All in: Patricia Nolz on her passion for singing

As soon as I walk in, I immediately understand why this is Patricia Nolz's favourite café. The ground floor of a classic Viennese building features exposed brick walls, reminiscent of Viennese coffee house culture, yet we drink flat whites and lattes with oat milk. Cindy Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun plays from the speakers. It's the ideal blend of the old and the new, or rather, an ideal example of how to create something new from the spirit of the old. In opera, in song and in the life of Patricia Nolz, this is not entirely unimportant... A week after a triumphant revival of Il barbiere di Siviglia at the Wiener Staatsoper in June, I meet the young Austrian mezzo-soprano to discuss her time in the ensemble at the Staatsoper, about exploring the boundaries of trouser roles, her passion for song and, of course, the most famous photo greeting passengers at Vienna International Airport...

I simply have to ask you: what was Kyle Ketelsen whispering in your ear at the end of “Là ci darem la mano” in Barrie Kosky's production of Don Giovanni?

[Laughs] I can't reveal that!

Not suitable for minors?

Actually, it was different every time. At the beginning of rehearsals, it was always just “Shhh!”’ and I would say, “Kyle, help me out here with something real!”

That facial expression has to come from somewhere...

Barrie [Kosky] would say, “Come on, say something dirty, Kyle! Go for it!” And then he would come up with something different each time to induce the facial expression. During rehearsals, I can only remember Barrie saying, “More! Mouth wider open, eyes wider open!” At some point, this completely exaggerated grimace came out. If I had known then that the photo would be everywhere, on the ARTforART trucks delivering the stage sets, at the airport... It's just so funny.

What was it like working with Barrie Kosky in general?

I love that man. I was really still a stage baby back then in Don Giovanni. I was 25, still in the Opera Studio, and I just got this opportunity. Of course, I was so nervous before the production, actually before every rehearsal. “Oh God, it's Barrie Kosky and Philippe Jordan and Kate Lindsey!” I was starstruck every day but somehow we just clicked right from the start... a shared wavelength. He knows exactly how to get what he wants out of me and I know exactly what I can offer him. It's such a fruitful collaboration.

Then Cherubino came along straight away.

Exactly. Everything else was dropped anyway. There were entire rehearsals where we only practised the noises Cherubino is supposed to make. You don't forget something like that. It's just... iconic.

It's definitely one of the most exhausting roles I've ever seen on stage. Cherubino jumps, hops, spins...

I'm exhausted after performances because as Cherubino you have to be hyperactive the whole time, putting so much energy into it. You basically always come on stage and break up the scene. That means that every time you appear, you have to come in like this [she makes a whooshing noise]. It's really funny to see that in a role that is actually so much smaller in terms of pure stage and singing time, you still put in at least as much energy.

I always feel that there's no holding back for me. There's no handbrake, no ‘lighter’ version of me. I’m always all in. I can't be anything else.

You could see that in Barbiere, where Günther Rennert's old production made a surprise return for well-known reasons. Beautiful, but certainly with less direction of the performers than in most modern productions.

I enjoyed it immensely. All cast members have sung these roles dozens of times, in different productions, so all we really needed was for our positions to be fixed. But filling the whole thing with life and character, we were allowed to improvise completely and just let ourselves go. The chemistry between us was just right, finding each other funny and spurring each other on even more. Almost all of our interactions were gut reactions; no one just did their own thing, everything was always a group dynamic.

When the costumes and stage design are a bit dated, the acting simply has to be spot on.

I always wanted to do this production because I knew it from seeing it as an audience member. It's one of those classic Staatsoper productions where you just want to see it: the old Barbiere, the Rosenkavalier, the Fledermaus, the Bohème. And just as I was on my way to slowly getting such roles, the Rennert production was replaced.

When fate intervened, I was extremely excited. But I never would have expected, in a production like this which has been done hundreds of times and where you can tell that it's on its last legs, in some respects, where everything is so ultra-traditional, that I would be able to fill the role with a completely new spirit. I knew it would be fun, but for me, it became one of the most beautiful series on stage that I have ever had the privilege of experiencing.

Did you find any great names sewn into the costumes? Where you thought to yourself, ‘I can't believe this mezzo-soprano wore this costume, that I'm now wearing too!’

Not in this production, actually. I had newer costumes, but Stefan Astakhov, who sang Figaro, had Hermann Prey's shoes, for example. In Palestrina in December, I had Angelika Kirchschlager's costume, and in Fledermaus, I had Brigitte Fassbaender's waistcoat. It's really cool at the Staatsoper how close you often are to previous generations, to the Golden Age.

