Operation Opera

Attached is a picture from the 1990s of the three vocalists from our band, called Walk in the Light. You may recognize at least one of these youthful hooligans as yours truly. Early in our high school careers, the three of us (from left: Lee Houtz, Josh Jeremiah, and me) were invited to local churches to sing. Of the three of us, Josh had the best voice by far and had spent his early years performing all over the place. We often referred to his vocal talents as “chocolatey goodness”. Quoting Jeeves’s review of Bertie’s voice, I could not truthfully say that Josh has a pleasant, light baritone, but rather that he can swoop down to the basso prufundo or up to the tenor with something like god-tier skill. 

Lee and I always knew that we were mere mortals next to this Apollo of vocal power. In later years, when we expanded our group to include guitars, bass, and drums, Josh and Lee took center stage, and I sat well back behind the kit and admired the incredible talent of our friend. We did many live shows and spent some time in the studio to create an album (well, a tape, really), and had a blast. However, like all good things, the band didn't survive Lee and me leaving for college in Indiana. That was nearly 30 years ago, now. Much water has traversed beneath the proverbial bridge.

Of the three of us, after graduation, Lee went on to get a job as a music minister for a small but growing church in Indiana. I wound up back in PA after the first year, where I taught myself to play guitar on top of the piano and drums, but I never ended up in the professional music field. More’s the pity. Josh had a year left to finish high school, but then he went to Shenandoah University, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in voice and opera. Later, he attended the University of Cincinnati, where he earned both a Master’s Degree in voice and opera and also an Artist’s Degree in opera. He’s been on stage belting it out for most of his life, but although I had some sense that he was still melting audiences with his deep, rich baritone, we lost track after a while.

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I first met Josh while hanging out with his older brother, Jacob, when I lived in Schaefferstown. I can remember the three of us goofing around in Jake’s room, playing video games, and being boys. I had no sense of Josh’s voice, then. Once we got to middle school and started to audition for the chorus and select choir, all of us of a musical bent immediately understood that Josh was not like the rest of us. He was immensely fun to sing with, though, and I think it was around that time that Lee and I became friends, too. I have distinct memories of going into men’s rooms and stairwells, where the acoustics provided sustained echoes, and doing our version of impromptu Gregorian chants. It wouldn’t be long before the three of us started to understand that we had a gift for close harmony and could thrill the old ladies in the pews around us by singing three of the four parts written in most hymnals. The rest is history..

After his education, Josh’s voice carried him throughout the world and across many stages and through the portrayal of many characters. He’s tackled iconic roles like Rigoletto, Macbeth, and Escamillo, and starred in world premieres such as Riders of the Purple Sage and Persona. His versatility shines in everything from Verdi and Puccini to Rodgers and Hammerstein, and he’s worked for companies like Sacramento Philharmonic, New Orleans Opera, Arizona Opera, and Minnesota Opera. Beyond opera, he’s performed with major symphony orchestras and at venues like Alice Tully Hall. He’s also a former Young Artist with the Seattle and Cincinnati Operas, blending classical baritone depth with his well-known and charismatic stage presence. His CV is mighty, and he definitely has the chops to back it up.

I lost contact with Josh between moving to NC in 2001 and 2011, when Facebook and Twitter allowed many former school friends to reconnect on social media. We connected briefly, sharing stories, pictures, and commenting on one another’s posts. After the Facebook thing got old with me, I lost track again, until last week when Josh reached out to me. We chatted about this and that and asked about each other’s families and marveled at how many years had passed. Then he told me that he would be in our neck of the woods and asked if we’d like tickets to see him perform in Pagliacci in Winston-Salem over the weekend. Honored and struck by his generosity, we of course said yes.

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Micki and I are adventurous. We like to do new things together, and the spontaneity of getting free opera tickets fits well with our tendency to try the unexpected. Throughout the day of the opera, Micki would pause writing to ask me questions about Josh, how I knew him, etc. As I paid out a length of memories to her, I realized more and more keenly how long it had been since Josh and I had met or spoken. I was in a thoughtful mood, therefore, as we donned our fancy duds and headed up the road to Winston-Salem.

Micki and I are now old hands at going to shows. We’ve had season tickets to the Broadway shows offered by the Tanger Center for one and a half seasons, so we are familiar with getting dressed up, heading to a venue, queuing through security, getting a snack and a drink, and then following a sherpa to our nosebleed seats so we can squint at that week’s Broadway masterpiece. Going to the opera presented only one or two minor differences.

First, of course, we were headed to Winston, not Greensboro, and the venue wasn’t a theatre so much as an event center venue that had once been a post office. So, as we parked and strode to the next block, the long lines of tuxedoed men and gowned women I was expecting were not evident. In fact, there was only one man in a tux, but he merely welcomed us in and let us wander the foyers. We eventually found signs informing us of a “pre-show opera talk” near a drinks counter, and so I got us refreshments, and we sat in the art-deco space, took selfies, and frowned a bit at how sparsely attended the whole thing appeared to be.

