I’ll never look at paper dolls the same again.  That’s because I recently befriended the greatest living creator of the art form, 83-year old Tom Tierney.

Now I certainly didn’t go looking to chat up a paper doll artist, which made the whole experience all the more special.  Here’s the story…

My boyfriend Doug and I were driving from Houston to Austin last Sunday, and stopped in the little town of Smithville, population c. 4,456.  We’d been told it was the best place to browse antique shops while en route.  Junk stores is more what Doug considered them.  But it was a typically warm and sunny Texas day and Smithville’s Main Street was clean and well preserved.  (“Tree of Life” is one of the many films made there.)  A nice break in the drive.  One lady shop keeper was particularly friendly and said to be sure to check the little store around the corner, which she described as “more European.”  We didn’t know if that meant better quality or more gay.  But it was just steps away.

As soon as we entered, the gentlemanly old proprietor offered us freshly brewed coffee.  It was a tiny shop and we didn’t plan to stay long, and so we politely declined.  But the other friendly older man in the shop, seated and smiling, soon started chatting us up.  Where are you from, what do you do, etc.  And he was as generous with information about himself as he was inquiring about us.  He had a shop over on Main Street where he sold his line of paper dolls, though the place was closed on Sunday.

Actually, the same friend who recommended we stop in Smithville for the antiques also mentioned the paper doll shop.  At the time that really went in one ear and out the other, but there in front of us was the paper doll man himself, Tom Tierney.  He was irresistibly good natured and full of stories, starting with how Liz Smith, the gossip columnist and native Texan, once recommended his work on television, talking about how on a recent visit to the White House she showed his book of Clinton paper dolls to Hillary, who remarked that he got them just about right, underwear and all.  “That was pretty great publicity and I just happened to catch it on TV,” he recounted with some understated pride.  When I inquired about the extent of his work, he said that the Clinton paper dolls are one of over 500 books of paper dolls that he’s produced over the years.

After hearing that it didn’t take much to persuade Tom to open up the shop to give us a look see.  Soon we were strolling half a block down the gravel alley and being escorted through the back entrance.  He actually lives in the rear of the shop (zoning restrictions aren’t too strict in Smithville, he said), and so on the way in we saw some of his large paintings hanging in the private space.

The shop is officially named Shangri-la Emporium and includes sundry tchotchkes and a rather sizable array of Hindu statues.  But the heart of the business is the large display of paper doll books.

Tom Tierney’s background as a fashion illustrator and years of accomplishments with paper dolls are well known, at least to those who follow such things.  Once I laid eyes on the colorful merchandise, I realized I’d glanced past them countless times in souvenir and gift shops over the years.

Although only a portion of his life’s work was on display here in Smithville, it was darned impressive.  Soon he was showing us the William and Kate paper dolls, the Obama paper dolls, the vampire paper dolls (with Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and the whole “Twilight” crew), and the fashion designer paper dolls, including runway looks by Dior, Chanel and McQueen. And on and on and on.

Somehow Tom knew to hand me a couple of the more gay-themed paper dolls, which I ended up purchasing.   “Life’s a Drag!” is subtitled “a campy salute to the cross-dressing stars of film and television” and features Milton Berle, Jerry Lewis, Julie Andrews (“Victor Victoria”), Dustin Hoffman (“Tootsie”), Barbra Streisand (“Yentl”), Robin Williams (“Mrs. Doubtfire”), Nathan Lane (“The Birdcage”), and John Travolta (“Hairspray”), among others.   A more risque publication is “Attitude: An Adult Paperdoll Book,” which is structured like a Greenwich Village cocktail party c. 1979. First we meet our hostess, Auntie Mary (“She’s load of fun,” reads the brief deadpan narrative), and then all her charming friends, including leather queens and muscle queens, some rough trade and cute little twinks, plus more than a few tired old queens. Every one of these books has the same formate: a figure on the left in their skivvies with their choice attire on the right, ready for cutting out and playing dress-up.

Before we knew it, we were following Tom up the back staircase and into his studio where we got to see scores of original illustrations, some published and some not.  Where the “Attitude” book was suggestive, there’s also a large and unpublished body of Tom Tierney work that’s more overt but still meticulous and beautiful.  Tennessee Williams, James Dean, Andy Warhol and Rock Hudson are just some of the figures from gay history that Tom’s depicted with his same careful hand and loving eye – and, mind you, without their skivvies.

Throughout all of this show and tell, Tom recounted one terrific story after another from his decades in New York through to his recent semi-retirement back home to Texas.  (Just one example:  Tennessee Williams was a friend of a friend and Tom ended up making them breakfast on Saturday mornings while they met to work on a project.) But time was running short and Doug and I were expected in Austin.  And so we had to hit the road, but only after getting our purchases autographed by Tom, sharing hugs and promising to stay in touch.

