Scott Wheeler composed the music for the opera Naga, setting a libretto by Cerise Lim Jacobs, and David Salsbery Fry sang one of the roles. On the occasion of the release of the recording of Naga by New World Records, Classical Post invited Wheeler and Fry to muse on the opera industry to which they hope to return. Their conversation includes spoilers for WandaVision.

David Salsbery Fry: All of us here in the USA have been deprived of any form of live theater for over a year now, and that shutdown has given us all a lot of time to reflect. In the opera community, I feel like there are two major conversations taking place right now, and they are highly intertwined. The first is about opera’s place in the broader context of theater and entertainment – what opera does that distinguishes it from, say, musical theatre or concert music. We can’t seem to decide if the best way to market opera and attract new audiences is to say, “opera is totally like this other thing you like so if you’re a fan of X you should definitely check opera out” or “opera is unique and without equal in doing Y so if opera isn’t part of your life, you are missing out on that entirely.” So, we’re wrestling with what opera is, what it does, how to describe it, what its potential is, etc.

So, let’s start there. In your view, what does opera contribute to the cultural landscape that sets it apart from other forms of entertainment?

Scott Wheeler: Gosh, David, do we have to decide between these approaches? Both make perfect sense to me. We could take a food analogy and say “I love Ethiopian food, and I know a great place we should try tonight. If you like Middle Eastern and Indian, you might like this, even though it’s quite different from either.” Wouldn’t that sort of combination of the two approaches work for enticing people into opera?

But let’s back up a second – are we sure we want to start with the question of marketing? Since we’ve both been involved with creating new opera, I’d rather we start with the question of what kind of work we find most exciting to create now. But let’s keep in the back of our minds how we’ll explain to the marketing people how this is similar and different from other forms. Oh, and thanks for calling opera entertainment! I had some composition teachers, and I think I know some composers now, who might turn their noses up at that word, but not me.

So you go first – if you’re going to see a new opera, or perform in one, what are some of the things you most want to find?

DSF: I think one of the ways to guarantee I’ll hate a piece is if anyone involved in creating it built into the work what they imagine I would want to find in it. I’ve been a fan of opera since my earliest exposure to it and have been a working opera singer for over 25 years. When you write opera for people who already love opera, what you get is works constructed entirely of fan service. Endlessly self-referential, with musical quotes designed to elicit knowing nods from the audience. I remember having to slog through a piece where every member of the cast portrayed a famous character from the operatic canon, thrown together in an improbable situation. It was awful, but the small audience went to great pains to telegraph to their fellow audience members that they “got it”. We make works that are deliberately impenetrable to satisfy a select few. What I MOST want to find when going to see a new opera are audience members there to see their first opera.

Let me stretch your food analogy a little further. When I get excited about a restaurant, it might be for any of these reasons: masterful preparation of a “classic” dish (think sole meunière or Shake Shack), using familiar ingredients in surprising ways or in unexpected combinations (pickled rhubarb in a savory dish? fried chicken and caviar? yes, please), a cuisine that is traditional and familiar to others but new to me (lamb siniyah, gumbo) or the introduction of an ingredient I’m not familiar with at all and for which nothing else had prepared me (uni, pandan). 

Of course, which foods slot into which category is entirely dependent on culture and upbringing, and everything is unfamiliar and new to a child. But if you and I were seated at a buffet table at which is served the most sumptuous feast of “opera” ever assembled, what is on that table? What’s the cheeseburger and what’s the uni in this analogy? What are we even dining on? How does it feel to ingest it?

SW: David, it sounds like you and I should maybe open a restaurant, or at least team up on a food blog.

Your example of the self-referential opera is perhaps analogous to fan fiction. There’s a place for that, but you’re right that it’s probably better for someone to be turned on to the original Harry Potter or Star Wars rather than through one of the many spinoffs. I admire WandaVision for its invention and detailed craft, but I can’t say it has inspired me to explore the original Marvel movies or comics. By analogy, I doubt that an opera about opera will win many converts.

But is the alternative really the first-time operagoer? Which ones do you have in mind? I’ve seen various unlikely efforts made by well-meaning opera marketers. One of the odder phenomena in the world of new opera is the commissioned work centering on a sports figure. Could be a good operatic idea, but it feels like an attempt at audience poaching from baseball or boxing. I wish these efforts well, but they strike me as a little desperate, opera as the unpopular kid in middle school trying to be cool. I suspect most sports fans will prefer an actual sporting event to an opera about sports, and opera fans will prefer something with compelling music and drama. This suggests to me that we might poach our audience from people who like concerts, drama, dance, art, literature… Opera has always drawn on all those nearby arts, even combined with them in various ways. Do you agree? It seems to me that there are connections just waiting to be made.

