“His influence on me was never in inflection or in voice. What drew me to him was that hearing his voice, I could tell he was very lonesome, very alone and very lost in his time. That`s why I dug him.” ~Bob Dylan (About Woody Guthrie)
To say that I never think about quitting singing would be to lie. It pops into my head often. It pops into my head when I have to transfer funds from my savings account to pay for a lesson or coaching. It pops into my head when I go to routinely check my email and an audition rejection is waiting for me that I wasn’t prepared for mentally. It pops into my head when I am out with friends and can only have one drink because of that perennial reason: “I have to sing tomorrow”. Sometimes it just pops into my head when I am brushing my teeth in the morning and thinking about the grueling, overscheduled day ahead of me. It pops into my head when I realize how masochistic our field really is.
Being a classical singer involves inviting people to scrutinize and criticize intensely personal aspects of one’s being on a regular basis and it means giving up a lot to do so. I am aware that I have made compromises in my life to make this goal of classical singing a priority and I don’t always take these compromises with the grace or gratitude that I should. After all, I do have a good day job, and I have made it through what we all hope to be the worst of these economic times. I have a wonderful support system of singers and non-singers alike.
A combination of things seems to have me reflecting on my career and its path as of late. The foremost reason is probably that I performed in three fully staged operas back to back between October and April with quite a bit of extra gigging. When at New Year’s, I might have been reflecting on my life, like many others, I was simply not. So maybe it’s this late spring that has me thinking about rebirth, or maybe it’s simply the fact that summer is my absolute favorite season and I am looking forward to savoring it and want to be able to do so; you know, like the real people do. Fortunately I think I am able to. I have a wonderful opportunity to sing an alumni recital at my college in September. This means I get a full excuse to focus on my beloved art song instead of opera for a change and it’s all a program of my choosing with no parameters.
I had one of these “…aaaah…” moments today in my voice lesson- one of those that reminded me of why I do what I do. Sometimes even having a voice lesson stressful, because I beat myself up if my week's practice isn't effective enough. Sometimes, if I have a lot of rep to learn, I am anxious about making sure I make the most of the money I pay for lessons. But this wonderful moment can happen in a lesson, as it did for me today. Often in performances I can get so caught up in the extraneous influences that seem to come upon me, that it is rare for me to recognize these moments when I am really in it.
I was singing Richard Strauss today- a song that I absolutely love. It's a song about romance and memories set amidst a celebration and is scented with all of that sensuality. Of course, because I haven’t sung it in a lesson in a while, I had my head up my ass worrying about the placement and size of the sound. My teacher, who does in fact do a lot of talking about placement and breathing, (as she should), stopped me and had me sing everything again. She asked me for something different. “It’s a personal song and only comes across if you bring yourself to it,” she said. This is certainly a neo-Romantic sentiment, but a true one. Well, I found the moment I was looking for at the end of the song. The things in the room changed for me. The objects of the room, the piano, the pianist, and me, melted away and became song. For me this means I felt the sound of it all in my body the way I hear it in my head. It was the way I believe the poet and composer intended it. Very little can be more gratifying, and the only thing that could make this moment better would be to share it with an audience. These are the moments that keep me coming back to music. More than the technical details, these are the moments I should strive for in performance. This is a hard lesson to learn and hold onto though. As my teacher told me: “That was you. We heard you come through there and that’s how you’ll remember how to sing this."
Being a classical singer involves inviting people to scrutinize and criticize intensely personal aspects of one’s being on a regular basis and it means giving up a lot to do so. I am aware that I have made compromises in my life to make this goal of classical singing a priority and I don’t always take these compromises with the grace or gratitude that I should. After all, I do have a good day job, and I have made it through what we all hope to be the worst of these economic times. I have a wonderful support system of singers and non-singers alike.
A combination of things seems to have me reflecting on my career and its path as of late. The foremost reason is probably that I performed in three fully staged operas back to back between October and April with quite a bit of extra gigging. When at New Year’s, I might have been reflecting on my life, like many others, I was simply not. So maybe it’s this late spring that has me thinking about rebirth, or maybe it’s simply the fact that summer is my absolute favorite season and I am looking forward to savoring it and want to be able to do so; you know, like the real people do. Fortunately I think I am able to. I have a wonderful opportunity to sing an alumni recital at my college in September. This means I get a full excuse to focus on my beloved art song instead of opera for a change and it’s all a program of my choosing with no parameters.
I had one of these “…aaaah…” moments today in my voice lesson- one of those that reminded me of why I do what I do. Sometimes even having a voice lesson stressful, because I beat myself up if my week's practice isn't effective enough. Sometimes, if I have a lot of rep to learn, I am anxious about making sure I make the most of the money I pay for lessons. But this wonderful moment can happen in a lesson, as it did for me today. Often in performances I can get so caught up in the extraneous influences that seem to come upon me, that it is rare for me to recognize these moments when I am really in it.
I was singing Richard Strauss today- a song that I absolutely love. It's a song about romance and memories set amidst a celebration and is scented with all of that sensuality. Of course, because I haven’t sung it in a lesson in a while, I had my head up my ass worrying about the placement and size of the sound. My teacher, who does in fact do a lot of talking about placement and breathing, (as she should), stopped me and had me sing everything again. She asked me for something different. “It’s a personal song and only comes across if you bring yourself to it,” she said. This is certainly a neo-Romantic sentiment, but a true one. Well, I found the moment I was looking for at the end of the song. The things in the room changed for me. The objects of the room, the piano, the pianist, and me, melted away and became song. For me this means I felt the sound of it all in my body the way I hear it in my head. It was the way I believe the poet and composer intended it. Very little can be more gratifying, and the only thing that could make this moment better would be to share it with an audience. These are the moments that keep me coming back to music. More than the technical details, these are the moments I should strive for in performance. This is a hard lesson to learn and hold onto though. As my teacher told me: “That was you. We heard you come through there and that’s how you’ll remember how to sing this."
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