The hour or so in Smithville, sandwiched as it was in between a pleasant weekend with friends in Houston and a few days of family obligations in Austin, turned out to be a highlight of our trip.  And it wouldn’t have happened if we’d not taken those few steps off the Main Street of Smithville and if we’d not been open to a conversation with a friendly old fellow.  Really, it’s anyone’s guess where you’ll find a new friend or a slice of vibrant queer culture.

The only camera I had on hand was in my phone, but I couldn’t resist snapping a few things…

Tom was quiet a looker in his youth, as shown in these photos by Richard Avedon:

Many of Tom’s stories involved getting an approval or a blessing from those who’s images he rendered in paper doll form.  This is a detail of an autographed Erte poster:

With my new friend Tom:

Fred Hersch

“If you think too far ahead you drop the ball. This is why tennis and jazz are very similar,” he says, in the documentary “The Lives of Fred Hersch.”  He continues, “you have to play what is in front of you and what appears, and react to it.”

On Friday night he’ll be performing a solo piano concert at Chapin Hall in Williamstown, Mass.  “People should come expecting original music, and definitely some things by Thelonious Monk and some reworked standards,” he says.

Like the notes that arrive at his finger tips, the final order of the program will be spontaneous. “I’ll be deciding as I go,” says Hersch.

Hailed as one of today’s finest jazz pianists, Hersch is up for two Grammy Awards for his latest disc, “Alone at the Vanguard.”    Apart from his skills as both improviser and composer, Hersch’s health condition over the last 25 years has provided plenty of opportunity to stay present, both literally and figuratively.

In 1986, Hersch was diagnosed with HIV.  Soon after, he went public about his condition. More importantly, he survived the darkest era of the AIDS epidemic, when seemingly an entire generation of artists died in their prime.  Advancements in treatment, though, haven’t meant the end of problems.

In late 2009, Hersch suffered a precipitous decline, as a persistent cough led to a major infection. Late that year he was rushed by his partner to an emergency room, where doctors put him under a medically induced coma that lasted for two months.

“After I came out of it, it was a good 8 months til I could eat, talk or walk.  It was a near death thing and was going down hill fast,” says Hersch. “If I’d not gotten to the hospital when I did, I might not be talking to you.”

It seems an understatement to say that Hersch had a determination to continue with life and music.

In the year after rehabilitation was complete, he recorded two new albums.  He also began remembering the dream world of his coma, which included dancing a tango aboard a luxury airplane and hanging out with Thelonious Monk.  At first, he just typed out the fantasies into a computer file and got on with things.  But eventually he shared them with a friend, the writer and director Herschel Garfein, who fashioned them into a dramatic scenario that mixes the surreal dream world with the cold reality of the hospital.

The resulting show, “My Coma Dreams,” with original music by Hersch, was developed at Montclair State University last spring and subsequently had a short run in San Francisco.   Hersch describes the event as “jazz theater” and says that future productions are in the works.

“The people who’ve seen it have been moved and inspired by it and that’s what we want as artist,” he says. “So we achieved what we set out to do.”

Accomplishing what he sets out to do is typical of Hersch, who lists a large number of current projects, including a new set of songs for jazz vocalist Kurt Elling, and supervising a spring performance of his 2005 song cycle “Leaves of Grass” at the New England Conservatory, where he’s been a faculty member since 1980.  Touring, recording and teaching are ever on-going.

“I don’t sit around. I’m always doing stuff and I’m clinically and energetically better than I’ve been in years. The drugs are working,” says Hersch. “In November I had a full month of touring with my trio to eight countries. I came back in fine shape. Five years ago, I would have been whipped. It’s remarkable.”

“As an artist, we never know what’s going to come along and strike our fancy. I try to be open but also instigate things,” he says. “You have to roll with life and have patience and also know when to push yourself.”

Originally appeared in the Times Union.

Previously on My Big Gay Ears:

“Jazz and the Queer Aesthetic” in JazzTimes

Fred Hersch profile in the New York Times

Fred Hersch’s Whitman tunes

In one passage, Sondheim acknowledges that the collections focus on only half of his creativity, since he writes both words and music.  While delving into the minutia of what makes a good song text, he purposely avoided technical discussions of melody, rhythm and harmony.  “Music is a foreign language that everyone knows but only musicians can speak,” he wrote.

As a counter balance to the anthologies of Sondheim the lyricist, there’s now a new project from pianist Anthony de Mare that honors Sondheim the composer.  “Liaisons: Celebrating Sondheim from the Piano,” which comes to the Hudson Opera House on Saturday (1/21), is an on-going concert and commissioning project wherein more than 30 composers create new works based on Sondheim’s songs.

