16.

The curtain call

A successful career

I am, and always will be, proud to call myself a chorister. More than sixteen years ago I was handed the key to a wonderful career and little did I know what an incredible ride it would be. Do I love my job? Yes. Have I been successful in my chosen field? Yes. Do I sing for a living? Yes. Do I have a career in music? Yes. Have I succeeded in an industry where jobs are scarce, and performed at the highest level? Yes, I have.

I know I am a good, solid, consistent and reliable singer. I have excelled in the chorus environment and am worthy of my position within the company. After years of knocking on doors, hoping for that solo career, I finally realised it just wasn’t going to happen and, strangely, I grew to accept this reality. What was the point in wasting time on a vision I had set for myself if it continually moved further out of reach? It’s a cutthroat industry. How many years did I want to stand in front of a door that wouldn’t open for me? I am also 150 per cent certain that if I had continued to try and carve out a solo career for myself, whether in the UK, New Zealand or Australia, I would have been doing numerous other jobs to supplement my income, as I am sure the engagements would have been sporadic, to say the least. I wouldn’t have sung as consistently over the years as I have in the chorus, and the stress of trying to secure solo work would have become exhausting, not to mention soul destroying.

Thankfully, I have always had a very realistic and practical outlook when it comes to my career, my vocal ability and its limitations, not to mention my steadfast determination to never alter my focus. Giving up is not in my nature, which has allowed me to embrace whatever comes my way. The experiences I have had, and the opportunities that have been offered have surpassed anything that I could ever have imagined. Every time I need to list my occupation on a form, I still allow myself a moment of silent pride when I write ‘opera singer’.

Gaining a place in the Opera Australia Chorus gave me the gift of permanent employment. When I signed that full-time contract, I became, for the first time in my life, financially secure in my industry. I didn’t realise how important things like sick leave, superannuation, holiday pay, personal leave, maternity leave and long service leave were until I had access to them. After years of trying to survive in the freelance world, faced with the inconsistency of singing engagements, I found that the benefits of full-time work were just as important as being able to sing six days a week. Ever since I found myself at the crossroads of ‘chorister or soloist’ and started walking down the new path of chorister, I have not regretted it – not for a second. Having consistent full-time work with one employer for a number of years also allowed me the opportunity to become a permanent resident of Australia, and two years later an Australian citizen, thanks to Opera Australia kindly sponsoring me.

Every job has its sacrifices, and I have had to accept and learn to work around mine. I can’t just turn up to important events for family and friends, enrol in a night course, attend concerts by my favourite performers or book spontaneous weekends away. We can apply for a small number of rostered calls off (RCOs) from rehearsals or performances each year for respite or personal reasons, and we choose our dates carefully. Sometimes it’s a case of first in, best dressed – for example, you can’t have two or three sopranos off on the same night. Of course, if you’re covering or doing a role, then the answer is usually no – understandably, but they do try and accommodate as fairly as they can. The number of engagements, weddings, birthdays, funerals, baby showers, opening nights, graduation ceremonies, anniversaries, performances and Christmases I have missed is vast and at times heartbreaking, not to mention the joy of just sitting in the backyard with a loved one and having a cuppa whenever I feel like it. At times I envy the freedom of others. What I would give to have my family down the road! But as difficult as it is to be away from them, I love my career, and I can’t do it in New Zealand.

Singing with friends and colleagues who are at the top of their game, who consistently sing at the highest level and who deserve their place next to opera’s greatest soloists is a joy. The Opera Australia Chorus is one of the best and hardest working choruses in the world, and its singers are all capable of being soloists. But they too made a choice, just as I did. I have been able to call the Sydney Opera House home and perform almost nightly on its sacred stage. Sometimes, when leaving through stage door during a gruelling schedule and walking, exhausted, towards the car park, I will sometimes look back and take a moment to really appreciate where I am today, and all the people who have helped get me here. I’ve stood in front of more closed doors than open ones, and this journey has certainly had its challenges. But it also taught me resilience and belief in myself. The knowledge I gained from every signed contract and rejection equipped me with the tools to find the place where I belong. Finding Opera Australia has been a reward far greater than I ever thought possible.

