On a sunny winter day in July, 2022, I arrived in Brisbane. In a few months time I would be singing the mezzo-soprano solo in Mahler’s 3rd Symphony, and I had come to the city for 48 hours to run through the score with the conductor, Simon Hewett, and to do a round of publicity for the concert. It was exciting to reunite with Simon. We had lived in Hamburg at the same time quite a few years before, both contracted to the Hamburg State Opera. He and his wife Maria were good friends, neither of whom I had seen for some years.
That evening, our work tasks completed, I joined them at their home for dinner. We had a really lovely evening reconnecting and catching up with the events in our lives over the intervening years. Such was the mood of the evening, that Maria suggested opening ‘a second bottle of wine.’ ‘Great idea,’ I said. ‘My next concert is not for a fortnight, so I can enjoy myself.’
Unbeknownst to me, at the same time I was enjoying that second bottle of wine and a reunion with my friends in Brisbane, there was drama unfolding at the Sydney Opera House. Following the first performance of a sold-out run of Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 to celebrate the reopening of the house after two years of extensive renovations, Simone Young, Chief Conductor of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, was chatting to the contracted mezzo-soprano. The singer’s hoarse voice alarmed the two of them. ‘We need to call Debbie,’ Young told a colleague, wary of what the morrow would bring. ‘Get me Debbie. Right now!’ (Australian Book Review, Paul Kildea).
At 11.00am the next morning my telephone rang. Melissa King, the Sydney Symphony Orchestra’s Director of Artistic Planning was on the other end of the phone. ‘Where are you in the world today Miss Humble?’ she asked. ‘In Brisbane,’ I replied. ‘Doing some publicity and rehearsal for Mahler 3.’ ‘Right. Lovely. Well, I am wondering if you would like to sing the mezzo solo in Mahler’s 2nd Symphony.’ ‘My goodness, I’d love to,’ I replied. I have never performed Mahler 2, and was immediately excited at the thought of doing so. Soloists are engaged well in advance by such companies; most plan their seasons several years ahead, so I was imagining that Melissa was about to mention a date in the 2024 or maybe the 2025 season. How thrilling.
‘When?’ I asked. ‘Well, how about tonight?’ She replied.
Tonight, I thought. Don’t be ridiculous. My heart missed a beat. Mostly with disappointment. I suddenly recalled that the symphony was being performed several times this week in Sydney for the gala reopening of the Opera House. A couple of weeks ago I had been asked by Simone Young to be one of the singers involved in the final acoustic testing for the renovated concert hall. The mezzo soprano solo from Mahler’s 2nd Symphony, Urlicht, was one of the pieces she had asked me to prepare. On the way out of the acoustic testing session, I had cheekily nudged Simone on the arm and said, “if you get into any strife with the forthcoming performances, just call me.” Of course, I never expected anything to eventuate. So, although I was somewhat familiar with this well-known excerpt, I didn’t know the extended section of music with soprano and chorus. Sadly, Melissa’s request was impossible.
However, Melissa wasn’t taking no for an answer. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘it’s you or nothing. There’s no time to explain everything. Please get on a plane and we can sort out the rest when you get here.’
So many thoughts started running through my mind. How can she ‘sort out’ the fact that I don’t know the music? I can’t sing something I don’t know in front of two thousand people. Tonight. I have nothing to wear. How long is the rest of the mezzo part? I had wine and a late night last night. Not ideal preparation. Could I even I sound any good tonight? This is madness. This is not only impossible, this is completely crazy.
Then, a pivotal thought. Simone Young wouldn’t ask me to sing if she didn’t think I could do it.
I let that thought sit for a moment and then I leapt into action. My flight to Sydney was changed and I was on board at 1.00pm. I downloaded a score onto my I-pad and a recording onto my I-phone, thankful that technology enabled me to do this. I spent the 90 minutes on board the flight listening to the music I didn’t know and looking through the score. As we landed, the lady seated next to me asked me what I had been so focused on. I told her it seemed that I was singing at the Opera House tonight at the last minute, so I was trying learning the music. ‘You’re kidding,’ she said. I assured her I was not. ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘I might need it,’ I replied and smiled wryly.
