Rihab Chaieb is about to complete her 11-performance run of Carmen at Glyndebourne, the opening production of the 2024 season.
She has scored a remarkable personal success in the title role. The Times remarked on her “mesmerising stage personality“, The Guardian noted that “her way with words is insightful, beguiling and always telling”, while the Financial Times said, “Rihab Chaieb, a Carmen who manages to be playful and daredevil at the same time. Her eyes flash with wit, insolence, sensuality and danger, and her voice echoes them with singing that has colours to spare. For a complete portrayal that radiates charisma, it would be hard to do better than this.”
I caught up with her soon after the opening night where she gave an unusually upfront and truly fascinating interview.
I’ve interviewed a breakdancing countertenor, a parachuting soprano, a Lady Macbeth at the Met who started as a pop singer… but your story is unique – a mezzo soprano with a background in Arabic music and heavy metal!
I actually didn’t start in Arabic music. I come from an Arab family, so I grew up listening to it, not particularly performing it. But I did have a band in high school, and I was a goth, and that was my first real love genre. I was obsessed with a band that played a type of heavy metal called power metal, which actually had quite a lot of virtuosic elements to it. The guitar players were all fantastic. There was a Finnish band called Nightwish that I really loved, and the female lead singer had kind of an operatic voice. So, I grew up performing, listening to, and going to concerts of heavy metal rock.
But no breakdancing!
Since you mention it, I have also parachuted, jumping from a plane, and scuba dived. Heavy metal is just one of the many things that make me who I am, but I also have quite a big taste for some extreme sports.
Has this musical background informed your classical singing?
Absolutely. Growing up with Arabic music at home, I developed a distinct affinity for quarter tones and pitch nuances. Rhythm, too, became incredibly important to me. It’s interesting because sometimes I’m asked, “How do you memorise or learn a modern piece of music rhythmically?” All I can say is, “I just feel it.” That instinct, I believe, comes from my Arabic background.
On the other hand, I feel like my metal side provides me with a different lens through which I can approach my music. For me, metal is a very dramatic and theatrical way of singing, which is also what drew me to opera. Both genres are quite theatrical. The theatrics, makeup, costumes, and props were incredibly attractive to me, even more than the music itself. It was really the theatrical aspect of metal that shaped my classical upbringing.
How did classical music come into your life?
Classical music entered my life at different stages. My earliest memory is from elementary school when I first fell in love with classical music and wanted to play the piano. My parents enrolled me in piano lessons, but this ended after a few months. I think they thought it was a waste of time since I was also playing basketball, which they understood better. In sports, you can win or lose a game, but music isn’t so simple.
Then I started my metal chapter, and classical music re-entered my life because of the band’s influence on how I tried to sing. I remember my bandmates telling me that I “sucked” at singing and that I should take some voice lessons. So, I decided to go to a classically trained teacher who introduced me to beautiful melodies by Brahms and some arias. I remember going home with CDs by Renée Fleming and Cecilia Bartoli, and it was the biggest love at first sight… or sound [she laughs] … of my life.
Rihab Chaieb was born in Sousse in Tunisia but settled in Montreal with her parents when she was two years old.
Why did your family move to Canada?
In the 1980s, there was a significant headhunting drive for Francophone workers, particularly in Quebec. My father was recruited by an engineering firm in Montreal. He moved there alone for the first three months to check out the city, country, and job. Once he decided it was a good fit, my mother and I (my brother and sister weren’t born yet) followed, even though she was against it. My mother wasn’t excited about moving because we come from a very close-knit family in Tunisia, and the idea of moving to a different, much colder country didn’t please her at all.
And did you sing Arabic music in Canada?
I grew up singing Arabic music, but it was always at home, never professionally. In 2016, 2017, when I was a young artist at the Met, people started asking me more about it. To be honest, I faced a conundrum because there’s no classical lyric Arabic music. So, I decided to take some traditional folk songs and ask various friends of mine – composers and arrangers – to create arrangements for voice and piano. That’s how I started singing some Arabic music, but I definitely want to delve deeper into that world.
So what did your family think about you singing in a heavy metal band?
My parents didn’t know I was in a heavy metal band! I come from a Muslim family, and both my parents are quite religious. When I was a goth, they thought I was becoming a Satanist or Satan’s daughter. To avoid adding fuel to the fire, I never told them about the band.
