One Chance (15 page)

W
ITH MY WINNINGS
from the TV show, I started having singing lessons once a week. I got myself a bike, as my lessons were in Bath, at Bath Spa University on the edge of the city. My teacher was Ian Comboy, a former principal bass with English National Opera and various other international opera companies. I immediately got on well with Ian, who told me that I had an innate ability to take onboard what I was told. He was not only a good teacher, but also a great source of advice about my singing career. Ian was someone who appeared to admire my determination to succeed. He had sung with all the major opera companies in the UK, and encouraged me to have confidence in my voice, telling me that I was an extremely quick learner.

Being on national television didn't open a huge amount of doors, although I did perform “Nessun Dorma” at a few expenses-only gigs. The biggest opportunity I received was from a promoter in Kent. He was putting on a show with the Royal Philharmonic
Concert Orchestra to raise money for the cancer care ward at Margate's Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother Hospital. It was to be a huge occasion, and I was warned that up to fifteen thousand people would be there. Ian told me this would be a good chance for a breakthrough, and over the coming months we worked toward the concert.

At the same time as starting the singing lessons, I had also auditioned for the Bath Opera. The auditions resulted in my getting two smaller parts in
Turandot
: Prince of Persia and Herald. This meant that while I didn't sing “Nessun Dorma,” I would be singing its introduction section. It also meant that I would get extremely fit: I was now cycling between home in Bristol and Bath a few times each week, and Bath is anything but flat. It is one of the most beautiful cities in Great Britain, with stunning architecture and historic Roman baths. The city is built in such a way that no matter what part of Bath you are in, to get out of it you have to climb a hill. The one I climbed the most was very steep.

The Bath Opera performances were held at Bath University's main campus; as well as being great performers, many of the cast also became great friends. The musical director would later play the organ at my wedding, and Judy, who played Aida, would sing at the wedding. Again, I'd found myself in a community of like-minded people, and this helped me feel included.

I had my first experience of making a music video when Bath Opera let the local media know I was involved in the production. I ended up walking round the Tesco store where I worked in my uniform, singing “Nessun Dorma” for BBC West's evening news magazine,
Points West
. It was bizarre walking round the store singing, with everyone turning round to look at me.

It should have been good publicity for Bath Opera's show that week. But the opera company's publicity team didn't account for the pettiness of local party politics. A short preview was run ten minutes before the feature was due to be shown. In those ten minutes, someone from the Labour Party phoned up and complained that the Liberal Democrats were getting an unfair advantage because of the piece, just before the city council elections. The piece was pulled and only shown some months later, after the election. It meant that Bath Opera lost the publicity opportunity for our performance of
Turandot
.

A few months later, the charity concert in Margate took place. I knew it was a fantastic opportunity, and it was also by far the largest audience I had ever performed for. I had practised hard with Ian, but I was beginning to feel the pressure. The concert was held at Quex Park on the outskirts of Margate, and I knew it from having sung there on a choir tour when I was back in school. Fifteen years later, the park was more rundown than when I'd last visited. The fairground was gone, and it was quite sad to see it in such a dilapidated state.

It was a warm, sunny summer's day, and I was met by the promoter, a nice guy called Albie Park. Albie walked me to the rehearsal area and told me how he had enjoyed my performance on TV.

“You are going to be very successful, I can tell,” he said. “Can you promise me that when you make it big, you'll come back to perform for us again, and help us raise more funds for the cancer care unit?”

I was bemused by any suggestion of my making it big in the way he was suggesting.

“Of course,” I replied, a little taken aback.

In spite of the television show, I knew that I still was a beginner in this field, and couldn't imagine where my singing could take me. I could dream about it, sure, but I never saw it as being reality.

When the time came for my performance, I felt incredibly nervous. The rehearsal had gone well, although it was a very strange feeling for me to have a large orchestra playing under me. The conductor told me that I would need to follow him, as there would be no way for the full orchestra to follow me; without any formal training, this was all quite new to me.

I needn't have worried. The actual performance went down really well. For the first time I had autograph hunters after a performance! Because my performance was towards the start of the concert, I was able to join my parents and Tony in the audience to watch the remainder of it. One highlight was a piece called
633 Squadron
, which included a real World War II Spitfire flying past. The concert ended with Tchaikovsky's
1812 Overture
, complete with spectacular fireworks.

I felt satisfied with how I'd performed. I could hear the fantastic sounds of the orchestra, and I was thrilled to have been part of that. I enjoyed both having a huge orchestra accompany me and the appreciation of the audience afterwards. I tried not to get carried away with that feeling for fear of coming down with a bump.

I wanted to take my singing to the next level, but part of me wondered whether or not I was ready for it. I was saving up money on top of my quiz show winnings to do something more
constructive with my voice, although I didn't know exactly what. Not having gone to music college, I wasn't sure what the next step was.

What I thought was the answer appeared in a monthly magazine called
Opera
. I read about a competition and weeklong course in Barcelona in January 2000. It sounded like just what I was looking for. I raised it with Ian, but he thought it was a bit soon for me to do this. Even so, I decided to take a leap of faith: I felt I had already given a lot to my singing, cycling the thirty-mile round trip three times a week. It was time to test myself.

I flew out to Barcelona on the first of January. There had been lots of scare stories about the “millennium bug,” with rumours doing the rounds that planes would fall from the sky, but thankfully these turned out to be false alarms. I stayed at a very basic hotel on Las Ramblas, directly opposite the famous Gran Teatre del Liceu, and took an instant liking to Barcelona. Staying on Las Ramblas was noisy, especially at night, but that didn't bother me. I enjoyed walking round the lanes of the Barri Gòtic and by the sea. I also climbed the towers of La Sagrada Familia church, and took a trip to Parc Güell.

