Afterwards: Big Thoughts on Doing Things Like This

So we did it. The performance happened and we had a nice-sized audience that actually clapped afterwards. Everything fell into place: singers sung, lights lighted, conductor conducted, musicians musicked and the page-turner turned pages. It felt great, and then we stood there in a row, relieved and bowing, fake blood all over our faces. That was the first performance.

(And there will be more: Tuesday 31st of May Jääkausi is returning in Hietalahden Paviljonki. More info is coming soon.)

Right-after-performance relief.

Now, looking back at the process leading to this first night, it's time for some Big Thoughts on Doing Things Like This:

1. It's possible. You can make a project happen if you work hard enough. It might not work in the exact way you pictured it at first, but somehow it is doable with persistence and determination. There are always obstacles and annoying things and downsides and wasted hours of grant applications and hardships, but if we could pull this off, then sure you can pull off your stuff, too.

2. But it probably won't happen fast. It is near impossible to get any funding in the beginning if you don't have anything concrete to show (a finished composition, performance locations etc). So don't feel disheartened if no money comes in; funding is easier to get with good promotional material and proof of some results. Also, if you only are interested in the money-side of things, I suggest you quickly stop being an artist and go into accounting or investment banking. And then hire me as your secretary, please.

3. Have high hopes but don't feel disappointed if they don't fully materialize. It's important to dream big but at the same time to keep a realistic view of what's possible and what would be nice but probably won't happen. I mean, we're ready to take over the world, but first you have to have the product finished. Then you have to learn it and perform it. Find some people who believe in it, and maybe they will tell others. Baby steps. Sure there are people who get famous overnight and who get a million-euro-grant just by snapping their fingers, but those are the minority. Others take baby steps, my friend.

4. Don't try to do everything on your own. Me, I am a control freak and had a tough time learning that sometimes it's a good idea to let other people do things. Lesson learned: when you delegate, then Really Delegate and trust that people will do what you asked them to do. Why stay awake at night worrying that the printing company will fuck up your poster's color scheme when there's nothing you can do about it? Those dark patches under your eyes are not worth it, I assure you.

5. Listen to advice. Sometimes other people know something you don't, or they have a better perspective, or they're not so emotionally attached to the project you're practically married to. Advice should never be rejected. I'm not saying that all advice is good or that you should change everything just because someone told you to. Just that every piece of advice should be given some thought first and then either taken on board or cast aside.

6. Only do things you believe in. People will have opinions, good and bad, they will criticize and judge you, and if you don't believe in what you're doing it's easy to lose your way in the hurricane of what-people-think. It comes with being an artist, no matter what kind: learning to know in yourself whether what you do is good or not. For me it has been one of the hardest things to take in - to trust my own judgement and not be so easily swayed by the criticism of others.

Numbers five and six might seem contradictory, but I believe that the magical balance between recognizing helpful advice and trusting your own vision is what makes a person grow. A work in progress, I'm struggling to learn to do just that.

7. Always, always remember to throw a good party afterwards.

General rehearsal: Lights, action, panic!

Today's the day.

But yesterday was also interesting, since we had our general rehearsal in Camerata. Our visual designer, Eero Erkamo, was creating magic with the lights - it takes forever and is seriously hard work. We got to experience it now for the first time.

So everyone came and got dressed, instruments were tuned, makeup was added and the run-through could begin. Of course it was quite awful: everyone was nervous, the lights were new and unexpected, and things were not finding their places. The acoustics of Camerata had to be reconsidered and playing and the singers' diction had to be adjusted to our new surroundings. I had to come to terms with playing on a piano sans lid (surprisingly different, that). The lights were sometimes on time, sometimes not. Someone of the band would be off at any given time - and quite often it would be me. 'Twas chaos.

But we did it, and after doing it we talked, went through ideas and improvements, ate, and took a deep breath. We could do this. And then we went through it for a second time and things just fell into place. Tempi were stable and comfortable, singers did amazing things, lights were there, and players played their hearts out creating a really impressive soundscape. Itzam waved his arms and Aura turned pages and Eljas gave last-minute instructions and our two paparazzis captured it all and we got it, it worked, we were all super exhausted and happy.

Relieved, we packed our bags and went to sleep. I, for one, slept like a baby, knowing that the performance is in good hands. All these skillful people doing their utmost to create this spectacle - what's not to love?

Here's some material from our paparazzi Gustav Larsson:

Itzam armwaving.

Anna-Maija as the acquaintance.

Milla as the person.

Final Countdown: Nightmares and vampires

Only a few days left to practice and a few nights not to sleep. What are your nightmares like before a big performance? I've had the classics: desperately searching for the stage door, but never finding it - having forgotten the music - not wearing the right clothes - and then some weirder ones, like having the hall filled with spiders and other unpleasant things. So that's the nights.

