Heading to the Met

My dad and me

First steps on the way to the Met.

People sometimes express surprise that I gave up a career in medicine for one in music. During tough times, I’ve occasionally questioned that decision myself. However, I recently learned from my father that there’s a precedent for a doctor of Korean heritage to throw him or herself into the dream of becoming a professional musician.

According to my dad, Dr. In-Seon Lee practiced dermatology in Italy while studying voice. He returned to Seoul in 1948 to mount the first full-length opera in Korea, a production of Verdi’s La Traviata, in which he sang the role of Alfredo.

Dad was a teenager at the time, and got a ticket to one of the sold-out shows. “It was tremendous,” Dad said. 

While Dr. Lee sang all performances of the run, there were two Violettas. Ever the raconteur, Dad hinted that Dr. Lee and one of the Violettas fell madly in love, creating a bit of a scandal, just like in the opera. 

Dad was the youngest son of seven siblings in his family, and the first to go to college. His older brother Jonghwan never made it past 8th grade but later became a business success. Jonghwan demonstrated his talent for spotting rewarding investments early on, when he bought a used phonograph from a departing Japanese officer.

The brothers listened to one of the vinyl records that came with the record player, and Jonghwan explained the program behind Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony. Dad said he had never heard anything so beautiful in his life, and he was hooked.

Dad developed his own incredible operatic tenor voice by singing while he walked to and from school, or while he worked in the fields on his family’s farm. “We all sang,” Dad said. “That’s what you did back then.

But there’s singing and then there’s singing. According to family lore, Dad’s own father was renowned for his voice, and was chosen as their village’s lead singer, responsible for the musical numbers during elaborate rituals that accompanied funeral processions, for instance. Dad unfortunately never heard his own father sing, because “adult men were not supposed to sing in front of underlings; i.e., children.”

My dad, Sanghwan Lew, singing “O Shenandoah” at the Shannondell Holiday concert, age 89

Later, after emigrating to America, Dad courted the beautiful, brilliant Korean emigre who would become his wife, by serenading her with “O Sole Mio” from the middle of Lake Champlain, Vermont -- well, that’s for another story.

Fast-forward a couple decades to Ohio, where my parents raised my two brothers, my sister and me. If Dad thought we were sleeping in too long on a Sunday morning (say, past 7:30 a.m.) he would blast La Traviata or La Boheme from the stereo system. By this time, I had already begun to seriously play the piano, encouraged in part by Dad’s interest. Even after a long day at work, he would sit down while I practiced and quietly listen -- never making a comment or giving advice, simply listening. My first public performance was accompanying my dad when he sang “The Old Rugged Cross” in front of the big, largely white congregation at Lockwood United Methodist Church, first in English, then in Korean.

Eventually, my parents’ assessment was that I lacked the discipline to become a professional pianist. Despite my teenage performances, scholarships and awards, I just didn’t like to practice that much.

I preferred to sight-read reams of Broadway scores, the Great American Songbook, and especially “The Big Book of Grand Opera,” complete with synopses and illustrations.

Now here I am, about to embark on a new career, as Radio Host for the Metropolitan Opera.

It was thrilling, after the tragedy and shutdown of a long pandemic, to see and hear the Met Orchestra and Chorus and soloists perform Verdi’s Requiem last week, on the 20th anniversary of 9/11, on PBS and Sirius-XM.

“Yanni worth the whole thing,” Dad texted my siblings and me after the last ovation.

Dad was blown away by Music Director Yannick Nezet-Seguin’s memorization of the score, his singing and mouthing all the words, by his energy, and by the performance he was able to draw from the double chorus, the orchestra and the four soloists. The Met’s performance of Verdi gave Dad new vitality and a spring to his step -- bad knees and the travails of 90-some years forgotten.

This gives me hope I can entice my dad from the ease of his retirement home here in PA up to the Met for some Verdi this season -- either Rigoletto or Don Carlos. 

But, If a trip to Lincoln Center will be too chaotic or grueling for him, knowing that Dad can stay at home and listen to the live performance from his favorite chair, is a huge comfort to me. And knowing that I’ll be speaking directly to my Dad and to the millions of listeners who tune in to the Met live broadcasts -- maybe you, your Mom or Dad, brother or sister, or friend among them -- well, that brings tears to my eyes.

I can’t wait to bring you the power and the joy of opera on the radio!

Dad and the next generation of family opera lovers