Morris Robinson, the accidental opera star
(LATimes)
John Malveaux of
writes:
Bass-Baritone Morris Robinson in Los Angeles
The Los Angeles Times
By Christopher Smith
January 26, 2017
Opera is often called the most irrational art form. Seen through that
lens, bass singer Morris Robinson’s unlikely career path makes wonderful
sense.
At a young age, from a family and culture that reveres
singing, Robinson aspired to be a drummer instead. He ignored college
music scholarships and conservatory programs for a free-ride to play
football at a military college. Afterward, bypassing all thought of
studying music at grad school, he worked for a Fortune 500 company in
regional sales of data storage.
At 30, in finally attempting to sing professionally, he tried out
for the chorus of “Aida” at the Boston Lyric Opera, the biggest company
in New England. A week later, the music director handed him music for a
solo role, accompanied by a plea: “Please don’t screw it up.”
“A lot of the purists, they don’t believe my story,” Robinson said. “They don’t believe it until they witness it themselves.”
This weekend Robinson will be onstage at the Dorothy Chandler
Pavilion as the comic foil Osmin in Los Angeles Opera’s production of
Mozart’s “The Abduction From the Seraglio.”
At a lunch sit-down
between rehearsals, without a shred of defensiveness but with a measure
of reflective satisfaction, he added: “I think there is something to be
said for the unorthodox way I came into the business.”
Now 47 and
equipped with 18 years of major roles with A-list companies nationally
and inter
“A
lot of people force their voices, they either yell or scream, which
decays the quality of the sound. Morris himself is big, and that voice
is right there without him having to make it that way, so he can sing
with beautiful rounded sounds.”
Morris Robinson and Brenton Ryan in L.A. Opera's "The Abduction From the Seraglio." (Craig T. Mathew / Mathew Imaging)
With this level of vocal entitlement, Robinson might seem to be a
natural. But throughout his life he seemed to ignore, even actively ward
off, singing — though it was always around him.
Raised in a
musical clan in Atlanta, Robinson had a dad, mom and three young sisters
who all sang. Around 6, he participated in a church choir and then the
Atlanta Boy Choir, alternately immersed in religious and secular music.
But
singing was at best a backdrop, maybe even an obstacle. “I felt like I
could do something special, but I could never figure out what it was,”
he said.
“At first, I always was in the choirs, but to me, at
heart, I was a drummer. Because if you’re going to be in a church in the
South, there has to be rhythm. It was always about beats, beats,
beats.”
He entered a performing arts high school. His senior year he made all-city band and all-state chorus.
But all he really cared about?
Football. Standing
6-foot-2 and weighing in the high 200s, he was aware “the cool guys are
out there making plays on the football field while you are wearing your
uniforms, marching around at halftime. … Who wants to do that?
“I had to redeem myself, my masculinity, I guess.”
To
meet academic requirements, he traded band to go out for football but
still needed to sing in the chorus. Though offered musical scholarships
to universities, he lunged at a full football ride that came from the
Citadel, the military college in South Carolina.
He competed well
enough against bigger players to be a three-time All American at the
guard position, handing out and taking physical beatings. But he wasn’t
NFL-size big, and football came to an end.
In college as a
freshman he had sung to entertain older classmates, and he cofounded and
directed the school gospel choir. His Citadel degree was in English and
came with a work ethic and worldly ambitions, but still no ideas about a
life in music.
“I didn’t see a viable opportunity, down where I was from, how music might work for me, a future,” Robinson said.
A
sales job for 3M landed him in the Washington, D.C., area. A house,
company car and expense account followed; most important, so did Denise,
a flight attendant he met at a sales conference in Palm Springs. They
married and settled in Atlanta.
Singing remained on the edges. As
the years went on he performed the Lord’s Prayer at local churches and
did a song or two at events, invariably to raised eyebrows and
astonished enthusiasm from listeners.
A turning point came when he
was to sing at one of his distributors’ wedding in Richmond, Va. “I
went to the rehearsal, and the guy conducting was the assistant
conductor of the Richmond Symphony, and whatever I sang, he just looked
at me and said, ‘Where else do you sing?’ And I was, like, ‘Nowhere.’”
After
a lifetime of hearing the chorus of family members and friends
imploring him to sing, Denise finally pushed the start button, setting
up an audition for a chorale society in D.C. He relocated to New
England for formal training and in 1999 was cast in “Aida.”
Robinson
absorbed two lessons. “It showed they had a lot of faith in my raw
talent,” he said. But, more significant, “your voice is up at this
level, but your knowledge of music, your ability to read it, your
linguistic abilities, they are at garbage.”
He felt that his skills were lacking, and he was determined to remedy that.
“You
either learn how to sing or you don’t. He certainly has,” said Conlon,
who has cast Robinson so many times over umpteen years, here in Los
Angeles and at the Ravinia Festival near Chicago and elsewhere, that he
struggles to remember all the roles.
Comment by email:
Met Mr. Robinson about five years ago at African American Museum of Art. Look forward to seeing him again. John Malveaux
Comment by email:
Met Mr. Robinson about five years ago at African American Museum of Art. Look forward to seeing him again. John Malveaux
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