Minnesota Opera veterans recall feisty, avant-garde company’s tours in the ’60s and ’70s

Back then the company was known as Center Opera, an offshoot of Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. The post Minnesota Opera veterans recall feisty, avant-garde company’s tours in the ’60s and ’70s appeared first on MinnPost.

Not long ago three old friends, veteran travelers, all of them – Janis Hardy, Vern Sutton and Gale Sharpe – spent an afternoon at Hardy’s house in Golden Valley reminiscing about their days – and nights – as members of Minnesota Opera. Sutton, a prominent singer, educator and stage director, now retired, performed in the company’s debut production in 1964 of Dominick Argento’s “A Masque of Angels,” and he didn’t say farewell to the company until 2013 when he performed the brief but challenging role of the Emperor in a production of Puccini’s “Turandot.”

Hardy, a much-admired mezzo-soprano and teacher, performed in more than 20 Minnesota Opera productions from 1970 to 1987. A frequent collaborator with Sutton, she made radio history when she sang “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life” in a special trio arrangement with the revered canine warbler Freckles the Dog.

Sharpe worked for the company from 1969 to 1980 in a bevy of positions: secretary, production coordinator, business manager, company manager and den mother on the tours. It has been said that if you really want to know where the bodies are buried, ask Sharpe.

Sipping cold Frappuccino and hot tea with lemon – a singer’s drink – these three friends and colleagues of more than 40 years shared memories of what it was like to work in a feisty avant-garde opera company in the Twin Cities in the ‘60s and ’70s.

Much laughter – and even a few tears – ensued.

The talk turned to touring in the early days when the company was known as Center Opera, an offshoot of Walker Art Center in Minneapolis.

Janis Hardy: When we were in San Francisco (in 1971) with “Faust Counter Faust” there was pushing and shoving on opening night. People were furious. More conventional opera goers were livid. One first-nighter stood up and booed loudly all during the curtain call. Others loved it.

(“Faust” was director Wesley Balk’s update of the Faust legend as set in a madhouse.)

Hardy: It was about someone going through psychotherapy. That’s when Vern walked onstage in his diaper.

Vern Sutton: I liked to think it was a tender maid’s bikini. I was backstage in San Francisco when the stagehands were unpacking the costumes. When they pulled out my little outfit, one of them said, “And whose costume is this?” I said, “The leading man’s.” And they went, “Ohhh. They’re gonna talk about this one.”

One who loved the show was Alan Rich, the critic for New York magazine, who saw “Faust” and the Virgil Thomson-Gertrude Stein opera “The Mother of Us All” later that year at Hunter College in New York City and described both productions as “among the most theatrically dazzling experiences I’ve ever witnessed.” Herbert Kupferberg of the National Observer was similarly impressed, calling “Faust” a “brilliant, audacious piece of work that gets an electrifying production from Center Opera’s energetic young performers.”

In July of that year, propelled by grants from the Minnesota State Arts Council and the National Opera Institute, the company played three nights at the Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing arts outside Washington, D.C., where critical reaction ran to extremes. Paul Hume of the Washington Post praised the Minnesotans as “one of the most perfectly disciplined troupes to be seen on any dramatic stage,” while Irving Lowens at the Washington Star called “Faust” an “insufferably pretentious bore.” Lowens, it should be noted, placed some of the blame for the evening’s failure on the venue itself, where “planes, cars and vast distances” continually broke “what few magic spells the players managed to weave.”

As for the alternate production, “The Mother of Us All,” Donal Henahan’s thumbs-up in the New York Times was typical: “The sprightly little Minneapolis troupe performed the opera with great wit and panache Saturday night and Sunday afternoon at Hunter College Assembly Hall.”

Not all the drama, it turns out, took place on the stage. Gale recalled a set of performances that year of “The Mother Of Us All” at the Lake George Opera Festival in Glens Falls, N.Y.

Gale Sharpe: We had a couple of cars. Philip (Brunelle, the conductor), Wesley (director), Sarita (Roche, soprano) and Barbara (Brandt, soprano) went downtown to do some shopping. When they finished and got back in the car, the first thing Philip noticed was that his score was gone. It was the only one of its kind, and he was very upset. They drove back to the school where we were performing and called the police. We told them the score was missing and that there would be a reward. Later, after dinner, I got back in the car and said, “This isn’t our car.” “Sure it is,” they said. “It’s the one they drove over here.” I said, “It’s not the one we rented.” It turned out that Wesley had, in fact, gotten into the wrong car, and it was just a coincidence that our keys fit the other car. We drove back downtown, and there was our car. So I called the police again and said, “Did anyone report a stolen car?” They said “Yes.” I said, “We just solved two of your crimes.”

Later that year the company performed Argento’s surreal “Postcard From Morocco” in Chicago and followed it with a staging in Kansas City of Conrad Susa’s “Transformations,” a setting of poems by Anne Sexton. Both are major works that the company premiered in Minneapolis, and both continue to engage audiences today. Nonetheless, the Chicago “Postcard” was a disaster. The two performances were given in the 6,000-seat Chicago Auditorium before an intrepid audience of about 300. According to the critic for Chicago Today, people “left in droves” during the show, which was especially awkward since “Postcard” has no intermission.

Performances of “Postcard” the following year in Houston were more favorably received, though Janis suffered an injury onstage one night.