I got into a taxi at Sydney airport and went to where my car was parked. I recalled that in the boot was a garbage bag full of clothes earmarked for the op-shop. I hadn’t gotten around to dropping them off yet. I knew that in the bag was a blue sequinned, off the peg concert dress that I no longer liked and that was slightly too small for me. I took it out and stuffed it in my hand luggage. Next stop was my singing coach’s house nearby. Sharolyn Kimmorley and I are friends and have been working together for many years. She wasn’t answering the phone, but I knew she was probably working from home. I knocked on the door, breathless from rushing. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said. ‘Our next rehearsal session isn’t until Thursday.’ ‘I know,’ I replied, ‘but I need you to teach me the Mahler 2 solos in the next 45 minutes.’ Ever calm and immediately grasping the situation, Sharolyn didn’t skip a beat. She wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and said ‘I’ll just go and turn off the oven.’
There was no time for small talk as we launched into the final section of music I didn’t know. We just had time to go through everything once. I am also a pianist and a good sight reader. Without the benefit of this important musical skill, none of what was happening would have been remotely possible. It was time to go. She called out to her husband and asked him to drive me to the Opera House.
I walked down the final stretch of concourse towards the famous building with legs that felt like jelly. I remembered the same nervous walk some twenty years prior, when I sang my first performance with Opera Australia. It was a dream come true; a moment I’d always hoped for. I told myself that I’d learnt a lot since then, and that I could do this.
It is important not to let doubt get in the way.
Once inside the building things moved into full swing. What was my shoe size? Please go to the hair and make-up room. Here is a black music folder. The photocopied music is on its way. Simone will be here to speak to you soon. ‘You’re saving the night,’ everyone said as they walked past me in the corridor. ‘Tonight’s performance is a live ABC broadcast, going out worldwide. It’s the second most important event in the building’s history’. Wait. What? Did they just say live television broadcast? I tried to remember that it shouldn’t make a difference if there’s one person or a million people listening. Did Melissa mention the broadcast this morning? I don’t think so. Too late to change my mind now.
‘Oh and by the way,’ someone else says in passing, as if what they have to say is of no consequence, ‘the performance is being recorded for future release by Deutsche Grammophon.’
Bloody hell. This scenario is getting more and more unreal. I discard the idea of sitting for half an hour in hair and makeup, deciding my time is better spent on a vocal warm up and more musical study. A green Woolworths supermarket shopping bag full of size 40 shoes is delivered to my dressing room. The shoes are all black and sensible. I choose a pair. Someone in the ladies’ chorus will be standing in the choir stalls in stockinged feet. I scrape my hair back into a ponytail and someone appears to brush a bit of powder over my face. Simone Young comes in, all business. I’ve been working with Simone for twenty years and I’ve seen this determined expression before. I have no doubt that this less than ideal situation is stressful for her too. We talk through a few musical points. I put the ill-fitting sequinned dress on and try to remind myself that how I look is not the most important thing right now. The Sydney Symphony Orchestra librarian delivers the music and puts it inside the black folder for me. I send a quick text message to my partner. Maybe he’d like to tune into the ABC when he gets home from work. Like everyone else I’ve been in touch with in the last couple of days, he thinks I’m still in Brisbane. There’s no time for further explanation. There’s a brief text message from my agent. ‘No need to reply under the circumstances,’ it says. ‘Toi, Toi.’
I go up to side stage. It’s a long walk from the soloists’ dressing rooms and my heart is pounding by the time I get to the top of the staircase. This is really happening. I take a deep breath as we walk onstage, all smiles, in front of a packed concert hall and immediate applause. I hear Simone say, ‘don’t panic, just watch me.’ I look up towards the ‘heavens’ of the hall and say a silent prayer which goes along the lines of ‘Dear God, please, please don’t let me mess this up in front of all these people.’
I sit on the chair at the front of the stage to Simone’s right hand side, her confident presence a great comfort. Soprano Nicole Carr is on the other side. I haven’t had a chance to speak with her before the concert. It’s never easy singing with someone with whom you’ve had no rehearsal; singers who ‘jump in’ can be a bit of a liability at times, causing those who know the music and the role well to have to concentrate doubly hard. Nicole has no doubt practiced at length for this moment. I don’t want to spoil it for her.
I open my black folder to follow the first movement as the music begins and immediately anticipate a problem. The librarian has put only my solo music in the folder, not the orchestra’s. The Urlicht I must sing first begins on an unaccompanied D. I don’t have perfect pitch, and so it is impossible for me to find a D without reference to what key the preceding bars conclude in. But the preceding bars aren’t in front of me. A feeling of slight panic returns. A second problem. Since I don’t know this symphony at all, and with no orchestral music in front of me, I have no idea how long I’m going to be sitting here before I have to get up to perform; five minutes, fifteen minutes, fifty minutes? I’m suddenly on high alert. Taking Simone’s advice to heart, I try not to panic and I watch her closely out of the corner of my eye. Aware there are thousands of eyes upon me, I maintain what I hope is a relaxed and calm looking demeanour.