While we're on the subject of Palestrina and Fledermaus, let's talk about trouser roles. As a young mezzo, you naturally sing them at the beginning of a career, and I notice that there's something of an exploration of boundaries going on at the moment. How masculine does a trouser role actually have to be? Last season, for example, you were also in Kirill Serebrennikov's Figaro in Berlin, where you played Cherubina.

That really appeals to me. When you do your first productions in Vienna, you naturally want to conform at first. I want to deliver what is expected of me. But I realised relatively quickly, even with trouser roles – and Barrie and I were 100% on the same page here – that it's not at all necessary for me to find, let's say, a technical, masculine approach, a masculine gait and the way a man stands. I think there should always be something ambivalent about it. But this illusion that you believe there really is a man on stage doesn't exist anyway. Also because of the voice.

I find this contrast, these surprises, totally interesting. I'm not looking to say, ‘How can I pretend to be a man as much as possible?’ But rather, ‘How can I feel the character, embody the character?’ without thinking too much about male or female, but simply about the spirit. Take Cherubino, for example; a mixed physicality emerges automatically anyway, because in his essence, in his phase of life, he is completely confused, completely bewildered and overwhelmed. On the one hand, there is the feminine, the soft, the poetic – he writes songs or poems – and on the other hand, there is this total ‘permanent horniness’ and hormone-filled state. When I empathise with that and find my own approach, a physicality emerges that goes beyond this ‘Is it this or is it that?’ The character simply emerges. But not ‘This is the real Cherubino, this is Rosina,’ but ‘Who is the person who wants to come on stage?’

Let's go back to the beginning. How did you get into classical music and opera?

It's always so funny – I'm sure you know what I mean – when you try to reconstruct things in retrospect and put together a timeline that didn't actually exist in that sense. At the moment you're living it, there's no common thread, of course.

The origin of it all is my love of music, which is truly the great love of my life. I can't put it any other way. As far back as I can remember, it was my first passion, my obsession and what made me happy. There was no classical music in my parents' house at all. Instead, I was exposed to music through pop and musical recordings, through brass bands and a local music school. I started learning the flute there and was lucky enough to have a young flute teacher who had just finished her studies in Vienna – Gerti Bachinger.

She was bursting with idealism and love for music and children! An incredibly kind person who knew exactly how to spark interest and get children to practise without putting any pressure on them. She was really the cornerstone of my love for classical music. Of course, it takes time before you can play anything worthwhile, but she managed to get me excited about it. For example, she would always play things to show me: “Look, if you keep going, next year you can try this piece, or we can try an easy Mozart sonata!”

That's how this passion and inner ambition developed, wanting to be good at something, wanting to practise technique so that I could play it, so that I could do it. Over the years, she put me through the entire repertoire, from early Baroque to contemporary with everything in between: French Romanticism, Mozart, Bach, everything. At the same time, I always had a love of singing. My first career aspiration was – like many – to be a singer, but I wanted to be a musicals singer because my mum is such a fan of musicals; she still is today. For as long as I can remember, the CD of Dance of the Vampires played in our car, day in, day out... “Oh, one day I want to sing Sarah!” And so began my love of singing, my first singing lessons, and then there was no going back.

You then joined the newly founded Opera Studio of the Wiener Staatsoper in 2020-21, and in the first production of the season: bang! Up on stage as Kate Pinkerton. Quite a leap into the deep end, wasn't it?

Absolutely. You have to imagine, this was the beginning of the Opera Studio, plus the opening premiere of the Bogdan Roščić era. Covid was also still an issue. The first day of work was at the end of August 2020, a speech, followed by the concept discussion. Roščić was on stage and we were all in the auditorium. Then he introduced the entire cast. Asmik Grigorian as Butterfly. I thought I was going to die! I'm there at 24, then I have to stand up and introduce myself: “Kate Pinkerton: Patricia Nolz”.

You don't make your breakthrough as Kate Pinkerton, with her five sentences, but to be part of something like that as a house debut and professional debut was extremely intense under the circumstances! I had no idea what everyday working life would be like, this life from rehearsal schedule to rehearsal schedule – you have to get used to this lifestyle first. I'm not usually the kind of person who keeps opera souvenirs or memorabilia lying around at home, but that poster for Madama Butterfly hangs in my hallway because it marks the start of my life as a singer.

You then quickly became an ensemble member at the Staatsoper. Was that the first moment when you thought, “Okay, things are going really well, this could be something big”?

The first time I thought to myself, “Maybe I really have a future here,” was when I was asked to stand in as Cherubino at the Theater an der Wien. After that, the Staatsoper asked me if I could do Cherubino the following season. I never would have thought that would happen in my second year at the Opera Studio! Shortly afterwards, I auditioned for Philippe Jordan for the role of Zerlina, and that worked out too. I already had a pretty good feeling of tailwind on my journey.