Latest in fashion: winter wear

The days have been more pleasant: we've been really working hard this week. Last week we had a break, since our soprano wanted to change her last name. So don't be surprised to read Anna-Maija Oka in the program notes; no-one was kicked out or replaced. Having returned to business on Monday we started to gather troops for the final battle. I have managed to buy fake blood, and Itzam has managed to get his arm seriously sore from waving it around in front of hardworking musicians. Milla has been down with a vicious flu, but thanks to the Benevolent Gods of Voice, she starts to be back in fighting form. And Anna-Maija sings just as beautifully with a shorter last name, too.

Today we took over Camerata for the first time, and went through all the motions and the running around. We won't have the actual lights until Monday, but today was anyway more about getting a feel of the hall and testing distances and suchlike. What you always should remember in staging things is that if you're not super-rich, you probably will have to practice in a place different to the one where you perform. That takes planning, caution and luck - for example, the Camerata stage was a bit narrower than we thought, so some things had to be reorganized. There's also one insanely heavy door, and some things had to be changed because that door takes way longer to open than we would've guessed. So remember: do your homework and leave room for surprises if you attempt something similar!

We asked for a sun and this is what Eero came up with..

Tomorrow the band will practice with the performance clothes for the first time, and it will be exciting to see what kind of a vampire army we will make. (Seriously, we're not going to be a vampire army, but it's a persistent joke. We don't really know what we are. You'll have to use your imagination.) Eljas will be making final tweaks and directional touches, and on Monday Eero will work his magic with all the lights in action. There is no way this opera could be anything but spectacularly awesome.

Final countdown: Joining a band

Sometimes a person needs some arrows to survive.

A bit over two weeks left, and the band met for the first time to make art. If you've seen any posters or other advertisement, you probably know we're called Korwamato-ensemble. This group consists of

Johanna Kärkkäinen, flute; Kristjan Parts, clarinet; Natalia Vaskinova, violin; Iiris Tötterström, cello; and myself behind a piano. Itzam is conducting, since he's the one who made the stuff we're supposed to play.

So we met and we rehearsed, twice. For me it was a surprisingly big change to become a part of the band. Having been rehearsing with the sopranos alone for quite some time, suddenly I had to stop being the leader of the situation and start following Itzam's orders. I realized halfway through the first rehearsal that I'm sometimes just blatantly ignoring whatever Itzam's doing and taking my own tempi (a bit embarrassing, that). I also realized that I felt really defensive about my previous role as the person in charge - perhaps I was enjoying it more than I was willing to admit to anyone. However, as the rehearsal continued life got easier, and the second rehearsal was free from any personal crisis.

Here's a quick clarification about the life of a pianist:

Usually, when doing a full-scale opera, the pianist is the one rehearsing with singers, and then the band and conductor take over and finish the job. Our case is different because I'm also part of the band - and that's where my role changes.

Now enough about me. Rehearsals were first a complete chaos, as they always are. Luckily the musicians we've got are complete pros, and the second rehearsal was much more of a success. Jääkausi is not an easy piece for the players, let's get that straight. It's got microtones (Microtones are notes that exist between the notes you can play on the piano - they sound wrong but that's how they're supposed to sound. It's art.) - it's got complex rhythms (That's when people are playing really different things and it sounds messy but the mess is actually calculated to sound exactly like that.) - it's got fast things that change to other fast things. The other instruments have plenty of flashy and weird techniques to use, too, and sometimes we really sound like the army of the dead; which is what the director pretty much wants us to look like, too.

Today is yet another rehearsal, after which we will have a creative break for the rest of the week. That's due to a certain private event that needs some peace around itself. And then comes next week and that's the last and most intense one. Stay tuned.

Final countdown: Three weeks left, and where's the fake blood?

Three weeks to the premiere looks like this:

Eljas and Milla finding meaningful things from the score.

Jenna pointing out meaningful things from the score.

So we've got the date, we've got the posters and we've got some publicity. 

(If you don't have anything too important to do tomorrow at around 14.25, tune your radio to Yle Radio 1 - or your computer to Yle Areena. We're performing an unforgettably shamanistic duet from Jääkausi.)

But what's really going on? - I thought I'd tell you.

I'm little by little hunting down things we will need in our performance, like red heels, fake blood and white overalls. I'm also finding out things about the things we will need in our performance, like how washable is fake blood really? (Answer: some brands are easily removed, some not quite so) and how noisy are the overalls in Motonet? In the meantime Eero, our visual designer, is coming up with solutions like how to have a sun in a bowl, or how to create the eternal spiral of time. Itzam is going through the score and learning how to conduct it, and the singers are trying to remember everything by heart.

