Jarvus Ricardo Hester is thinking about opera beyond the traditional theater. As the founder of Harlem Collective Opera, he is exploring how classical music can become more intimate, accessible, and connected to the communities it serves. At the heart of that work is the Black Composer Project, an exploration of Black art song that has grown into something larger than a collection of repertoire.

What began with a search for songs evolved into a narrative about identity, self-love, freedom, and the process of confronting the histories that shape us. Hester’s approach also reflects a broader interest in the ways technology can expand the possibilities of classical performance, while keeping the artist and the human experience at its center.

That philosophy extends throughout the growing Harlem Collective Opera ecosystem, which encompasses performance, radio, television, publishing, education, and partnerships with HBCUs and other institutions. For Hester, these projects are not separate ventures but interconnected ways of creating opportunities, amplifying Black voices, and bringing audiences closer to the people behind the art.

OperaWire spoke to Hester about the personal experiences that shaped his artistic mission, his evolving approach to storytelling and technology, and his vision for building a cultural institution that reaches far beyond the opera house.

OperaWire: What is the Black Composer Project? What inspired it?

Jarvus Ricardo Hester: The mission here at Harlem Collective Opera is to make opera and classical music more tangible to the masses—not just the one percent who can afford it.

After years of trying to find a theater home that fit our needs and felt like home, we decided to look back to the Harlem Renaissance and the great poets who performed in salons. Langston Hughes and the artists of that era understood the power of bringing art directly into intimate spaces.

I thought, why not introduce opera and classical music to small groups of people in a more intimate setting? And why not celebrate African American composers while doing that? I started thinking about what might be the most non-threatening and welcoming type of classical music, and kept coming back to art song.

During my years at North Carolina School of the Arts, I sang a lot of art song. Pieces like William Grant Still’s “Grief” really had an impact on my development as a lyric tenor. I felt a strong pull to celebrate those composers.

So we began compiling a list of our favorite Black art songs.

Then something remarkable happened. We realized the songs were telling a story. The first cycle is a collection of love songs—but it’s not about falling in love with somebody else. It’s about falling in love with yourself. It’s about learning to love the shadow parts of yourself, the Black parts of yourself, and the parts that society may have taught you to reject. Traditional art song often presents love as something external. But in order to truly embrace and experience love, you have to love yourself. So these songs create a story about inward discovery and learning to love yourself while also confronting ideas of slavery and bondage. There is a parallel between loving yourself and setting yourself free from those ancient chains.

OW: What was the reaction to it? How do you hope to develop it further?

JRH: The reaction has been really remarkable because people are discovering that classical music doesn’t have to feel distant or inaccessible. It can be deeply personal.

I want to continue developing the project into a larger platform for Black composers, artists, students, and communities to experience this music together.

OW: Who are some of the composers you honored through the project and how did you arrive at this group?

JRH: We chose these pieces from an anthology of Black art songs. We were looking specifically for songs that could contribute to the emotional journey we wanted to create.

The composers include Florence Price, H. Leslie Adams, Margaret Bonds, Mark Fax, and Undine Smith Moore, among others. The composers have a very personal meaning for me. When I was at North Carolina School of the Arts, there were no other Black tenors around me in the way I needed. I didn’t really have someone to aspire to or work alongside who looked like me. That made me feel unsupported.

I think developing your artistry in an environment where you don’t see anyone who looks like you can take you in two directions. You can become bitter or better. I chose better.

I thought, I’m going to change things so there are more opportunities for young boys like me.

North Carolina School of the Arts is a predominantly white institution, and there were experiences where I didn’t feel that there was space for a Black lyric tenor to fully develop. I’m a lyric tenor. I sing romantic lead roles.

So for us, this is about celebrating our race and celebrating the artistry that we create. But it’s also about celebrating the family who supports the artist—the genealogy, heritage, and community that come out of that artistry. We’re interested in telling the whole story.

Too many times, we’ve given the authority of storytelling to other people. They’ve told our story, and too often that story has been one of tragedy rather than triumph. That’s not an authentic story of Black people.

That’s also why The Yard is important to us. We’re developing partnerships with HBCUs across the country and providing opportunities for students to share their stories and demonstrate the totality of Black college life. We want people to see that our kids go to college. They study to become doctors, lawyers, media professionals, artists, musicians, and leaders. We want to show the totality of our community.

OW: How can this project make opera more tangible and accessible?

For me, there are two kinds of tangibility.

The first is digital accessibility. Everything we create is broadcast through our Mood Television ecosystem. That makes the experience available to anyone with an internet connection. Most opera companies aren’t approaching accessibility in quite that way.

The other kind of tangibility happens when you’re physically in the room. When you’re at the Metropolitan Opera House, you don’t necessarily hear the singer breathe. You don’t hear the singer and pianist preparing the breath together. You don’t hear the consonants and vowels in the same intimate way.

