Slice: Real-life romance

There’s nothing sexier than a woman with a whip.

That seems to be what Silvio is thinking as he approaches Nedda, his love interest. But before he gets to her, he suddenly stops.

“I think the whip got in the way of my entrance,” says Lee Gregory, the baritone playing Silvio in Opera Omaha’s production of Leoncavallo’s “Pagliacci.”

Garnett Bruce, the company’s stage director, isn’t amused. He demands machismo.

“We need to see Captain Romance take possession of that girl,” he says.

Gregory soon eases into a comfortable onstage intimacy with soprano Kelly Kaduce (Nedda). He’s used to that role, since he’s married to her in real life.

The couple’s off-stage love affair makes them an intriguing choice to play the ill-fated lovers in “Pagliacci,” which opens this weekend at the Orpheum Theater. Leoncavallo’s 1892 masterpiece is, after all, a tragic love story.

It tells a tale of jealousy, infidelity and murder among a troupe of traveling actors.

The opera is acclaimed as one of the theater world’s quintessential plays-within-a-play. In the first act, Canio, the troupe’s lead actor, threatens murderous revenge after he discovers that his wife, Nedda, is having an affair with Silvio. In the second act, the actors stage a play about (what else?) infidelity and murderous revenge.

Gregory and Kaduce’s real-life love affair will likely add credence to their characters’ steamy and illicit romance.

“There’s no doubt these singers have strong, genuine feelings about each other,” Bruce says.

But their presence onstage also highlights a little-known fact about the opera world: Many prominent opera stars are married to people in the business.

Popular mezzo-soprano Jennifer Larmore, for instance, is married to bass-baritone William Powers. Metropolitan Opera diva Angela Gheorghiu is married to tenor Roberto Alagna.

These marriages, like delicate vocal cords, need constant nurturing. That’s a tall order for couples who often perform in opposite parts of the world. It’s rare that opera couples are in the same production. Singers have to go where the jobs are.

Gregory and Kaduce met at the opera.

They were both accepted into San Francisco Opera’s prestigious young artists program in 1999. The program included a three-month bus tour of the country.

When the bus finally returned to San Francisco, Gregory and Kaduce were smitten.

Close quarters in a bus will do that, Gregory says. The couple married in 2001.

They live in Houston, Gregory’s hometown. But they spend much of their time in airports and hotel rooms.

The couple will spend two weeks together in an Omaha hotel. But that’s an extremely short stay by opera standards. Productions in some cities can run for weeks.

Like many opera couples, Gregory, 38, and Kaduce, 35, try to keep separations under a month.

When they are apart, they exchange e-mail and have daily video chats. And, says Kaduce, the day always starts with a phone call.

Kaduce begins her rehearsal days early. It takes her about three hours to warm up her instrument. Then she’s off to rehearsals, which generally last six hours.

Opera Omaha’s rehearsals take place in a former industrial print shop at 20th and Harney Streets. Large metal air-conditioning units hang from the ceiling and hum loudly during rehearsal. The setting seems fitting for “Pagliacci.” It’s the most famous of the so-called verismo operas, a style that reflects the gritty, unsugarcoated side of life.

Gregory and Kaduce have little trouble being heard over the air conditioner. They’re singing Silvio and Nedda’s first act duet, an emotional number that’s typically performed with a lot of volume.

In the opera, Nedda’s pathologically jealous husband, Canio, has left the stage. One of the troupe’s other actors, Tonio, has just propositioned Nedda, and she’s chased him off with a whip.

Now her real lover, Silvio, has arrived. He’s passionately in love with Nedda and wants to take her away.

But Gregory fails to move in close. His body language seems to say “let’s be friends.”

“You’ve got to put more of yourself on the line,” Bruce says. “Can you reel her in a little more?”

That’s all the prompting Gregory and Kaduce need. They start the scene again, but this time Kaduce tosses the whip aside when Gregory enters.

He sings his heart out. She coyly walks away.

Then Gregory deftly cuts off her retreat and embraces her from behind.

“Beautiful,” says Bruce.

Kaduce and Gregory make it look easy. They’re naturals, though neither intended to become an opera singer.

As a kid growing up in the Houston suburbs, the tall, lean Gregory wanted to be a tennis player. But in high school he needed a fine arts elective. He picked choir because he thought it would be easy.

He’d never had a voice lesson. But he did have naturally powerful pipes and a chocolate tone. His choir director steered him into Baylor University’s voice program.

Kaduce grew up in Winnebago, Minn., population 1,400. She was a small-town girl without lofty expectations.

She entered Minnesota’s St. Olaf College with the intention of becoming a physical therapist and, like Gregory, enrolled in choir as an elective. Turns out she was terrible in biology but great in choir.

Opera News, a national trade magazine, recently heralded the amber-toned Kaduce as the opera world’s newest “glamour girl.” Her publicity photos certainly convey that image.

But during last week’s rehearsal, Kaduce looked more like the girl next door.

She wore a gray sweater, denim skirt and glasses instead of her usual contact lenses. Her conversation was relaxed and casual.

Kaduce and Gregory don’t have children.

But they do have a substitute child, a bichon frisé called Lulu. The dog was named for the title character of Alban Berg’s modern, atonal opera. The dog travels with them. Kaduce jokes that she misses the dog more when it’s with her husband, because she can’t talk to Lulu on the phone.

Lulu was in an Omaha hotel last week, missing both of her owners. They were away in rehearsal, working on a pivotal moment in their duet.

At one point, the score calls on Nedda to sing “con fuoco,” that is, “with fire.”

What could make her sing like that?

“How about if I kiss her right here,” says Gregory, pointing to a certain point on the nape of Kaduce’s neck.

Bruce seems intrigued and nods approval.

Gregory plants his kiss. Keduce’s eyes and voice begin to glow.

“That works,” says Bruce. “And it’s a good thing you guys are married.”

Contact the writer:

444-1076, john.pitcher@owh.com

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