In the rehearsals we're going through a mixed phase, which is beautifully reflected in the multiple schedules I've sent to people, depending on what they need to know. There are the rehearsals with only the band dealing with stuff; rehearsals with band and singers, tying to make music; then there are the rehearsals where only I'm playing and Eljas is making his staging art with the sopranos; and finally the full rehearsals with everybody and everything happening at once.

The staging side of things is slowly forming into a coherent whole, and music, too, begins to diminish. Diminishing in this context - for me - is as follows: When you start to learn a new piece of music, it feels huge. Moving from one page to the next is a lot of stuff, and the end seems to be very far from the beginning. Getting more acquaintanced with the music it starts to feel more like a graspable thing - you begin to have a sense of its structure, the overarching shape, and it really feels like the piece is getting smaller. You're not looking at it like an infinite field of notes, but more like a detailed map you know how to navigate.

(Reading this again I have understood that explaining myself clearly is a skill I'll have to develop further. But hopefully you grasp my meaning, or half.)

So. Having this petite piece in our hands and turning into an acted thing where players are also doing stuff, lights are on and a conducter is whirling his hands around - that's what happens now.

Ps. Have you seen a poster yet? I've heard they look amazing.

A True and Serious Representation of Art

What really takes place in an opera rehearsal? What does contemporary music even sound like?
Here's a short example..

There are as many opinions of contemporary music as there are listeners. What's contemporary and what's music, anyway, you might ask - and you wouldn't be the first. As far as I know anything, I think that our opera is modern, but not in the screeching-banging-farting way that leaves the listener unsure of whether to flee or applaud. Itzam's composition contains all sorts of elements: melodic, singing lines, weird noises, humor, romanticism.. It moves from wonky waltz to smooth jazz to beautifully rich soundscapes. And now we are working our asses off to do it justice.

This excerpt, as you might have already guessed, is not a True and Serious Representation of Art. I'm taking the piss out of you. In a way that's what this blog is trying to do, though - to show that Serious Art, like opera or contemporary music, isn't really that serious. The forms of art are there to be used in any way we like; we can reshape and redefine them. Opera is a thing that includes music, singers and some stage-related stuff, for example. That's not a very narrow concept, is it? It doesn't really sound all that elitist either - all that could happen in a bar, swimming hall or subway.

So stay tuned - there's more piss to be taken out of you. Seriously.

1st Rehearsal: Singing pianists and press releases

The composer tries to look like a serious person.

Have you seen Sibelius Academy's Spring brochure yet? - didn't think so. So why don't you go and find one and see for yourself that our opera is there, picture and all! In case you had doubts about this project ever materializing, this should set your soul to peace. It is happening, and it's happening soon.

The other sign of a performance eventually taking place is the existence of a score. Itzam worked his ass off and last week the biggest and last scene of Jääkausi saw the light of day. Today our courageous team went through the entire thing! Scenes 1-4 were sung by Milla and Ammi and scene 5 was sung by me, since Milla had to leave a tad early. Itzam, Eljas and Juho heroically listened and tried to imagine what the scene would really sound like when done by people who can actually sing.

Lessons learned:

1) Playing from the full score isn't always a walk in the park. Sometimes you turn the page and really get lost trying to find your line. My reaction: play nonsense, swear and repeat the mistake on the next turn. The proper way: play nonsense, skip the swearing and look proud and professional.

2) A piano cannot be flute, clarinet, violin and cello if they play microtones. My reaction: play nonsense, swear and say it's impossible. The proper way: look at the composer knowingly and shake your head.

3) A pianist is not a soprano. Not in any way.

After this very instructive session there was some planning to do, so a select group of marketing professionals went to have lunch and discuss serious matters. Juho drafted a press release, and I tried to sketch a poster-to-be. You try to come up with clever things to say that don't sound like you're over-confident or downright delusional! Struggle we did, but some coffee and half-cooked spaghetti later we had a release and a poster plan ready. The next big step is to get the poster printed and spread it around; maybe in a week's time you'll already see it winking at you somewhere in town. And how exciting is that?

Happy Start-up Year!

This time I don't have a lot to say; like all wise and lucky people, I've been hibernating through Christmas. But now work begins. There's less than two months to our premiere in Musiikkitalo! Have you seen the advert yet? Check it from here and get yourself a ticket (or three):

 

Start-up Opera esittää: Jääkausi

Next week our rehearsals will start in earnest, and I will keep you informed of how they go. Now here are some pictures of how we brainstormed in luxurious conditions before Christmas...

"So here we'll see the sun inside the bowl"

"Try to look like you're reading really intensely"

So stay tuned, there's more coming soon...

Facing the music: Rehearsing and rhythm

(This is actually Bussotti, not Zapata. You'll have to wait.)