To get around band practice, we always met during the weekends, and I would just say I was meeting friends. Fortunately, we met during the day in my friend’s basement. I would take the car, disappear for a few hours, and come back, and it was always fine. As long as it was during the day, they had nothing to worry about. So, the short answer is, they never knew I was in a band – it was a complete mystery to them.
After you started having voice lessons, when did it become apparent that you were a mezzo soprano?
That was a significant moment for me, and it happened quite early on.
My first teacher was a contralto and we experimented with different vocal ranges. She said, “You know, your timbre is quite dark.” I’m not sure if it had to do with the fact that I was a smoker at the time – I grew up in a family of smokers, so it seemed natural that I would too. I only quit quite late in my career, when I moved to Toronto in the early 2010s. Despite my smoking history, I’ve always had the grain* of my voice so I’m not sure if smoking affected it, especially at such a young age. But when my teacher suggested that my timbre was dark and that I might be a mezzo-soprano instead of a soprano, I cried for a week. As an aspiring opera singer, my dream was to sing the Queen of the Night. However, between you and me, I don’t envy those sopranos who have to sing that because it’s a really challenging piece and in hindsight, I’m actually very happy to be a mezzo-soprano. I think it fits my personality much better.
After attending the Canadian Opera Company Young Artists Program [from 2010 to 2013] you were accepted into the Metropolitan Opera’s Lindemann Young Artist Development Program.
I was fresh out of the Young Artist Program at the Canadian Opera Company, where I had honed my skills and performed a variety of roles, from small to medium, and even a few major ones. It felt like I was getting a master’s degree in singing, which I was so eager for, but I was still technically confused about my voice and what I was supposed to do.
When I arrived at the Met, my mindset was, “I am here to work,” unlike my time in Toronto, where I was 23 and enjoyed living my youth a bit more. At the Met, it was all about perfecting my craft.
I had never really taken acting classes before, and the Program offered some that were incredibly interesting and helped me develop a more structured approach to acting. It also gave me my first two agents, which was a significant step in my career.
The pressure at the Met is intense because it’s one of the most prestigious young artist programmes in the world and I’m so grateful to have been part of it. Another thing I want to mention is the immense visibility it provided me with. I performed some great roles with excellent colleagues and even did a few HD broadcasts. Having the Met on your resume is like a stamp of excellence – it signals that you’ve truly made it.
You have sung a lot of Mozart roles. Can you say something about how different composers suit your voice?
I find Mozart strangely challenging – it’s something we all learn in school, yet he’s actually one of the most difficult composers to sing. I think we should first learn how to sing Verdi, Puccini, and Donizetti, and then approach Mozart. If you can sing Mozart well, it means your voice is in a good place because there’s no hiding. Mastering Mozart requires impeccable technique as it exposes every nuance and demands flawless execution, not only in singing but also in the recitatives and acting – you can’t be a boring actor!
Verdi is the master of belcanto and beautiful singing. I’ve sung a few small Verdi roles and the Verdi Requiem, which for me is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written because it’s written for the voice. But Mozart keeps me grounded and prevents me from rushing into larger roles prematurely, which often come with bigger vocal and artistic challenges that I’m not eager to tackle just yet. That’s why I love to sprinkle my season with one or two Mozart roles!
What roles or composers do you see in the future?
For now, I think I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing. I was recently chatting with a colleague of mine, a young superstar who’s tackling her 12th Carmen this year. Personally, I couldn’t do that—not because I can’t handle it, but because I’d get bored. I need time away from a role to feel excited about returning to it. It’s like nurturing a relationship for me. I develop bonds with these roles, and as much as I enjoy immersing myself in them during productions, once they’re over, it’s like saying, ‘Okay, see you later, girl. I’ll catch up with you in a few months.’ So, Carmen will definitely remain a cornerstone of my career and hopefully some of the French repertoire like Charlotte and Nicklausse will be there too. I do want to continue with Mozart: some may argue I’m too old for Cherubino, but that doesn’t bother me right now, I still adore that role although I don’t perform as often as I used to. And let’s not forget about Dorabella and Sesto!
I want to continue exploring all avenues and have no desire to pigeonhole myself. Some repertoire I’d love to do more of includes Rossini’s Italiana in Algeri or Barbiere di Siviglia as well as some belcanto, like Donizetti and Bellini, which I’ve never done.
Recently you delved into Monteverdi.
I had a wonderful time recording Monteverdi’s Il Ritorno d’Ulisse in Patria with Ensemble I Gemelli and I would absolutely love to delve deeper into that genre. It’s unfortunate that singers often find themselves categorized into specific genres, you have the early music enthusiasts and the opera aficionados, and their paths don’t always seamlessly intersect. What I think is if you’re good at it, you’re good at it, regardless of the repertoire you’re specialized in.
And at the other extreme, modern vocal music.
I have a growing passion and would love to explore new music, which I’m realising is quite important. With the right composer, it’s a truly wonderful experience. New music is the future of opera, and we need to focus on that.
You’ve sung Philip Glass’ music including Nefertiti in Akhnaten at the Met. Very different vocally from Mozart?
It’s actually almost harder because of the sheer repetition of notes and rhythmic complexity – it’s not just simple 4/4. The rhythmic patterns are quite challenging. For instance, with Nefertiti, much of her singing lies in the mezzo passaggio, which isn’t easy. If you don’t have solid technique, sustaining ten minutes of singing in your passaggio on the ‘a’ vowel, amidst very intricate rhythms, is simply impossible.
It’s a completely different challenge, but in some ways, I find it even more intricate and demanding than singing Mozart.
Carmen is becoming your calling card, yet your first production of the opera was only at the end of 2019. You wrote: “Not only it was my first Carmen, but it was a staging of Lydia Steier… I loved being pushed to the limits of what the perception of a certain character be. No matter how many Carmens there will be in my future, there will always be a hint of this one in my heart.” What limits were you being pushed to?
Lydia asked me to stay on stage the entire time, which was the first challenge. Besides a brief 20-minute intermission, there was no moment off stage.
She envisioned Carmen as a constant presence, observing everything. It was also my first time portraying this role and I found this interpretation to be physically aggressive. There was no sexiness, flirtation, or charm – instead, it felt like GI Jane and Orange is the New Black meet Carmen, which was definitely interesting and not at all what I initially envisioned. For instance, in Act Two’s Chanson Bohème, I was doing a lot of very un-Carmen-like things like pumping breast milk from a chest plate adorned with six breasts and had avatars that followed me around at all time.
The role was challenging because it deviated significantly from the traditional portrayal, lacking the charm that typically brings a certain ease to Carmen’s character. This interpretation demanded a different approach and mindset. To top it all off, at the end, instead of being murdered, this Carmen committed suicide, which added another layer of complexity.
But if I can be Lydia Steier’s Carmen, I can be anyone’s Carmen.
You have sung the role many times since – what ‘versions’ of Carmen have you interpreted? What have you discovered singing the role repeatedly?
Well, starting with the first one in Cologne, I feel like I’ve tackled the hardest version. After that, I performed in Palm Beach, Toronto, and Calgary, each in different eras and styles, but more traditional compared to Glyndebourne, which has a modern touch but retains much of Carmen’s charm, with the flirting and joie de vivre that Cologne did not have.
As I continue to perform this role, I find that it’s becoming more integrated into who I am. I’ve infused facets of myself into the character, allowing me to tap into these different aspects wherever I perform Carmen around the world. Because just like me, Carmen is multi-dimensional. Some days, she’s more feminine, other days, more masculine; sometimes she’s laid-back or craving attention, and on other occasions, she embodies a spirit of rebellion. As I grow older, I anticipate more aspects of myself will be revealed in the different Carmens I do.
How is the new Glyndebourne staging?
This new production at Glyndebourne is much more modern compared to the previous one I sang here where I was Mercedes in the production by David McVicar that can only be described as hot, oily, and sultry – a beautiful production, but very traditional.
This one by Diane Paulus is quite different. It’s also been updated politically. Diane has envisioned Carmen as more of a freedom fighter, drawing inspiration from women’s struggles for freedom in societies like Iran, without pinpointing a particular setting. I appreciate this openness because when things get too specific, especially politically or religiously, there can be backlash.
Who is your Carmen this time?