Since then, I've had the pleasure of visiting Barcelona many times; it is a fascinating and beautiful city which continues to delight me. The busy, tree-lined Las Ramblas and the narrow back streets are unique, and the warmth of the Latin spirit is infectious.

On this occasion, however, I wasn't there to sightsee, and before long the lessons started. The first week was to be a short course with the renowned opera singer Magda Olivero, who was ninety at the time. (Today she is alive and going strong at a
hundred and three!) I found her to be a very strong person; she had many issues with my voice, and told me exactly what she thought. But she told me in a language I didn't understand: Italian.

“Fiato!”
she shouted at me, time and again.
“Fiato! Fiato!”

This meant “breath,” and she explained that she thought mine needed more support. I was singing from the throat without using proper breath control. Initially I found the lessons tough, especially as the
répétiteur
, who helped me learn the part, was initially as firm towards me. He softened as the week progressed, and pleaded on my behalf for me to be selected for the course's end-of-week concert. Magda, however, was clear: she felt I had made very good progress, but still hadn't reached the required standard.

While not selected to perform, I enjoyed watching the other singers perform. I had felt in my element as a singer that week. It was a great feeling, even if I had taken a few lumps along the way. I'd also had a good time with the other singers. I was singing every day and getting along with my peers, all of which was a rewarding experience for me.

It was now time to prepare for the competition. I had sessions with my accompanist to go through my initial pieces, “Schlafendes Jesuskind” by Hugo Wolf and “Nessun Dorma.” After our rehearsal, the pianist looked at me and said the same as Michael Barrymore had on
My Kind of Music
: it shouldn't be possible for that amount of sound to come out of a slight frame like mine. I took that as a compliment, and entered the competition full of confidence.

The preliminary rounds were held in a large auditorium on Carrer Aragò in central Barcelona. Dad had flown out to watch.
Mum couldn't get the time off work, so she was unable to join him. I was the only British singer taking part in the competition, and it felt like a huge honour to be representing my country. When the time came for my performance, I was feeling very nervous—a lot was resting on my head as the only British competitor.

Although I felt that I had no chance of making the later rounds, I could feel the eager anticipation of the other participants. In the hotel next to the Liceu, the Oriente, the list of those who would make it to the next round was late being announced. Several of us anxiously paced up and down. Sadly, my name wasn't on the list. This wasn't unexpected, but even so, I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.

Worse was to follow. We were given the opportunity to see one of the judges for detailed feedback, and I decided to take up the offer. I went to a hotel to see the chair of the judging panel, Joan Matabosch, who was the artistic director of the Liceu Theatre. Mr. Matabosch was someone who did not mince his words.

“Your choice of material is wholly inappropriate,” he began. “Completely wrong for someone at this stage of your career.”

Whilst I was taking that in, his critique continued. “To be honest, I'm not even sure whether you have a voice or not.”

I was completely taken aback. While I had expected not to progress, I'd felt sure that the jury would like my singing and hear the potential I felt I had. It was quite uncharacteristic for me to be so confident about something, and this confidence had just taken a severe beating.

I thanked Mr. Matabosch and walked away from the hotel in
shock. Dad, who had been waiting outside, asked me what feedback I'd been given.

“That man is talking nonsense,” Dad said when I told him. “What does he know from just watching you once? You can sing. It's your life, and I'm going to be with you every step of the way.”

I wasn't so sure.

“Dad,” I replied, “he's artistic director for one of the most important opera houses in the world. Of course he knows what he's talking about!”

I didn't want to debate the issue with my father. I wanted to be alone for a while, and told him so. I walked away from him saying I would be back down when I felt ready. It was to be some time. I went up to my room and cried my eyes out for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing in my whole life had hurt as much as this. I wanted so much for my singing to be a success, and it felt as if I was a failure at this, too.

After a couple of hours, I went down and joined my father for some lunch. The hurt hadn't gone, but I had come to a realization: Ian Comboy had been right. I wasn't ready for this. I had jumped forward too many steps, and my fall had been inevitable.

Despite the setback at Barcelona, I still wanted to improve my singing. I was also very aware that my Italian was nonexistent and needed improving. Not having Internet access at home, I went to an Internet café in the centre of Bristol to see if I could find a suitable course. I wanted something that offered both Italian lessons and also work on my voice.

After a while of searching, I came across something called Italian Lessons for Opera Singers. The course was based in Rimini
on the Adriatic coast, and offered twenty hours of Italian lessons a week, as well as some voice coaching. I filled in the online form and hit send.

I couldn't get the holiday time for a complete month off in July, so I was forced to take more drastic action: I took a six-month career break, which meant I was taking unpaid leave. I still had a reasonable amount of the money left over from the quiz show winnings, but not enough to last six months. So once again, I was taking a considerable risk.

I flew out from Heathrow to Bologna on a chilly July day; chilly in Britain, anyway. It was 15 degrees Celsius in London when I left, and I was wrapped up warmly; in Bologna it was well over 30 degrees Celsius, and I had to dive straight into a restroom to change into something cooler.

I still had quite a journey ahead of me, going via airport bus to the city's train station, and then by train on to Rimini. The limited nature of my Italian was quickly apparent. There was an initial scramble for the train, which came in on the wrong platform, something I had been warned about by a barber I knew back in Fishponds. Having run across the tracks with a case and a rucksack, I was relaxing on the train when the guard arrived for the ticket check. He looked at my ticket, gave me an annoyed look, and asked me something in Italian. I didn't understand a word. One of my fellow passengers muttered to the guard: