It’s probably just as well that I always forget how hard it is to put on a program like this, or I’d be tempted to present a concert of nursery rhymes. When I was planning it, I was completely focussed on the program’s musical flow and emotional arc. It’s something like writing down a meal plan—let’s see, soufflé, root vegetable purée, coq au vin, potatoes Lyonnaise, crême brûlée—and only later realizing how many ingredients each dish takes and how exacting the preparation is going to be.

“Happily Ever After” looks frothy and anti-gravitational on paper, and I have every confidence it will tickle the listeners on Sunday. Yet nothing is more demanding than comedy, and I am sure that all of us have had a moment when we longed to be presenting a traditional art song concert with no shtick, no movement, no business, no props, no hats, and no jokes. 

I am happy to report that the operetta meal is coming together. The numbers look good and sound good. At one point or another each of the singers has nailed the lyrics to their songs, though we have had our share of those ouch-moments where we do a number four times and the singers only remember the text perfectly the second time, which means they end with a couple of crash-and-burn incidents. Clearly the Jell-O isn’t quite ready to come out of the mold, and when we move from a marvelously creative, stop-and-start work-through to “OK, great, let’s run it,” some of what we just did inevitably disappears. It’s a tricky situation to deal with; I want to help with the reassembly and remind everyone of the stylistic refinements we’ve been working on, but the moment isn’t always opportune for coaching. When people are tired and losing altitude it’s sometimes best to shut my trap. “WWMTD,” I wonder. “What would Mother Teresa do?”—it’s my perennial question. But…did she ever direct a show? “Nunsense”? “The Sound of Music”?

There are three duets for Philip and Scott—Viennese, Spanish, and French. Both are very gifted men, but so different in their approach. Philip was my student when he was in the opera division at Juilliard (Vocal Arts, it’s called); a few years later he was admitted to the Drama Division, where he trained as an actor for four years. He is the only person in the history of the school to have gotten degrees in both of those rigorous programs. Scott, on the other hand, studied architecture at Pratt for several years before devoting himself to his passion, singing. He had some acting training in high school, and then a couple of years of classes at the Manhattan School of Music where he just received his Masters Degree. Philip is detailed, technical, analytical; Scott is intuitive, lunar, and spontaneous. Both are sensational performers, and it’s a trip to see them work on a scene together. Our director, Katherine, has to do some fancy footwork to accommodate both personalities, but she’s one hell of a dancer. 

As for me: I did not have that longed-for clarifying dream to help me make peace with the Poquatuck Hall piano. Instead, I dreamt about my former housekeeper who had been hit with a large, unexpected tax bill that I was considering paying for her—until I learned exactly how large it was. Nevertheless, I began to find a way to deal with the instrument in a more realistic way. I realized I was running into trouble by trying to replicate a warm, orchestral sound that was simply not something this piano could produce. “Just play the notes,” I told myself, “and accept what comes out.” It was somewhat cleaner, and my arms began to calm down.