This Carmen is open to interpretation in many ways, but her goal is clear – freedom. For herself, for freedom of speech, of thought, and the freedom to be who she wants to be. Working with Diane on these emotions has been a wonderful experience.
What has the collaborative experience been like in Glyndebourne?
We’ve had quite an eclectic group for this Carmen, which has really brought a lot of different elements that have elevated the production. Our director, Diane, comes from more of a Broadway musical theatre background. She’s directed operas before, but it’s not her main focus. What I really appreciate about her is her willingness to have a conversation, even when unsure. It’s rare these days to have such open discussions with directors. If I’m not fully convinced about an idea, I can talk to her, and she takes the time to explain or find common ground. She values my understanding and emotional connection to the character over imposing a concept on me, which avoids robotic singing and acting. The conversation has always been open from the start, and she even had us do some acting exercises, which was challenging for some, including myself, as I’ve never been asked to act alone. Diane’s ability to communicate, listen, and empathize with us makes a huge difference, and I think all this work shows on stage.
Then working with Maestro Robin Ticciati has been amazing, and I can now say we’ve truly collaborated seeing as my first time at Glyndebourne was as a cover during his production of Der Rosenkavalier, in 2010.
I must say that this Carmen has been a wonderful journey of discovery for both Diane Paulus and Robin Ticciati, as it was their first time directing and conducting this masterpiece and it was refreshing to see the childlike curiosity they approached it with. Maestro Ticciati excels in drawing out diverse colours, dynamics, and nuances from the orchestra, which has been incredibly inspiring to witness.
With your Tunisian and Canadian background you have always spoken French. How does that help with this role?
It’s quite important, especially when you have dialogue, to have either French speakers or people who are really good at diction. Working with singers who understand and speak French is crucial, and my colleagues are all wonderful and have made really big strides with their French dialogue.
Being French Canadian, or rather bilingual from Tunisia where we speak both Arabic and French, has definitely helped me a lot. It’s funny because a few people have told me they occasionally hear my little Quebecois accent coming out. But it’s subtle, which I don’t mind because, you know, we have to remind ourselves that Carmen is not French – she’s Spanish. And Don José is Basque. So neither of them are actually native French speakers.
I love having a little accent, and I actually play with it sometimes for fun. Maybe someone in the audience catches it…
This last performance will be your 11th of this new production at Glyndebourne. How do you care for your voice?
I care for my voice in various, meticulous ways. During rehearsals, I avoid singing out extensively to preserve my vocal and emotional energy, focusing instead on acting and movement and, of course, I make sure the director and conductor are on the same page. I find the constant stop-and-start routine can be vocally, mentally, and emotionally taxing. On days when I have to sing, I do light activities like yoga or Pilates to maintain energy without exertion.
On performance days, I try to wake up as late as possible (to preserve energy and because I’m not a morning person) and enjoy a slow morning routine. I start by caring for myself and Nahla, my dog, who due to a recent esophageal operation, can only eat small portions of food which can take quite a while. During this time, I meditate, do red light therapy for my face, read, journal, and practice breathing exercises, then have some tea. After that, I take Nahla for an hour-long walk to ensure she’s well-exercised before I leave for the opera house.
I’d like to come back to Nahla, but first what do you do before curtain up?
Before the performance, I eat a simple lunch, like miso soup with rice and eggs and some fruit. I also limit talking and warm up minimally with easy vocal exercises like ‘Vs’ or lip trills. I actually don’t sing until fully in costume because these exercises will tell me if my voice is in good shape or not. Since we come from a long period of rehearsals and singing, I feel vocally and physically prepared without extensive warm-ups until half an hour before curtain.
Singers talk about the loneliness of life on the road, but you have Nahla, a miniature Dachshund, with you.
Yes, she’s the light of my life. Nahla is so funny, quirky, and sassy. She really keeps me on my toes and gets me out of the house, otherwise, I could easily become a homebody. Whether we’re in a city or staying on a farm in the middle of nowhere, like in Glyndebourne, she insists on walks, exploring new parks, neighbourhoods, and discovering hidden gems like coffee shops, and cool shops and restaurants. I often joke with my colleagues that Nahla is the real explorer because I wouldn’t have ventured into these places without her nudging.
