Thank you, Michael Tilson Thomas

It with profound sorrow that I join the world in mourning the loss of a once-in-generation musician, Michael Tilson Thomas.

I have many memories, (and some shall always remain privately ‘mine’), but what I can say is that MTT gave me was so much more than “a shot” when he selected me—a total nobody— to sing *his* Maria. He also gave me the gift of contributing to the legacy of West Side Story and to crossover music history, happily preserved for all time on our glorious recording.

But above all, MTT unsentimentally taught me how to believe in myself, and the lesson that sometimes? that is a slow process. The story that captures this:

One day, during our week leading up to ‘West Side Story’ rehearsal he brought me in to his office. I truly believed I was being fired. The imposter syndrome was real. But that is not what happened. “You’re singing sharp when you get nervous,” he said. “I know. That does happen when I get nervous I’ll fix it,” I replied, horrified. “Singing sharp often happens when people try too hard,” MTT continued, “They overshoot the note trying to be more than they are. I don’t need you to be more than you are. You are ‘Ein großer Künstler’ Alexandra. A great artist. Be exactly what you are, fully, don’t shrink, don’t puff, and you’ll be perfection.”

I was staggered. I almost cried. 

     “So I’m not fired?”
     “Absolutely not.”
     “But… I don’t know if I can trust myself like that.”
     “Then trust ME. I’m Michael Tilson Thomas and I know what I’m doing! I chose you. And I don’t regret it. Trust ME until you trust yourself. Sometimes belief can be collaborative. Nothing wrong with that.”

May we all learn from this.

May his memory be a blessing. 

I know it shall always be for me. 

None shall part us now. 

 

 

 

 

Response to Violence

On October 28 (the Sunday after the horrible shooting of the Tree of Life Synagogue), genius musical director and performer Ben Moss and I joined Jamie Bernstein at the Center for Jewish History, to raise our voices in song as her father Leonard Bernstein so rightly said is our greatest weapon against violence:

"This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before."

 

"The Impossible Dream"

Last night I performed in a concert version of Man of La Mancha at Merkin Hall in Manhattan for The Transport Group. It was one of the most moving nights of theatre I have ever participated in and among my 'Top Five New York City memories.'

I was fortunate enough to be tasked with Aldonza's big emotional scenes at the finale of the piece but also partnered with longtime friend, the golden-throated Jason Danieley in the "Impossible Dream" scene at the finale of Act 1.

Quixote says:

"Love not what thou art, only what thou may become.
Do not pursue pleasure...
or thou mayest have the misfortune to overtake it.
Look always forward.
In last year's nests...
there are no birds this year.
Be just to all men, courteous to all women.
Live in the vision...
of the one for whom great deeds are done.."

As the scene progressed, it became abundantly clear that Don Quixote's idealism and vision of fighting for a better world was painfully relevant and poignant in a way none of us participants were prepared for. Jason and I came prepared to embody a scene, not knowing we would be embodying a philosophy for our age—lifting the audience to a higher, more hopeful place.

The scene began, and with it, the music.

To dream the impossible dream,
To fight the unbeatable foe,
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go;
To right the un-rightable wrong.

To love, pure and chaste, from afar,
To try, when your arms are too weary,
To reach the unreachable star!

This is my Quest to follow that star,
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far,
To fight for the right
Without question or pause,
To be willing to march into hell
For a heavenly cause!

And I know, if I'll only be true
To this glorious Quest,
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest.

And the world will be better for this,
That one man scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach the unreachable stars.”

Jason singing with his glorious voice, that song, with those lyrics accompanied by a full orchestra, in this moment in history? All with the emotional aid of our friendship and connected “eyeballs”... it was one of the greatest artistic moments of my life thus far.
I will never, in all my life, forget it.

Thank you, dear dear Jason, and Jack Cummings III for giving it to us.