 

It's always an exciting moment to hold a new score in your hand for the first time. Especially when it's a piece you've never heard, and especially when you really, really want it to be learnable in three months.

 

Last week I had first rehearsals with Anna-Maija and Milla, and we all were curious and nervous. Itzam had given us the third and fourth scenes (of the five in total), and we didn't really know what they were about until we tried them out together. Well, as it turns out, they're really good. But it took a while to establish that.

As a pianist playing for singers, sometimes it's not obvious what you should be playing - the actual music written in your part, the singer's part, just the basic pulse, some chords, or some creative combination of these. It changes with every piece and every singer, as they need different things from you. The rehearsal process also changes the needs - first you do one thing, then you should gradually change to something else. The final result, obviously (or hopefully) would be the stuff exactly as written. (Though I have to say that when playing more traditional works like Mozart or Wagner, I mostly play around 65 percent of the stuff that's there. But that's not really my fault, that's the piano transcript's maker's fault. I only have two hands, and they only stretch so wide.)

 

ANYWAY. So we started working and I tried my best to guess what Milla and Anna-Maija wanted from me, and in that hurdle it took a while for me to really start paying attention to the music. When I did, I loved it: it's contemporary alright, but suddenly it turns to smooth jazz and suddenly you've got a poprock duet that you catch yourself humming on the way home. It's got swing. You will want to hear this.

So now we practice this stuff until everyone goes Christmas. I came to the conclusion that for now I'm mostly playing rhythm and some harmonies, and some of the singers' lines. I tried to play what's written, but what happened was this: I had a complete rhythmic blackout. You try: tap a certain beat with both hands. Now start dividing that beat in two with your left hand, and then to three with your right. Change hands. Try different divisions of the three: short-short-short; loooong-short; short-looooong. For a pianist this is quite basic stuff, so I should be able to do this, but for now I mostly bang the piano for a while, swear, and return to the basic beat. I will conquer this by March, though.

(If you see a person in a tram/cafe/shop tapping both hands in a confused rhythm and occasionally swearing, come say hi. Probably it's me.)

About Us: Composer Itzam

How do you feel about having your photograph taken?

 

I tend to goof around way too much in pictures - I think in half of my pictures I’m making a duckface. Also, during my exchange year in Salzburg, I photobombed at least some 100 tourists. So. In so many places around the world people have stupid pictures of me.

What interests you most in this project?

 

Juho’s libretto is great. I remember telling him that I loved Waiting for Godot by Beckett, and he somehow delivered me a Finnish version of it. Working with his writing has become very natural to me. I do hope my interpretation doesn’t contradict 100% of what he wanted - although a 60% contradiction is okay with me.

I’m also looking forward to Eljas' solutions to many things. (Spoiler alert!) I honestly wonder how he’s gonna manage to create a Sun inside a dream. 

What would be your worst-case scenario?

The most pressing thing is actually finishing writing the opera! This is my most ambitious piece so far and the schedule is very demanding. My teacher also warned me about my physical and mental health while writing like an insane person.

Worst-case scenario: I pull a “Mozart” and write the overture in the morning of the premiere while carrying a crazy hangover. I’m sure the ensemble would love that.

How do you start a new piece? How did you start this one?

For me every new piece is a different project. I normally have several “tools” of how to write; everything from planning with drawings to improvising is allowed; and this piece was no different. Because of the length of the opera, first I had to estimate the duration of each section of the libretto. So I began with that and all sorts of other boring things, and then I got to the music, voice first. This opera is actually using all my resources as a composer. I've gone from the piano to a program called open music, and to singing in the shower. But no worries, I’ve approximated my shower singing because (not saying I'm out of tune!) my singing can be highly microtonal.

Is there a difference in composing to Milla and Anna-Maija?

 

The characters in the opera are not simple: they both contain a very extended display of emotions - and that pushes me as well as them into showing a wide array of techniques. While there are some differences in their voice, I think the similarities have been more important for me. They could change roles if they wished to, when receiving the final score.

Personally I’m very excited to see how they navigate the score and characters! Milla and Anna-Maija both are multifaceted singers who can do many things. I still remember the first time I heard both singing. Anna-Maija was in a party singing some pop songs; it was our first year in school and she made a very positive impression on me. I met her as a shy woman from the North who suddenly took the stage and became a New York pop star. I heard Milla maybe 4 years later, when she and Kaisamaija Uljas were practicing some renaissance songs. I was shocked and impressed - immediately after I asked if I could write something for them.

..three more months to wait before you can hear the wide array of techniques Itzam's employing. But what does the librettist think about it all?..

About Us: Soprano Milla

How does it feel to be in front of a camera?

[When in front of a camera] I mentally go through all the unsuccesful pictures of me. So not good.

What interests you most in this process?

It's interesting to get to do something that's very now. Singers interested in baroque often do contemporary music as well. What those genres have in common is the lack of a definitive tradition. We can create the libretto and music and make whatever we want out of them.

Building a role, onstage work and singing are a challenging combination. You learn to do opera just by doing. I'm looking forward to improving in combining these things. I'm sure this will be one of the most instructive and memorable projects in my masters studies. Also it will be nice to do more of Itzam's music.

I've been so excited about my voice slowly starting to work like an instrument, and that my artistic persona now has a clearer profile. I don't think anymore that I, as a singer, should only sing as beautifully as possible or in the same way as some other singer has sung.

I've been also very glad about having got Anna-Maija on board. I've admired her unique singer persona for a long time already. What kind of stage chemistry will we have? Usually the musicians I work with inspire and teach me - it's not just about your own performance, it's the joint effort of the whole group. That's why our project is so special.

What would be your worst-case scenario?

A flu.

What do you think about your character, Ihminen ("human"), reading Juho's libretto? How does it feel to be soon stepping in Ihminen's shoes?

I've thought about the lack of gender. Earlier onstage I've done female roles with a very clear character, roles that you can describe with simple adjectives such as "bad" or "princess". Now I'd like to try to build a flesh-and-blood, realistic character. It won't be a fairytale one, this human.

For now I'm trying to stay open for the role, because there's plenty of room for different interpretations in the libretto itself. Ihminen in Juho's libretto is a tabula rasa. I'm going to wait and see, in which direction the music will take the character.

You've performed Itzam's songs before. Tell something about the experience, what was it like?

I can't get enough of Itzam's music! He's got such

innovative ideas, and the compositions themselves are so beautiful and multilayered. Humour and depth walk hand in hand, and the songs have sophisticated tone colours, graceful melodic lines and usually a perfectly genious rhythmic structure.

One of the most unforgettable musical experiences of my life was to perform Itzam's song cycle Ludi for soprano, renaissance flute and theorbo. In Ludi I got to sing in Spanish, English, Toki Pona and Nahuat, and to experiment with a variety of ways to use my voice. These days a singer sometimes has to embrace a very different vocal aesthetic than what we've used to in traditional classical singing. In Ludi I was especially impressed by how delicately Itzam was able to bring to the vocal line gestures typical for baroque.

What makes Itzam's music special is that it works for all kinds of audiences. Even though it's skilfully crafted and "art", it's still not difficult to approach or dusty. It's simply current music for today's people.

In the beginning it was difficult to say out loud whether some part of Itzam's first drafts was too hard to do. The music in itself felt from the start so perfect, that I didn't want to intrude and complain that something is too much of a challenge for the voice.

I want the words to be understood, however. It's more challenging to distinguish vowels from music that's written very high. [The singer sometimes can help the composer with this kind of things.] And the more you work with living composers, the more important good communication becomes. Also it's important that contemporary music is easily approachable for the singer, too. It's a waste to compose songs that only a singer with a perfect pitch or a vocal acrobat can perform. That's why co-operating with the composers is important.

..and what does Itzam think about it all? You'll hear soon..

About Us: Director Eljas

 

How does it feel to be in front of the camera?

I really don't enjoy being in front of it. As the rest of the time I spend struggling to be less awkwardly conscious of myself, the moments facing a camera are a significant hindrance.

What interests you the most in this process?

Once again I'm fascinated by facing the unknown - always out of my comfort zone. I still don't know much about the opera; neither do I know what attitude would be the right one to take. And that's exactly what I enjoy. Juho's libretto is a pleasure to read - and throws down a devil of a challenge. I enjoy that as well.

What's your worst-case scenario?

That the opera would be cancelled for some reason. Or then that secretly in my thoughts I'd end up making a compromise, surrendering to fear when facing a new thing. I don't believe that either of these would happen.

You've already directed one miniature opera. How does directing singers differ from directing actors? What kind of challenges does working with music create?

The directing doesn't differ at all. In both cases it's about directing people - people who perform, and the directors job is to see each personality and the potential within in relation to his own abilities. Music, on the other hand, makes a bigger difference: the text alone doesn't mean anything, as the music becomes the other half of a "stage-script". If there's a turn in the music, it cannot be ignored, even if the text claimed otherwise. Also, music in opera offers a setting already "detached" from reality. That is a great strenght.

What kind of experiences do you have about opera? Do they affect your directing? Why?

As a kid, I've watched and been impressed by many a spectacle at the National Opera - everything from Carmen to Lohengrin. Later on I've gained new perspectives from Lulu directed by Leea Kleemola and Punainen viiva ("the red line") by Pekka Milonoff. These have created the idea that this isn't really so different from theater. It doesn't have to be. A video recording I saw of a Stuttgart-based production of Philip Glass' Satyagraha was mind-blowing - realizing that one can do absolutely anything. I don't know if any of these affect my work. For me what's always most important is that the person onstage understands, what situation or what kind of a moment is going on, and that the person lives, reacts and breathes. That's it.