Soon enough, it became obvious that the talk was starting, so we went into a dark, but garishly lit side room, where two volunteers filled bags with popcorn and a raspy-voiced history professor from Wake Forest tried to tell us about Pagliacci in a reedy squeak that was, despite its presence nearby, apparently allergic to the microphone at his elbow. We soon departed. However, we had done some research leading up to the night and had a sense of what to expect.

Pagliacci, Ruggero Leoncavallo’s searing 1892 masterpiece of Italian verismo—a style of operatic realism which was exceedingly popular in its time—spins a taut tale where the performers’ painted faces barely conceal the raw pain beneath. Leoncavallo, a composer and librettist from Naples, penned both words and music, drawing from a real-life crime and crafting an opera whose brutal honesty, iconic tenor aria  “Vesti la giubba,” made popular in films like The Untouchables, and blending of tragic violence and fleeting dark humor earned it instant and lasting acclaim after its Milan premiere under Toscanini’s baton. 

Pagliacci starts off with Tonio (as played by my old friend, Josh) breaking the fourth wall, warning us that this isn’t just a show—it’s raw, bleeding edge of real life. Act I then commences with the comedy troupe setting up in a tiny village where jealousy bubbles—Canio’s wife, Nedda, is sneaking around with Silvio, and Canio’s suspicions tear him up inside. Act II blurs the lines completely: the play within the opera becomes real violence as Canio, crushed by betrayal, stabs Nedda and Silvio right on stage, ending with that chilling line, “The comedy is over,” or,  “La commedia è finita!” before taking his own life. It’s brutal, tragic, and unforgettable—just like life—wrapped in a fierce, intense music that cuts straight to the heart. The opera’s theatrical self-awareness and gut-punch conclusion have cemented its place as the defining achievement of Leoncavallo’s career and one of the most enduring works in the operatic canon. 

More than this operatic masterpiece, though, was a deeper level of realization as Josh, playing the brutish and deformed Tonio, comes out onto the stage after a brief overture and sings the prologue. I had a pang and said, perhaps too loudly for the comfort of those sitting near us, “That’s him!” With tears in my eyes, not just because of his powerful, warm, dark voice dripping with unearthly resonance and pathos of the character and words, but because here was a friend that I had known since my disheveled boyhood, who knew my roots and remembered a younger version of myself from before the life of the writer took a weirdly Dickensian turn. Like a memory come to life, this person with whom I had spent so many hours singing and performing was suddenly there, large as life. The memories and the realization of the time that has already passed added to the poignance of the opera.

After the opera, we waited near the cast and crew entrance, hoping that he would find us as promised. Families and patrons of the Piedmont Opera came and hugged their loved ones and took selfies with the performers. We waited, and I felt a sincere excitement and longing to see my very old friend. Then, the curtain parted, and there he was, no longer in the white and greasepaint of the second act, but in a dapper sport coat and fancy shirt. His long, very curly hair was pulled up in a knot. As he approached, I saw how larger than life he was, towering over my 6’3’’ frame. He grabbed me and we hugged, and then I introduced him to Micki. She had the presence of mind to ask someone nearby to take a picture of the three of us, included below. Actually, it was the tenor who had played Canio, and he appeared a little chagrinned that he had been relegated to photographer after his magnificent performance as an emotionally wrecked clown, but he will forgive us, knowing that it had been 30 years since two of the three in the photo had seen one another.

Josh had to dash, sadly, going to a fundraiser event after, but we spoke for ten minutes, reliving memories, sharing updates, catching Micki up on names and details. He hasn’t changed a bit. He still has a deep, thunderous voice, a magnificent sense of humor, and a generous and sincere disposition. Micki liked him immediately, as most people do. We parted company and then we made our way to a local Irish pub to feed ourselves, before heading back home. As we walked back to the parking garage, we saw him again and spoke for a few more moments before parting.

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I’ve made very few friends from that part of my life with whom I have stayed connected, except Lee Houtz. As my very best childhood friend, Lee and I have drifted, but we’re also prone to send birthday texts and warm wishes at the holidays or randomly talk about football or music. This is how things go. We grow, we move, we build our lives in other places and with other people. It is true that some who graduated from Asheboro High School years ago still live and work and meet one another all these years later, and that may be true of some of my former classmates, in PA, as well. For me, though, because I pulled up stakes and moved to the South, I lost connection with people who had been of incredible importance to me in the formative years of my life.

This past weekend, I got to see and spend an all-too-short time with one of the most talented and genuine people I have ever known, and I count myself fortunate to have had the opportunity. If you’re reading this and you ever have the chance to see an opera or show with Josh Jeremiah performing, trust me, do everything you can to not miss it. You won’t regret it. 

To Josh, I say, thank you, my friend. The flood of memories, the chance to hear you sing again, and the adventure of going to the opera were a lovely gift. It was great to be in your presence again, if only briefly. Here’s to old times!