Belated Musings on Blue at Lyric

(Blue - Lyric Opera of Chicago - Nov 2024)

Blue was an experience I will never forget. It was my first time performing in an opera that strives to tell a story of blackness in the modern day: the complexity of our overlapping identities, unjust systems that work exactly as intended, how these impact our dreams and ambitions, and the universal desire of peace, safety, and community. Blue is not an individual story of our black heroes and icons enduring and surpassing expectations to create examples for us all. This story highlights more subtle, quiet, everyday strengths: the strength of raising a black baby with compassion in hard times, the strength of faith, the strength of a moral compass, the strength of donning a uniform for the noblest intentions, the strength of the working class, the strength of a comforting word.

This was the most organic role for me to process and emotionally map. The faces of my family, friends, and loved ones were mirrored in those of my castmates and their characters. It took no effort for me to see the fire and passion of my own father in Kenneth. The love and warmth of my stepfather and the uniforms of my uncle and brother were knitted onto the back of "Father." My mother's determination, love, and will to achieve her dreams while remaining uncompromising with the family she wants were written directly into "Mother." I saw my grandparents' faith in the Reverend's message. I saw every friendship I've had with a black woman in Zoie, Ariana, and Kristy - the playfulness, the jokes, the instant honesty, love, and comradery. I saw my cousins' faces on Travon and the son - in their matching gentle hearts of gold. I saw them all in pews, coffee tables, and later in a casket.

Blue taught me the depth of my emotional capacity and how much more I can retrieve and use on stage. I frequently keep "maintaining my technique" at the forefront of my mind in practice and performance. It is easy to trick yourself into thinking that it is more important to produce a beautiful sound than to guide the audience through an emotional experience through sound. I truly used my technique as a medium of expression and found myself on the other side, free....like a wrung-out washcloth, yes, but free. I can go deeper and further. Blue broke my heart and brought me to tears. As often as it filled me with helplessness, it filled me with gratitude and hope. Each day, I was broken down and rebuilt better and stronger. So much of that "rebuild" was found in my friends and colleagues on and off the stage. I was surrounded by support, kind words, good meals, hard work, and generosity each day. If I had a dollar for every time in this process that I saw someone in this show sing a stinging line or scorching scene and be met on the other side of the wing with a hug, a joke, or a smile to ease the load, I'd be rich. It's a beautiful thing to witness, to be a part of, AND to replicate when it isn't as instinctual. Grateful, grateful.

As an artist, it is a gift to not only be a part of something that is beautiful but also drives its audiences to think, feel, and change. I was excited to hear, read, and debate with folks about this show's choices, staging, subject, and writing, but more than anything, I was happy to see how audiences digested this work. It brought up questions for me like:

How can we continue to produce works like this in shifting political climates? Are we writing for intra-community catharsis or extra-community understanding (in other words, was this intended for white folks or black folks?) Does that affect its value in an opera house? How can we program operas alongside other artwork that enhances its message?

These kinds of conversations are vital to making our work collaborative and inclusive for the new audiences we want to see in our opera houses. I found this a revitalizing experience, especially for the part of me that wondered if my artistic passions could be of service to the communities that matter the most to me.

Lastly, this was the show I participated in during this year's election. It remains a scary time, particularly for those of us in marginalized communities. It is hard to be an artist trying to tell stories that are true to us. I am so thankful that I was able to be a part of that storytelling on such a big stage with such incredible artists, all the more in this particular climate. So, this Black History Month, when attempted erasure is imminent, I'd like to manifest more of what I have already experienced, which is much embodied in my experience of Blue. I hope that we all remain dedicated to telling stories that are meaningful and representative of us - stories of the legends of history, of the everyday. I hope that we will feel empowered to choose projects that truly represent us, our many interactions, and our broader humanity; we are not black bodies to be used, and our agency remains valuable. I hope administrations continue to find diverse stories intriguing and relevant, as Lyric has done, because they are crucial. I hope writers, composers, and historians continue to discover and create. I hope we stand up for each other when it is easy and hard. I hope that the safe spaces that allowed us the space for Blue continue to be brave and hold the space intact for all of us. I want to be a vehicle for change, understanding, and collective growth. I commit to showing up for my dreams and what I believe in.

Photo by Kyle Flubacker

Visual story on Instagram, here.

My Met Competition Journey

I would be a liar if I said I didn't hope to move on to the next round for my final shot. I don't have a monstrous ego, but I expect myself to improve every time in every way, so ending this in the "same place" is hard for me. I dreamed of this version of myself singing on that stage for the first time through this competition. If I dream it, I am doing everything in my power to make it happen.

I have heard from folks for a long time that I seem cool under pressure, easy-going, and nonchalant. I always find that observation hilarious because it's not my truth. Although in competition and audition spaces, I am always warm, smiling, and supportive toward my colleagues, I am simultaneously holding a sharpened blade of ferocity toward myself. I hold myself to a higher standard than any judge could, and I push like hell for the finish lines. For this dream this year especially, I added to my arsenal. I did everything to improve my pieces with the best ears and fingers around - thank you to each of you; the list would be longer than this post. For the first time, I had the privilege to be rigorous about rest - not over-projecting, or scheduling. I put everything out on the dancefloor, and I am so proud of that work.

In the end, those pieces were/are better than ever, and I am a better musician for my work and investment in this dream. The day before the competition, I caught a bug (I am currently typing this one day later, breathing like Darth Vader with a pile of tissues next to me, a headache, and a dry cough) that had me sounding like a baritone the day before. I did everything in my disaster bag of tricks to get on that stage and sing my heart out. After a bunch of negative tests and contemplating withdrawal, I managed it the best I could, and I made it on the board. I did everything I could, and it wasn't enough to take me to NYC with this immense talent. And, sickness aside, that stings and aches all over.

BUT, one thing I will always have is perspective. I dreamed of being one of the badasses that hit that stage in the semis and the finals of this competition and having a major career. I will not be. I join the league of badasses who have not hit that stage in the semis nor finals AND have major careers. OH WELL! I have done enough dreaming to know that once you set a goal or a dream and you work to achieve it, you will either succeed or fail. Either way, you must redirect your energy and ambition to new dreams, bigger dreams. I will do just that. I will write myself new dreams and strive for them.

So, I am stinging today; I'm drinking hot chocolate on the couch, puffy-eyed, sniffling, and irritating my wife and cat, but I don't feel helpless or hopeless. Sure, a big part of me wants to find myself guilty of not doing enough, and another part still wants to deem me not good enough, tall enough to stand alongside my dreams. But in writing this, and sharing these pictures (scroll to the last slide) to hope to show you and me the "how it started" vs the "how it's going" to remind us that rejection and failure don't always look the same. I am reminding myself that I have earned and continue to earn the right to stand next to my dreams. I was a worthy artist with something to say in 2020-2021 as much as I am in the 2023-2024 season and every season afterwards. That's good enough for me.

If you are following me and see me setting an example of anything, let it be of getting back up on the horse. I dream big and fail big. I love finding new ways of showing growth through my work, and my presence. My only regret is not starting this process sooner. I underestimated my ability to learn and grow from failing, listening, and building my team, and I won't do it again. Use these competitions as vehicles to build connections with the industry and your colleagues and not as a barometer of your worth. ❤️

For the visual version of this story, check it out on my Instagram!