Life After the Conservatory
In my last year of grad school at a major conservatory, a trusted teacher sat my entire graduating class down and told us that, statistically, exactly one of us would have the career in singing we had all entered school to get. Most of us, statistically speaking, would leave singing entirely. I imagine that every arist in the room was thinking roughly the same thing:
“I’m going to be the one. I’m going to achieve the dream. Sorry, folks, but I’m going to out-work you, out-last you, and out-sing you. I need this. You only want it.”
That kind of toxic thinking set us all up for failure. It injected us with a booster shot of cheap ego and gut-wrenching fear that isolated us from each other right before we had to face the scariest moment that a young singer endures. Failure was not an option. Apparently success wasn’t, either.
I loved that teacher, and I still do, but I might have had that talk a little differently. Young singers may need a little reality contact, sure, but even more than that, they need their confidence and the continued belief in their worth. We called the post-school chapter “the career,” or maybe “young artist hell,” or maybe even just “the real world,” right? Living it was like jumping off of a cliff into a dark canyon. Who knows how deep it goes? And now, we were being told that only one of us had a working parachute.
The truth is that, for the vast majority of us singers, the years after grad school are just more development years, marked by frustration and delay as our brains outstrip our slowly maturing instruments. The pressure of our culture to work, work, work and to be the best of the best of the best right now has no place in the gradual flowering process of a voice. My journey through these years was damaging, but did it have to be?
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When I entered a music conservatory for opera, I had a lot going for me. I was good with languages, a good actor, and I had what people told me was a beautiful voice. However, my voice had all sorts of unresolved issues. After 6 years of study, I had exactly one aria that I could successfully sing through without cracking left and right or getting exhausted. Other singers were blowing past me, winning big auditions I couldn’t even get in the room for.
My worst enemy was myself. I was full of negative self-talk and I suffered frequently from depression and anxiety. By the end, my mentors seemed to be disengaging from me, doubting that I was serious about my career, or perhaps joining me in doubting my viability as a singer.
The year after school ended, I found myself in a quagmire, stewing on the couch and avoiding planning my future. I felt that I couldn’t justify spending more money on a career that was out of reach. I was deeply in debt, and I had nothing to show for it as a finished product. I was exhausted. I had gone from promising talent with a dream of singing to a has-been who had never even, well, been. I remember that as one of the hardest, bleakest times of my life, though good friends from outside the conservatory helped me find joy where I could.
I eventually found a ray of hope in the fact that I discovered a love of stage directing and learned that I could do it really well. I jumped into another grad degree, this time as a director, and thought my days of trying to be a singer were well behind me. My family was sad, but I told them that the days of Dash the tenor were dead and gone.
Secretly, I continued to work on my voice. I took lessons with whoever was willing to give me the time of day, always looking for the answers to my vocal problems. Despite this, I felt increasingly cut off from the world of music I so loved. But, I soldiered on with directing until I hit a dead end, unable to envision a happy life for myself. Then COVID hit. I sat on the couch again, wondering what was next.
I was now in my 30s, and my voice felt different, more secure. In lockdown, I started to work on my technique intensively again. I discovered that my voice was blooming at last. Without knowing exactly why, I picked up Italian studies. I hit the gym. At last, I found the right teacher, and in just one lesson, the voice revealed itself to be a rich, burnished, full lyric instrument. The light leggiero character tenor (“You can make a decent career out of singing Monostatos!” STFU) was gone. Even the cracking was gone. Not only that, though. I had taken up talk therapy over the last two years. My anxiety was under control. My self-talk was no longer holding me back. I felt ready for the career that I thought I’d aged out of. My new teacher told me it wasn’t too late. In fact, I was “right on schedule.”
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It’s tempting to say that I shouldn’t have quit singing, that I should have persevered in my twenties and entered the young artist circuit. Maybe I would have found the right teacher sooner. But the truth is, I needed a break after the pressure-cooker of school. And I don’t come from money. I was stuck and in debt, with no prospects and a voice that wasn’t getting me in the door (too small, too unreliable). Most of all, I was mentally not ready to enter the competitive and isolating world of the opera industry.
Walking away was the right call, and I’m proud of myself for saying no to my family and even to myself. Directing taught me life skills and a whole new appreciation for the industry. It kept me identifying as an artist. I got to bring joy to people.
But I am so glad that I kept studying languages, kept taking small gigs to test myself, kept investing in my singing career and my resume, even just as a hobby, while I explored directing. I wish I’d done even more of that, now.
The bottom line is this: singing voices take years to develop AS DO MATURE ADULTS. And some take longer than others (voices and adults both). If you are in your 20’s, have a dream of being an opera singer, and you feel that you are not ready to jump into the career after school ends, don’t feel like a failure. There’s nothing ignoble about finding something else to do to pay the rent or even about exploring a different dream. In fact, I encourage you to follow some different dreams. A friend once told me that the best artists in our industry are those with an escape plan, because they do their art out of love, not out of fear. And why not have a different option for yourself? You contain multitudes, even if others don’t see it.
If you still love singing and you don’t want to quit on your dream, that’s great. Keep an oar in the water. But please, please, PLEASE. Do NOT buy into the thinking that failure is not an option. Failure is a doorway, and it might just be for you. You’re worth more than just your success in the opera industry.