local music teacher recalls singing opera in the streets

Melissa Manseau’s experience as a street performer was born—as many things are—out of desperation. In 2001, she moved to the Big Apple with her husband to try her luck as a professional opera singer. Unfortunately, the couple moved just days before the 9/11 attack. The temp work they had hoped would tide them over dried up. Thinking fast, she came up with a plan.

“We saw a string quartet at the end of a ramp in Grand Central Station, in the spot that we later claimed as our own,” she laughs. Using a Karaoke boom box with a CD player, she opened her mouth and let her instrument do its work. Then the money started coming in.

“Not only were we never ticketed by the officers that frequently saw us several times, they’d stop and listen for a few minutes, even putting some money in the hat!” she said.

Now, that’s talent.

Street performing is a tough gig, full of disdainful hecklers. At best, you’re usually ignored. But Manseau, perhaps due to her gifted vocal chords, has more than her share of inspiring stories. Now a teacher at the Bell Center for the Arts in Dover, Manseau has performed with Boston Vocal Opera and Cape Cod Opera. Today, she performs across New England and in cities all over the world. But in a recent interview with The Wire, she recounted some of her fond memories of bellowing arias on the streets of New York.

“My favorite story is about this panhandler, a slight fellow who wore a cap,” she remembers. “He’d panhandle, then put the cap—coins, bills and all—on his head, when an officer walked by. One day, he had just started as I started the first aria. He just stared at me, completely intensely.”

She tried to avoid his gaze, but that didn’t stop him. He made his way down the ramp and, to Manseau’s surprise, started encouraging the crowd to applaud her. He then crouched down about five or six feet away, across the hall from her performance spot, with only human traffic between them. He stopped his ‘work’ and stared at her as she sang, perfectly still. At the end of each song, he clapped, wailed and encouraged the crowd to follow suit.  

“Then, the most amazing thing happened,” Manseau says softly, getting to the part of the story that has clearly left a mark on her soul. “This man, who begs for money for a living, that man came to me (and) gave me one dollar from his cap. I tried to thank him, but he said nothing and walked away.” A few days later, Manseau saw the man again. Without her mighty voice resonating through the air, he didn’t recognize her. She gave him $20, and these two strangers, who had touched each other so deeply, left each other’s lives.          

Her other favorite story involves a female lawyer. “She listened so long, she missed her train three times,” Manseau recalls. “I told her I wouldn’t take a break for maybe five or six arias. She stayed for every minute of it.”
At then end, the woman dropped $50 in the box. “She told me I was the angel she prayed for, to bring some life back to the city after 9/11.” Manseau seems close to tears as she recalls the woman’s praise. “She said this was the first moment she’d felt some relief from the depression of the city’s devastation.”

Not every artist can make someone forget, if only for a moment, such devastation. And not every artist can get by singing on the street. “Other opera singers that I work with can’t believe that I actually did it,” she laughs. “But it was the quickest way to get the money we needed. I felt validated as a performer and singer. In fact, it was so challenging that our first Christmas back home felt so empty and meaningless after singing carols in the subway. It was a very challenging time emotionally and financially, but I will never have any regrets.”

Just as director Mike Gillett feels compelled to make people laugh, Manseau feels compelled to inspire people with an art form that many consider aged or dead. Her stories prove that street performance can still make people stop and stare, just as they did centuries ago in the streets of Europe. It is through the courage of artists that live performance, no matter how much TiVo or Netflix is thrown at us, will survive.

To keep up with Melissa Manseau’s career, visit her website at www.melissamanseau.com.