Thirteen pieces will be part of Saturday’s program, with the contributing composers from many avenues of American music, including jazz (Fred Hersch), classical (William Bolcom), minimalism (Steve Reich) and opera (Jake Heggie).

“Each piece has become a wonderful marriage of the Sondheim material and the composer’s own individual style,” comments de Mare.  “Several of the composers have commented that this has been a very difficult assignment for them simply because they feel the songs are already so perfect.  They’ve nonetheless come through with a finished product that they seem quite proud of.”

The idea for “Liaisons” came to de Mare more than 20 years ago when he tried his own hand at arranging some Sondheim material.  But as a veteran of the contemporary music world, de Mare knows a wide circle of composers.  As Sondheim’s 80th birthday in March 2010 drew near, he had no trouble lining up other composers to join in the project.  All told, the processes of approaching composers, raising funds for the commissions, and scheduling concerts at venues large and small have been in the works for several years.

To get Sondheim on board with the project, de Mare first reached out with a letter.  He responded quickly, stating, “I’m flattered and delighted by your interest in my songs, and your project sounds intriguing indeed.”

More composers, young and old, continue to sign on as participants, which shouldn’t pose a problem as there’s an almost endless supply of Sondheim material at the ready. (The shows with his words and music number about 13 depending on how you count them.)

While the growing body of pieces is too much for one concert, the diversity of material allows de Mare to create new recital programs for each concert outing.  After the Hudson concert he heads to performances in Fort Worth and San Francisco followed by the New York City debut at Symphony Space in April.  Sondheim and most of the other composers are all scheduled to be on hand then.   Planned for next year is a second concert in Manhattan and a recording of the entire collection.

Though most of the composers in “Liaisons” come from the classical realm, there’s the potential for a wide audience due to the cult of Sondheim fans. (Did you know there’s an entire magazine devoted to Sondheim?  “The Sondheim Review” has been published quarterly since 1995.)

As for Sondheim’s own response to the project, de Mare says that over the past year he’s attended a number of private concerts where the new works have been tried out.  “He’s heard about 15 of the works thus far,” says de Mare, “and still comments on how humbled he is by the composers’ interest in and how inspired they are by his melodies and works.”

Previously on My Big Gay Ears:

DeMare Launches his “Liaisons” with Sondheim, Concert review by Scott Pender

Happy 80th Birthday Stephen Sondheim

Anthony de Mare, Power Pianist

Perhaps it’s that bravery, that hold-your-chin-up attitude, which allows Koestenbaum the courage to delve so deeply into the shame, guilt and suffering of others.

“Humiliation” is the latest book by Koestenbaum who will appear on Thursday at the University of Albany in an afternoon seminar and evening reading, sponsored by the New York State Writers’ Institute.  As the title suggests, his new book explores the humiliating moments of a wide range of historical figures, up to and including the sex scandals of American politicians.  He also throws in plenty of moments from his own life.

Degradation may seem like a surprising departure for the author whose six previous books of nonfiction include highly personal, almost loving biographies of Andy Warhol and Jackie Kennedy Onassis (“Jackie Under My Skin”) two of the great, glittering icons of the 20th century.

Yet in a recent discussion Koestenbaum points to the pivotal importance of a shaky self-image in the lives of the first lady and the pop artist.  He also suggests that it’s the most troubled part of their lives that made them appealing topics to him.

“Jackie was a queen and a mistress of ceremonies and very imperial in manner.  But then there was the bad press she received for defection (to marry Aristotle Onassis) and the footage that weirdly records the bloodied suit,” says Koestenbaum. “And Andy Warhol was spat upon as a child and always an outsider.  His sense of having a bad body, bad skin, bad hair gave him a profound sense of being untouchable. That was the M.O. of his mature career.”

Okay, everybody hurts.  But is Koestenbaum, who’s a distinguished professor of English at the City University of New York, just an intellectual version of a tabloid reporter, spinning out books of scandal for the high brow set?

Actually, Koestenbaum elevates the discussion by regularly making statements like “Humiliation is the kiln through which the human soul passes and receives a burnishing and consolidation.”

Using the psychological term abrecation – the release of a previously repressed emotion through reliving the experience that caused it – he goes on to explain humiliation’s deeper significance.

“By repeating a traumatic episode, you release it’s toxicity, you convert it.  It’s repeating the acts of shame to get cheerful,” he explains. “Writing the book had an abreactive effect for me, and before that so did teaching a course called ‘Humiliation.’ We were all in a good mood and didn’t talk about personal things.  But it was a personal subject and we realized that one could be very cheerful discussing humiliation if you had a supportive group.”

