Diary of an Opera Singer: Circle of Light

Rhoslyn Jones

“Competitions are totally pointless…unless you win.” Those are the words my best friend taught me back in 2008 when I didn’t make it to the finals of a big competition. Districts? Won! Regionals? Won! Semi-final win? Nope. Same thing the next month. Qualifying round? Yes. Quarter finals? Yes. Semi finals? Yes! Final winner? No, thank you.

For a time, I felt like I was continually coming in second place or not at all, and with singing it feels personal. That’s because it IS personal. It’s our physical instrument and when we get a no, we have no one and nothing to blame but ourselves. This is totally pointless and goes absolutely nowhere, believe me.

I’ve won a ton of competitions and I’ve been accepted into dream schools and incredible programs, but it’s strange how things like second place remain with you like a nasty stain on your favorite dress. If I think about it with some time and distance between it, I realize pretty quickly that I actually made more money winning second place a few times, and not first place. But still…it lingers.

My best friend was right, though. Competitions are totally pointless unless you win. Win what you may ask? Money. That’s it. Singers and artists need one thing more than anything else to continue their careers and chase their dreams. DOLLAR BILLS.

We need money to fly to London for a last minute audition for some jerk who hears you for 10 minutes and sends you right back to New York. We need money for when that same jerk insists you return to London to audition again a week later just so you can be in a cramped room with him while he asks you about how high your heels could be to sing this role and how deep your v-neck dress could be while staring down your shirt. “For the character,” of course.

Then you need money to change your flight because your best friend doesn’t like to be early for flights and you miss the cut off time for your luggage. Then you need money for therapy because that jerk in London doesn’t think you’re the right fit for the job and your manager thinks it’s because your earrings look “cheap.” Spoiler alert: they probably were cheap because I don’t have money to buy fancier ones. SCREAMS IN SOPRANO!!!

I take my best friend’s words to heart, daily. I repeat them to students who come in to my studio in tears because they didn’t win something or didn’t get in somewhere. The underlying lesson is this: If you win something, great! Take their money and keep going. If you don’t win something? Fine. Buy yourself a bagel and keep going. Just keep going.

Nothing about winning or not winning a competition means anything. Except you either win money or you do not. That is it. Even the competitions that result in a performance? Fine. That’s wonderful. But it’s not money and it doesn’t help you take another trip to London to buy yourself some nice looking earrings so jerks can hopefully not stare at your chest.

Photo by Helenna Santos (another bad ass bitch)

Cut to the middle of one of my couch time music vortex sessions where I go on a hunt for great music for me and my students. I’m in a mood. I want something JUICY and totally kick-ass. I want to be moved and I want to feel connected to something that matters. I stumble across a TOTALLY POINTLESS competition page for composers and new music. It’s refreshing to see things that aren’t a random Schubert or Quilter song and I recognize the name of the winner as a friend and colleague.

Oh good for him! He won this one! Did he win money? I think so. Are the songs good? Oh yes. They’re awesome…but they’re for baritone. I tuck them away for future baritone students.

I glance down to the second place winner info and feel a warm familiar feeling. These are my people. The scrappy underdogs of the music world. The incremental step workers. The women. The teachers. The artists. The jewels that have yet to be worn and adored. I say her name out loud: Jodi Goble. I begin my internet stalking crush on this remarkable human.

She’s written a ton of music. Interesting and unique settings of poetry I am instantly drawn to. Poetry by Emily Dickinson, Sara Teasdale, and other bad ass bitches. I sense right away that I’ve found a bosom bad ass bitch and do what any normal human would do: I write her a totally chaotic and overly worded email and purchase every song on her website.

Somewhere in Iowa I’m sure she alerted the authorities that a dangerous Canadian in California is on the loose and coming for her at an alarming pace.

However, it turns out my spidey sense was correct and we are quick pen pals. She loves music, art, connection, poetry, and writes me a totally sane email in return, to which I respond with an even more unhinged and frenetic email. Doing great, Roz.

Now it’s the middle of the pandemic (shudder), and I’ve been asked to record some recital music for the San Francisco Opera and a project they’re calling the Atrium Sessions. Their artistic leadership suggested some Strauss or Schubert or something in English…maybe Quilter?

Nah. I choose Florence B. Price, Clara Schumann, and my new pal Jodi Goble. We record 9 songs in about 3 hours on the day my Grandma passes away while I’m wearing a walking cast from tearing every ligament in my right ankle and a little bit high on sedatives. The thing that got me through that? This music written by women who I feel so connected to.