Highlights from the entire spine-chilling evening are captured here:

"She Enters The Room" from After Anatevka in Concert

Ryan Silverman

"She Enters the Room" from AFTER ANATEVKA in CONCERT

based on the novel AFTER ANATEVKA read and written by Alexandra Silber

Music by Joe Thalken
Lyrics by Joseph Amodio

Performed by Ryan Silverman (Dmitri)


*

Chapter 44: The Book of Dmitri

    Dmitri Pavlovich Petrovsky had been born with twines of music lodged tight about his heart.  Like a rusted barbed-wire, it clutched at him and the harder he struggled, the deeper the barbs would cut.  The wounds festered, encased in the pus of his dead imagination. 

    Coming from a family of folk musicians in a city as bright as Petersburg made no difference whatsoever to a boy so innately fraught by the simultaneous demands and admonitions of a world in which he felt he did not belong. Depression blanketed the boy from the time he could remember, though his family was quick to dismiss it all as “family flair” or “histrionics.”
    “Mityushka!” They cried, “Nyezh-naya Mitya!” They did not, they could not, know what to do with him. Nor did he know what to do with himself.

    Dmitri’s personage had always been a shroud of mystery—broad shoulders hunched over a lanky body as if to protect the heart that ached within. His face beautiful, but tender and surrounded by a mop of dark, messy curls. Large expressive hands with long fingers worked up into fists plunged deep within his pockets, or else wringing, itching to be used to play his cello. His small but ferociously intelligent eyes held all the world at arms length, shielded further by the spectacles he’d worn since childhood. 

    If the truth of a man lies within him, then it stands to reason one might then be able to simply open him up and grasp at that truth the way one carves into a carcass to extract the tenderest cuts of meat.
    But there are certain men whose inner truths are far too delicate, and whose constitutions far too strong to penetrate. In such a case, one must simply wait for the truth within to creep out of its own accord, like a creature that may break apart if pressure is put upon it. Perhaps it was so with Dmitri.
    But how could the shackled heart, and the poetry that mocked within him; how could the stench of fear,  the cacophonous clamor of uncertainty, and the darkened depths of spirit; how could any of it ever be expressed?

    It was the cello, in the end, that set him free. That gave him peace. Inside the chords and notes and arches of melody, he found an expanse of space where all of what he longed to be could fit— that unnameable, unknowable self.
    He tagged along, of course, to play in the city venues with his family— folk songs soared and crowds cheered as his father lead with accordion, his mother on balalaika and sisters on violins.
He was grateful to his family for the instrument itself (handed down from his grandfather), and for the ability to play it. But his family, however musical, could not hear his music at all.

*

    Once in Nerchinsk, no cold, no labor, no punishing treatment, no single thing could mar him more than the love that raged within his breast for her. The love he felt but could not utter, which he knew with every scrap of his being to belong not to him, but to the only man he admired, the man he respected above all others. If only he could say what everyone already knew to be true.

    Everyone, that is, but her.

    He felt that ancient barbed twine unravel itself and come between them, it lodged itself into Hodel without her knowledge, and once enmeshed it yanked and ripped at his already riled heart, and made it throb in agony. One moment he would revel in her scent, the next he could weep with guilt.

    When together, the three of them were such a happy triangle. But Dmitri recognized he was the  hypotenuse in a shape perfectly right without him—an attachment, not at all unlike a third wheel on a cart— excessive, unnecessary for it to function, but somehow with its presence the entire structure had better balance. Countless times he nearly spoke, nearly moved to kiss her; Tell her! His mind bawled, Take her in the arms you know were designed to enfold her within them! But every time, he thought of what would happen if he did. Crippled by loneliness, fear penetrated his love—the alchemical result was aloofness. Or often, viciousness.

    He knew that he could never be alone with her without wanting desperately to touch her. Could not touch her without wanting to posses her, to make her his own. So he barely spoke to her at all. He would waste his life away beholding a painting upon the wall of a locked house he would never be allowed to enter…

There was nothing to be done.
Nothing he could do but play, of course.
Every strand of aching music, every forlorn concerto, for her. 

