Here Comes Treble: On Stage - A Nail!
...He holds a permanent position at the Cologne Opera House in Germany; has sung in operas at the Concert Gebauw in Amsterdam and in oratorios in Siberia. Moosa is becoming a favourite with international audiences. When clothed in the cream satin of the eighteenth-century, with powdered wig enhancing his broad, white smile and accentuating his chocolate-coloured skin, he is a startling sight...
Isabel Bradley tells of meetings with Moosa, a country boy from South Africa who is beoming a big name in the operatic world.
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“The traditionalists,” Moosa said, “want every movement on stage just the way it was in Mozart’s day. For instance, in Mozart’s opera, Cosi fan tutte, the singer must make the exact movements dictated by Mozart’s director...” He pondered. “What is a mistake?” He paused theatrically, then stood and moved to a fairly clear part of the room. “You come on stage like this and start singing.” He sang a few notes, his voice clear and bell-like. “On that syllable, you spread your left arm, so!” He threw out his long arm, brushing a dinner-plate with his finger-tips. “Then, if you don’t put your thumb down, like so, on this word: that’s a mistake, and the director is furious with you!”
Moosa is tall, and very dark – a black man from the Giyani district of South Africa. Combining enormous talent with ambition and drive, Moosa was motivated by generous mentors, sponsors and marvellous teachers. He has carved a career for himself in the international world of Opera. He holds a permanent position at the Cologne Opera House in Germany; has sung in operas at the Concert Gebauw in Amsterdam and in oratorios in Siberia. Moosa is becoming a favourite with international audiences. When clothed in the cream satin of the eighteenth-century, with powdered wig enhancing his broad, white smile and accentuating his chocolate-coloured skin, he is a startling sight. The accompanying high heeled shoes add inches to his more than six feet of height; sopranos love to work with him.
Continuing his discourse, Moosa said, “Directors are often from the theatre, they don’t know about music! For instance one director said, ‘When you enter from the wings, the orchestra will play a dramatic chord and you must fall!’” Demonstrating, Moosa suddenly dropped to the carpet, almost knocking over a side-table. “Then,” said Moosa, sounding rather strangled from his prone position, “then, he expected me to sing, with my chest pressed to the floor and my nose to the floorboards!”
“So – what did you do?” I asked, “Rehearse for the next six weeks lying on your stomach?”
“Exactly! Ah, but experience helps.” Leaping agilely back to his feet, he wagged a finger. “I’ve learned that, during rehearsals, you do exactly what the director tells you. Then, on the opening night… Well, I walked on stage, the orchestra played their dramatic chord, I stretched out my arms and sang my heart out – standing on my feet, like this! The audience loved it. The director was furious. I told him, ‘As I walked on-stage, I saw there was a nail sticking up from the floor, I would have fallen on it and injured myself!’ Germans have a fear of workplace injuries. Costs can be ruinous…
“I had tough lessons to learn. On my arrival at the conservatoire in Switzerland I thought everyone was a nice guy – me, little black boy from a country village in the back of nowhere, what did I know? I sang with a soprano who disliked me. I was not fond of her either. Usually on stage, you help your partner: a nudge if a cue is missed, mouthing a word when a line is forgotten. But not her, the things she did to me were mean, very upsetting, they really hurt. I decided on revenge. The day of our last performance, I got up in the morning and ‘forgot’ to shower. I went out and played tennis for two hours – and ‘forgot’ to shower again… then I went for a lovely meal and ate a lot of garlic. Then – I went to the theatre, put on my costume and went on-stage. In the final act – it was Traviata – she lies in bed, dying; I have to come to her on my knees, draw her to me and lay her head on my shoulder, and sing to her…
“Instead of putting her head on my shoulder, I clutched her to my sweaty bosom, facing me, and breathed garlic all over her as I sang of how good life was going to be back in Paris… When we went off-stage, she slapped me! Oh but it was worth it”
When Moosa first arrived in Geneva, he didn’t know a word of French. His singing instructor couldn’t speak a word of English or any other language that Moosa spoke. After a week, the teacher learnt four English words: “Yes, no, good, bad”. With these words in common, they communicated while Moosa took a crash course in French. He was fluent within two months.
Now, the ‘little country boy from South Africa’ is a big man with a personality and a career to match. He’s learnt to sing with his ‘own voice’, rather than do what others expect. He’s learnt to stand up for himself.
Until next week, ‘here comes Treble!’
By Isabel Bradley copyright reserved ©
