What I learned from opera - lesson 1
I am trained as a cellist and I don't have any vocal training. So it's hard for me to believe that I have ended up conducting opera as a significant part of my career as a conductor.
Having said that, I cannot be more thankful that I got to learn lessons about leadership from opera that I would not have gotten anywhere else.
In the next couple of posts, I'll share some of those lessons.
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Lesson 1: I don't need to know everything
It is impossible for any one person to have all the answers. To claim to be so is a sign of denial. Yet, I've lived the majority of my artistic life believing that that is the holy grail, especially as a conductor. We are supposed to know everything! Any indication otherwise is a sign of weakness and lack of skill. I've been put down by mentors and colleagues for not knowing everything I "should." I'm perpetually in a state of imposter syndrome feeling like I'm not good enough because I don't know everything yet. This worldview has pushed me to excel and achieve, but it has also limited my potential for growth and to learn from those around me.
Opera's multifaceted nature provides a built-in failsafe to mitigate this kind of thinking, because it must involve a team of leaders and so many people within those departments. Of course, orchestras do too. But opera work requires consistent interaction and collaboration across those artistic departments, and this is not necessarily the case for orchestras.
The various artistic leaders in opera build a vision together across a lengthy amount of time–usually months and years. Everyone brings their own expertise and creativity, and the collective is stronger than any single artist. We are truly better together. The length of time matters too because it offers space for iteration to make things better and setting up a practice of interaction that becomes routine over time.
In addition to the leaders, the singers are often involved from early in the rehearsal process as critical voices in shaping the vision - sharing their ideas about character and dramatic, musical intentions. There is space for musicians' opinions to matter and there is a chance for it to be heard, even if it doesn't make it to the final product.
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As a leader trained in an orchestral setting, all this was novel to me. I discovered that through this process, I can learn from every artists' knowledge and perspective - and most importantly, not feel terrible about not being good enough, or not knowing enough. It's the first time I've felt comfortable in the discomfort of not knowing everything. And it was liberating. While putting my ego in check, having a team of artistic leaders gave me the opportunity and permission to ask for second opinions, fill gaps in my knowledge, and remain open-minded to different perspectives. This all occurs in a "this is just how we do things" kind of way, as opposed to "we are here to judge you for your lack of knowledge" way.
I was also intrigued by conversations leaders were able to have with singers - discussion about character arcs, motivations, pacing, etc. It seems to be a cultural habit in opera to have interactions focused on iterating and collaborating that is (mostly) a two-way street. In the orchestral setting, it is uncommon to take time in rehearsal for musicians to talk with the conductor about their music-making or to pose alternative opinions. There is not always a space for curiosity regarding pacing, structure, and individual nuance. The default is a one-way street where the conductor gives direction and the musicians do what they are told. It's an efficient path, but we should ask - what are we missing? And often, any additional interaction exists only when there is a problem - such as open forums that offer a temporary band-aid to address the concerns.
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When I learned what was possible in opera, I thought, "Why not have those conversations with orchestral players too?" Even in opera orchestras, they are often left out of these conversations, and they should be folded in.
I wonder what I could have learned from the oboe player in that orchestral program if I felt like I was empowered (and allowed) to ask them for their opinions as the conductor! It's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of generosity, curiosity, humility, and ultimately leadership.
I often find complicated logistics cited as the number one reason why we "can't" regularly involve orchestral musicians in artistic conversations. My gut tells me it's fear of change talking.
It is true that opera requires structures that naturally encourage habits of collaboration and sharing of knowledge. Orchestras operate differently and generate different habits.
But we can ask:
Must we accept and be bound by those habits?
Might there be better habits?
Can we identify the circumstances that allow those alternative habits to flourish?
We are determined, creative people. We can find a way to create new habits as part of our everyday culture.
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Working in opera has inspired me to make changes in my work, starting with these small adjustments:
I practice saying at the start of collaborations:
"I don't have all the answers."
"I need your help."
"I want to learn from you."
I practice asking the people I work with frequently:
"What do you think? Why do you think that way?"
"How did that feel?"
"What are you rethinking?"
"What isn't working?"
I must say that it is honestly not always effective. People don't always subscribe because it catches them off guard. They might see it as weakness or lack of conviction from a conductor. They might not know how to respond. But there are also instances where it pays off amazingly, resulting in deep and exhilarating collaborations.
Change is a process - and an uncomfortable one. And I have no doubt we'll get to "better" someday. Eventually, I hope we build cultures where speaking up is a habit and where learning from each other is an everyday occurrence.
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