Women who have been working and thriving as artists in a male dominated patriarchy for centuries.  Women like Clara Schumann who was a total bad ass bitch and was the obvious potential breadwinner of that family but dimmed her light so that her husband Robert Schumann could be special. No shade Rob, but Clara was a legit prodigy and had more talent and work ethic than you and all 7 of your children combined.

I started noticing a trend. A lot of the music I was interested in was composed by women who had a whole ton of talent and promise, excelled in their artistry, had limited visibility or familiarity in the musical canon, almost zero performance frequency, and at some point turned to teaching. Hold on a second, here.

I have spent the greater part of the last ten years feeling like teaching was a total failure of my singing promise. Managers and mentors have said things like, “Those who can’t do, teach.” Hurling this at me thoughtlessly like my work to uplift and educate singers is something to hide or feel ashamed of. This patriarchy shit is unending and ever present and I’m so over it.

Writing that now makes me hot with rage. Or it might be the perimenopause. Either way, I’m pissed and sweaty. But more importantly, I’m very clear on my calling.

I’m great at singing. Like…I’m really good at it. I love it and it’s not just that my voice is pretty (which it is), but it’s what I do with the music that sets me apart. Is that cocky? (Patriarchal word hits again) Hell yes it is and I can back it up. Don’t like my singing? I do not care. Go listen to something else.

I’m great at teaching. I’m on faculty at one of the top conservatories in the country and I’m the main teacher for one of the top young artist programs in the world. I have great ears. Sometimes, annoyingly great. I’m an exceptional musician (thanks Mom and Dad), and I am easily able to articulate and describe the act of singing connected with the physical body.

How does this connect to my calling? Turns out that the thing I thought I should hide and downplay is the exact thing that will propel me onward. I have all the tools, resources, and skills to do whatever the hell I want to do.

What I want to do is record, perform, and amplify the works of women and humans like me with other women and humans like me. I want to commission new works by people like Jodi Goble, Cecilia Livingston, and Nailah Nombeko. I want to publish and record the vocal works of Amanda Maier and Carlotta Ferrari. I want to record basically everything that Clara Schumann and Florence B. Price wrote for voice. I want to read and sing everything about The Dean of Music herself, Undine Smith Moore, and I want to sing everything that Pauline Viardot wrote in French, German, and Russian.

Unearthing the work of women and previously underrepresented humans who are living and working as teaching artists, helping those who are studying to become artists, and who live on in books and scores as guiding and connecting strength is my calling. This is what I’m passionate about and intend to make my life’s work. A circle of friends old and new in a beautiful circle of light.

SUPER GRACEFUL SEGUE: Jodi Goble wrote songs for me. For ME!! It even says my name at the top of the score. I guess she realized she couldn’t get rid of her stalker so she befriended her. Lucky Roz. We chose our favorite and most powerful Rainer Maria Rilke poetry and Jodi did her magic wizardry English translation and composed music that fits my voice like a warm glove.

Circle of Light: Seven Meditations for Soprano will be recorded at the school I work at in early 2024. Jodi will play piano like the brilliant musician she is, and I will sing her music. Joyfully. We will record with the state of the art equipment that SFCM has to offer and distribute to streaming platforms, schools, teachers, singers, and lovers of singing everywhere.

This project is so deeply special to me for many reasons but the main one is that it signifies my liberation from anything and anyone who has tried to hold me back or cage me before. I can absolutely do whatever I want as a teaching artist and I do not need the permission of any jerks who have tried to cage me, slow me down, or judge my worth on my dress size.

What we still need is what artists always need. Say it with me now: DOLLAR BILLS. Yes, we still need money to make these dreams become reality. If you’ve made it this far and feel compelled to help, I invite you to visit this link where I am hosting a campaign to raise money for the first step of this project.

Fiscally sponsored by the amazing people at Fractured Atlas, this campaign aims to raise $3000 to cover costs of travel, cost of commission, recording equipment, recording technicians, producers, post production work, distribution, and promotional activities for this newly recorded music.

If you’re not able to help financially, that is ok. I appreciate you reading this far and for supporting me and artists like me in whatever way you’re able. Subscribing to Substack is meaningful. Reading something on a social media platform is meaningful. Sharing articles and posts is meaningful. Teaching and singing and creating art is meaningful. Bagels and couching are meaningful. It’s all included in this circle of light.