Renee Fleming gracefully carries the mantle of "the people's diva"

Can you be a monarch of high culture and still do The View? If you're Renee Fleming, effortlessly. The reigning queen of the Metropolitan Opera, Fleming has proved that you can be gifted with supreme chops, receive international accolades, and yet still come across as down-to-earth—even if you're occasionally endorsing Rolex watches and wearing Dior gowns. 

Sometimes called (without irony) "the people's diva," the renowned lyric soprano was born in Indiana, Pa., and raised in upstate New York. But those modest roots are belied by the fact that both her parents were music educators. Fleming's own higher training eventually took her to the Eastman School of Music and Juilliard, plus years of study in Europe.

So there's nothing at all plebeian about her musical pedigree, unless you count fronting a jazz trio in her younger, pre-diva days—which Fleming herself does not. 

"My early years in jazz affected my singing," Fleming says by telephone, in a conversation too brief for the warmth she exudes. "It opened me up to improvisational aspects and a certain freedom—or subtle liberties. But I'd say my main influences are outside of music. Art, theater, meeting new people—those keep my head above the water."

Indeed, Fleming, who will perform Friday at Ingram Hall on a five-city tour, has ventured into numerous populist venues with her creamy, full-throated soprano. These include collaborations with pop artists Joe Jackson and Michael Bolton, the soundtrack of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, and grand public occasions such as the Obama inaugural.

Yet she's also a highly respected public personality, whether as a literacy advocate for the American Library Association, as a well-received author (The Inner Voice, 2004), or even as the inspiration for Nashvillian Ann Patchett's acclaimed novel Bel Canto. She has become perhaps the first opera superstar of the YouTube age, which gives her pause. 

"Just trying something out nowadays is impossible," Fleming says. "I really feel for the younger singers. You can be captured with a camera-phone anywhere in the world—even in China—and it's immediately uploaded."

Few performers have so little to fear, though, from getting caught on camera. Especially since Fleming has previously sung every selection on her Blair recital card—if not on one of the CDs in her seemingly endless discography, then in previous live concerts. 

"The program is the key," she says. "I suffer over that. You want to include something for everyone, but there are also expectations based on who I am. Actually, I'm concerned about the stamina required. I hope I haven't bitten off more than I can chew." 

That seems unlikely. The selection of Handel (one of her specialties) includes a gentle ballad from Semele—"Oh sleep, why dost thou leave me?"—well suited to Fleming's beautifully round open tones; the meditative "Calm thou, my soul..." from the oratorio Alexander Balus; and "Endless pleasure," a joyous vocal workout and a signature Fleming crowd-pleaser. 

There's also the nine-minute song cycle Le Temps L'horloge—by turns quiet and mysterious—composed expressly for Fleming by Henri Dutilleux. The first half of the program concludes with "A Letter From Sullivan Ballou," for which Broadway tunesmith John Kander (Chicago) set to music a Civil War soldier's impassioned 1861 missive to his wife, written a week before his death at the first Battle of Bull Run.   

After intermission, Fleming tackles four Richard Strauss pieces—"He's my desert island composer," she says—three of which appear on her 2008 CD Four Last Songs. The dramatically dolorous "Sola, perduta, abbandonata" ("Alone, lost, forsaken") from Puccini's Manon Lescaut is next, followed by the brief but achingly tender "O mio Babbino caro," from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi.

The program concludes with "Ier dalla fabbrica," from Act 1 of Riccardo Zandonai's lesser-known Conchita. Its selection indicates Fleming's coming focus on the verismo repertoire, for which a future recording date is planned.  

Throughout, Fleming will be accompanied on solo piano by Germany's Hartmut Höll. "He was one of my teachers," she says. "He's the most imaginative pianist." 

Fleming has a few other hills to climb within the operatic repertoire. In that busy world, where bookings are planned six and seven years in advance, she still has her eye on two roles she's yet to play: Ariadne in Strauss's Ariadne auf Naxos, and Elsa in Wagner's Lohengrin.

At the same time, she must juggle those ambitions with being a single mother. Daughters Amelia, 16, and Sage, 13, travel with her a lot.

"We've been all over the world together," says Fleming. "The Beijing Olympics, Japan, Australia, the Galapagos Islands. That's the exchange they get for me not being there every day." 

Fleming turned 50 on Valentine's Day—a benchmark for anyone, but an even more reflective milestone perhaps for someone whose livelihood and persona are so wrapped up in her vocal instrument. Fleming feels as strong as ever. 

"I'm waiting to see if things will change," she says. "But people are so much fitter and younger these days. I see my contemporaries in other fields, and they just don't slow down, even people in their 80s. Look at Tony Bennett. If you're feeling good and people want to hear you, why stop?" 

Email arts@nashvillescene.com.