*

"Let Love In" from After Anatevka in Concert

Ron Raines

"Let Love In" by Matthew Sklar and Amanda Green


Based on Alexandra Silber's AFTER ANATEVKA from Pegasus Books

Read by John Cullum and sung by Ron Raines (Chekhov)

at Symphony Space, NYC,
2017

*

Chapter 29, The Man in the Bar

    Perchik had always been driven by other forces, just as he had in the winter of 1903 when he stumbled into Moscow before he ever met Hodel.

    University was not the dreamworld Perchik had imagined, and thus, he had unceremoniously found himself to be expelled. The crash of his fantasy destroyed him. He felt at times as if it were a death fight between his ideals and the truth of the world. The people of academia were no less disappointing, no less competitive, duplicitous, judgmental, or small-minded. It was only their vocabularies and the landscape that differed. The world belonged to his horrible uncle, and to every man like him.
    What was the point of modesty? To hell with brilliance, Perchik thought, clutching his head harder still. This so-called gift had kept Perchik from everything he had ever desired in his life.

    He had boarded a train, awoke along the outskirts of Moscow, and stumbled into a bar as fetid as his spirit where he was now committed to stupefying himself into oblivion.

    So bitter was the wind outside that all inhabitants of the bar felt its sting as it whipped the ragged glass panes in the walls of the basement locale. The skins of the prostitutes were pimpled with chill; their still, predatory gaze only faintly unsettled.
    In an abrupt swirl of wind, a man entered, shivering as he made his way to the bar—a cough from the depths of his lungs rang out as he moved toward the stool beside Perchik. The man sighed, eyes watering, and hands with ink-stained fingers began clearing the cough-induced tears away from beneath the wire rims of his round spectacles. As he gained composure he brushed snow sharply off his long black coat, which hung loosely over his suit.
    Perchik lifted his eyes. Light streamed down through the windows from the bustling street above, casting a kind of celestial glow behind the man as he settled. When the drinks arrived he raised his in inquiry. “What brings you here tonight, comrade?”

John Cullum

    “Comrade?” the stranger stated with recognition. “All the young people in the cities are using that word nowadays!” He laughed, nestling down farther into his long coat. “Ah, thank you for the drink, comrade.” He smiled. Perchik lifted his glass to the stranger and nodded before downing its contents in a single quaff.
    “Love,” the stranger answered.
    “Love?”
    “What brings me here tonight? Love. For every reason that is good and bad, love always seems to bring me to the bar!” He threw his head back and laughed, then smoothed his beard and adjusted the frames on his face. “I love this city; I love a woman in this city. What about you, comrade? What do you love?”
    “The vodka, of course,” Perchik lied.  “Tell me about your love.”
    The man’s gaze shifted from his ink-stained hands to the dancing lamps along the peeling walls.
    “Well, I am no great lover, my friend. I have come to Moscow with a love letter of sorts, hoping I will see its potential realized.”
    “A girl!”
    “No—a real woman of such culture and refinement. She speaks several languages, plays piano. I have, thus far, loved her only through letters—which is how I know she is also a wonderful writer.” His eyes glimmered.
    “I see,” replied Perchik, though he did not.
    “I did not love her at first, you know; it took time.  The feeling was foreign to me, but now, two years later, I cannot help myself! Better late than never, eh, comrade?” He laughed. “Would you believe I used to be a confirmed bachelor?”
    “Ah, my friend.” Perchik chuckled wryly, eyeing the vultures in the corner. “I’m afraid I know all too well about that.”
    “Indeed—as any good young man should. Well, I’ve had many professions in my life. But one role I never expected to play was the romantic lead. I’ve searched all my life for meaningful work. But I have found that love—for a cause, for an art, for another living soul—is purpose enough. I’m so pleased to have discovered that at long last. The heart, you see, is a muscle; if you make no use of it, it atrophies. And I would know,” he finished, smiling broadly. “I’m a doctor.” 

'This is Prophetic!' from Nixon in China

'This is Prophetic!'
from Nixon in China 
Music by John Adams
Libretto by Alice Goodman

PAT
The children in the U.S.A. all say hello.
I used to be a teacher many years ago
and now I’m here to learn from you.