To this day I can’t tell you how long I sat there. But after what felt like an eternity, I saw a gesture incorporated into Simone’s conducting that clearly signalled ‘get up now.’ I stood up. Then a whisper. ‘Stand on the green cross.’ I look down and see a green cross taped onto the floor. I knew this would have something to do with the placement of the microphones for the recording, so I take a step to the right. The orchestral music stops. It’s my turn. But where is the D? A split second of hesitation from me and Simone hums a D very, very quietly. God bless Simone. I start to sing.
The Urlicht over, I sit back down on the chair, heart still pounding. I risk a glance into the audience and see an old friend sitting in the second row right in front of me. He winks at me. Somehow reassured by this encouraging gesture, I think to myself that that went as well as can be expected. There is no time for relaxation though. I must now concentrate on the second part.
The lengthy second section with soprano and chorus also goes well. It is less exposed. Simone later tells me I sang one wrong note, but that it ‘fitted in with the harmony.’ I think to myself that if that is the worst thing that happened then I am very relieved indeed. She also tells me that I will be singing the three further performances this week, and that I should correct that error by tomorrow night’s performance. It is obvious to me how I will be spending tomorrow.
Suddenly it is all over. The audience goes wild with appreciation. Coloured streamers are released from above and fall onto the stage. The atmosphere is charged and it is a very exciting moment. I try to be fully present. I realise, perhaps for the first time, the importance and magnitude of tonight’s performance. I have just become part of the history of the Sydney Opera House. Simone acknowledges me with an appreciative bow before I take my own. It seems everyone is very grateful, and that I have in fact, ‘saved the day.’
I can hardly sleep that night. The adrenaline levels remain high and messages are pouring in from all over Australia, Germany, the UK, France, Italy and beyond. People have listened to the performance on the radio or seen the televised ABC I-View broadcast. I speak to my partner who promises to leave a conference he is currently attending to deliver a better fitting concert dress and my own shoes to Sydney tomorrow. I am exhausted.
The Deutsche Grammophon recording of this historic performance was released in February 2025. The release was the first time the famous and prestigious ‘Yellow Label’ had recorded an Australian orchestra, something of a coup for the Sydney Symphony and its Chief Conductor Simone Young, and befitting of such a significant and historical event. A week after the release, the recording went to Number One on the Aria Classical and Classical Crossover Charts accompanied by the headline ‘Number 2 is Number 1.’ It is still at Number 1 at the time of writing (March 2025).
So what is the take away from my Mahler story? How is his story relevant or helpful to people in different industries?
A lot of people think that success in the music industry is about having a gift. They think that a successful career in singing and opera is simply about having a talent. Music is a notoriously difficult career to choose. I think that talent has to be worked at. Success is as much about grit, perseverance and determination as it is about ability. Nerves of steel don’t go astray either! Lots of singers have beautiful voices. Lots of singers have good technique and have put in the thousands of hours of study required to have a career. But real success depends on discipline. It depends on patience and self-belief. Resilience and adaptability are vital qualities. On this particular day, I knew it was time to ‘cash in’ if you like, on the years of investment I had made in my myself and my career; on the years it had taken to refine and develop the myriad of skills needed to step up.
I’ve met a lot of people along the way who also believe that luck plays a part. I have never really believed in luck. I have a friend who’s favourite mantra is ‘the harder I work, the luckier I get.’
I guess that’s not dissimilar to my personal formula which has always been…
Preparation Plus Opportunity Equals Success.
On the 22nd July, 2022 I was given an opportunity. I was prepared. I had developed the skill set required to say ‘yes. It paid off and the concert event in this story was successful. I am still reaping the benefits of the calculated risk I took.
There are no quick wins in life. Nothing worth having is easy. There is no such thing as an overnight success. There is no place for giving up when the going gets tough. There will always be moments in life where we need to make decisions that challenge us, that frighten us even. How we respond to these moments is key.
There is no courage in having a dream. There is only courage in making the dream happen.
This was my Mahler moment. Will you be ready when your moment comes along?
Listen to an extended version of this story, in conversation with Andrew Grill here.