, full-time repertory company, as well as several state companies, so it’s sad to hear that these comments are still being made. Some mentioned that accepting a job in a chorus was frowned upon, that being stuck with this title might limit their opportunities and stunt their careers.

There are other singers who, having worked casually within the chorus, will only announce their solo roles and understudy engagements on social media, as if omitting their chorus job gives the impression that their career is more successful. In parts of Europe, to be seen as a singer wanting to forge a successful solo career, it is important to exclude all chorus experience from your résumé in order to prove that your sole focus has always been that of a principal artist. I find this sad. I understand that a singer will do whatever is necessary to further their career and secure a solo contract, but the chorus provides a foundation in everything from stagecraft to vocal stamina, and you really can’t get a better training ground. We should all feel lucky to be given the opportunity to earn a regular wage as a singer, job title aside. Solo artists may only be contracted for a few engagements per year, or sporadically throughout the performance calendar, but they still need to find additional employment to pay the bills and put food on the table. Why is a chorister, who is employed full-time by a repertory company, not given the same respect?

***

Thankfully, other opera singers tell me of only positive experiences and helpful advice from tutors in tertiary music programs. Such teachers saw the importance of inviting a chorus master – a phenomenal all-round musician, linguist and pianist who teaches the chorus the music for every opera that they appear in (with the help of their assistant) – to talk to students, giving them insight into the opportunities before them. Some were even encouraged to audition for the chorus. I would like to think things are changing at the tertiary level – that there is a more realistic approach to teaching, and that students are now aware of the options open to them after graduation. I know some teachers are encouraging the chorus not just as a stepping stone but as a wonderful career, explaining that the standard of singers is very high and solo opportunities can be offered alongside chorus commitments. It is imperative for opera students to know there are many ways to be successful in the industry, and to be taught a broader curriculum to achieve versatility.

Once upon a time, having a stonking voice was good enough, and it opened many doors. That’s not the case anymore. These days you need to be a ‘triple threat’ – to sing and move well (dance experience is more important now), and to act too. These skills can potentially bring you employment in different areas of the industry, tackling a variety of musical genres, styles and platforms: opera, musical theatre, cabaret, recital, oratorio, contemporary works, compositions, workshops, plays requiring singers, jingles, corporate work, educational programmes … the list goes on. Yes, of course you need the voice to be good, but competition is fierce; there are fewer singing jobs, and more singers than ever are qualified, multitalented and eager to make their mark on the professional circuit.

The level of study required to prepare singing students for a solo career is exceptionally high, and that same level of study is vital in learning to navigate the technical challenges, workload and vast repertoire of a career in the chorus, and to have longevity in the job. The only way to succeed and maintain good vocal health is by having a solid technique. We become vocal athletes. We learn on the job, becoming highly attuned to the signs that we need vocal rest, and learning how to sing safely across all genres of music.

We know the level of skill required to succeed in this profession, and the years of hard work and training required to get to this level. We’ve all sung for peanuts, or for nothing at all; received zero placings at an eisteddfod; or failed to secure that highly sought-after contract. But it is these experiences that have crafted us into the artists we are today, and that underpin our individual abilities and successes.

There have been times throughout my career when, for one reason or another, I have dismissed or underplayed my part in Opera Australia’s world-class chorus, but that all changed one night back in 2014. I had just watched my friend Todd McKenney perform in the Jerry Herman musical La Cage aux Folles, at Arts Centre Melbourne. As I approached the lift in the theatre, I found two gentlemen waiting. When we struck up a conversation, I quickly realised who they were. One was Ken Mackenzie-Forbes, eminent theatre producer and artistic director of The Production Company, which had produced the show I had just seen; the other was John Hay-Mackenzie, a director with the company.

After I congratulated them on the show, they asked me where I was off to that evening. ‘I’m performing in Tosca tonight with Opera Australia,’ I told them.

‘What do you do in the show?’ they asked.

And that’s when I said it: ‘I’m just in the chorus.’

Immediately, these fabulous gentlemen looked at me as if they were staring deep into my soul, and one of them said, in almost a whisper, yet with such sincerity, ‘My dear, there is no such thing as just chorus!’