She keeps me grounded and gives me a lot of affection, which is invaluable in this often lonely job. Despite constantly being around people, the solitude can be challenging, and I’m reflecting a lot on this aspect of my career. I think having a dog is an extremely healthy element of being a traveling, singing gypsy, which is what we (artists) are. Nahla brings me peace, so I make sure that she gets the life she deserves. She enjoys good quality things, and I try to bring her with me everywhere I can.
You were singing in Werther in Zurich this January when Nahla was operated on. What happened?
This past year was quite challenging. Last summer, while I was in LA for the Verdi Requiem with Maestro Dudamel, Nahla became paralysed due to a herniated disc, requiring spinal surgery. We flew back to Canada, where she underwent two surgeries within a week and spent months in rehab, unable to walk.
Just as we were recovering from that ordeal, she swallowed a piece of a bone meant for dogs, but it was too large and got stuck in her throat, causing severe damage. When I rushed her to the hospital, they gave her only a 10% chance of survival. The damage was in a delicate spot behind her heart, making the operation extremely risky. Meanwhile, I was preparing for Werther in Zurich, with intensive rehearsals twice a day. Despite the demands of my role, I made three daily trips to the hospital to visit Nahla, talk to her, and support her fight to survive. It was undoubtedly one of the hardest periods for me, balancing a major opera production with her critical condition. While I had previously sung the role in a concert performance during COVID, this was my first time in a full production. The stakes were high, yet my personal struggle with Nahla’s health made me realize the immense challenge of balancing work with personal crises. I can’t imagine how people manage similar situations with children, I felt overwhelmed just dealing with Nahla’s ordeal.
Thankfully, Nahla pulled through, although she will never fully recover – she can’t eat solid food and or take the stairs. Nevertheless, we adapt as best as we can: opera singers and dogs are remarkably adaptable creatures!
Your first Carmen at Cologne Opera was just before COVID – how was that psychologically as you saw engagements being cancelled?
There was a lot of pressure. It was my first Carmen and it meant people were coming to see it and consider me for other Carmens, which did happen. But then, of course, a lot of things got cancelled due to COVID and that was really tough.
It was one of the lowest points of my life, being stuck in a one-bedroom apartment alone with my dog. I wasn’t sure if I would sing again, but I persevered. I took weekly voice lessons and coaching, and I kept working on things because I didn’t want to come out of that period worse off than I was going in.
Reflecting now, as life is getting busier and returning to normal, COVID forced me to slow down, take a step back, and focus on self-care like my morning routine. I started doing things that really tuned my voice and improved my well-being. Looking back at pictures and videos from that time, I sang well, looked good, my hair was healthy, and I had time for myself. Sure, there was financial stress about rent and bills, but there was a strange sense of calm and happiness in taking care of myself.
Even during the long rehearsal period at Glyndebourne, I tried to maintain some of that same self-care routine because that’s the time I felt more physically and mentally grounded. It’s quite interesting, isn’t it?
What are you most excited about among your upcoming projects?
I’m really looking forward to the balance I’ve found – a mix of concerts, operas, and some smaller, less demanding roles. A close friend once commented on how challenging it can be to constantly tackle intense, high-pressure roles, so I deeply appreciate the chance to sing characters like Maddalena or Lola, which come with a bit less stress. It’s a luxury us mezzos get to enjoy.
I want to keep expanding my repertoire and developing as an artist while striving for the same balance I discovered during COVID – a blend of past experiences and present opportunities that ensure a sustainable future, free from burnout. And I want to live life to the fullest… taking vacations, cherishing time with loved ones, and embracing every travel opportunity that comes my way. We only have one life, and while I deeply love my work, I also want to savour every moment beyond the stage.
* The “grain of voice” is the presence of the body in the singing voice. It belongs to the body of the singer; it does not carry communication codes or universal meaning; it is neither style, nor expression.
Graham Spicer, aka ‘Gramilano’, is a writer, director and photographer based in Milan. He was a regular columnist for Opera Now magazine and wrote for the BBC until transferring to Italy. His articles have appeared in various publications from Woman’s Weekly to Gay Times, and he wrote the Danza in Italia column for Dancing Times magazine. Graham was the historical advisor on Codice Carla, the 2023 documentary on Carla Fracci.