..more about the sopranos' breathing and other stage-related activities coming soon..

About Us: Soprano Anna-Maija

 How does it feel to be in front of the camera?

Sometimes it's nice, but mostly uncomfortable. I easily get shy in the presence of a camera.

What interests you the most in this project?

The new group, the start-up feel. The libretto. Itzam's music. My own acting work and ability to learn...? Also wondering if Jenna will lose her temper and at what point!

What's your worst-case scenario?

That my child gets sick, and I won't be able to sleep (even the little I can now). That I won't learn my own part or I'll forget it. That the director will be frustrated, disappointed and angry. And that's it, I think.

You've sung both lied and opera a lot. Do you feel closer to one of those forms of performing? Why?

In lied I like the chamber music: the intense co-operation with the pianist - and also the ease in scheduling rehearsals compared to a larger group. I like how the poem is painted with notes, without anything extra. In opera I like - surprise, surprise - acting and using my body. The kinaesthetic awareness in opera helps my vocal technique. I also like working in a group, if the group's not too big. I have to say that the scale of our Jääkausi-opera is quite perfect!

You get to/have to perform several roles in this opera. Have you done something like this before? How do these characters seem to you, can you relate to them?

Plasticity shouldn't be the biggest probem - sometimes it's hard to build just one whole credible part, so in that sense this solution works for me. I have to admit that Ihminen ("human") in this opera is indeed more humane to relate to, but I don't mind being eaten either :)

...will Anna-Maija really be eaten? And how? All this will be revealed on the 1st of March...

Seventh meeting: It's a date!

An iceberg.

Ladies and gentlemen! After two months of suspense, we're proud to tell you we've got a date. Take your calendars out, people.

1st of March will be the grand premiere of our opera, Jääkausi.

(That'd be "ice age" in English, but no, it's nothing like the movie.)

The seventh time this group met pretty much consisted of getting our heads around the fact that we have a date. Many details needed to be sorted out - what should be done about all the little details? Lights? Props? How's the marketing? What would the program notes be like and who would write them? When's the general rehearsal? Who will play?

After talking about all this and more we started slowly to turn our attention to some rather bigger details, such as the composition itself. Itzam has been working hard, and some of the scenes are already taking their musical shape. There is a lot to think about still - composing for singers has many peculiarities. Some words are difficult to be understood when sung really high, for example, and that has to be taken into account if we want anyone to know what's happening on stage. And the music has to be learned and performed to Eljas, so he can start thinking about staging it all.

Now that the Sibelius Academy has given us the performance, we have to advertise it, too. So our meeting ended with a photo shoot, and everyone had their picture taken by... me. We're embracing arte povera to the fullest, taking photos on a mobile phone camera and editing them ourselves. Well. Making certain boyfriends edit them, which is almost the same thing.

After everyone took their turn of smiling awkwardly to the camera, we went our separate ways heads full of things to be organized and thought about. The truly exciting times have just begun.

Booking a hall: Adventures in Kafkaland

You'd think it was the easiest part of making an opera, booking a hall.  Especially if the opera in question was a part of your studies, and the project was approved by all the necessary officials in your department. Well. Let me set you straight at once: booking halls is a project of its own and takes time and dedication.

In the beginning there was an innocent email: "I'd like to book a hall. How is this done?" I was instructed to go to one of the info desks in our Academy - the N-house info was mentioned as particularly helpful. I happened to be in Musiikkitalo, however, and thought I'd ask straight from there, the hall in question being in the same building. I met a charming young lady who had never heard of my studies ("Opera coaching? Errrm, really?") and said that she really doesn't know about booking any halls, either. She suspected that someone else might know more, and I was inclined to agree.

Next I went to the particularly helpful N-house info, and there my innocent question was met with "Who told you that it could be done here?" - and I was sent to talk to an Important Planning Person. I was told I also could write an email to a special booking system, but I was warned that they rarely book anything if a student asks.

This Important Planning Person was nowhere to be found. She'd escaped the bureaucratic inferno and went on a holiday - but luckily she'd named two other Important Planning Persons to look after her stuff. I was told one of them was hiding in T-house, so I went there, and asked from their info whether the person in question actually was hiding somewhere near. This was said to be the case, and having asked for coordinates from a helpful, important-looking lady, I found him sitting in a corner. I told him my dilemma, and he said that the other Important Planning Person assigned to deal with these things would be much better suited to this task. Unfortunately she was somewhere else, but would come back soon. When she'd come back she'd have to go to a meeting, however, so she really wouldn't have time for any of this.