(Smiling and waving, Mrs. Nixon and her entourage
leave the commune and proceed to the next stop on her
tour: the Summer Palace where she is photographed
strolling through the Hall of Benevolence and
Longevity, the Hall of Happiness in Longevity,
the Hall of Dispelling the Clouds, and the Pavilion
of the Fragrance of Buddha. She pauses in the gate
of Longevity and Good Will to sing)

PAT
This is prophetic! I foresee a time will come when
luxury dissolves into the atmosphere like a perfume,
and everywhere the simple virtues root
and branch and leaf and flower.
On that bench there we’ll relax
and taste the fruit of all our actions.
Why regret life which is so much like a dream?
Let the eternal plan resume.
In the bedroom communities let us be taken by surprise.
Yes! Let the band play on and on,
let the stand-up comedian finish his act,
let Gypsy Rose kick off her high-heeled party shoes;
let interested businessmen speculate further,
let routine dull the edge of mortality.
Let days grow imperceptibly longer,
let the sun set in cloud;
let lonely drivers on the road pull over for a bite to eat,
let the farmer switch on the light over the porch,
let passer by look in at the large family
around the table, let them pass.
Let the expression on the face
of the Statue of Liberty change just a little,
let her see what lies inland:
across the plain one man is marching...
the Unknown Soldier has risen from his tomb,
let him be recognized at home.
The Prodigal. Give him his share:
the eagle nailed to the barn door.
Let him be quick.
The sirens wail as bride
and groom kiss through the veil.
Bless this union with all its might,
let it remain inviolate.

Ask Al: You Have ONE Voice

Hi Al!

     My question for you is: do you have any advice for being a legit soprano in theater today? I've studied classical voice since I started singing, but Musical Theatre has always been what I love and wanted to pursue, and why I'm majoring in it now.
     My program is very focused on doing contemporary, experimental theater, which I enjoy, and think is important to have experience in. However, next semester's season doesn't include a single musical revival, and that terrifies me as a legit soprano looking to actually have a career. I chose to come to this program to be exposed to theater that is outside my comfort zone, to be more rounded as an artist, but that doesn't change the fact that my instrument is more well suited to sing Rodgers and Hammerstein than Pasek and Paul. 
     You are such a big inspiration to me because you are able to be successful doing the type of theater I would like to do, and I just wanted to know if there were any thoughts on the topic you could share?

Thank you!
M

* * *


Dear M,

A very big and often-asked question! Here are some thoughts.

1.  The only limitation on yourself, is yourself.
     When you look back in however many years, you might look at your body of work and realize you're not really doing a lot of musicals. In time you might realize you love watching, but don't enjoy being IN them! You might be a comedienne. You might be a huge TV star. Or doing a zillion dramatic plays on regional theatre. Or you might be doing a smattering of all of the above. Or! You might be a lawyer or a chef or running the state of New Hampshire or in a punk band or kicking ass with your a bungee-jumping business. Or whatever. You can also be all these things.

     Again, if you would have told teeny Al that one day she'd be a NOVELIST?! Puh-lease. Little Al would have laughed in your face. "I can't even spell!" she'd say. Thank you spellcheque spellcheck. Nevertheless, here we are: Writer. In fact, when I protested to my literary agent that I couldn't do this because "I'm a actor," she took a deep breath and calmly replied "Well, that may be so, but... I don't represent actors. So you must be a writer." I almost wept. Take that Masters in Creative Writing I don’t have--haters gonna hate. I'll just keep plugging away and doing me, thankyouverymuch. My literary agent's words prove that we are only limited by the labels we place upon ourselves.

     I’m sure a lot of people out there think I faked it, that I didn’t put in the "right kind" of work to become myself. But does a marathoner have to have a masters degree in Sports Medicine? No. They must hit the pavement every single day and run, DO, learn from their mistakes, get better, run longer and more efficiently. That’s what I did.
     In college, I snuck away from the Drama School halls, and listened to open masterclasses; I sang in the Opera School practice rooms. I wrote every single day on the subways, trains, airplanes, and in every single dressing room, and then one day? An epic novel was sitting on my desktop. That’s how it is done.
Running 26.2 miles tomorrow is not possible.
Running it in a year could be.
Writing an epic novel by tomorrow is not possible.
Writing it bit by painstaking bit over 7 years? Is.
I know. I ...did it.
Without training. Just a little talent, some of brains, but mostly a lot of grit, discipline and above all passion.

