Denyce Graves: Offstage, she's no drama queen

She's the voice of sheer talent
Denyce Graves employs all her dramatic powers as the temptress in Orlando Opera's 'Samson and Dalila.' But offstage, she's no drama queen.
Jean Patteson
Sentinel Staff Writer

November 19, 2006

Denyce Graves is a diva with a difference.

For starters, with her husky voice, dark coloring and svelte figure, she's a far cry from the operatic stereotype -- the screeching fat lady who rings down the final curtain.

For a recent interview at Orlando Opera, she's casually dressed in blue jeans. Her brunet mane is mussed. And when her hot ginger tea is served in a foam cup, she doesn't pitch a fit.

Like a true diva, she has sung in the world's greatest opera houses with those three fabulous tenors, Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras -- but she also has had gigs with Big Bird on Sesame Street. She has performed for heads of state and royalty -- but insists on providing free concert tickets to underprivileged kids. Her definition of a great program ranges from a command performance at the White House to singing "in a little teeny-tiny town that nobody's ever heard of" -- and reveling in both.

Graves, 43, a mezzo soprano famed for her expressive voice and dynamic stage presence, plays Dalila in the Orlando Opera's current production of Saint-Saens' Samson and Dalila. It's an opera that requires a performer with a "fantastic voice, acting ability and allure," says Robert Swedberg, Orlando Opera's general director.

"Denyce is one of the few people in the world who has the whole package," he says.

She also is wonderful to work with, Swedberg says. "Some great singers are often standoffish around other cast members, but Denyce is inclusive and encouraging."

During a break in rehearsals, Graves doesn't demand pampering. Instead, she cheerfully retreats to a cluttered office to discuss her interpretation of Dalila. She touches on the joys of motherhood, the challenges facing black artists in the world of opera and -- unusual for a diva -- her insecurities as well as her triumphs.

One of those memorable moments was televised around the world, when she sang "America, the Beautiful" during the national prayer service in the Washington National Cathedral after 9-11.

"It was a moment when I felt an extreme amount of pride," she says.

Dalila's champion

Offstage, Graves is no drama queen. But when she steps into the spotlight, she is drama incarnate -- especially when portraying strong female characters such as Dalila and Carmen, her signature roles.

She envisions Carmen as young, natural and free-spirited -- quite different from the more mature, assured and complex Dalila.

"I'm a great champion of Dalila's," says Graves, adding a squeeze of honey to her tea. Her husband of two years, French clarinetist and composer Vincent Thomas, stands at a discrete distance, paging through a book.

"I know Dalila gets sort of a bad rap," says Graves. "People see her as this evil temptress. But I think she is as devoted to her god and her people as is Samson."

Dalila certainly is calculating, says Graves. "I try to show that in my body language and in my eyes from the beginning of the first act. But I also try to show a much more vulnerable quality. It makes her more likable."

"When she sings, Laissez moi ma faiblesse -- release me from my weakness -- I've questioned what exactly is her faiblesse, her weakness," says Graves.

"I think her weakness is her love for Samson -- even though she hates him for killing tens of thousands of her people. It's her great conflict."

Graves brings a wealth of experience and artistry to the Dalila role, says conductor Mark Flint. "Her elegance, the beauty of her voice -- it's so unique and powerful."

"Diva" has become a rather negative term, says Flint. "But to me, it still means 'star,' and Denyce fills that in every possible way. At the same time, she's a very giving and caring person. She's a great colleague -- another rare quality."

Focus and fun

Graves' rise to diva-dom began when she first performed Dalila opposite Placido Domingo at the Ravinia Festival near Chicago in 1992. She and her "instrument," as she calls her voice, have come a long way since then.

"I've changed," she says. "And the instrument itself has changed tremendously. It's gotten higher. The voice is freer, thank gosh, and I'm easier and more relaxed and more confident."

Her voice "is this other entity that sort of has a mind of its own," she explains. "I do see it as this force I have to confront. I'm working with it all the time, and learning from it and about it."

Several years ago, she developed problems with her vocal chords and sank into a depression. But surgery in 2001 restored her voice -- and her zest for life.

This year she recommitted to working with her teacher, she says, "focusing in on strengthening the voice and really going to the high registers. We've made great progress, and I'm really proud."

At the same time, she is aware that total focus on perfecting her craft "can sometimes rob your joy."

"Because opera is a very refined art, we're always chasing the ideal performance," she explains. "The pursuit of excellence is the force that drives us. That part is very exciting. But in the past, if I ever fell short of that, I felt like I was unsuccessful.

"Now, because my instrument is freer and stronger and healthier than it has ever been, it allows me to have a type of freedom as well -- and certainly more fun."