With us, you do. It’s close. It’s intimate. You’re experiencing the physicality of the voice.

I think that’s a much more approachable first experience than being in a room with thousands of people when you don’t understand what’s happening.

We’re also producing material in English so that the first introduction is something people can comprehend. But it’s not just about translating the words. The storytelling behind the English is thoughtful. We want people not only to listen and enjoy the music, but to think and have conversations.

We want someone to leave saying: Did you see this? Did you hear that? What did you experience? What did you take away? That’s what tangible means to me. It’s creating a connection between the person and the art.

OW: You implemented AI in this project. What are some of the parameters you established for using the tool so that it inspires creativity instead of blunting it?

JRH: AI helps us with the storyline, but it also helps us find the tools we need to tell that story well. For example, we wanted to create the visual concept of the shadow—learning to love the shadow, chasing the shadow, running from the shadow, and eventually allowing light to enter the shadow. AI helped us identify the tools we could use to create those visuals.

Each piece has a visual storyline unfolding while the singer is singing. The visual connects the lyrics to the larger story. We’ve taken approximately 10 or 11 pieces and pieced them together to tell a very cohesive storyline—almost like an opera or operetta—but through song, piano, voice, and AI-generated video.

You might see streaming ribbons. You might see a shadow running. You might see light shining into that shadow. The technology is helping us create a visual language that supports the music.

But the artist remains the storyteller. AI is a tool for helping us realize the vision. It isn’t replacing the artistic vision.

OW: Tell me about WHRL Mood Radio Harlem. How did that project come about?

JRH: All of our media platforms are about taking back ownership of the narrative and telling an authentic story. WHRL Mood Radio Harlem is about telling our story while broadcasting classical music all day long. We call it “Curate Your Mood” because music has such a powerful ability to enhance or change your mood. Classical music also has a range of potential benefits related to literacy, cognitive function, concentration, and well-being.

So throughout the day we’re encouraging listeners to take control of their environment and their mood—to calm down, center themselves, and listen. But while they’re listening, they’re also connecting to our story. They’re learning about Harlem Collective Opera. They’re learning about Harlem Boys Choir. They’re learning about Harlem Chamber Orchestra. They’re learning how they can volunteer, participate, attend productions, and become part of what’s happening.

Everything we create is recorded and packaged, so we needed a place to distribute the content we’re producing.

It made sense that if the magazine is telling our story, we also needed a radio station to broadcast and amplify that story.

So you might read an article in Mood Magazine and be directed to WHRL Mood Radio for more information. Or you might hear something on WHRL and be directed back to the magazine. Or we might tell you to watch the story on Mood Television. It’s an ecosystem.

Everything is working together to fund and support the arts in Harlem.

OW: Tell me more about Mood Magazine NYC and what inspired that project?

JRH: This goes back to the foundation, which is regaining ownership of our narrative and telling the most authentic stories. Mood Magazine was created to amplify the totality of the artist. Too many times, people see an opera singer standing on a stage, but that’s all they see.

They don’t see rehearsals. They don’t see fittings. They don’t see eating, fitness, travel, or all the other things that make up the lifestyle of an artist. We wanted to tell that whole story.

Mood Magazine is a tool we use to amplify our stories while improving the lives of our readers. We cover health and wellness, fitness, fashion, beauty, food, travel, faith, community, and culture. Because that’s part of the lifestyle of an artist.

And we want to celebrate not only our art, but the art and businesses of our community. We want to build economic development within our community by supporting each other and amplifying our unified voice. We also want to entice people to come to New York. When you arrive, we’re going to tell you the best places in Harlem to experience. We’ve curated resources around African American-owned businesses in Harlem and New York because we want to present the community as a complete experience.

Everything on our website is designed to be beautiful. The photographs. The stories. The experiences. It’s about aspiration and living well. I believe art improves your life. Looking at a beautiful painting makes your life a little more beautiful. Listening to opera makes your life more beautiful. Walking through a beautiful neighborhood makes your life more beautiful. So we curate experiences around that idea.

We’re also developing Mood Adventures, partnering with cities a few hours away that can provide opportunities to escape the city, decompress, and experience something different. We’re taking the energy of Harlem into those markets.

OW: How do you find the balance in maintaining and developing all of these projects? What are the challenges?

The thing is, they all work together. They don’t work by themselves. They work together. That’s why it works.

Right now we’re doing the Black Composer Project with a singer and a pianist. That’s our intimate core programming. Then we take that programming out into the community—to churches, HBCUs, and predominantly white institutions that host us.

We can bring the Harlem Chamber Orchestra and Harlem Boys Choir into that larger audience experience.

When Harlem Chamber Orchestra performs, Harlem Boys Choir and Harlem Collective Opera can be part of it.

When Harlem Collective Opera performs, Harlem Boys Choir and Harlem Chamber Orchestra can be part of it.