     My passion for theater and my acting training is the bedrock of my artistic life because the message is that I can be/transform myself into anything I need or choose to be. The world might want me to label or limit myself, but the only people that can ACTUALLY label or limit us is ourselves. We give others permission to limit us—we allow them to get into our head. Ignore those people.
     When I taught my kids a Pace, I harped on about this all the time. "Yes, girl who thinks she isn't pretty, yes you can play that bombshell. Don't tell yourself you can't do that, let the director decide." If we obsess about the "I cants" we completely lose track of the "but what if I CANs?!"
     ...Don't be that girl. Try it all. Do it all. Sing 'Many A New Day' AND 'Out Tonight,' then after that go to microbiology class, read Anna Karenina, be in Twelfth Night, bake gluten free cakes, and go to the baseball game. All of it will make you better at being a person, and that is the thing that matters most in any creative career. If we as artists are meant to reflect life, but we don't have a full and true life to reflect, than what are we doing?
 
     I've seen so many young talented people strangled to death by the voices telling them "how it is" in the business, and that they have to narrow in on a market, know their brand, etc etc. And while I don't deny the legitimacy of, and respect that as a possible path, I'm not a ruthless business person, I'm an artistic soul and I suspect you are too. The best way for an artistic soul to survive in the arts long term is not to prioritize "knowing their brand and then marketing themselves well" but to know themSELVES deeply so they can be authentic in every move they make from personal to business. It is my deepest belief that good work and an authentic person is the best business card there is.

     Don't limit yourself. Be brave enough to question, to not know, and not be good at it all; to learn, grow, and BE, everything you CAN be.


2. Not every caring person is the Voice of Reason.
  Sometimes people who love us very much get very nervous when we try to break free of our tiny familiar comfort zones in an attempt to live huge. Sometimes that is because they are afraid for us, wanting us to be responsible an practical, wanting our safety and happiness and believing with all their hearts that being "careful" is how that is achieved. But often, there is a small component of their own ego resenting your chutzpah and courage to bust out, and they want you to stay small so they can be more at ease with their own life choices. I am here to tell you: those reactions have nothing to do with you. These reactions to your mega plans sound like this:

     "Why would you want to leave your secure job and start a business you're passionate about? That's insane!" 
     "But only 1% of actors in Actor's Equity are working."
     "You want to pursue the arts in this economy?!"
     "But what about your responsibilities? You have a family to look after." 

     These people make excellent points, and of course one should always assess whether one is being impulsive or truly being passionate; but fretting over every worry-wort's opinion about your life goals is not productive. Those comments come from care, and from their fear, not from the absolute truth. Surround those people in the hug they need, and keep making courageous leaps. You may fall on your face. You may break a few ribs. But nothing worth having is not worth fighting for.


3. YOU. HAVE. ONE. VOICE. 
     Your voice is your instrument, yes, and you are limited by your anatomy, sense of pitch, training, natural capacity, musicality and and and— but! The human voice is not a bassoon, limited by it's player as well as its structure. The voice a remarkably versatile thing.
     I am a legit soprano but you'd never know it listening to me belt my face off in Kiss Me Kate's ‘I Hate Men,’ or belting a D as Tzeitel every day. I can do that too! So can Benanti and Osnes and Boggess. You're a soprano, but not just a soprano, you are a singer, and thus, innately versatile! Opera views versatility differently, and that is okay too. In the opera world, you find your voice known as your facht, and those are the roles you are available to sing (lyric soprano, dramatic soprano, spinto, etc). But one of the beautiful things about theatre is the ability to shapeshift! The industry might not always behave that way but it doesn’t mean it is possible. Just because we can sing 'If I Loved You' doesn't mean we can't sing 'Gimme Gimme.'
     The same holds true for you. You have ONE voice, ONE instrument, made up of infinite colors.