Being an author isn’t easy on the psyche though.  Whatever healing may have come to Koestenbaum through the writing about humiliation was at least somewhat jeopardized by the publishing process, fraught with editing, interviews and especially reviews.

“Publishing itself is so weird and elating and depressing, such a mixed bag,” he says.

Besides his non-fiction books, Koestenbaum has also written five books of poetry and a novel.  He made his first mark on the cultural map in 1993 with “The Queen’s Throat: Opera, Homosexuality and the Mystery of Desire.” A brash and daring treatise on the passionate connection between gay men and opera, it includes chapters on “opera queens,” record collecting, and the cult of soprano Maria Callas.

Humiliation, it seems, is a thread that’s laced throughout classical music, especially the worship of opera divas, and the gorgeous prolonged deaths, night after night, of Violetta, Mimi and all the other tragic female characters.

Koestenbuam says that he just didn’t use the h-word in writing “The Queens Throat,” thinking it too extreme at the time.

“There’s a deeply felt connection between the shame of a flawed public performance and the mercilessly rigorous and perfectionist standards in classical music interpretation,” he says.

Perhaps the only realm where there are higher, even more unattainable standards is that of masculinity.

“Many gay men’s narrative is about failing in masculinity. But everyone does. It’s impossible to ever succeed at masculinity,” states the 53-year old author.  “As a gay man, I have a complex, very particular understanding of the melodrama of masculinity.  As someone my age, it’s taken for granted there’s shame in the package. That’s why a straight man could not have written this book.”

Originally appeared in the Times Union.

Thibaudet will perform all of Ravel’s solo piano works over two nights, Wednesday and Thursday (7/20-21), at Ozawa Hall. Then on Sunday, July 24, he’ll appear in with the Boston Symphony Orchestra at The Koussevitzky Music Shed in both of Ravel’s two piano concertos.

The immersion in Ravel apparently comes easily.

“There are very few composers where I’d do the complete works, because it’s not all at the same level of quality,” explains Thibaudet. “Most composers have great works and some not-so-wonderful. With Ravel, every single note he wrote is perfect.”

Thibaudet has recorded the complete piano works of only three composers — Ravel, Debussy and Satie — and he swears it’s not because they’re all French. Negotiations with his longtime record label Decca played a part. But he holds special reverence for Ravel.

“Everything he wrote is beautiful,” he continues. “To add a note would get in the way, and to drop a note would detract. It’s just a miracle.”

Thibaudet might be considered an heir to Ravel and his tradition.

“My first teacher at the Paris Conservatory, Lucette Descaves, was a friend and collaborator of Ravel. She played for and with him. They were very close,” recalls Thibaudet. “When I’d play something of his, she would speak about him and it was like he was present, like he’d just dropped by the lecture.”

Although Ravel was a famously elusive person, with few intimate friends during his life, Thibaudet says he feels a kinship.

“I feel like I met the guy. It’s really weird that I feel really close,” says Thibaudet. “He was very shy and not very social and had trouble communicating with other people. Perhaps it was some kind of disorder in his brain, but his only way to express himself was through his music.”

Just as Ravel’s piano music comes from every chapter of his life, the material has also been a touchstone throughout the career of Thibaudet, 50. He learned all the solo piano works by age 15 and refers to “Ondine” as one of his “lucky pieces,” having performed it regularly in competition. As for the Piano Concerto in G Major, he learned that at the tender age of 11. It was his first piece to play with an orchestra.

“My teacher raised hell, saying that’s not right for a child, you should do Mozart or Mendelssohn,” he recalls. “But I insisted, and she said ‘OK, if you learn the first movement by next week.’ I did it and she gave up.”

It was last summer that Anthony Fogg, artistic administrator for the Boston Symphony, suggested two evenings of Ravel. Thibaudet readily agreed. But then Fogg went further, asking for the two concertos as well. That much Ravel, all in a few days, will be a new benchmark for Thibaudet.

“This is something I’ve never done in my life. I’ve played both concertos on rare occasions, and the solo works, but never all of it in one week,” he says.

Although it’s a challenge, the setting helped convince Thibaudet to give it a go.

“I love the possibilities of Ozawa. You’re in a concert hall, but feel open to nature and the beautiful grounds of Tanglewood,” he says. “And Ravel was very much in love with nature. Madame Descaves told me that. He was born in this little village in the south of France, on the west side, almost in Spain. You can still see the house where he lived and the little garden. He was not a tall man and he loved everything that was tiny. He lived in his own world and took care of every little plant.”

That attention to detail carries over into the music and to how Thibaudet plays it.

“People always have an idea of impressionism — the term is silly — and that it should be washed out with a lot of pedal,” continues Thibaudet. “He was a classical composer and wanted to hear every note, like a pearl.”