Price and Puccini

It's not surprising that Graves excels playing strong women -- or that she is one herself.

As a girl, her role models were not from the rarified world of the arts. They were the indomitable women she encountered daily in the poorer neighborhoods of her native Washington, D.C.: her mother, aunts and teachers.

Her mother, who worked as a typist and in a laundry, was very religious. "She always took us to church. That's were I started singing," says Graves.

A teacher recommended Graves to the Duke Ellington School of the Arts, where she was introduced to opera. While listening to a recording of Leontyne Price singing Puccini arias, "I was transfixed. All of a sudden, everything changed in my life. I had a sense of purpose," she says.

She later worked odd jobs to put herself through Oberlin College and the New England Conservatory. By the mid-1990, thanks to her thrilling voice, exotic beauty and natural acting talent, she was being hailed as the definitive Carmen.

The secret to keeping her performances fresh is "attitude," says Graves. "I learned that from a teacher at the Duke Ellington School . . ."

She breaks off, turns to her husband: "Sorry, I know you've heard this story a thousand times. But anyway . . .

"I was singing in a recital," she continues. "I said, 'I really don't want to sing that song. I don't like that song.'

"And he said to me, 'Nobody cares if you don't like it, Denyce. Your job is to sell it.'

"That has been my attitude throughout my career. I try to arrive at each performance a blank page. I say, 'Pretend this is the very first time this music has been heard, and you're the very first person to sing it.'

"I say, 'I'm going to be more courageous in this one. I'm going to do some things musically that I've never done before.' It keeps me engaged and interested."

Sometimes, she admits, "I get bored in rehearsals. I think, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, let's just do it.'

"I'm much more of a stage animal," she says. "For me, the most beautiful moments are on the stage, when I'm becoming these different characters and when I'm singing well and I feel so happy."

A 'deeper purpose'

A diva's life certainly has its glamorous moments, says Graves. "Like when I sang at President Bush's inauguration."

But there's also the reality of the gypsy existence: "All the hassles you go through at the airport, and getting off the plane and going straight to the theater, and never having a chance to return mail or e-mail, and always either preparing for a performance or recovering from one.

"Sometimes it leaves little time to live your life," says Graves.

It's especially tricky "when you're a high-risk performer, changing climates all the time, and getting settled in different time zones," she says.

Her survival tactics include drinking lots of water, keeping a humidifier running in her rooms and watching her diet.

"There are so many things I love that I just cannot afford to eat when I'm performing -- dairy creates mucus, orange juice and tomatoes create acid reflux," she says. "When you're out there in front of everybody . . . well, you do everything to ensure your health because you want to give your best."

Graves usually travels with her 2-year-old daughter, Ella-Thais (named for Ella Fitzgerald and the Massenet opera). Her mother often tags along to baby-sit, and Thomas joins them whenever his concert schedule allows.

Ella has brought joy and "deeper purpose" into her life -- but also a new kind of conflict, she says. "When I'm away from her, I miss her. But sometimes when she's around, it's difficult to work because I'd rather be with her."

The stress of trying to do it all sometimes brings on bad-diva moments, admits Graves. "I get very nervous. Then I get short, and I yell, or I cry -- which I can't afford to do because crying just makes your throat tight and makes the entire situation worse."

But age, experience and motherhood all are having a mellowing effect, she says. "We really do take it one day at a time."

Challenges ahead

When Marian Anderson made her debut at the Metropolitan Opera in 1955, she cracked opened the stage door for other black divas, including Leontyne Price, Jessye Norman and Kathleen Battle.

But black artists still face challenges, says Graves: "I don't think it will ever change. Prejudice is so deep-rooted in all of us."

Some directors still find it "visually inconsistent" to have black performers in leading roles, she says. "But we do, too. We've been so conditioned to think black people should be doing some other kind of music," not opera.

After attending a recent production of Romeo & Juliet, she and Thomas found themselves confronting their own ambivalence. "Romeo was not Caucasian, slender or very handsome, and so somehow, for all of us, he wasn't Romeo," she explains.

For prejudice to lessen, "I think we should just confront it, call it what it is, and work very hard to overcome it," she says.

"We will all know great heartache, will all know suffering, will all know joy, will all know ecstasy, will all know love, will all know betrayal. That is the experience of life. No matter who you are, black or white, rich or poor, you will walk through that."

Her expression brightens: "I'm happy with who I am. It's no issue for me. My job is to sing with as much joy and as much love and as much honesty and sincerity as I can. And that's it. And leave it there. Voila! Now we're going to go eat."

And divalike, she sweeps from the room.

Jean Patteson can be reached at 407-420-5158 or jpatteson@orlandosentinel.com.
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