Jessye
Mae Norman
(born September 15, 1945) is an American Grammy award-winning
contemporary opera
singer and recitalist, and is a successful performer of classical music.
Yeah?
Here’s mine:
The lady is
a goddess.
A goddess
who, in my case, manifested herself through the radio one day, when I was
perhaps 21 and she was in her mid-thirties. She had been living in London and,
in that period of her life, she was not singing opera. In fact, between 1975 to
1980 she didn’t sing opera. Born in 1945, she would have been 30 at the
beginning of this—I’m sure—self-imposed exile. Thus, these were her prime
years.
Norman is a
singer who had the luck to have a strong education, as well as a strong will.
After going to the Marian Anderson Competition in Philadelphia at age 16, she
met her future teacher, Carolyn
Grant, at Howard
University. Grant was so impressed that she took Norman to the dean, who
arranged for a full tuition scholarship.
“I know, it
sounds like a fairy tale,” Norman says in one part of the interview below. But
the point is that it’s not. Because consider this fact, again drawn from Wikipedia:
Norman
was born in Augusta, Georgia,
to Silas Norman, an insurance salesman, and Janie King-Norman, a schoolteacher.
An
insurance salesman and a teacher? What that tells me is that the family wasn’t
poor, but that it wasn’t rolling in riches, either. And with five children in
the house, there probably wasn’t much money to spare. At one point, Norman
tells the story of being given her own private radio—no sharing with her
brothers!—so that she could listen to the Metropolitan
Opera broadcasts on Saturday afternoons. Oh, and she had to clean her room,
so on days when it was Wagner, wow, the room really got clean!
What else
did she have? She had teachers in her racially segregated school who knew that
she was listening to opera, and who let her talk on Monday mornings for 15
minutes about what she had heard. She remembers the names of those teachers,
who must have been extraordinary, and also remembers the principal of the high
school. That guy decided that the whole school should donate their lunch money
to Norman for one day, so she’d have something to spend on her trip to
Philadelphia. So the kids donated the money, and the Board of Education gave
lunch free that day.
Why do it?
Well, if you’ve chipped in your 75 cents that day, you own a piece of Jessye
Norman—or at least a part of her trip. And it was on that trip that her
teacher, who was accompanying her (in both senses, since she was at the piano
for the competition) decided to see if there was anyone at Howard who might her
Norman sing.
To say that
Norman had a glittering career is somewhat like saying that Warren Buffet is getting
by, financially. True, I don’t think she ever conquered the Opera House in Blue Mounds,
Wisconsin (every town, no matter how small, had one…) but everywhere else?
She came, she conquered.
And she’s a
wonderful example of someone who is intelligent and articulate: two
increasingly receding qualities. And why are they receding? Because, more and
more, we’re slashing arts education.
I hate to
say this…no wait, that’s the problem: we’re always apologizing, feeling bad for
suggesting that the chorus and the band are just as important as the football
team. Anybody out there seen the TV series Glee? Then you’ll know what neck is first put
under the guillotine, when it’s time to start cutting.
I worked in
corporate America—improbable, I know, but there it is. And I can tell you: most
musicians can think circles around businessmen. Why? Because spending hours
at a keyboard gives you discipline, for one thing. But there’s something else:
it’s not just me saying that musicians have an edge. Google “cognitive effects music” and you get this,
from Boston College and Harvard Medical School:
ABSTRACT: Research has revealed structural and
functional differences in the brains of adult instrumental musicians compared
to those of matched non- musician controls, with intensity/duration of
instrumental training and practice being important predictors of these
differences.
I told you—it was not a fairy tale, the glittering life that Norman has lead. It’s a tale of a community who had no idea that there wasn’t money for the band or the chorus, of teachers that gave up their time and money to take a 16-year old to Philadelphia, to a principal who knows that there’s a talent in his or her school, and knows that he has to get the school behind her.
And how many lives did Norman change or affect? What was the return on the investment that all those people poured into her, those people poorer, mostly, than we are, but who could still afford to give what we cannot?
Well, in my life, Norman started what would be a lifelong love of the human voice. I was in my twenties, and I didn’t—like many instrumentalists—like singers. They were artificial, I thought—all high C’s, no musicianship.
What do I listen to, now? Almost all vocal or choral music—I can’t remember the last time I heard a cello concerto. And here it has to be said, I have learned much more from the singers I have heard than the cello teachers I have paid. And when I hear most instrumentalists play, I can almost always tell who has listened to singers, and who has not. Singers, you see, have this problem or gift—they have to breathe. Cellists don’t, but should.
But that’s hardly the most important thing. I discovered a world of music that did more than give me pleasure. I lost my mother, my job, and my mind in a two-year period a couple of years ago. And what music accompanied me, as I lived through those days? Schubert’s great song cycle: Die Winterreise.
I said it accompanied me, but it was more than that. In some ways, the work was informing my journey, and I was spiraling down, down, down—being pulled by that music, but ultimately being saved by it as well. I took the winter’s journey, as some of us must, and got through the village and met the hurdy-gurdy man and started off. Schubert both defined and clarified that process.
I got to Jessye Norman two nights ago, after the opera, since I had seen the encore performance of the Met’s performance of Rossini’s La Cenerentola. The performance was a four-hour, bottomless bottle of champagne, so I came home and wondered: could I buy a DVD of the opera, in order to play it for Ilia, my mother-in-law who’s caring for an ailing husband, and who often cannot get away? So I checked the Met’s gift shop, online, and yes, there it was. And what else was there? Jessye Norman’s autobiography, which came out days ago.
And so I spent the morning looking at the clip below, and doing a bit of compare and contrast—remember that from high school? Because I had been seeing on Thursday—before the opera—a documentary about the Koch brothers, those guys who have found the way to buy the government, and who are also finding ways to buy the educational system. It’s breathtaking, in fact, the scope of their ambition.
Both clips are long—who but a blogger has the time to listen? So I’ll paraphrase—with considerably less eloquence than Norman’s unscripted remarks—what Norman says about the American dream. She said—and I have tears in my eyes as I write this—that it’s the knowledge and acknowledgment that government has the obligation to ensure that everybody has the opportunity to live and, especially, to thrive. And don’t trot out that dusty line about the bootstraps, because you know what? Some people don’t have boots.
Norman was one of those people—a black girl in the Jim Crow South whose parents were struggling. Her parents, could they afford to go to the opera, much less sip champagne afterwards? Or put it this way—could they afford to go hear their child sing? I don’t know: but my strong feeling is no.
I wish that the people who are decimating public education and cutting off aid programs and perpetrating this myth of the undeserving poor would get it: it’s terrible fiscal policy. Nobody gave Norman the career she had—she worked and struggled and took risks and succeeded, gloriously.
But she also had resources that—increasingly—people want to take away. She didn’t want and never needed a “handout.”
She needed a foundation.
What kid doesn’t?