JEAN-YVES THIBAUDET
All Ravel (part two)
Ozawa Hall, Tanglewood, Julye 21

Things have been changing for pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet, who is closing in on a 50th birthday in September.  His concert attire is no longer so brash and colorful, though his suits and tuxedos still have a not so subtle flair (thanks to his exclusive designer Vivien Westwood).  And the contraction of the record industry means he’s no longer cranking out two or three discs a year.  Yet with some 40 titles already released, including forays into jazz, soundtracks and opera transcriptions in addition to lots of mainstream recitals and concertos, he’s already amassed an impressive legacy.

Hopefully Thibaudet’s sundry enthusiasms will continue, but there’s no reason to complain that for three appearances this week at Tanglewood he’s settled in for some very comfortable and familiar material.  In two programs at Ozawa Hall, he’s offered the complete solo piano music of Ravel.  He turns to the Shed on Sunday afternoon to perform both Ravel concertos.  After hearing Thursday’s performance, the second of the two recitals, words like perfect and definitive and unforgettable don’t seem like overstatements

Elegant and refined are other descriptives and they apply equally to the music and the performances.  Yet within the contained, rather intimate sound world, there was an expansive variety as well.

Thibaudet opened the program with the relative simplicity of “Pavane for a Dead Princess.”  Each small rubato and gently rolled chord was revelatory.  Despite its crashing waves and crossed currents, “Jeaux d’eau” was crystalline and transparent.

The first half ended with the brash pleasure and blunt humor of “Valses nobles et sentimentales.” Toward the end, one finally sensed the weight of Thibaudet’s touch and therefore too the humanity behind such endless style.

Thibaudet took hardly a breath between each of the eight waltzes.  After intermission his first notes in the Sonatine brought us right back to the same precious place.  The writing is more formal, less depictive, and somehow that allowed for pianist’s own emotions to come through a bit.  A long series of cadences were like gentle sighs.

“Gespard de la nuit,” the finale, brought us back to the high seas with the “Ondine” movement. The repeated B-flats in “Le Gibet” gave a welcome mooring to the piece.  “Scarbo” went by at an ever quickening pace and was by turns militant, jazzy and expressionistic.

There was no more Ravel left for an encore, so Thibaudet turned to Spanish composer Federico Mompou. The brief, languid piece felt like summer siesta.

Originally appeared in the Times Union.

Photos courtesy Decca Records. Copyright James Cheadle

Previously on MyBigGayEars:

Jean-Yves Thibaudet plays Gershwin

Pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet, style at the keyboard

Kushner has a penchant for taking on big projects and important themes, starting with his most famous work, “Angels in America,” a six-hour, two-part play about AIDS that received the Pulitzer Prize in 1993. For further evidence of his ambition, as well as a somewhat outrageous sense of humor, consider the title of his most recent major play: “The Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures.”

Yet for all Kushner’s big involvements, he recently took time to come up with just the right new three-syllable word to replace another word that he decided was a little too mundane. It was while in the midst of final rehearsals in Cooperstown, where the Glimmerglass Festival is producing the world premiere of “A Blizzard on Marblehead Neck.” The new one-act opera by composer Jeanine Tesori, to an original libretto by Kushner, debuts tonight (7/21) and runs for five more performances through Aug. 22.

“When writing in verse forms, there are various strictures that you have to obey and a somewhat mathematical precision in searching for a word that will fit,” explains Kushner. “Writing lyrics, instead of writing language that’s supposed to approximate how people speak spontaneously, forces you in a slightly different relationship to language. It knocks the dust off the machinery a little bit.”

Creating “Blizzard” is certainly not Kushner’s first time immersed in music. His parents were professional musicians, and he has already collaborated extensively with composer Tesori. Their through-composed musical “Caroline, or Change” played on Broadway for 136 performances in 2004 and received six Tony Award nominations. The team also has an outstanding commission from the Metropolitan Opera.

“I can’t write or read music, but I love it, and go the opera all the time, though I’m sort of up and down about musical theatre,” says Kushner. “I love the chance at having this intimate connection to singing and to music.”

Asked if there’s a difference between writing for an opera versus a musical, Kushner turns to the diverging nature of the genres and their practitioners.

”I’m not entirely sure of the difference between a musical or opera, but when you go into an opera company with people trained to sing operatically, the expectation is different,” he says. ” ‘Caroline, or Change’ was commissioned for the San Francisco Opera with Bobby McFerrin, but he decided he didn’t want to write an opera. Director George Wolfe was happy about that, because he wanted to work with musical theater performers, not opera singers. There are certain things that musical theatre people know how to do that opera people don’t and vice versa.”