DSF: I find myself flashing back to something NPR reporter Anastasia Tsioulcas tweeted out last month: “There are some days that it becomes very, very hard to argue that the classical music community, and certainly much of its establishment, has anything relevant or interesting to say to the wider world.” I think we don’t have much to say in large measure because we haven’t been listening, and the lack of dialogue and understanding results in what you describe as desperation. It plays out in a bunch of different ways. Seems like around the time of every major sporting event I see posts in my social media feeds along the lines of “So was there some manner of sport ball today? I, of course, care not, and know nothing of such things.” It’s an expression of tribal identity that denigrates sport as less valuable, less interesting, less elite, elevated, etc. In truth, I see lots of denigration of popular culture, not just sports. “I just found out what WAP stands for and I wish I hadn’t. My own fault for paying attention to lesser culture.” That kind of thing. 

So, the desperation kicks in when people who have no comprehension of popular culture save that it brings in larger and more dedicated audiences imagine that the best way to attract operagoers is to commission and produce THAT THING YOU LIKE: THE OPERA. There are fantastic films about sports because sports can be an allegory for just about anything. And there are plenty of people who aren’t sports fans who enjoy art about sports because, while an intimate understanding of the rules or history of a game might deepen one’s appreciation of the material, every story is a human story. We can all appreciate drive, struggle, triumph, defeat, etc. Motivation is key. If you are motivated to tell a compelling story, and find one in the world of sports, you are on the right track. If you try to find a way to attract fans of another thing to opera by embedding something familiar to them, they will know right away you are TRYING TOO HARD. 

Coincidentally, I just finished a second viewing of WandaVision, a show I absolutely loved. The classical music community could learn A LOT from this TV series, both in terms of storytelling and audience cultivation.

WandaVision draws from 60 years of comic books and television and builds on 12 years’ worth of films. There’s a lot of homework one could do before coming to this series, and you get more out of it if you put more into it, but I’d argue that the series doesn’t EXPECT it of its audience. You can come into this series cold, and still take a lot from it. It’s accessible not because it’s pandering or simple but because all of the fantastical trappings and all of the culture references serve the story, and the story is human. A woman builds psychological compensations to avoid confronting a loss too profound to process. That’s not far off from Erwartung!

But while the story of WandaVision is universal and accessible, Disney knows it is cultivating a SPECIFIC audience, and understands that audience well enough to craft content for it. “Marvel is for everyone!” would sound every bit as ridiculous as “Opera is for everyone!” sounds to me every time I hear it.

Two more points then I promise I’ll stop fanboying.

WandaVision draws on a wealth of source material, but it does not put faithfulness to that source material above the need to tell stories that are relevant and compelling to modern audiences. My absolute favorite example of this is in the new superhero origin story for Monica Rambeau. Rambeau defies orders and puts herself at risk because of her capacity to empathize with Wanda’s grief. She insists on providing aid and comfort to a woman perceived by others as a threat to be contained, and her decision is rooted in her own grief and loss. Her powers stem from her willingness to push through the boundaries erected by a woman in pain in order to reach her. It’s a deeply feminist and compassionate narrative that was nowhere to be found when the character was introduced in the comics in 1982. That’s what modern character interpretation looks like, not OPERATIC CANON BUT EDGIER AND SET IN A BROTHEL OR SPACE OR SOMETHING.

Last point: Episode 8 is practically an opera libretto already. We need look no further than that to know that audiences already understand and have an appetite for opera, at least in the narrative sense. We have a Virgil-like character taking our protagonist on a tour of vignettes from her own past in order to lead her to a cathartic realization that contextualizes her present circumstances, and the moment of realization is literally an explosion of grief. Laura Donney wrote that episode. I’m not just suggesting that the librettists of the future should study Donney’s teleplay for inspiration. I think we should invite writers like Donney to write libretti! The best way to bring these sensibilities into opera is to invite cross-pollination and collaboration where there is synergy and interest. We do ourselves a disservice if we imagine that opera librettists must be steeped in the traditions of opera, or that it is somehow a highly specialized kind of writing. There are a handful of useful ground rules, but they are easy to grasp, especially if one writes in prose.

So, I agree that there are lots of audiences out there we might poach, but quite possibly from some unexpected places, and we shouldn’t be looking just to poach the audiences. We should be poaching lots of talent as well. Opera would benefit from diversification more than I can possibly express.