I tried to backtrack, but the words had already left my lips. I agreed wholeheartedly with them, so why had I said it in the first place? I felt extremely proud to be in the chorus. Why did I feel like I had to apologise? As the lift doors opened, I thanked them rather sheepishly for our brief conversation and, more importantly, for making me aware of the part I played within Opera Australia.

Even so, those thoughts spun around my mind in a relentless whirlpool during my preparation for Tosca that evening. I tried to push them aside onstage, but my attempts were fruitless until it finally dawned on me: I felt disappointed in myself for diminishing my worth and for lessening the importance of my position within the company – and, in a way, that of my colleagues. ‘Hell,’ I thought, ‘there are so many sopranos out there who would kill for my job!’

From that evening on, I knew I needed to change my attitude. I’m a chorister, not ‘just’ a chorister, and I’m bloody good at my job. So I made a promise. I would never say ‘just chorus’ again.

***

This book shines a light on my lived experience as a chorister, and I know it’s not the same for everyone. Any one of my colleagues could write their own version, taken from their individual life stories and journeys.

For young singers reading this book, I would like to think it has the capacity to broaden your horizons. It’s not always about taking the main road, but giving yourself permission to turn left or right and discover a multitude of options that await you in the opera industry. It’s not always about singing the solo line or being in the front row at a curtain call.

For others who are interested in the art form, or wanting a backstage pass, I hope it gives an insight into a group of professional singers that is often looked upon as a unit. I hope that when you attend your next performance, whether it be an opera, a musical, an oratorio or any event that showcases a group of people singing together, you will have a deeper understanding of who we are and what we do, and what our lives are like beyond the perimeters of the stage or concert-hall platform.

Opera can feel elitist, and some people are put off by the fact that, most of the time, we sing in languages other than English. To those people I say: don’t worry, there are surtitles in English! And, if I’m honest, we can repeat things … a lot. At times it can take a good five minutes for a singer to express their feelings, so once you’ve read what they’re singing about the first time, you can sit back, relax and enjoy the music. This means you’ll always be able to keep up.

Opera is sexy, it’s modern, it’s everyday life. It can be as tragic as it is silly. There are heroes and villains, princes and princesses, kings and queens, fantasy and reality, and sometimes more glitter than Mardi Gras. By telling my story, I honour choristers all around the world who represent a village, a community, the ‘cogs in the wheel’, and a support for those who take the solo bow.

To sing is my vocation, my calling. It’s something I was born to do. For me it is about expression, connecting to something deep within. It makes me feel alive and, very simply, happy. I can go short periods without it – usually during an annual leave break – but that’s only because I’m exhausted and I need to give my voice a rest. Any longer than that and I really start to miss it.

When you take on a position as a full-time chorister in a large opera company, you hit the ground running and you don’t really stop. Every year I have had to learn to juggle the rest of my life around it. For now, I wouldn’t want it any other way. Yes, I get exhausted, and can look like the walking dead. At times my brain can explode with the amount of music I have to learn and the languages that I need to pronounce, translate and understand. My body will ache from wearing heavy costumes and corsets, or from standing for long periods of time on a raked or sloped stage, sometimes in shoes that are slowly but surely killing my feet. My skin will break out from the thick and sometimes skin-irritating show makeup, and I will find gold glitter around the house for months, even on the cat, especially after a season of La bohème. I’ve realised that it doesn’t matter how well I wash my makeup off every night, I will still wake up looking like a panda, and on some Saturday mornings, when I’m lying in bed, I wonder how the hell I am going to get through two performances that day without falling in a heap. But I do, and I love it.

When I take my final bow and look back on my singing career, success for me will not be calculated by the number of roles I performed, or how many times my headshot and biography appeared inside a glossy programme. I will look back upon my life and be proud that I sang nearly every night for a living: that I walked out onto the stage, surrounded by colleagues making beautiful music, and helping to provide an escape to an audience ready and willing to take the journey.

I am, and always will be, honoured to call myself a chorister. I may be a few steps behind in a curtain call, but I am living the dream I had as a child. Long ago, I decided that what I really wanted to do was sing – to sing opera, and to sing for a living. Come hell or high water, I was determined to find a way.