Similar to slotting in words to fit a musical line, Kushner and Tesori were given a very specific task when commissioned last year by Glimmerglass and Francesca Zambello, the company head who is staging the new work. Zambello already had in mind to produce “Later The Same Evening,” by John Musto and Mark Campell, a one-act that deals with the life of painter Edward Hopper. As a companion piece, Zambello requested another one-act about the life of an American artist. Kushner immediately thought of playwright Eugene O’Neill.

“I’m an O’Neill fanatic and have been working on a screenplay about his life for the past 13 years,” says Kushner. “If you’re a playwright, you go to O’Neill as the source. There’s really not much in the way of serious American theatre before he came along. He proved it could exist. He’s the father of us all, the first to stake a claim nationally and internationally for American dramatic literature.”

“A Blizzard on Marblehead Neck” depicts a rather infamous incident that occurred late in O’Neill’s life. It’s February 1951 and O’Neill, 63, gets into a heated argument with his wife, Carlotta. Although in failing health, he walks out of their cabin into a snowstorm and is rescued an hour later.

“The fight that he and Carlotta had almost ended their marriage, but in a sense he never recovered from it,” explains Kushner. “After an hour in the snow, he went into the hospital and stayed fairly seriously infirmed for the rest of his life.”

“Their relationship is a tortured love story. Most great ones are,” adds Kushner.

Besides the husband and wife roles, the opera includes three singers who portray famous drama critics of the era. They’re evoked through some insults the wife hurls at her husband, the sensitive artist. Dealing with tough reviews is a sore spot Kushner can identify with.

“The relationship between critics and playwrights is infinitely tormented,” says Kushner. “If you know of any artist who has no ax to grind, I’d love to meet them and find their secret.”

Kushner says the new opera is one of the shortest things he’s ever written. Just 20 pages of text, it spills out over some 40 minutes of music. Though the work is completed and ready to debut, Kushner’s enterprise starts to show through again during the final rehearsals in Cooperstown.

“When I was watching it, I had a vision of expanding it,” he says. “I’m very pleased with it and think I’ll try to give it further life. I’d like to write more, add one or two other sections, maybe make it a complete evening.”

Spending a full summer in Cooperstown just didn’t seem possible. The internationally acclaimed operatic star Deborah Voigt was too in demand to make that kind of long-term commitment.

It was only last spring when Francesca Zambello, the recently appointed general and artistic director of the Glimmerglass Festival, approached the soprano about being the company’s artist in residence during summer 2011.  The two were friends as well as colleagues but Voigt thought that Zambello was asking a lot.

“Then she said, well what if I did a whole musical for you?” recalls Voigt. “That was a whole other matter.  Oh yeah.”

On Saturday night Voigt debuts in her first professional musical comedy role, Annie Oakley in Irving Berlin’s “Annie Get Your Gun.”  The production, directed by Zambello, also stars baritone Rod Gilfry and runs for 14 performances through August 21.

It’s the culmination of an extraordinary year for Voigt.  In the spring, she starred as Brunnhilde in “Die Walkure,” the latest chapter in the Metropolitan Opera’s new high-tech “Ring” cycle.   And during December and January, also at the Met, she played another cowgirl role, Minnie in Puccini’s “Girl of the Golden West.”

Riding the wild west theme on to Glimmerglass was no accident, it turns out.

“When ‘Cesca and I were discussing what musicals would be appropriate for me vocally and in terms of my advanced years, ‘Annie’ was a title that came up.  It made sense to make it a year of cowboys and Indians and guns, along with some spear chucking arias thrown in the midst,” says Voigt, referring to the weapon of choice for Brunnhilde, the maiden warrior of Norse myth.

Taking on big new roles and following through on ambitious plans is part and parcel of being an opera star, but Voigt’s duties at Glimmerglass are truly new ground.  During a phone conversation two weeks before opening night, some stress and fatigue were obvious.

“I’m having a lot of fun and working really hard,” she said. “It’s a different language for me and I feel like I’m having to catch up. Having spoken dialogue and portraying the character — I’ve not done that since high school.  I’m a little bit overwhelmed in a way that feels different from Wagnerian-ly.”

Voigt, 50, was raised in Wheeling, Illinois and became active in music through the Baptist church.  When she was a teen her family relocated to Orange County California where she performed in some high school musicals.  It was in college at California State University, Fullerton, that she first sang with Gilfry, an operatic star who’s been doing more musicals of late.

Voigt admits that some folks in the operatic world may question her choice to devote so much time and energy to a musical, just as some Glimmerglass fans have complained of the company’s new embrace of the more populist repertoire (next summer two out of four productions will be musicals).

“I don’t know how the experience will affect my future. After the summer, though, my middle voice is going to be in great shape.  The role is all middle voice,” she says.