What wells do you think opera should be drawing from more often? Where are you finding your inspiration lately? With the CD of your opera Naga hitting shelves, there’s a specific hot take I’m expecting to see: “Ooh! Electric guitar in the orchestration. MODERN.” You are such a masterful orchestrator that electric guitar doesn’t come across as gimmicky, pandering or incongruous in the slightest. But I know others are almost certain to ask about it, so here goes: Naga embeds some William Blake quotes and references an asteroid discovered in 2004, but the bulk of the story adapts a legend that’s over a thousand years old. Walk me through the process that had you poring over Cerise Lim Jacobs’s panmythological libretto and emerging with the orchestra you chose to compose for.

SW: I love the idea of collaborating with TV writers, since so many are doing such excellent work. Let’s reach out to a few for our next project!

I note that you’re assuming that opera, like TV, tells stories. Although I think there is a place for non-narrative opera, overall I agree that stories are the most direct way to connect, and there is no reason not to tell them. In fact, one could argue that the most exciting periods of opera have often been those when composers and librettists decided to return to the basics of telling stories through music and words. The freshest, most exciting approach to creating new work is often to weed out whatever one doesn’t need and focus on the essential. This is a good moment for that.

Thanks for your praise of my orchestration! Regarding the electric guitar in Naga, I tried to strip it of its usual associations, think of it simply as a color among others. As a result, a few listeners who couldn’t see into the pit asked if I had used a koto or other Asian instrument. Perhaps they were responding to the Chinese characters as interpreted and re-imagined by Cerise, but also to my stripped-down guitar lines. I thought of it as part of a continuo group including harp and vibraphone. The idea of continuo was in part a reaction to Cerise’s libretto, which has many characteristics in common with Metastasio or other baroque librettists – characters whose passions conflict with their ideals or their duty or their station in life. The mix of literary references imply a kind of choral drama like a Bach Passion, which is set out in the Prologue and fully realized with the attack on the White Snake in the final scene. For the asteroid, I combined glissandi from the electric guitar and high strings – a rare (for me) instance of direct text illustration in the music.

The first orchestration choice for Naga was to arrange the characters according to vocal type, from the high soprano to the low bass, in oppositions inspired by Mozart’s Magic Flute. The accompaniment includes saxophone instead of clarinet – like the electric guitar, a color chosen not to sound like jazz but to pair with English horn or oboe to give an unusual color, perhaps helping us to imagine the magic and fantasy of the opera’s characters and action. The ritualistic moments often feature wind chords inspired by Japanese gagaku. Each scene has a basic set of colors responding to the descriptions in the libretto. Verdi and Puccini are the great masters of this sort of scene setting, always providing just the right kind of dramatic contrast through orchestral color.

David, your voice is technically impeccable and has a range of colors unlike any I’ve ever heard. But what’s most remarkable is your uncanny way of inhabiting operatic characters. Were you always able to do this, or did you have to learn it somehow? I don’t know how to make this question specific enough, since I suspect it has to do with every aspect of your being – at least it looks that way when I see and hear you onstage. Can you give us an idea of how you approach an operatic role?

DSF: Well, I can say for certain that there was a lot of learning (and unlearning) involved, and that learning will continue indefinitely. I’d go so far as to argue that I have no natural talent as either an actor or a singer. I think for both singing and acting, there are two foundational processes at work: disentangling the voice so that it is responsive to impulse and disentangling the mind so that our emotions and experiences can be channeled into our characters without judgement or repression. 

Both of those processes were immensely difficult for me – my body was deeply entangled and guarded in my youth, and I grew up in a society that prized conformity: if the cool kids weren’t doing it, it was something to be ashamed of, so I hid my fandom and fascinations, shutting me down emotionally.

My voice teachers, especially W. Stephen Smith, helped to dig away at the tension and guardedness and access my voice. Books like A Practical Handbook for the Actor and How to Stop Acting gave me a template for diving within and finding my truths, while directors like Ed Berkeley and Leon Major gave me the playground and permission to begin expressing those truths.

But getting your mind and body open just gives you the toolbox. You still have to fill it with tools, and for that I cast a wide net for inspiration.

That’s where the unlearning comes in. One of the messages I got over and over again during my formal training is that there is a “right way” to do things, and anytime I tried to stretch the boundaries I got stern looks and shaking heads for it. It’s useful to know where the boundaries of standard practice lie, but only as a jumping off point. You can’t make compelling art for contemporary audiences in that small a sandbox.