I really hope this helps. All the best and let me know how you're doing,

Al

Recording the Fiddler on the Roof album

From Theater Mania:

Danny Burstein, Alexandra Silber, and more give us a first taste of the show's upcoming cast album. For any Broadway actor, getting to record a cast album is the epitome of a dream coming true.

But when that cast album is Fiddler on the Roof — and Fiddler on the Roof is your dream show — the experience is even more special.

TheaterMania followed Danny Burstein, Alexandra Silber, Samantha Massell, and the emotional cast of the show's latest Broadway revival as they took to the studio to preserve their stirring vocals.

The tradition lives on.

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

In hono(u)r of Robert Burns Night held annually in Scotland on January 25th, my favo(u)rite of his, in both poetic and sung form. 

O my Luve is like a red, red rose

   That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve is like the melody

   That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

   So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

   Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;

I will love thee still, my dear,

   While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!

   And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

   Though it were ten thousand mile.

Announcement: San Francisco Symphony 15/16 Opening Gala!

So. Yeah.
Wowee zowee. 
Hello.
To you.

You know what? When I found out about the Grammy-nomination, I was paying for a cup of coffee at a 7-11. I remember counting out the coins incorrectly and holding up a huge line because I was so discombobulated.
When I found out about this, I was...also... at a 7-11.
A different 7-11 mind you, but still.
And once again, paying for coffee.
This time, however, I dropped my phone. It actually fell out of my hands and bounced around in the air while I grappled for it like I was the victim of a bad sketch comedy.

This tells me a few things:

1. I clearly... like ...7-11
2. ...and their coffee....
3. There must be a space-time-continuum thing about The San Francisco Symphony and 7-11.
4. Not only was this such an unexpected, generous and delightful invitation, it was a stunning reminder of how incredible life can be if we are open to being reminded (often, in 7-11) that we do indeed live in an abundant universe. (Hence, 7-11 pratfall.)

Basically? NBD: I'm singing showtunes with giants.

"You’re invited to the Symphony’s biggest party of the year! Toast the start of a fantastic new season with sparkling wine, a red carpet, and enjoy an exciting Symphony concert led by Michael Tilson Thomas, featuring Grammy Award-winning stage and screen star Patrick Stewart, soprano Alexandra Silber, and renowned baritone Nathan Gunn. Then, head to the glamorous after-party with delicious treats, live music, and dancing.

Formal dinner packages that include premium seating for the concert are available by contacting the Volunteer Council at (415) 503-5500."

You should come. Here's how: tickets.

Michael Tilson Thomas, Patrick Stewart, Alexandra Silber, Nathan Gunn

Crazy Coqs in London, 1-5 September

London I am coming home!

And what a way to return.
In a fancy-schmancy nightclub singing my favo(u)rite songs with some of my favo(u)rite fancy-schmancy [talented, beautiful, kind, hilarious, fun] pals.

Here is what the papers say [with my additions in Red...]:

"West End and Broadway star [Hmmm] Alexandra Silber has announced a range of special guests for her show at London venue Crazy Coqs. Each night of the run, from 1 to 5 September 2015, will feature a different guest.

These are now confirmed to be:

1 Sept - Howard Goodall (composer of Bend it Like Beckham) [or, super-genius musician, composer and clever clever raconteur with a heart of gold]
2 Sept - Damian Humbley (Merrily We Roll Along) [or, Australian former-love who sings like Jesus and, fine, is sometimes quite funny]
3 Sept - Julie Atherton (Avenue Q) [or, va-voom looks, side-splitting humour, cat-lover, and killer belting]
4 Sept - Simon Bailey (The Phantom of the Opera) [or, sexypants, great hair, insane vocals...hair]
5 Sept - Gina Beck (Wicked) [or, soprano goddess, petite beauty, and OH: my HAND TWIN...]

American-born Silber's West End credits include The Woman in White, Fiddler on the Roof and Carousel and most recently as Kate in Kiss Me, Kate with the John Wilson Orchestra at Royal Albert Hall for the BBC.