Voigt referred regularly to working with a teacher to help her prepare performances — not just of “Annie,” but for every appearance on her busy calendar.

“We’ve sung through it to find a way that’s healthy for me and not the belting style of Ethel Merman (who created the role of Annie Oakly in 1946).  That was great for her but would not be terrific for this opera singer,” she says.

In early June Voigt sang in Schoenberg’s “Erwartung” with the New York Philharmonic and when we spoke she was in the midst of rehearsing an evening of Strass and Wagner arias for a July 9 performance with the Chicago Symphony at the Ravinia Festival.  Still to come at Glimmerglass is “Voigt Lessons,” a unique quasi-recital event on Friday, July 29.  With a mix of classical repertoire and popular standards, it’s being developed by Voigt and Zambello in collaboration with playwright Terrance McNally.

“I’m an opera singer, that’s the trap I fell into many many years ago. It was a random path and if my teacher had been a different teacher it might have been a different kind of singer,” says Voigt. “I’m grateful to have such a fabulous career yet it’s an enormous responsibility. It’s constant study and learning and keeping you instrument where it needs to be despite age, health or emotional status.”

“That just drives me crazy,” says Craig Rutenberg. “It sounds like something you did when you were French and you worked with the Germans during the war.”

However you define his profession, Rutenberg is at the top of the field.  He’ll be appearing Saturday night at Tannery Pond with soprano Christine Brewer.  She’s one of today’s most prominent singers, including Thomas Hampson, Dawn Upshaw, Ben Heppner and Frederica von Stade, who turn to Rutenberg as their partner in recital.

“I’m an accompanist.  I’m a decent pianist and I accompany a singer,” says Rutenberg. “My job is to lay down the most beautiful carpet of sound and help the singer make a good performance of a song.  That for me is accompanying.”

Rutenberg makes his duties seem rather simple, but his career encompasses far more than what he does during a concert.  Often going hand in hand with being an accompanist is being a vocal coach — the person who guides singers in learning and preparing repertoire, especially opera.

Rutenberg is a master coach as well.  As head of the music staff at the Metropolitan Opera, he supervises a staff of 52 full and part-time musicians, including language coaches, assistant conductors, vocal coaches, ballet pianists and prompters.

“The best part of working at the Met is that I’m around some pretty wonderful musicians and conductors all day,” says Rutenberg. “And the worst part is sometimes I’m not.”

The job description for an accompanist/coach is lengthy:  “You need to know a lot of repertoire, know language — French and German or German and Italian — know how to play like an orchestra,” say Rutenberg. “You have to be able to travel with someone and be pretty laid back.  Frequently there’s going to be a stronger personality than you in charge of what’s going on. And then you have to always remember you’re not married to this person and you don’t have to go home with them at night.  That’s the good part.”

Rutenberg is well beyond the point of needing a gig so badly that he has to play for whatever singer will hire him. As he puts it, “I don’t play for anyone I’m not crazy about.”

With Thomas Hampson

He’s been accompanying Christine Brewer for about 10 years now.  Though he was businesslike and succinct during our interview, it was clear he practically swooned when he first heard her voice.

“When she came to do the Met auditions around ’90 or ’91, I was just sideways by the beauty and honest of her singing,” he recalls. “I remember blurting out that she’s the only person who should be in this competition.”

Brewer is known for her abilities to handle demanding roles in operas of Wagner and Strauss.  Yet Saturday’s all-American program will be a departure. It features more intimate works of Menotti, Ives and Harold Arlen, plus the final aria, “All My Life,” from “The Mother of Us All,” Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein’s opera about Susan B. Anthony.

The concert will also be a departure for Rutenberg, who will perform a few short solo piano pieces, five of Thomson’s musical portraits.

A trademark of Thomson’s, the short pieces were written by the composer while the subject, usually a friend or colleague, would sit as if modeling for a painter. Among Saturday’s selections is “Bugles and Birds: A Portrait of Pablo Picasso.”

“The personality always comes through and in the most frightening way sometimes,” explains Rutenberg, who refers to Thomson as his friend and mentor.

“Virgil was incredibly kind and generous and one of the great blessing in a great life,” he recalls. “When I was an undergrad at Georgetown I would visit him in New York once a month for a weekend.  I would learn to cook, and play the piano and earn a little extra by copying music.”

Thomson lived for decades at the famed Chelsea Hotel, where he died in 1989.

“I slept on the couch many many times.  The kitchen was a glorified closet with a gas stove,” recalls Rutenberg. “Just about anyone who was anyone in the artistic or musical or literary world would come by.”

Stepping further out of his familiar role as accompanist, Rutenberg is in the midst of a three-year project to record Thomson’s complete solo piano works, which include about 90 portraits.  He explains, “I’m probably the only person on the planet who’s alive who knew a good portion of these people.”