At this point I was starting to get nauseous. In my despair I went to meet the secretary of our department, an amazing woman who has a lot of answers. This time was no exception: the superwoman said that she'd just book the hall herself and explain it later if anyone came asking. We found a suitable time and she clicked the screen to confirm the booking, and then we found out that she didn't have the rights to book the hall in question. She could book other places, but not that one. No, not my second option either. She also suspected that the Important Planning Person I couldn't reach probably wouldn't have known anything about this kind of bookings anyway, just the regular ones.

Not all hope was lost, though - the secretary gave me a name of a man who might be able to help. He had helped the department in the past, but nobody knew if he still would. I don't know what this mysterious man does, but somehow he's connected to bookings and halls. Now I'm waiting for his reply, and I'm supposed to call him if he won't answer in the next couple of days. If he says he cannot help, I have no idea where to turn to next - but then it most likely will not be an issue anymore, since all the free times in the halls will be gone and we'll have to perform our opera outdoors.

I'm breathless and bewildered, and I've lost all faith in humanity by now.

Sixth meeting: Sorry, it's not going to be a musical

Musiikkitalo and its "terde" as we call it in Finnish.

Our sixth meeting took place in Musiikkitalo. Or rather outside of it, for the weather was glorious and meeting inside would've been a crime against sunshine. We were all there drinking (bad) coffee, and for the first time our new singer, Anna-Maija, joined us to talk schedules, politics and art.

Also Start-up Opera's new honorary member, three-month-old Helmi, was present for the first time. She participated mainly by eating and sleeping, and blinked approvingly at our grand plans.

There were scheduling issues to be fixed, again, and an approximate performance date was decided on. Taking into consideration our director escaping to Lapland, a marriage, and the fastest possible pace of composition, we set our minds to February or beginning of March. I will now take this to the authorities who will probably tell us that everything's booked and we'll have to perform this in a toilet. But hope lives on.

After scheduling issues came the reality: composing will start right now. It is happening. For real. So Milla, Anna-Maija and Itzam agreed on some rules - the fine line between comfortable and possible for human voice. Itzam has been strictly forbidden to compose difficult things, even though nobody actually believes he'll restrain himself from doing so. Composers are mysterious creatures, but they certainly have never been famous for making things too easy for performers. Well, seriously writing, one of our goals is to produce an opera that would be achievable to other performers too. This shouldn't be a work that's performed once and then forgotten, but rather something that would be easy enough - yet interesting enough - to be taken up again by somebody else. Usable music, one might call it. (I'm not saying we're doing a musical, sorry. It'll probably not be on any karaoke playlist anytime soon.)

And what next? We wait for Itzam to work his magic. In the meantime I write more grant applications and the others go hunting for helpers such as set and costume designers - all those people who know a lot about a specific something that we know little about. And then it's November and we all meet again, a few steps closer to an opera.

Fifth meeting and a soprano hunt

Some serious libretto reading going on.

It has been an eventful summer, full of things such as rain and other projects. Also I have found the need to reload my batteries and prepare for battle (aka. start of the school year). And so it happens that we had a meeting on the 18th of May and I'm writing about it now.

Everyone was there on our fifth meeting, again in Milla's place. For the first time we read through the entire libretto - lacking just some finishing touches. It was all very exciting. All in all the meeting circled around the following three points:

1) Scheduling. Our director announced that next spring he's going to escape to Lapland. So the opening night would have to be sooner than hoped for.

2) Scheduling. Can we actually make this happen? Will the composition be finished on time?

3) A writing crisis. Sometimes there's just too much text.

That day we went our separate ways with varying amounts of optimism and cheerfulness, and all was well. And then the university spat on us. Well, on Iida, in any case. She was accepted to Berlin to study singing, and had to resign from our opera group. We're pretending to be happy for her, because studying singing in Berlin must be completely amazing, fulfilling and every kind of wonderful, but still our hearts are bleeding for losing this eccentric, energetic artist. I tell you, this young lady will be heard of.

So.

That left us one soprano short, and a hunt began. I had long talks with Milla and Itzam about who could be best suited to our group, and who Itzam could most comfortably compose to on such a tight schedule. We all had different opinions and favourites, but one name was on all our lists: Anna-Maija Perttunen. She didn't say yes immediately, but wanted to think about joining us. (Which was wise - we're on a fool's errand trying to change the universe and open the hearts of these humans who have fallen from the grace of Bach, Beethoven and Brahms. We've got no money, just wild plans and a little time to create a mind-blowing spectacle of an opera.) Eventually Anna-Maija caved in and said yes, and we're going to live happily ever after.

Stay tuned. There are amazing things to come.

