Stop complementing me

I have resolved to not go back to my coach until I’ve learned a new song. He needs to stop complementing me and start smacking me around with an orange in a sock (if I bruise, my voice teacher will just ask questions). He keeps praising me and telling me that I’m improving greatly on my songs. What’s the deal? I don’t pay him to be nice and compliment me. Apparently the songs were atrocious before. Ha. Well… all I can say is this is a new experience, having a coach. The new song must be damn good when I bring it to him, you know, little room for improvement.

Since I live in Queens I usually travel to Manhattan solely for work purposes. I work a lot. I’m in Manhattan a lot. Whenever I go to a coaching or lesson I consider them little outings. In Hell’s Kitchen, where my coach is, I have my favorite little pastry café and favorite Thai place. Over at Midtown west, where my teacher is, I can always walk by Carnegie Hall en route to the subway. Patelson’s is right around the corner, too. In the spring, summer and fall I try to allow time before my lessons to read in Central Park – a hop skip and a jump from my teacher’s studio. Once, back when I read The Hobbit, a man came up to me and told me how jealous he was that I was reading that book for the first time. We had a wonderful conversation about Bilbo and gang, then he pick-pocketed me. Just kidding, but he did ask me to buy a watch from the inside of his trench coat. Strange, when I reached in I couldn’t feel any metal…

Back to my point – well I didn’t have one but I am creating one now – when I think of these areas (and I do, often) I think of singing by association. It is such an important aspect of my life. I feel blessed to have the fortitude to sit down and practice after all the emotional baggage is shoved down on me.

Now. Let’s talk Patelson’s. I like to pretend I’m actually shopping around in Diagon Alley. They have everything. If they don’t have it in the front on display the staff magically conjures up a rare copy of the score you need in the back, as not to show off magic to us muggles, and brings it wrapped in sunshine to the front. How come I don’t go to the P.A. Library, you might wonder. That is an excellent question. I do not go there because the process of finding the exact score; photocopying the page straight from the book, while resisting the urge to rip the pages out; fighting with the nasty little soprano because her arms are longer and she can reach the copy faster than I; and remembering to go to the P.A. library, out of my way, on time to avoid late fees, would be something I assume has a likeness to the 7^th circle of hell.

Ending on a lighter note than the 7^th circle of hell, I recently found out that this little blog has a fan. Thanks, fan! Your comment was much appreciated.

Divas have feet, too!

It irks me to no end when somebody – anybody – feels it incumbent upon himself to let me know how hard the music business is. Really? Well, thank you. I had no idea that having my dreams crushed on a daily basis IS painful. Yes, I do indeed understand that the music business will be tough. I already find it hard and I’m only competing with myself at the moment. (To be fair though, I’m pretty tough competition!) Passion and love don’t necessarily equal blindness. Insanity? Probably, but not blindness.

I love Joyce DiDonato’s blog. Her gratitude project is very inspiring; it forces me to think of things I’m grateful for in my everyday life. Sometimes it doesn’t work and I find myself being sarcastically grateful for the 7 train being late, yet again, or the stench that is NYC, wafting up from goodness-knows-where. What I like most about her blog, aside form the stalker-like way I can find out about her life, is how real she seems. She is an actual person, not to be confused with a non-existent person(?). In one post that stood out to me she talked about walking home from a matinee and being able to experience the sunset. It is a grounding feeling to know that even divas live lives outside the stage that are slightly if not extremely synonymous with us regular folk. We’re all people. Of course, I knew this all the time but I honestly never thought about it. I can make it or I can not make it, but I will always have walks to take and sunsets to see. I can still find pleasure in the music – completeness. Needless to say her more recent post about watching the passion in the eyes of young performers made me cry. To recognize that passion in another human can be overwhelming. It is beautiful. So when someone tells me music is a hard business with a tone in his voice that clearly reads “get out now while you still have other options available to you – music won’t take me and I’m intensely bitter so if I can’t get the last slot on the VIP list you ain’t gonna get it,” I am highly offended. Music is not about “making it.” Music is about the music. It is about the passion it inspires deep inside and moves the performer to keep on practicing until the phrasing is flawless. That sense of accomplishment cannot be measured in zeroes.

To all who feel that we should be famous superstars in the field: take this “making it” business and shove it! I don’t need it.

Center of the nut house

Today I saw a red balloon floating in a subway tunnel. It was covered with sooty black smears, which leads me to believe it had traveled through a few tunnels before arriving – before my delayed 1 train – at 42^nd street. I wish I had my camera on me.

