Dr. Simon Lobelson –– Internationally peripatetic operatic baritone, educator, conductor, adjudicator, polyglot (3.75 languages), opera nerd, tremendous drinking companion and tireless contributor to the noble cause of vocal self-improvement, mostly in others. 

Born in Sydney to Egyptian parents and whisked off to Brussels before he could develop an Australian accent, Dr. Simon Lobelson has spent his life gallivanting across four continents, singing 95 operatic roles with an unbroken record of arriving at the theatre just in time for curtain up, somehow convincing people to pay him for it. Audiences leave his performances either dazzled or confused, critics are left scrambling for new adjectives, and his neighbours have filed noise complaints that, frankly, should be framed.

His repertoire stretches from the baroque to “that thing the composer wrote last Tuesday” and critics have been kind enough to say nice things about him in print, earning him at least three good reviews — which he keeps laminated in his wallet.

A graduate of Sydney University (First Class Honours) and the Royal College of Music (Distinction – because anything less would apparently be shameful), Simon has sung for some of the most intimidating acronyms and cultural powerhouses in the business: ROH, ENO, OA, OQ, QSO, TSO, SCO, ECO, SSO, and ensembles whose names are impossible to pronounce unless you’ve spent time in a German or Dutch rehearsal room. He never alas sang at the famous New York Met, following a botched audition opportunity by his English agent, and he probably wouldn’t be heard from the upper circle there anyway. He’s worked with conductors so famous they’re basically one-name celebrities (Boulez, Dutoit, Bonynge, Reuss, Halsey), some of whom still speak to him, and has recorded for labels people pretend to have heard of, because someone thought his voice should be preserved for posterity.

He towers at an impressive 5’7” and despite having been advised by a London agency to “focus on roles for short people”, his operatic conquests include Amfortas, Escamillo, Rigoletto, Germont, Ford, Alberich, Nick Shadow, Don Alfonso and other tallish men with trust issues. His most celebrated roles range from the psychologically unstable and deeply disturbed to the severely comic (with absolutely nothing in between) – mainly because he is incapable of comporting himself on stage with any skerrick of professionalism. Always a ‘yes man’, he has been paid to engage in the most outrageous acts on stage (other than his singing) such as smoking; drinking real beer; snorting [fake] cocaine; using racial profanities; hanging upside down while singing; smashing violins to smithereens; singing in a glass box full of mist; raping someone in a cage; administering water torture; being fellated by a male ballet dancer; shooting people through the head at point blank range; shaving people; cross-dressing (not just once); singing in a bath tub (thankfully wearing underwear); stabbing; being stabbed to death; playing Prince Andrew; playing an abusive Nazi alcoholic father; and dancing. Refusing to be put in a box, he has straddled roles from the Fachs of dramatic baritone, Verdi baritone, lyric baritone, Bariton Martin, Kavallier baritone, buffo, Broadway baritone, bass-baritone, bass, unclassifiable five-octave twentieth century baritone roles, and even Baroque tenor. A jack of all trades, but master of none: like a dog chasing a stick in a park. He is a champion of contemporary opera with a passion usually reserved for obscure vinyl and untranslatable poetry — mostly because it’s harder for critics to say he’s doing it wrong if he’s the first person to sing it. He is especially fond of making contemporary opera sound like it was actually worth composing, partly because no one can tell him “that’s not how it’s done” if he’s the first person ever to sing it.  His performance in Metamorphosis for Opera Australia was so well-received that it earned him a Helpmann Award nomination, which he didn’t win — because it’s important to stay humble. His career is indeed impressive until you realise he’s just been avoiding a real job for decades.

Simon is also an academic specialist in contemporary opera and its vocal demands, about which he talks at terrifyingly prestigious conferences (Vienna, for instance). He is a delightfully dry and sardonic adjudicator for major singing competitions, has led masterclasses in Australia and China, conducted world premieres, and is fluent in almost 3.75 European languages — the “almost” because sometimes Italian nouns have gender for no reason, and being a highly progressive soul, he refuses to play along.

When not conquering a stage somewhere, Simon lectures in voice and opera the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, terrifying and inspiring the next generation of singers with his critically constructive (read: brutally honest) teaching style and navigating his job there constantly on the brink of cancellation. As part mentor and part tormentor, Simon is known for being erudite, urbane, holistic, decisive, and “critically constructive,” which is code for “I will tell you the truth about your singing, and you may thank me later.” He is fearless of being disliked – just ask his children. Simon’s feedback is legendary for being “brutally honest with a side of charm” — which usually means you’ll leave questioning your life choices but also wondering how you ever lived without his advice, so when he tells you your vibrato sounds like a washing machine or you sound like nine cats with their tails caught in a car door, you listen. While Simon’s protégés may not yet sweep the grand competitions or grace the roster of La Scala, he devotes himself to nurturing singers whose voices endure with health and authenticity, whose sound reflects their true age, and whose character matches their artistry – because at the end of the day, nobody really wants to work with an insufferable philistine.