Silber is a Grammy-nominee for her performance as Maria in West Side Story on the symphonic recording with the San Francisco Symphony. On Broadway she has starred in Master Class, as well as appearing in Hello Again, Arlington, Love Story and most recently My Fair Lady. Silber returns to Broadway this fall in the revival of Fiddler on the Roof, this time playing the eldest daughter, Tzeitel under the direction of Bartlett Scher. [...OMG]"

More information and tickets are available here.

Please join me London, and see you soon!

PS) you will be hearing this song... come on...don't you wanna be there...?

'I Hate Men'

A Kiss from Kate

"I Hate Men." ©BBC

 

Rehearsing with John Wilson and his incredible orchestra for "Kiss Me, Kate," to be performed at Royal Albert Hall as part of the BBC Proms.

This incredible 1948 Cole Porter classic features one of the greatest scores in music, as well as a fantastic "play-within-a-play" stories based on William Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew." I was honoured to be playing Lilli Vanessi/Katharine (aka "Kate") in such phenomenal company! Plus it was great fun to work my classical acting chops once again-- thank you BA in Acting from RCS!

With 10 days to go, here we are sound-checking in the hall! Casual day at the office.

Casual day at the office.

Back to Royal Albert Hall
"MISSING: ALL OF MISS SILBER'S WARDROBE..."

Fanciest dressing room possibly EVER.

Everything it takes to make a "Shrew..."

with my incredible hair and makeup artist Pippa-- one of the BBC's best and most prolific freelancing talents.

 

Ladies and gentleman... Miss Vanessi ready for her entrance... it's showtime!

TAME that Shrew!

This particular Prom sold out within minutes, meaning that over 6,000 people were in attendance at the live performance in Royal Albert Hall ©BBC

with the beautiful British star Louise Dearman just before the performance began,

With American baritone Ben Davis (who played "Fred Graham/Petruchio") right after the cameras for BBC 1 rolled, 
and the radio broadcast went live! Nooooo pressure.

A friend captured this lovely shot of our (4th!) curtain call: possibly one of the most thrilling moments of my life. I shall never forget it.

The stars of the show moments after the curtain came down: Ben Davis, Alexandra Silber, John Wilson, Louise Dearman and Tony Yasbeck

In My Life: Cheyenne

Cheyenne Jackson
San Francisco, California
2013

(Happy birthday Tony Tony.)

Secrets, Secrets ...

Wish @bjdavis @LouiseDearman @TonyYazbeck and I could tell you what all this fun is about... #London #DIRTYSECRETS pic.twitter.com/RkC6mIReVp
— Alexandra Silber (@alsilbs) July 9, 2014

Serving Maria

Dame Kiri: honoring the legacy.

Tonight, as I was doing the dishes in my ever-warming fifth-floor walk-up in New York City, a song began to play on my iTunes shuffle.
It was "One Hand, One Heart" as sung by Kiri Te Kanawa and José Carreras from the 1985 studio recording conducted by Bernstein himself. (Many of you may be familiar with the documentary film made about the making of this recording-- for many of us it was a consummate first glimpse behind the scenes of the music world).

I stopped.
Bright-yellow gloved, and covered in soap suds, I stopped.
The music was stabbing me in the heart.
I folded over and listened to them sing...
     and I cried.

It sent me back a year-- to Al on the subway/on the streets/in a hundred voice lessons/in the shower, pouring and pouring over the Marias of the past-- Carol Lawrence, Marni Nixon, Josefina Scaglione, and Tinuke Olafimihan, trying to glean any musical understanding I could. But particularly from Dame Kiri's flawless, totally inaudible breathing, the shimmer of her high notes, and the effortlessness of her phrasing.

