A post about perseverance, Bellini, and learning a bel canto role
Linz - The City Where it All Began
After living in Linz for 18 months, it feels strange to be back—almost like slipping on a coat you thought you’d outgrow, only to realize it still fits, but differently. Life has been so on-the-go lately that I’ve been relying on the kindness of friends to keep me afloat, and no more does a place filled with friends exist than here in Linz. It’s funny; Linz has seemingly become my place to return to when I need some down time or a place just to reset.
Now, during six weeks of downtime between work, I’m here again, facing the Danube, the fog, the saturday midday air raid sirens, catching up with friends, observing the endless grey skies (vitamin D supplements, anyone?), and a city that’s become a backdrop for some of my most pivotal moments - who‘d have thought.
But don’t be fooled—this isn’t some idyllic Austrian retreat. This trip isn’t about strolling through cobblestone streets, endless Kaffee und Kuchen catch ups or drowning myself in Wienerschnitzel. It’s about work: about Bellini, Gualtiero, and the relentless process of turning chaos into art - thats what I have to keep reminding myself anyway… (and also endless Kaffee und Kuchen)
Step One: Wrestling with Bellini
Learning a role like Gualtiero in Il Pirata starts with one simple truth: the music isn’t going to learn itself. This is my constant battle, what I would give to just have a chip plugged into my brain to download it all in there. But… as my old piano teacher Mrs Edmondston would tell me… ‘The first step is always the hardest’ … she either said that, or more likely the line was ‘Don’t be so careless’ - Lets go with the more poetic version, eh?
Bellini’s music is deceptively simple. It demands precision and breath control, and it forces you to find beauty in the smallest details. There’s a vulnerability in that process because, let’s be honest, it doesn’t always sound beautiful at first. Sometimes it sounds downright awful and as a tenor who loves the sound of his own voi… wait… was a tenor who tries to make a nice sound, this part, having to listen to the strangled cat scream about vengeance and love can make you want to slam that book (ipad) shut for good.
But that’s the thing about perseverance. It’s about showing up, day after day, even when the notes feel impossible, even when you’d rather do anything else. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, it starts to click - this, again, is what I keep telling myself.
The Coaching Room: Vulnerability Meets Growth
If there’s one place where all my insecurities come to the surface, it’s the coaching room. Working with a répétiteur is equal parts humbling and inspiring. They’re not just there to play the piano while you sing; they’re there to dissect your every note, every phrase, every breath.
Recently, I walked into a coaching feeling underprepared and under-caffeinated, clutching two Boston Cream donuts, one as an offering to my coach, the second as my reward AKA a lifeline. “Act II trio,” I thought. “I know it… right?” Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
The thing about learning new music is that it can make you feel like an absolute beginner all over again. I missed notes, flubbed harmonies, and threw more than a few panicked glances at my coach, the wrinkles in my forehead feeling ever present. Her expression over the piano —somewhere between patience and pity—said it all.
But here’s the thing: that coaching, as messy as it felt, could be considered a turning point. It reminded me that the process isn’t about perfection; it’s about progress. Though, i’d rather a little more perfection down the line, but this is part of this journey I am on.
And yes, bribing your coach with their favourite donut doesn’t hurt either.
Text and Layers: Making Bellini Speak to Today
One of the most rewarding—and challenging—parts of learning a bel canto role is making the text feel human. Bellini’s librettos are poetic, but they can also feel distant, almost as if they have no emotional connection or pathos at all. My job is to bridge that gap between distant old italian, and relatable emotive intent.
This year, while studying at the Accademia di Bel Canto Rodolfo Celletti, I learned to look beyond the surface of the text. It’s not just about singing the words beautifully; it’s about finding the emotional truth beneath them. I worked briefly with the wonderful Barbara Frittoli, who would stand there, draped in every tasteful italian designer clothing you can imagine, arms crossed, staring back going ‘why are you thinking so much? Just sing!’ - and that lady knows what she’s talking about!
See here - Barbara Frittoli as Micaela
For Gualtiero, that means peeling back the layers of his character. On the surface, he’s a pirate consumed by vengeance, but underneath, there’s a man wrestling with love, loss, and identity. He’s spent 20 years exiled from his home, forced out of his relationship with Imogene, and with no choice forced into Piracy. The challenge is to make those layers resonate—not just for me, but for the audience.
To do that, I stole an idea from a colleague and friend who I stayed with recently in Madrid. They too, significantly more advanced in every possible part of their career let me glance at their score for a different Bel Canto role. Above the line wasn’t a direct translation, but a subtext, a simplified more human version of what it was his character was saying.
So, thank you to my friend, I have stolen your process! A simple line like “Vieni! Cerchiam pe’ mari al nostro conforto” (Come! Lets search the seas for our solace) becomes more than a command—it’s a plea, a cry for connection, a man who has seen and done terrible things to survive, showing his vulnerability and begging for his love to come with him (despite repeated answers of her saying no throughout the opera - she has her reasons too). It’s in these layers that the character comes alive and where, for me, I am finding a lot of joy in.
Lessons Learned (So Far)
If there’s one thing this process has taught me, it’s that perseverance isn’t about pushing through the hard stuff—it’s about embracing it. It’s about showing up, even when you don’t feel ready, and trusting that the work will pay off.
Sometimes, it’s the little things that keep you going: a walk along the Danube, a kind word from a friend, or, yes, stuffing your face with a Boston Cream donut. Because in the end, it’s not just about the music or the performance. It’s about the journey—the messy, beautiful, and utterly human journey.
Thanks for reading. If you’ve ever faced a challenge that felt bigger than you, or if you’re curious about bel canto, Il Pirata, or Linz, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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