Originally appeared in the Times Union.

Previously on MyBigGayEars:

Thomas Hampson in recital at Tanglewood

He’s played rugby and in 2009 was finalist in the Mr. Gay South Africa contest. Most of his time lately, it seems, has been pumping iron and practicing high notes.

He’s apparently looking for American gigs to promote and raise funds for the “It Gets Better” campaign against bullying. Could there possibly be anyone in the States willing to put him up for a night or two?

There’s a thoughtful interview with Snyman at the blog “Taminophile” (a bel canto bear in a verismo world).

Singers never have it easy.  The volatile human body is their instrument and the change of seasons, allergies and drafty concert halls are not their friends.

But some special pity — and praise — must go to the sopranos who slave over the demanding works of living composers.

Over the last 10 years, soprano Hila Plitmann has become the go-to diva for composers with their grand visions.  She’ll be performing a piece of John Corigliano with the Albany Symphony on Saturday night at EMPAC, in a program that’s part of the orchestra’s annual American Music Festival.

“There’s the combination of looking at something that’s very demanding and also the fear of the unknown,” says Plitmann of her now familiar routine of reading through a brand new score. “Your stomach falls down 500 floors and I’ll say did I really sign the contract to do this? Holy crap!”

Even when a piece is familiar, it can be a trial.  Plitmann cites as an example her performance two weeks ago with the Pittsburgh Symphony and conductor Leonard Slatkin of David Del Tredici’s “Final Alice.”  Plitmann has become the soprano of choice for Del Tredici, who helped re-established a romantic style in American music, but who also seems to think sopranos are superhumans with voices that can hang out in a stratospheric range for minutes on end.

“It’s like running a fricking marathon on stage,” says Plitmann of “Final Alice,” just one of many Del Tredici works she’s sung and recorded.   “But I don’t care if he wants me to stand on my head naked. If it makes sense in the piece, then fine.  The structure and the inner connectivity of the music and the relationship to the dramatic idea behind the piece is so unified that it’s a masterpiece.”

Focusing on the vision and genius behind a score gets Plitmann through a lot.  Another recent example is her work with composer/conductor Thomas Ades.  In March they joined forces with the Boston Symphony Orchestra for excepts of his opera “The Tempest” and last month they were with the Los Angeles Symphony for the premiere of his setting of “The Importance of Being Ernest.”

“I sang the part of Ariel (in “The Tempest”) and most of the vocal music writing is just insane,” she says. “But there’s so much sense to the writing that it feels right.  It still doesn’t make it easy. It’s physically demanding but I find that very fulfilling.”

“The writing can be simple,” adds Plitmann, “but if it’s a bad piece, then it’s hard to sing because it doesn’t make sense or connect.”

Obviously this soprano knows the minds of composers.  Not only does she collaborate with them regularly, she’s married to one.  Her husband is Eric Whitacre, whose choral music has become hugely popular in recent years.

Add John Corigliano to the list of star composers who’ve come to count on Hila Plitmann.  The two first had a passing acquaintance when Plitmann was a student at Juilliard, where Corigliano teaches. (Whitacre and Plitmann also met at the famed Manhattan conservatory.)

A few years ago when Corigliano orchestrated his song cycle “Mr. Tambourine Man” (Sylvia McNair debuted the original version with piano) he turned to her for the recording.  The 2008 Naxos disc with the Buffalo Philharmonic won Plitmann a Grammy Award for best classical vocal performance.

As part of his residency with the Albany Symphony, Corigliano will be on hand Saturday when Plitmann sings his “Vocalise.” (The concert is also being recorded for future release on disc.) The piece was written for the New York Philharmonic and debuted in 1999 as part of a set of new works by various composers titled “Messages for the Millennium.”

Plitmann doesn’t seem to rank the wordless “Vocalise” in the category of her most difficult repertoire.  But it has its challenges, namely technology.  Corigliano calls on the soprano to sing both with and without amplification, his message for the millennium being that the palette of the orchestra should expand to include electronics.

“He decided to do this crazy surround sound,” explains Plitmann. “There’s just one microphone on the soprano but the amplification incorporates all these sounds and techniques which surround the audience. There’s the sense that he uses technology as another expressive tool and that reflects the time we live in.”

Conductor Leonard Slatkin, soprano Hila Plitmann, and composer David Del Tredici after the recent performance in Pittsburgh of Del Tredici's "Final Alice." (photo courtesy Doug Bauman)

Originally appeared in the Times Union, Albany, NY

Previously on My Big Gay Ears:

John Corigliano: Searching for a Tune

The beautiful, terrifying music of John Corigliano