Mid-Tour Moments and the Art of Breaking Character

To Set the Scene: It’s Monday afternoon in the Occitanie region. We’re between school performances, and I’m sitting at a picnic table with the cast, quietly preparing for show number two of the day. The weather is idyllic — late spring sunshine that makes everything feel a touch more cinematic than it probably is. I, however, am nursing a head cold and doing my best to channel something princely through slightly foggy sinuses.

This marks the halfway point of our Le Bus Papageno tour — 42 performances across six weeks — and if there were a tipping point where things start to unravel a little, this might just be it.

The Cast of our 'Bus Papageno'

Tour Life in Motion

We’ve all reached that peculiar mid-tour rhythm: the performances are second nature now, the team dynamic is strong, but the wear and tear is starting to show. Days blur, personal routines begin to fray slightly at the edges, and moments that might have felt manageable at the start suddenly hold a bit more weight.

For me, that’s been compounded by a few moving pieces: a new airbnb in Toulouse, prepping music for upcoming projects, teaching, travel planning, budgeting… and of course, staying healthy enough to keep singing well — no small feat when your immune system decides now is the perfect time to underperform.

Which brings me to today’s performance.

It was a school show — a familiar set-up now. I was mid-scene as Tamino, fresh from the first of his trials, coming to the aid of Pamina with all the sincerity and nobility I could summon. Pamina, however, stumbled slightly on her dress, which was enough to jolt us both out of the usual groove. Not dramatically, not disastrously — just enough to initiate Praject Character Break.

Then I caught the eye of our Papageno. A glance, barely a moment. But one of those shared looks that says “I'm both about to lose it” And... we did.

There’s something particularly contagious about trying not to laugh when you know the others are doing the same. Each of us, mid trio, was trying independently to stay in character, to refocus. But of course, the very effort of trying not to laugh made it all the harder.

Eventually we had to give in slightly — a decision, conscious or not, to lean into the energy rather than fight against it. We kept moving. There was definitely a moment where the scene turned slightly… how do I put it... silent-film-esque. Intentional gestures, subtle exaggerations, each of us holding it together by the thinnest thread — until the arrival of the Queen of the Night, who, with a single withering glance, brought order back to the scene and carried us forward.

What Breaking Character Actually Means

There’s something sort of relieving about breaking character — particularly in opera, where so much effort goes into preserving the illusion. But in truth, it happens to everyone. From seasoned veterans to young artists, no one is immune.

There’s a particularly (watch it - it's worth it) delightful example of this featuring two titans of opera: Diana Damrau and Jonas Kaufmann, performing a lied recital with the legendary pianist Helmut Deutsch. Mid-song, they forget the words. What follows is a slow collapse of composure — first stifled giggles, then full-blown laughter. They do eventually recover, of course, with grace and charm. But what’s striking is the humanness of it all: two of the best in the world, caught in the same spontaneous slip that the rest of us know all too well.

It can be caused by a costume mishap, a musical fluke, a shared glance, or in our case with alot of outdoor performing - a helicopter flying overhead, a motorbike in the distance, a school bell that for whatever reason is set as ABBA's hit 'Gimme, gimme, gimme' — and it’s always surprising how quickly the body can betray the mind’s intent. But the challenge isn’t in not breaking — it’s in how you return. How you reset. How you keep the story alive, even if, for a brief moment, the veil lifts and we remember that we’re all human beings playing dress-up in front of an audience.

Breathing Back to Balance

One of the most effective tools I’ve found for re-centering — whether before a performance or even after a moment like this — is a breathing technique I learned from the great Kiwi tenor, Keith Lewis. It’s deceptively simple but remarkably powerful for clearing both the body and the mind.

You begin by lying on the floor, ensuring your lower back is flat to the ground (or against a wall or chair if you're seated). Start by fully exhaling until there’s seemingly nothing left — and then push out a little more using your abdominal support muscles to really empty the lungs. From there, let a quick, reflexive breath rush back in, expanding the ribs and lower back as you inhale deeply. Then repeat: fill, release, kick out the last bits of air, and re-inhale with that quick, spring-loaded intake. Done for 10 to 20 minutes, it becomes a kind of physical meditation — part breathwork, part reset button.

It’s best done before going onstage, but even in the middle of a tour day, just a few rounds can bring clarity, calm, and a much-needed sense of control — especially when the performance schedule (or your sinuses) are less than forgiving.

Nine Shows a Week, and Still Surprised

These school performances, though demanding, have offered moments of joy, connection, and unpredictability. Performing for young audiences means constantly adapting, staying present, and reminding yourself that the story you’ve told dozens of times might be brand new for them.

And maybe that’s what today’s moment was: a brief reminder of the spontaneity at the heart of live performance. A reminder that perfection isn’t always the goal — presence is.

So, yes — today I broke character. We all did. But we also laughed, recovered, and moved forward. The show continued, as it always does. And tomorrow, we’ll do it all again — hopefully with slightly clearer sinuses.

Till next time!

Z