Hardy: I was in this scene with Barry Busse. He was supposed to punch me. It was a stage punch. I said to him, “Barry, you’re getting so far away from me, no one believes this punch anymore. You’ve got to come in closer.” So he did, and just before he swung, I stuck my face out and he really smashed me. Not only was my nose bloody, but he had ruptured some blood vessels.

Sutton: We were all horrified.

Hardy: The funny thing was at that point I’m supposed to go up to everybody onstage and get sympathy. Each of them would see me and go “Woawww.” And Philip was onstage conducting. The tempos took a real dive there for a moment.

Sharpe: That got a lot of attention in the news.

Hardy: That’s because there was a newspaper convention in town, and so my injury became a little blurb at the end of news reports because it was on the police roll: “Opera Singer Gets Punched in the Nose.” And this went all over the country. People were sending me notes. Actually, what happened the night my nose was broken was Gale called and asked for a police escort to get us to the hospital because there was a big traffic jam at this outdoor amphitheater nearby. So the plan was that Wesley would follow the police car to get us out of there. Gale jumped into the police car and everyone got excited because they thought she was the person who was injured. So they took off with their siren going, leaving Wesley and me in the lurch. As a result, Gale and the police got to the hospital an hour before we did.

The company resumed touring in the winter of 1978-79 but with a new concept, a company devoted solely to touring. Donizetti’s one-act comic opera “Viva La Mama” was the debut production of this new company called the Minnesota Opera Touring Ensemble, which performed that winter in numerous towns in Minnesota, Iowa and South Dakota. Richard Hudson, a Balk protégé, officiated as the company’s producer, manager and director while Jere Lantz served as music director. The young cast was drawn from the company’s Opera Studio. Encouraged by the company’s success that first season, the project continued a year later with Gregory Sandow’s version of “A Christmas Carol.” But by then the company had expanded and, under its new director, Peter Myers, become the Midwest Opera Theater and School. A St. Paul native, Myers joined Minnesota Opera in 1975.

Typically, the tours offered two fully staged productions over a period of six weeks from late September to mid-November, and this was sometimes repeated in the spring. The company also presented classes and workshops in many of the tour communities. The ensemble numbered about 15 people – tech crew, pianists, singers and Peter, who came along on most of the the tours. They traveled with a couple of vans and a 24-foot Ryder rental truck for the sets, which were specially designed for the tours. Normally the venues were at a high school, a college or a civic theater. The company received a grant of $25,000 from the National Endowment for the Arts each year. The annual budget came to about $350,000.

The company later added a composer-in-residence program that placed composers in Minnesota schools to work with students on the creation and production of their own original operetta. Occasionally, of course, things went wrong. Peter recalled a production in 1983 of the comic opera “Don Pasquale.”

Peter Myers: We had a perfect Don Pasquale, a singer named Rush Tully. He nailed the role. But we didn’t have the money for understudies, so we just traveled on a wing and a prayer, basically. And we were lucky until one day in the middle of the tour, Rush got very, very sick from food poisoning and was out of commission for many days. There were dates coming up, and one of them we were able to push back, but there were a lot of others we had to fulfill, and we simply couldn’t perform. This was probably the most stressful thing I ever experienced. We consulted with Minnesota Opera and others around the country, saying, who knows this particular translation of “Don Pasquale”? Finally, through the network, we found this guy, Carl Glaum. He had done the role and in the same translation. I got him on the phone: “Are you able to come to Minneapolis, like, tomorrow?” He was, and he flew right to where we were performing, in Wisconsin somewhere. All he had time for was a walk-through before the show. Well, he did the role beautifully. The cast sort of moved him around the stage. Afterward he said, “I can’t believe what I just did.” I said, “Neither can I, but I’m sure thankful you did.”

Perhaps the oddest on-the-road story, one that continues to be recounted among theatrical cognoscenti in various backstage dressing rooms and pool halls – wherever actors raise a glass and reminisce – took place 50 years ago at Hunter College in New York City. A well-dressed audience, having heard enticing reports of a boldly experimental theatrical troupe from faraway and frozen Minneapolis, was gathered in the school’s auditorium eager to see this nervy re-telling of the Faust legend, a sly multi-media piece, a quasi-opera with large resonances titled “Faust Counter Faust.” Vern Sutton, a tenor of singular capability, played the central character, John Faust. He tells what really happened.

Sutton: The thing about that role is I never left the stage. In fact, I had to be onstage when the theater opened, lying under a sheet. Then they would come onstage and give me an injection after the theater had opened and the audience got settled. The injection revives me and then we do the first half. And then I collapse, and I’m on the floor. They cover me up and go out for the intermission. So I’m just lying there on the floor. People seeing it at the Guthrie would say to each other, “Is he really asleep?” Then they would come back and revive me again, and we would do the second act. It was a challenging role. The problem at Hunter was I had to dress in the gym and walk through the halls to get to the stage, which I did, and a guard stopped me. Here I was, wearing nothing but a tiny bikini walking barefoot down the hall of the college building. He was going to arrest me. Gale had to come and save me. I kept saying to the guard, ‘“I’m in the show.” The guard said, with a knowing look, “’Sure you are.”’

Editor’s note: The above is a chapter from the forthcoming book “Minnesota Opera at 60: The Unlikely Rise of America’s Most Surprising Opera Company,” to be published by Wise Ink of Minneapolis. The author, Michael Anthony, was a music critic at the Minnesota Star Tribune from 1971 to 2007. He continues as a freelance writer.