After a long silence, a musician rants

Being a musician is hardly a 9 to 5 job. Practicing, gigs, studies, pr, teaching - usually a musicians life is a creative cocktail of things to be scheduled. Sometimes, when I'm writing yet another list of things to do or practicing on yet another Sunday, I really wish I had chosen the other option: work and free time separated, and someone giving me clear instructions on what to do and when. Not to mention a regular income.

How is this related to our opera, you might ask. Well, it isn't. And still it's the reason why I haven't written for so long. Writing this blog has been on my to-do list for two months, but life got in the way. Life and poor time management.

So I find myself thinking about this eternal problem of the quality of a musicians free time. I miss free time without guilt. You know this, but I'll spell it out anyway: it's the feeling ​you get when you're watching TV or meeting friends or having any kind of a good time, really, and at the same time you're haunted​ by all the repertoire you're not practicing, all the emails you haven't sent - an endless list of unscheduled stuff. And who's doing the dishes, I'd love to know!

 

For me personally it can at times be hard to let the undone things remain​ undone. I find myself lying awake at night stressing about everything that I should do instead of snoring peacefully. I really don't think I'm alone in this​, either​ - and that's why you're reading this rant.​ I'd like to know how do you do it? How do you make your life work, what's your secret? I myself stay sane mainly thanks to lists and an incredibly patient driver/cook/boyfriend, who picks up the pieces when i run out of steam.

But please, tell us your tricks. And I'll add "update blog more often" to my next to-do list.​

Fourth meeting: Sometimes music pees on your shoes

An honorary member of our group, Mr. Patamon.

 

The fourth time we met I invited everyone to my very own box of a home. A lot of coffee was involved, even though we gave up on the morning-thing and met at noon. Juho had written two new chapters, again, and plans were made about how to proceed from here. Having decided that four scenes or so would suffice for an opera about 45 minutes long, Juho promised to bring a draft of the whole thing to our next meeting. That might be a very exciting turning point for us, since then the actual composing can begin.

All this was very exciting and promising, but just after the meeting was over I got an email announcing that we didn't get a penny from SKR. So we're as poor as ever. Talking of which, if anyone has some money they don't know what to do with, why not just give it to us? Donating to our enterprise would guarantee you a free ticket to our show - and maybe, if you're lucky, an autograph or two ;)

(...is it alright to use a smiley face in a blog that's trying to be somehow credible? No? Didn't think so, and did it anyway. Oops.)

But, money matters aside, in this meeting of ours we had a very fruitful discussion about cats. Iida, Itzam and Juho were the connoisseurs, since I don't know the first thing about them, but the others had all sorts of psychological insights to the matter: and cats in pairs, single cats, allergy and cats, and other such fascinating subjects were talked through. Cats and music wasn't an issue, but I got to thinking that maybe there's something there. The independent, I-don't-really-care-if-you're-there-or-not attitude often attributed to cats is very much what I'd think about some compositions I've attempted to play at some point or other during my glittering career as a pianist. The music just couldn't care less if you've got issues with playing thirds or reading more than ten accidentals in one bar - sometimes it feels like the score on the piano is staring at you mockingly, hissing, and probably later peeing on your shoes. Any similar experiences, people? Or am I just -

Never mind what I'm just. You take care, go to work, earn your salary, and send 15% to us. And I'll keep you posted about what's next on our way to the mysterious world of opera.

Third meeting: Changing the world

Juho, Milla and Itzam talking about the death of art.

Our third meeting took place on a Friday morning, exactly like last time. We have a thing for mornings. Juho, Itzam and I dragged ourselves from the comfort of our (separate) beds to once again enjoy Milla's baking. Fortified with coffee and bread (straight from the oven, yum!) we went through two new scenes of the libretto. The first is a perfectly beautiful dialogue between a person and a dog, and the second includes the aria partly filmed in the previous post.

Having gone through the formalities of long-term planning, dreaming of performances to come, and talking about grants, next meetings and other necessary things, we then moved on to more interesting fields. Milla gave us a passionate speech about the death of art. There are many problems young artists have to face trying to carve themselves a place in this crowded, economically challenged, ungrateful world. Getting people to see your work is one huge issue. Theater and classical music are obviously not as interesting to the common folk as they were a few hundred years ago, and something needs to be done about that. A major problem is the way arts are (not) present in schools. Children should have the benefit of being exposed to art more and in ways that are accessible to them, so that they could form their own opinions about it after experiencing it first hand. Another thing is the preconceptions people have about opera, theater, contemporary music, etc. This is not only the audience's problem - also artists themselves tend to have pretty fixed ideas of what their work should be like, where it should be presented, and to whom.

One of the modest goals of our opera is to try to change the world in this respect. It might not be a huge change, maybe not even a middle-sized one, but we want to take this performance extravaganza-to-be to schools, cafes, and all sorts of places where music, theater, art and excitement should be more present.