Three years ago, when soprano Sarah Brightman came to Las Vegas, I tried hard to get an interview. She was promoting her La Luna tour, but apparently the former Mrs. Andrew Lloyd Webber wasn't concerned about talking to the press. After all, she is an opera diva. Things change, though, and this time around the media was contacted.
Originally, the interview was offered to contributing editor Richard Abowitz a while ago, but then it was cancelled because of a sinus infection (Brightman's, not Abowitz's). When it came time to reschedule, Abowitz was too busy. Thus, at 10 a.m. a couple Tuesdays ago, Abowitz referred A&E editor Martin Stein to me. Being a big Brightman fan, I jumped at the chance. "Oh, by the way, she's calling in an hour and a half," Stein breezily said as he walked away.
For 90 minutes, I went over everything I knew about Brightman as I prepared my questions, going over and over them, hoping they were sensible and intelligent. Questions I thought she'd want to hear; not the same old "So, are you and Sir Andrew still friends?" This woman sings in how many languages, has traveled the world, and has performed in front of millions. As a writer, fan and Anglophile, I wanted to make a good impression.
Then there I was, on the phone with one of the world's leading contemporary operatic singers. (Have I mentioned she's one of my idols?)
On her latest release, Harem, I found Brightman to be using her sensual nature as an avenue to portray the sultry feel of the Middle East. One of my more creative questions was how does she get in touch with her sexy, erotic side.
"That's quite a broad question," she replied. "Can you put it in another way for me?"
I froze. It felt like a week had gone by. What did I just ask her? I thought. Why doesn't she understand what I'm trying to say? Is this some diva attitude? After a little explanation ("Most women can't seem to find their inner sensual side ...") and some suggestions ("Does the music bring it out in you? Do you prepare somehow before going onstage?"), she got the point. I think.
"For me as a singer, and as a musician, it starts with the music. Naturally, the feel of the music rules everything, rules the way you will portray it. The musicianship from this area is very sensual. And very danceable, creating a lot of visual images. I hope that answers your question."
Well, I guess that would do. OK, one down, eight more to go. She hasn't pitched a fit yet, so that's good. Breathe.
Harem, like most of her albums, is a collection of covers drawn from a pool of Brightman's favorite songs, with hints of sensual Mediterranean sounds. But, as I find with most albums, there is always that one bad song, like on Sesame Street, where one thing doesn't belong with any of the others. On Harem, it's the cover of Kansas' "Dust in the Wind."
Not taking a chance to be left with a bleeding ear from a soprano's cry, the question remained as a scream inside my head. Instead, I nicely asked, "Why?"
In her polite British accent, Brightman replied, "Yes, I love that song. It was actually my producer who reminded me of it, and said 'You'd be great doing a version of this song.' We just started experimenting, and actually it's become a really popular one with everybody. Even though these songs are really well known in their original form, it's actually nice for them to carry on through different artists."
The most insulting question I could come up with and no diva outburtst? But, really. Does "Dust in the Wind" truly need to be carried on forever and ever?
Brightman's solo debut, Dive, proved she could stand on her own. Now she's more famous, therefore, more in demand. She said she finds it frustrating—that in the past 10 years with albums, touring and promotions—she hasn't found the time or space where she can focus on creating her own music.
I felt more comfortable now. More like I was talking with another woman, and not some ex-Sir Andrew, world-famous, tempermental diva. Were my preconceptions wrong? Another creative question: What does a songstress do to protect her voice? Does she insure it like Betty Grable did her luscious legs, with Lloyds of London for a cool $1 million?
She took the question in stride. "It's difficult to do that," she answered. She said she insures her voice by being sensible. The dry desert air doesn't affect Brightman, who has always taken precautions: using humidifiers, drinking lots of water, staying away from strained notes, and practicing her scales.
At that moment, Brightman excused herself to fiddle with her computer. "I'll be with you in a second," she yelled out to me. I imagined the receiver lying on some hotel end table. After a short silence, I heard her calling for her assistant. Then she was back. "Sorry. I was about to lose something. Computers!" she said in exasperation.
Oh well, she's not a rocket scientist, she's only a diva, after all. And a pleasant one, at that.