***

‘What would you do if you hadn’t become a singer?’ is a question people often ask. For me, the answer is simple: I would have turned towards photography, my other great passion. I spend hours in awe of the photographers who bring the natural world into our lives, through television, social media, books and exhibitions. To be among landscapes, to capture animals in their natural environments, or to freeze a moment in time seems like the greatest privilege. The digital age has allowed us all to preserve an occasion at the touch of a button. Whether it’s travelling to new places, walking through a garden, being with family, backstage of a theatre, being in a rehearsal or just wandering around Sydney, I will constantly be seeing the everyday through the lens of a camera. Not a day goes by where I don’t stop and photograph something and document my life. 

Capturing my work in photos is also extremely important to me. Opera Australia catalogues our performance careers through photography and archival recordings. Some of my performances have been broadcast on TV and radio or have been made available through CD, DVD or cinema releases, but not many. I suppose this is why I’m so snap-happy in the dressing room, creating memories and recording my career through my own camera. I’m always annoying the ladies in the chorus by asking for group shots, but it’s so important.

And then there’s the question, ‘What are you going to do when you retire from performing full-time?’ There’s no doubt that when I take my final bow on the Joan Sutherland stage, my performance career, as I have known it, will come to an end. I can’t find that consistency anywhere else in Australasia, so when I do finally decide to exit stage left, it will be a decision I have thoroughly considered. Teaching would be my most obvious career segue, combining everything I have learned to pass onto the next generation. But I know of some singers who have taken a completely different path and found a huge amount of satisfaction. What would I do? Probably teach, but it will be one hell of a learning curve because I have very little experience in teaching methods. I just hope I can offer the correct guidance, freedom of options, and encouragement in whatever musical journey my students choose to pursue.

What I have done is offer a few masterclasses at the Gallagher Academy of Performing Arts, University of Waikato in Hamilton. At my first, in 2014, I felt nervous at the prospect of being on the other side, and being the person expected to instil knowledge into a group of students I had never met. One thing is for certain: I need to be a better piano player than I am now – at least good enough to accompany students’ singing exercises and not be a complete disaster! Thankfully, for the students (and for me), the university provided a professional accompanist, which meant that on the day I could focus on the voice and performance element of each singer.

To my surprise, as the masterclass got underway, I realised that it didn’t matter whether I knew how to play the piano or not. There were so many different areas of the students’ performance I could focus on – presentation, language, characterisation, phrasing, technique, understanding of the story, taking the music off the page and making it their own. At the end, I realised how much knowledge I’d gained throughout my own journey simply by working in the industry every day.

I loved this first masterclass, and when I returned to the academy the following year, I decided on a different tactic. I would use the three hours to talk to the students, to be the Reality Fairy and help them understand how difficult, challenging, rewarding, financially draining and competitive a career in opera can be. It wasn’t about scaring them off or making them feel disheartened – on the contrary. I wanted to open their eyes and think about considering a wider range of opportunities before they finally walk out of the gates with a degree in their hand, wondering what to do next – just like I had done all those years ago. Discussions like this didn’t exist when I attended university.

The students bombarded me with questions throughout the three-hour session, scribbling down the advice and looking disappointed when the class ended. They had been unaware that you could have a successful career in an opera chorus – or that such jobs even existed as a legitimate career choice. I would like to think they left the room with a broader understanding of the industry and perhaps a shift in their mindset – just enough to realise that they needn’t give it all up if their solo careers don’t pan out the way they had hoped. They can still be successful and, yes, very happy.

Teaching aside, there are other ways of giving back and supporting up-and-coming young artists, and I try to do this as much as I can, schedule permitting. I’ve jumped at the chance to adjudicate singing competitions back in New Zealand, both in Tauranga and in my hometown of Hamilton. I think being able to sit back and reflect on my own competition journey has made me a better adjudicator, one who understands the nerves, pressure, expectation, money invested and hard work that each singer (and their family) has put in. As each competitor walked onto the stage, I carefully considered my feedback. I wanted to ensure my criticism was positive and my comments encouraging, so that every singer felt seen, valued, respected, and confident about continuing to compete. In Hamilton, I wanted to gift something to the society that had played such a huge part in my competition experience as a child, so I created a prize for Early Italian Aria. It felt very special to present this to a very worthy recipient for the first time, knowing that as the years go by, new names will be added to the history of this trophy.

I also decided to give something back to my old secondary school, Sacred Heart Girls’ College in Hamilton. During my time there in the 1980s, if you showed any promise within the performing arts, the only certificate available at the annual prize-giving was the Cultural Award, covering everything from choir to the clarinet. So, I contacted the school asking if things had changed. Realising that still, after all these years, no award existed which acknowledged vocal talent, I decided to do something about it. In 2012, the Katherine Wiles Award for Overall Vocal Excellence was presented, for the first time, to a senior student who had played a part in the musical life of the college and showed future potential. At first I thought it rather pretentious to name a trophy after myself, but my sister Lisa reassured me. She said for a young student with a love of singing, knowing that a trophy could be awarded in their final year of college would be a huge incentive, and something positive for them to strive for. It felt like the right thing to do.

In 2020, I was asked to be the Australian Ambassadorial Advisor for the Dame Malvina Major Foundation, which offers a range of support, scholarships and prizes to emerging New Zealanders in the performing arts. What an honour! After first hearing Dame Malvina sing nearly 40 years ago, she has now become a very dear friend, and I feel like I’ve come full circle. As an ambassador, I help young singers find opportunities in Australia, such as internships with opera companies, coaching, and attending stage calls and rehearsals.

The first of these opportunities launched in 2023, and I am very proud to have played a vital part in the creation of a partnership between Opera Australia and Te Pae Kōkako – The Aotearoa New Zealand Opera Studio, based at the University of Waikato in Hamilton. Six students taking part in the Master of Music programme were able to spend a two-week internship within Opera Australia, receiving coaching in voice, languages, stagecraft and vocal health; observing rehearsals and performances; and ending their experience with an audition on the stage of the Joan Sutherland Theatre at the Sydney Opera House. I am extremely grateful to Opera Australia, the staff who made it possible, and those working on continuing this collaboration in the future.

When the time comes for me to step down from the stage as a full-time chorister, I hope I can keep making a difference to young artists, and in some way equip them with the skills to survive in this industry. I don’t know when that time will come, but I won’t be able to fully commit to it unless I have scaled back on my own performance career. And I’m not ready to hang up my corset just yet!

***

When I look out to the audience during a performance – noticing the sheer delight on their faces, knowing they are experiencing the art form of opera in the most visceral way – it is humbling beyond measure. I am grateful to our steadfast supporters, to our local and national audiences, to the tourists and those who have chosen to attend an opera for the first time. The elderly or sick who have taken their seats at the theatre, ready to be transported to a place that allows them to forget their troubles, their pain, and the battles they are facing in the outside world. The elderly gentleman who experienced a performance that touched his heart, making him weep, then struggled to his feet without the aid of his walker to applaud a performer who had spoken to his soul, gifting him the joy of leaving the theatre a changed person. The woman who had been given clearance to leave her hospital room and immerse herself in live music, feeling freedom once more – I cannot even begin to understand the planning that made her attendance in a bed possible. The gentleman who shouted ‘Bravi!’, applauding at the last note Puccini composed in Act Three of Turandot before he died with the opera still incomplete. The young girl in the front row of the theatre next to her parents, with a look of absolute wonder and disbelief on her face as the magic unfolded before her eyes. She may not have understood the story or a word of what was being sung, but I am certain that those three hours stayed with her long after she walked away from the white sails of the Opera House.

During a stage orchestral rehearsal for Turandot, slowly working through Act One, I sat down on the stage next to a young boy appearing in the Opera Australia Children’s Chorus for the first time. As we were given this moment to relax, he said he would remember the show forever. He looked behind him at the large white moon that would fly in halfway during the opening chorus number, known as the ‘Moon Chorus’. After observing it for a while, he said something that really touched me. ‘Look at the moon,’ he said. ‘It’s just plastic and I can see all the little scratches, yet you wouldn’t see that from the audience. I suppose that’s just the magic of theatre.’ I will never forget it. Nor will I forget the elderly gentleman who sat in the front row at a performance of Turandot conducting the entire last Act, possibly reliving a moment from days past, his movements so fluid and graceful it looked like he was dancing in his seat. Watching him become immersed in the music moved me.

Even though I can become complacent at times, moments like these remind me of how extraordinary opera can be. They force me to put my personal aches, pains and worries aside, and do my best performance for every single person sitting out there in the dark. I don’t save lives and I don’t make decisions that change people’s lives, but I can touch people through music. We offer an escape and invite people to be swept up by the music, even if it is only for a short time.

Singing is an elixir. It releases endorphins, reduces stress and makes me happy. Being surrounded by the most sublime musical moments speaks to my soul and I hope to experience these feelings for as long as I am able.

I’m not sure if it will be the job, my voice or my body that decides enough is enough. But it brings me to something the great soprano Maria Callas once said: ‘You are born an artist, or you are not. And you stay an artist, dear, even if your voice is less of a firework. The artist is always there.’