THAT VOICE

An awkward girl’s inspiration—the titular deceased Gilbert and Sullivan diva—is hymned in Menter’s piquant memoir.

The author, a journalist and poet, looks back on her experiences growing up in Syracuse, New York, in the 1960s, when she despaired of her chubby, cross-eyed physicality, felt alienated from her cold mother, and hid her shyness beneath a snarky exterior. She discovered a new world when her father gave her old recordings of the D’Oyly Carte troupe, leading interpreters of the comic operas of Gilbert and Sullivan. Menter was entranced by Gilbert’s riotous lyrics, Sullivan’s exuberant music, and their tuneful sendups of Victorian England’s stuffed shirts and preening poseurs—and especially by the company’s reigning contralto, Ann Drummond-Grant, who specialized in playing pompous battle-axes while infusing pathos into their vanity and silliness. The author sent off fan letters and was crushed to learn that Drummond-Grant had been dead for nine years, but she carried on with her resolve to become a singer like her idol—and to perhaps join D’Oyly Carte herself. What followed was a yearning, frustrating musical odyssey as Menter studied voice and piano, first in private lessons and then at Syracuse University and the Manhattan School of Music. Saddled with a lovely but weak and unbalanced voice, she struggled with a succession of teachers who never quite managed to instill the basics of technique and breathing control; her piano studies and a foray into acting classes also left her tantalizingly short of proficiency. Entwined with the author’s reminiscences is her biographical sketch of Drummond-Grant, also a late bloomer, who joined D’Oyly Carte in 1933 at the age of 28, quickly climbed from the chorus to principal roles, and was then kicked out of the company after she began an affair with the married musical director—only to return as his wife in 1951.

In part, the author’s narrative explores a young woman’s search for self-definition through passionate relationships with mentors and mother figures (“That was my life story: falling madly in love with someone or something and being drawn or driven by it”), the most prominent being the titular muse, who existed only on vinyl for her. It’s also a hilariously demystified look at the singer’s craft, seen from the most undignified of perspectives: “As I blew my nose (and blew, and blew), I reflexively pulled my diaphragm in. Lo!…At long last I made the physical connection: the diaphragm pushes the breath, and the breath pushes the snot…and the sound!” The author’s self-portrait is intimate and revealing, cleareyed in its depictions of her disappointments and failings and suffused with wry humor: “My go-to romantic strategy was to aim a stream of madcap brilliance at someone who wasn’t paying attention.” At the book’s heart is a colorful profile of Drummond-Grant written in evocative prose that conveys her talent (“The voice was thrilling: rich and clear, with a quick vibrato”) and personality (her laughter in a taped interview is “slow and doleful, like dark water lapping the side of a boat”). Gilbert and Sullivan fans—and anyone who’s reached for an improbable dream—will enjoy Menter’s journey.

A captivating coming-of-age saga about life trying to imitate art, with poignantly mixed results.