“I hope for a renewed perspective on opera, but also specifically on the power of the stories we tell, and to not take them for granted,” they share. “Even though this [performance] is talking about opera specifically, it’s more than that; it’s about gender, race, ability, class, [and] systemic oppression.”

Taking a stand

Kasahara’s protagonist reimagines an opera character that they often played: The Queen of the Night from Mozart’s The Magic Flute. The creator was frustrated by how the Queen was commonly portrayed in a “very two-dimensional” manner, pitted against her male oppositions.

“She is considered very dark, evil, ambitions, irrational, emotional, and even using her femininity and sexuality to try to get somewhere in life,” they add. “We remember her music, but we don’t know anything about her.”

Around eight years ago, Kasahara participated in a Toronto-based creator program. During this time, they considered the Queen’s backstory, imagining her thoughts, frustrations and motivation to continue singing. This reimagining resulted in a character that “had so much to say.”

“Ultimately, the character became a mouthpiece for me, as a mixed race, trans queer singer that loves this art form but still felt very boxed in and limited but still wanted to be here and express myself,” they add.

Kasahara is a celebrated opera singer who has performed with the Canadian Opera Company, Vancouver Opera and Toronto Symphony. For them, the opera space is “challenging and confining.”

The creator adds that the fach system limits singers to certain roles, depending on their vocal range; these expectations often hinge on gender stereotypes as well. Due to their “light and high” voice, Kasahara felt pigeon-holed into playing hyperfeminine operatic archetypes.

“I had to be slim, I had to be ‘pretty,’ I had to have long hair, I had to sing roles where I used my sexuality to be successful in portraying that character,” they share, adding these expectations extended off stage and into the opera world’s social situations. “There wasn’t space for me to explore queerness or even my mixed racial background.”

The Queen in Me challenges these expectations right from the beginning. In its opening scene, Kasahara’s Queen stops singing one of her famous arias before hitting the high notes. Kasahara recognizes the moment as one of defiance.

“The whole show is about taking a stand against what is unethical not just for this character, but characters like her in the operatic canon, and people who play these characters,” they share. “I feel like this character is able to advocate for these people who are often pushed down and dismissed in our industry.”

Multidimensional stories

Throughout the show, Kasahara’s Queen also performs other well-known arias, including those from Puccini’s La Bohème and Madama Butterfly; Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor; Verdi’s Macbeth; R. Strauss’ Salome. These songs were chosen to highlight women’s roles in opera by placing their stories centre stage.

“These stories of the characters I was portraying in those operas were also craving to be heard in a different way,” Kasahara explains, drawing a contrast to traditional operas. “By grouping all these characters together, I feel like it gives a newer perspective that they can’t just be dismissed as two dimensional.”

This eclectic collection of operas allows Kasahara to play different characters, showcasing their operatic voice beyond their usual fach. The creator sees the opera as “very meta”; the Queen is aware of these different characters, moving through a dreamscape created with projections by Laura Warren.

“It’s like ripping off a bandage for the first time,” the creator adds. “[The Queen] hasn’t had a chance to speak for over 250 years; we’ve been repeating this same story, this same depiction of this character, and of women and people who play her.”

Kasahara’s Queen also makes fun of herself, her situation and the audience. For the creator, humour is a way to “let go of the ego,” allowing brevity in difficult situations. Like their reimagined Queen, laughter is multidimensional.

“Something can be very tragic, but it can also be very funny and very sad and very cathartic,” they explain. “I love how it feels to make people laugh – it’s a very powerful emotion [that] can bring to life the truth of the world.”

The upcoming performance is billed as the finale because Kasahara will begin gender affirming hormone therapy within the next few months. If they do perform The Queen in Me again, it will be in a different vocal range. The creator has already started sharing their vocal journey publicly through an initiative titled Project T.

“People deserve to live their authentic self, to feel safe and feel like they belong,” Kasahara adds. “That’s why I’m still doing this show: we still need to stand up for those equity seeking artists and people in the world.”

For more information on The Queen in Me, see www.reopera.ca/the-queen-in-me

For more information on Teiya Kasahara, see www.teiyakasahara.com