Some years ago when I was working for the Houston Grand Opera, I was asked by the editor of the company's official magazine, Opera Cues, to write an article discussing exactly what was involved in my job. My official title was Assistant Conductor/Assistant Chorus Master; the editor was interested primarily in the first part of that title. In all major American opera companies, "Assistant Conductor" doesn't necessarily imply that that person is a conductor per se; he/she may or may not actually conduct performances. Rather, it is an all-embracing term, just as maestro is in Italian. An assistant conductor is a pianist and a coach; someone who has various skills, including basic conducting skills, with which to execute numerous jobs in the opera house. "Assistant Conductor" is the formal title used on paper. Around the theater, that person is usually referred to, simply, as a "coach"; in an opera program, on the page listing the cast, etc., he/she is usually listed under "Musical Preparation."
Here is the article that I wrote for Opera Cues:
"I work at the opera."
"Oh, really? What do you do, exactly?"
"I'm a coach."
"Oh." Puzzled look.
And that's where I usually leave it, unless I'm pressed for further information—in which case I feel compelled to ask, "Are you sure you want to know? Have you got an hour?"
Don't get me wrong—it's not that I don't like talking about my work; it's just that it's hard to describe in twenty words or less. Being a coach, especially one employed at a major opera company, is a multi-faceted, highly specialized job, the qualifications for which are daunting enough to send some pianists fleeing to other lines of work; nor are all of them willing to remain behind the scenes, or to expend their skills playing music that wasn't written for the piano. Still others start out believing that opera is their calling, only to discover that it's more demanding and time-consuming than they had bargained for, so they leave the business in favor of another career. I myself have had fleeting visions of donning a MacDonald's cap. But only very fleeting. Despite the suffering we may undergo learning a Strauss score, or sitting through a three-hour supernumerary rehearsal and playing maybe ten notes, those of us who do stick with it take great pride in "playing" our part in this amazing art form.
After a few dogged years of freelancing (which means spending more time driving from job to job than actually playing the piano), I was very fortunate in 1989 to be accepted by the Houston Grand Opera Studio, one of the best apprenticeships in the country, not only for singers, but also for young coaches. In addition to taking language classes and conducting lessons and being coached by more experienced colleagues, it is very much on-the-job-training, doing all the things regular music staff members do, only in lesser amounts and always under the supervision of the Head of Music Staff. Those who rise to the challenges and successfully make it through their apprenticeships are ready to be full-fledged music staff members at any opera house.
So what exactly does a coach do? One of my favorite duties is working one-on-one with singers, helping them to learn new roles, rework old ones, and sometimes to prepare oratorio solos or recital programs. This of course means that we coaches must be familiar with the "standard repertory" (a mere five hundred years' worth) and all the different vocal styles and musical traditions associated with the various eras and composers, e. g., the vast differences between Monteverdi and Verdi or Piccini and Puccini. We are not voice teachers, whose main concern is vocal technique; however, we have to know enough about technique so that we can offer a singer well-informed criticisms, such as, "Your open e vowel loses focus in the middle register"—which, by the way, is a common problem particularly in female voices; but let's not go into that.
Speaking of open e vowels brings us to language. Knowing the correct pronunciation of Italian, French, and German is absolutely essential, as well as having a healthy knowledge of grammar and vocabulary. Proficiency in Russian, and nowadays Czech, is helpful but not obligatory—a good thing, since my Russian is limited to da and nyet and my Czech is zilch. Fluency is a nice bonus, but, life being short, one is better off just knowing one or two languages as intimately as possible, definitely Italian since it is the most extensively used. Singers should do their own translating, although they sometimes need our help with more obscure words or cross-eyed syntax. Diction, however, is beaten into them (er, that is, fine-tuned) by the coach. Also fine-tuned are notes and rhythms, interpretation, intonation, phrasing, musicality, and—well, everything. Furthermore, in helping a singer learn a role, the coach must sing all the other roles (while playing) so that the singer can learn his cues. (Did I mention this was a tough job?) Hopefully, this whole process will enable the singer to go to his first rehearsal with confidence and aplomb and ultimately deliver a fine performance.
The first rehearsal of a production can be a bit unnerving for the coaches. Another of our duties is to play for all stagings in the rehearsal room, as well as technical rehearsals in the theater. If the conductor is an unknown quantity to us, we pray to the powers above that his or her beat pattern is clear and that we won't get dirty looks if we stray slightly from the tempo; otherwise, we're in for three or four weeks of Rehearsal Pianist Hell. Fortunately, in my own experience at least, that has rarely been the case.
Before all those rehearsals and coachings even begin, there is our own preparation to worry about. Depending on the difficulty of the score and whether or not we've played it before, we can spend weeks or even months translating, studying, and practicing. I spent four months learning Elektra, for example, admittedly only a one-act opera, but chock-full-o' notes that don't lie easily under the hands. Operas, after all, were not written for the piano; we cease to be pianists and in effect become orchestras with only ten fingers. Needless to say, above-average technique and musicianship are definite assets. And because we are the "orchestra" in rehearsals, we must spend long hours studying the orchestral score, comparing it with the piano reduction in the vocal score so that we know what instrumentation we're trying to simulate at any given moment; also to correct errors and add important things from the orchestral score which have been left out of the piano reduction.
Basic conducting skills are necessary, since we are often called upon in performances to conduct off-stage instruments (called "banda") or chorus. This involves gluing your eyes to a television monitor, which displays the (hopefully) friendly image of the maestro, and relaying his (hopefully) clear beat to your banda or chorus. Personal note: I defy any of my colleagues to tell me that this is a gratifying task. To quote one of them: "It's either completely wrong, or nobody notices it." At its worst, off-stage conducting can be stressful and thankless; at its best ... nothing comes to mind.
Sometimes we do come out from behind the scenes to play a keyboard part in the orchestra, or to play recitatives. (Another personal note: I love playing recitatives!) Then there are various kinds of auditions for which we function as accompanist: those for the company itself (called "house auditions"), those for the Studio, and also those for chorus. The latter two fall into the category of "cattle call" auditions and require the pianist to play up to five or six hours' worth of arias in one day. I'm frequently asked by people not in the business, "Do you practice these pieces or rehearse with the singers beforehand?" Ninety-nine percent of the time, no. As I mentioned before, standard repertory should be as familiar to us as the Pledge of Allegiance, so no matter what piece of music the singer puts in front of us, we can probably play it in our sleep (and I'm sure all of us have, at one time or another). Every once in a while, though, someone will sing something totally obscure, usually with about two-hundred notes per square inch for the pianist, in which case we mentally utter a string of swear words and call upon our sight-reading ability.
In many cases, all of the aforementioned skills and qualifications constitute only a starting point for those coaches who decide to branch out into prompting, chorus preparation, or conducting. Some people consider such a decision to be a definite move upward, implying, perhaps unintentionally, that being a pianist/coach is something that should eventually be risen above. I beg to differ. Although I myself have "branched out" into chorus preparation, then prompting, and most recently conducting, and have enjoyed all three, I always return to the job I love best. Coaches, after all, play a major part in providing the very foundation upon which a performance's musical and linguistic values are built, and without the rehearsal pianist there can be no rehearsing. Nuts and bolts. We are essential.
So the next time you're at the opera, and you open your program and see those names listed under "Musical Preparation," give a silent round of applause. We'd appreciate it.
Opera Cues, Vol. 40, No. 4, Summer 2000
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