Like I imagine many basses do, I worship at the altar of Cesare Siepi and Kurt Moll, but I also owe an immense debt to the singers who expanded the repertory of vocal colors accepted on the opera stage, Norman Treigle and Robert Orth chief among them. I’m also a fan of Nicholas Isherwood’s consciousness-expanding book The Techniques of Singing, but I find inspiration well outside the confines of opera: Nai Palm’s amazing mic technique and lower register; Alex Newell’s enviable power and flexibility; Estelle’s impeccable diction that bears no resemblance to classical lyric diction and reminds me that there is always more than one way to do anything; Lin-Manuel Miranda’s ceaseless vulnerability; Esperanza Spalding’s breathy, playful exuberance; oh, yeah and John Holiday is here to save us all. Somebody get that hero a cape – John’s a polymathic performer for the ages. If anyone can expand our horizons and dig us out of our little corner of the world, he can, if we let him. 

As an actor, it’s the same thing – I cast as wide a net as I can, try not to judge my choices as they come to me, and I steal unashamedly. Do you know Ed Wynn’s “Perfect Fool” character? It’s such an amazing legacy – the character has outlived Wynn because it is so iconic that actors can’t help but be tempted to do entire roles as one long Ed Wynn impersonation. That’s how I view the performances I watch: every inflection, every gesture, every beat that makes an impression on me goes into the toolbox, and if it serves a moment well and emotions flow through it unfettered, I use it. This works especially well in comedy, which has always felt to me like a kind of additive synthesis – good comedians tend to be encyclopedic historians of comedy.

Lately, I’ve stolen single phonemes from Ian McKellen, tempo and inflection from Chazz Palminteri, body language from Mark Rylance and whole characters from Monty Python. Some of the greatest “operatic” acting of our day isn’t happening on the opera stage: Eddie Redmayne, Nicolas Cage, Denzel Washington, Elisabeth Moss (to name a few) all offer master classes in maximal dramatic range that adapts perfectly to the stretched proportions of opera. 

I’m back on the cross-pollination horse again. I think opera benefits tremendously from being maximally informed by broader culture and the lessons available to us from other art forms. We live in a society.

Of course, a lot of the work I do with my body doesn’t come across on audio recordings, where acting with the voice is all we have. This is one of the things I find most peculiar about opera. When I was a kid, home video wasn’t quite a thing yet. I remember one of my prized possessions was a vinyl recording of the Rankin/Bass Hobbit that aired on TV in 1977. Not the soundtrack, mind you, it was the audio of the entire film, dialogue and all. I wore these records out, but never went back after I got my hands on a video and could just watch the movie. Once the home video industry achieved sufficient size, records like this died out. But we still make audio recordings of operas, either live or in the studio, decades after opera on video became practical. I find that fascinating.

I listen to opera recordings as a component of score study, when I need my eyes free to examine the music, or in the car when I need my eyes free to watch the road, but that’s not going to be everyone’s experience. Do you have any thoughts on why it is that opera works and continues to engage as both an audio/visual artform and as a purely audio artform? Is there any advice you offer to listeners who take in an opera recording as their first exposure to a piece? 

SW: Wow, that’s an impressive range of cross-pollination! And do you know how much of it I’m aware of in your performance? None of it! All I see and hear is you. This is probably true in any kind of creative work – the more we’re open to absorbing different inspirations, including from unlikely sources, the more we become ourselves.

Pop culture is also where many of us first encountered opera – soundtracks to cartoons and TV, snippets in advertisements. This relates to your question about encountering a new work on audio. It’s an incomplete experience of course, but that’s fine. Many opera lovers started with the Saturday Met radio broadcasts. Certainly, my Italian-American grandmother heard those, since her own father wrote opera reviews for an Italian language newspaper in Brooklyn. And those famously popular Caruso records were audio introductions to opera.

I didn’t go into the opera house itself as a kid, but one of the songbooks on my piano was of great opera tunes. As a teenager I loved an LP of Wagner orchestral music, without knowing a thing about the plots. When I finally saw Meistersinger, I was amazed at how much of the music I already knew from the prelude. I still haven’t seen Khovanshchina by Mussorgsky, but it’s a favorite, though I’m sure I’ve never sat myself down to listen all the way through in an evening. So, when I share any new opera with my friends, by me or anyone else, I encourage them to listen in chunks, just to see what maybe appeals to them. Of course, I make every effort to conceive of the whole opera as a single musical and dramatic arc, but I wrote it scene by scene. In between writing those scenes I listened to other music, even wrote other music. If a listener gets to know a new opera in that way, listens to a scene then comes back later to check out another section, that makes perfect musical sense. 

DSF: Thanks for the chat, Scott. Here’s hoping we’ll be able to do this in person next time!

SW: Thanks, David. This conversation feels like it’s just getting started, but I’m sure we’ll have some chances soon both to talk and to perform.

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