Now you are entering a phase where you are leaving the ensemble nest you have built for yourself here: Hänsel at the Opéra national du Rhin, Octavian at the Staatsoper Berlin. Are you mostly looking forward to it?

Absolutely. I wouldn't change anything about the last few years, but I realised it was time to spread my wings. Vienna is still my base and my home, and the Staatsoper remains my home theatre, but I want to go out into the world and, now that I'm 30, it felt like the right time.

Your other great passion is Lied. What makes it so special for you?

For me, Lied is freedom. Of course, you can also find freedom in opera, but you can never do your own thing because there is such a huge apparatus behind it – in front of the stage, the orchestra, the conductors, your colleagues.

I can't decide everything spontaneously myself; that's not the nature of opera as an art form, and I love it just the way it is. But for me, Lied is the genre where I can express my feelings and passions completely freely. I can decide the programme entirely by myself.

I am fortunate to always have musical partners such as Malcolm Martineau or Andreas Fröschl by my side, whom I trust deeply and know that I can do anything on stage at any moment and be supported. For me, this has a power and potential every evening that simply doesn't exist otherwise. Every recital has the potential to surprise me. Malcolm often surprises me too when he inserts an interlude. He throws me the ball, and I sing the next phrase differently. This variable that is always there is, for me... I can't find the words for it. I just love it. For me, that's what makes me so enthusiastic and idealistic about Lied. You often have to defend it, because art song has been declared dead for decades, even more so than opera. For me, a song recital can be a thriller, a romantic comedy, a catharsis, a confession. A song recital is a bit of a wild card.

In this day and age, and especially in my generation, I find it so exciting that in many ways you can actually do whatever you want because you've ‘seen it all before. At the same time, there is a great danger that the focus will be placed solely on external appearances, on likes, on attention. For me, the most important thing in a recital is to say something genuine and never to be an empty shell that is somehow staged. My experience is... If the message is genuine, then there is no such thing as ‘too much’ or ‘you can't do that’, but rather freedom.

For me, the beauty of a recital is that you can build a connection. In every song, you find emotions and feelings that you yourself reflect.

100%! When putting together the programme, I naturally only choose things where I know I can build a connection, where I can find something of myself. I'm not the type to have that narrative distance. I want to feel the emotions in the moment and find myself. Of course, you can't always do that at the push of a button, but if you always search honestly, then something genuine will always come out of it. Sometimes it looks different than you would like, or it was genuine, but somehow rough around the edges. But I prefer that to something super smooth and polished where you never take any risks.

Is that how you came up with your current recital programme with Schumann's Frauenliebe und -leben?

That brings me back to the phrase ‘art song is dead’. This cycle in particular, people always say it's not contemporary... I don't think anyone would think that I would present a submissive woman... [we both burst out laughing]

In this cycle, the woman who goes through this could be any woman. Every woman can find something in it. I wouldn't express some of the lines in exactly the same way, but hey, I mainly sing poems from the 19th century – I would hardly express anything like that in my everyday life! That's also the point of lyrics and poetry.

Building a bridge to oneself is actually the task of a song singer, of song singers. Frauenliebe und -leben was highly topical when it was written, and will always be so. It's about love, and that's something that will never cease to be relevant.

Where do you want to go next? Artistically, personally, are there any dream roles you want to sing?

I find it difficult to name specific goals, such as houses or roles. For me, it has always been the case – ever since my studies, and I want to keep it that way – that I have been very focused on my artistic development and less on external success. Of course, sometimes with social media you are tempted to compare yourself when you constantly see who is doing what and so on. But I always shake that off immediately as best as I can. I have always wanted to sing out of passion and love for music, and I want to continue doing so. I don't want to fall into the trap of defining myself solely by external success.

When I realise that I am actually just feeling stress and no longer enjoying singing, I know immediately that it is time to meditate. In moments like these, I lose my joy and motivation and realise that I am completely fixated on fulfilling all kinds of expectations. Of course, sometimes there is no other way – it would be presumptuous to say that expectations that need to be met do not exist. But for me, it is extremely important for my balance to always bring myself back to my inner centre.

I am incredibly grateful to be able to sing in such fantastic venues. But at the end of the day, these are just superficialities. The love of music is always the love of music. I don't want to lose touch with my inner calling and, if I may put it so dramatically, with the feeling that life as a singer was and still is my big dream. I have also been very fortunate in my life and have had many supporters. But in my experience, you meet the right people when you are at peace with yourself and do things out of sincere motivation. External goals... I find the internal ones much more beautiful.

Translated into English by Mark Pullinger.