Victor Ryan Robertson has done it all: brought the house down on the world’s grandest stages, dominated opera and Broadway, and, sure, even dipped his toes into the rock music scene. He’s what you call a “force in the industry,” but if we’re being real, he’s also a one-man genre-blending machine.
In 2023, he made history as the first performer to debut at the Kennedy Center, the Metropolitan Opera, and Broadway all in the same year — yes, you read that right. Not many can say that. That same year, Robertson returned to the Met to sing in “The Life and Times of Malcolm X,” which earned him a 2023 Grammy nomination.
His last season was just as loaded, with a Seattle Opera debut in “Die Zauberflöte,” a world premiere of “This House” at Opera Theatre of St. Louis, and an upcoming role in “La Cenerentola” at Bass Performance Hall for the Fort Worth Opera’s season finale on April 25 at 7:30 p.m. and April 27 at 2:00 p.m.
We recently had a chance to chat with this one-time rocker and tennis player about why he chose the operatic path over his many professional prospects.
Fort Worth Magazine: Let’s start at the beginning — what first drew you to opera?
Victor Ryan Robertson: I was in a rock band. I had just dropped out of college — full tennis scholarship, burnt out playing six hours a day. So I joined this band, played small clubs across the Southeast. One night at an acoustic gig, this music professor from Georgia State heard me sing. She pulled me aside and said, ‘You should train with me. I think you’ve got something.’ I had zero desire to sing classical music. None. But I did want to grow as a vocalist. That’s how it all started.
FWM: Coming from a rock background, what techniques helped you make that leap vocally?
VRR: Honestly, survival. We didn’t have monitors back then. I had to project without blowing my voice. I guess I lucked out with a natural technique. I was singing Zeppelin, Queensrÿche, Rush — if you can survive those night after night, you’re halfway to opera without even knowing it (laughs).
FWM: Who were your early influences — on stage or off?
VRR: Sting. Always Sting. He doesn’t even sing with vibrato, which is wild coming from opera, but I loved his tone, his phrasing. And I actually got to work with him a couple years ago. That was full circle. But the moment I really understood opera? Hearing Pavarotti for the first time. My teacher played him for me, and I just sat there — jaw dropped. It was like hearing Whitney Houston: doesn’t matter where you’re from or what you listen to, you know when it’s perfection.
FWM: Do you have a warmup ritual before going on stage? Something you swear by?
VRR: Always. Before I sing anything, I go back to this book of 25 Italian songs — Volume I and II. My mentor made me sing two of them before every lesson. They’re light, lyrical, but deceptively complex. They wake up the voice, the agility, the brain. I still do that. Some singers think it’s old school, but for me, it’s like vocal WD-40.
FWM: You were nominated for a Grammy for ‘The Life and Times of Malcolm X.’ What did that role mean to you?
VRR: Everything. I remember watching Spike Lee’s ‘Malcolm X’ as a kid — I was hypnotized. I tracked down all Malcolm’s speeches, read every book I could. So when I finally got to sing that opera, it hit deep. The scene with “the chickens coming home to roost” speech is written so high, so intense — it gave me nightmares. But that piercing sound matched the message. The pain, the power, all in the music.
FWM: Was that your most challenging role so far?
VRR: No question Malcolm X. It was the most challenging, most rewarding role. We opened in Detroit — the birthplace of the Nation of Islam — and members from the Nation came to see the show. They wanted to know if we were presenting them respectfully. Turns out, Louis Farrakhan himself came backstage. That was surreal. Beyond surreal.
FWM: As a Black tenor in a traditionally Eurocentric art form, how have you navigated opera?
VRR: I grew up in the deep South. You either drown or swim, and I learned to swim early. Tennis taught me how to move in worlds where I didn’t ‘belong.’ So when I came to opera, the digs didn’t bother me. One director tried to send me for coffee during a break. I just said, ‘I’m getting one too — anyone else want one?’ Killed the tension. I’ve faced my share of ignorance, but I’ve never let it define me.
FWM: Do you feel a responsibility to pave the way for other artists of color in opera?
VRR: I do. But not in a preachy way. Just by showing up and thriving. It’s like tennis — no Russian players, then [Maria] Sharapova breaks through, and now they’re everywhere. Same thing here. I’m one of many Black and brown tenors now making noise. That visibility matters.
FWM: What’s your approach to rehearsing a new role?
VRR: Depends on the show. I just did ‘The Magic Flute’ in Seattle — super detailed, bar-by-bar rehearsals. Took a week to get through a scene. Now I’m in Fort Worth, and we staged ‘La Cenerentola’ in two days. Two days! That was wild. But it let us go back and layer in the nuance later. Next, I’m headed to St. Louis for a world premiere inside a literal house. That one’s going to be physical — movement-heavy, site-specific. So it’s always shifting.
FWM: And when you revisit roles, how do you keep them fresh?
VRR: Honestly? You don’t do them too often. You’ll lose your mind. But when the production changes — say you’re doing ‘La Bohème’ but set it post-WWII with GIs and rollerblades? It feels brand new. That’s the magic. More opera companies are getting bold like that, trying to pull in new audiences. I love it.