Once upon a time, almost exactly a year ago, there was a day when I was riding the subway up to Julliard for a voice lesson. The very same 1985 studio cast recording of "One Hand, One Heart," had come up onto my iPod, and I fell apart on the 1 train. I just surrendered to the music, allowing the tears fall down my face moved by the truth and beauty of it all as a few thoughts aburptly struck me:

• I was conscious of the fact that I was making my way up to sing along the very streets where the 1961 movie version of West Side Story had been filmed.
• I was conscious that only a few months before, I had made my way to this very place to audition for Michael Tilson Thomas.
• I was aware that Bernstein's own breaths and gestures and feelings were in that moment, ringing in my ears...
• I could not believe that of all the sopranos on earth, Michael Tilson Thomas--one of the greatest minds in music--had chosen me. I could not believe what he was giving me the chance to be a part of. 
• I would not doubt his judgement, nor would I allow myself to let anyone down. 

It was in that moment on the train that I vowed to profoundly honor this role, and this legacy.
I endeavored (and continue to endeavor) every single day to deserve it.


You know, whoever you are, no matter where or how publicly you work on your art, we all must remember that art is, at its core, a service industry.
It is simply not about us, the artist, our ego and its agenda.
It is about the story.
It is about the truth.
It is about finding within the text and music and silences in-between, what makes us the same.
It is about serving the character,
     and in serving them, doing everything in our power to get out of our own way so that their story can be truthfully told.

I know that there are probably thousands of better singers than I. Some of them are the people I grew up admiring. Some of them are my friends. Some of them were in the cast of West Side Story with me! Some are distant phantoms I will never know or meet but I admire from afar. Many are singing beautifully in the shower in Iowa or New Zealand or Latvia. For many weeks before I reached San Francisco I allowed myself to be bogged down by those "better singers," in awe of their tone, legato, and breath control, and frankly, their life of training which I had truly only just begun.

One day in rehearsal it hit me very simply: I cannot be them.
There is only one them.
Just as there is only one Alexandra Silber.
This is not about comparison.
This is not at all about my voice, my high notes, legato or breath control.
In fact, this isn't about me or about singing at all.

This is about Maria.

And I knew in my soul, that I had a great deal to say about her.
I knew Maria in my bone marrow.
I had the ability to let Maria use my vessel to tell her story of love, courage, hope and strength.
I had the capacity to choose Maria's story over Alexandra's fears and insecurities.

And if I could find the strength to focus on Maria, rather than focusing on
     my self,
     my voice,
     the magnitude of this opportunity,
     the artistic company I am keeping, or
     the enormous legacy I am joining...
...then I would be just fine. Because Maria would be served, and with that purity of intention in mind, I trusted that the rest would fall into place...


*

Back in the kitchen standing over the dishes, as the final chords of Te Kanawa and Carreras came to a close, I realized something...
I realized that one day, there existed the possibility that the next inheritor of this great legacy, that future Marias-to-be, that people might be sitting on the 1 train bursting into tears with...me.
With Cheyenne, and MTT, and I.

And thanks to a chance encounter on iTunes shuffle, I saw it fully: this was the legacy.
Not my name on a roster of Marias on a Wikepedia page.
No. This moment of profound, connected-to-the-core, deep musical feeling alone in my kitchen.
Or on the 1 train...

None shall part us now.

"One Hand, One Heart"

One of my favorite moments shared on stage, in any place, with anyone, ever.

Not hyperbole.
Truth. 

With Cheyenne Jackson at Davies Symphony Hall singing "One Hand One Heart" lead by the great Michael Tilson Thomas and the San Francisco Symphony. I am so grateful it was captured on film.



Cheyenne and I were so profoundly connected during this song we could feel our souls mingle...

I have big, huge, gigantic news but I can't tell you what it is...

...So I am going to subtly tell you
in the form of a "fallen phrase" Cryptogram...
Yeah.
...cuz that's how I roll.

I can't wait to tell you for real. 

San Francisco Tweets

"When love comes so strong, there is no right or wrong, your love is your life." http://t.co/TRC5uhH1du #SFSWSS @Alsilbs @JessicaVosk
— SF Symphony (@SFSymphony) May 24, 2014

@alsilbs @JessicaVosk this is one of our favorite moments!
— SF Symphony (@SFSymphony) May 24, 2014

West Side Story is here

It is here.
And I could never articulate my feelings.
Except to say this: I FEEL PRETTY.
And proud. And excited. 
Enjoy.