Then Mood Magazine promotes everything. WHRL Mood Radio amplifies it. Mood Television captures and broadcasts the content.

Everything is created under one umbrella and works cohesively to tell one authentic story.

So I’m not really balancing a bunch of unrelated projects. I’m building an ecosystem where every part supports another part. And I’m very fortunate that I’m not building it alone.

OW: Who are the people supporting you in building these endeavors?

JRH: We have a vibrant Board of Directors that supports the vision and helps guide the organization as we grow. Their support is incredibly important because we’re not simply creating artistic projects—we’re building a sustainable cultural institution. We also have more than 20 volunteer writers who help create Mood Magazine. We have 12 pianists supporting the Black Composer Project this season. And we’re introducing those pianists to the public through an event called “The Pianist.” It’s going to be a Facebook Live event where people can meet the pianists who are part of our season, hear them play, and hear me sing portions of the repertoire.

That’s another example of what we’re trying to do: let people meet the people behind the art.

Don’t just see the pianist’s name in a program. Meet the pianist. Hear them talk. Watch them play. Understand who they are.

We also have advertisers and business partners investing in what we’re building, including Yarn and Whiskey, CG Normal, and Shermane Melton. We have a hotel partnership with Courtyard Marriott that offers a 10 percent discount for people traveling in to experience our programming. And through partnerships with Enterprise and National Rental Car, travelers can receive 15 percent discounts on rental cars. Those relationships are important because we’re not simply saying, Come see a show.

We’re saying: Come experience the ecosystem. Come to New York. Stay here. Eat here. Experience the culture. See the performance. Read the magazine. Listen to WHRL. Watch Mood Television. Meet the artists. And become part of the community.

That’s what we’re building. The people are the ecosystem.

OW: Tell me about yourself and how you became involved in the world of opera?

My earliest memory of singing is actually something I was told by my choir director at church. I was three-years-old, and after we finished a Christmas production, I apparently said: “Let’s take it on the road.”

So I’ve apparently been thinking about expansion for a very long time.

My first professional experience was with Piedmont Opera in “La Bohème.” I was eight-years-old and performed in the children’s chorus. Someone had seen me performing in an Easter production at First Assembly in Winston-Salem and said, We need him. And I said yes.

That’s when I really started studying voice. I went to Southeastern Bible College, then Piedmont Bible College, and eventually North Carolina School of the Arts. My experience at North Carolina School of the Arts was not a pleasant experience.

And honestly, the reason I do the work I do today is because of that experience. The environment was very toxic. The arts are competitive, but I believe competition doesn’t have to mean cruelty.

One of the things I strive to create at Harlem Collective Opera is a safe, productive, constructive environment. As a singer, you’re extremely vulnerable. You’re putting your instrument out there for someone to critique, tear apart, and put back together. I believe words that tear down without the goal of building can come from personal insecurities and can create tremendous damage for a singer.

When I was in school, I didn’t feel that it was an environment where Black singers could really thrive, especially someone with my voice type. I’m a lyric tenor, which means I sing romantic lead roles. I didn’t really see myself getting those opportunities. And that affected my ability to pursue the career I could have pursued with the right experience and encouragement.

I also have to acknowledge that I was young and immature. I wasn’t necessarily ready to embark on that world.

Opera is a very unique and exclusive world, and if you don’t know the language of that world, it can be treacherous to navigate. That’s why I do the work I do today. I want to create a safe environment for African American artists. I also see what HBCUs are doing. They’re producing singers and musicians who don’t always have access to the operatic experience and infrastructure they need. We want to help support that.

Both of my parents are pastors, so I grew up in the church. I grew up singing gospel music and contemporary Christian music. I also attended a Southern Baptist Christian school, so I was exposed to Southern Baptist music as well. I won third place nationally in my high school’s vocal competition. I remember being disappointed because I wanted to win first. My classmates were amazed.

They were like, “Jarvus, do you realize what you’ve won?”

OW: Who are your inspirations?

JRH: Looking back, I’ve had many influences—gospel, classical music, sacred music, and the church. There are singers I think are extraordinary, including Leontyne Price, Jessye Norman, and Pavarotti. But I don’t know that I can point to one person and say, that’s my inspiration. Sometimes I think the experiences you have become your inspiration.

When I look back at what I’ve created, I think that if I had received the nurturing I needed in school, perhaps I wouldn’t have created what I’ve created. There wouldn’t have been the same need. So I’m grateful for the experience I received—even though it was difficult.

Even recently, we offered to bring the Black Composer Project to the campus, and we encountered a million roadblocks. Instead of embracing new work and supporting an alumnus of the university, there were obstacles. That’s disappointing. But it also points me back to why this work needs to exist.

We need to make people more aware of these extraordinary Black composers and their stories. Because the stories are inspirational. And the music we’re singing?

Oh my gosh. It’s gorgeous.