When I lived on 55^th street over on the East Side I would see some crazy characters a few times a week. Here are 2 of the most memorable:

1. Lingerie running man. Lingerie running man wore sneakers, short-shorts and a woman’s lingerie top while he jogged up Lexington in the early mornings. Sometimes a nipple would pop out the top of his frilly pink, classic V-cut. He never paid any attention to the stares. I wouldn’t think it practical to go jogging in lingerie, whether it is specifically designed for my sex or not. Barvo(a), my good man!

2. Robed bicyclist. Robed bicyclist rode on a pink children’s bike, complete with pink and white streamers coming off the handlebars. I’ve only ever seen him in an all white robe but I’ve heard rumors that he dressed in a business suit complete with a briefcase. Although his legs were too long and sometimes prevented him from building up the proper momentum to peddle, he didn’t let that stop him from taking on the commuter traffic from Lex to 3^rd. In the words of my mother, “wheels is wheels.”

The only pretty ring time

What a beautiful day. Oh springy weather, how I’ve longed for thee. Soon it will be warm enough to sit in the park and have picnics. I adore picnics. Ooh, and ice cream. Not that I didn’t eat ice cream all through the winter…

When it is beautiful out I hate being stuck indoors. Even to practice (or watch CSI). I’ve recently moved to new neighborhood but I’ve been too busy to actually get out and explore. The most I’ve done is make a trip to the library. Of course, there are the daily trips to and from the subway. I miss my old neighborhood terribly. It was an adorable little area, quaint, packed with tiny houses. Some of the mornings I’d walk through the hoppin’ part of Astoria. I didn’t leave my last apartment on the best of terms and I’m much better off at the new place. I keep telling myself that this is not permanent. Besides, I haven’t had time to fully assess the area. Perhaps I’ll have some time coming up in the next few weeks. Lately I’m just bogged down with singing and applications for school. I need to learn new rep. I’m growing restless with my pieces. Not only restless, but lackluster, too. Old mistakes are surfacing because I’m bored and I’m sick of working them to death. I told my coach that I wanted something dark and formidable. He laughed and then assigned me some Verdi. I like Verdi a lot. His songs are interesting to listen to and pretty fun to learn. I try not to listen to the pieces via recording. I find that it messes with my own interpretation of the music. I must settle for one-finger paying at my keyboard to learn the notes. My coach wants me to work the Verdi since he is anxious to see how my voice fits. He is adamant that I not a soprano. He doesn’t think I am a mezzo either. I ask him to elaborate: “So that leaves, what, tenor?” “No, sweetie (I love, love, love when people call me “sweetie,” “darling,” or “honey.” I have no idea why, but I get all warm and fuzzy inside.). Contralto.” “Say whaaaat?!” “I have a solid high C.” “That doesn’t matter.” Apparently I don’t know anything about anything. I thoroughly enjoy my coaching’s because #1 I get to practice with an extra pair of ears, #2 he is as hard on me as I am on myself so I make huge strides every lesson, #3 the man is just a riot and a pleasure to be around. For example he’ll tell me that I sort of funked up a line but he’ll do it in a rude but extremely funny manor. I appreciate his sense of humor. It makes me laugh rather than insults me. I like his playful banter because it forces me not take it so seriously. If I were to take his comments seriously I’d end up in tears 10 minutes through the sessions. Mostly it is funny because it is true. I do sound and look like I am a wind-up tin soldier when I am being extremely mechanical trying to prove that I have a rhythm correct. My body goes rigid and I lose focus of an interpretation I’m trying to convey in a lovey-dovey song – of course the sound follows suit. Although I think it is funny I won’t just stand there like an idiot and be insulted. He can have a sharp sting but I am bouncing back quicker and learning to defend myself against his razor he calls a tongue. It is beginning to work outside the practice room. For that, I am grateful.

Practice or CSI?

I love the show CSI (the original Las Vegas one with Grissom). That show is pretty much crack for me. Sometimes I’ll put it on with the intention of turning it off at the next commercial break so I can practice, alas, I never do. The lazy singer in me would like to give up this life of practice, practice, practice for a career in forensic science. That show is amazing. I can’t even begin to type my obsession. Naturally, my coach asked me about my singing over the last week. I can’t lie to this man. He always knows when I lie and he’ll rip me a new you know what hole if he senses deceit. This is good –keeps me on my toes and teaches me to be a better liar (just kidding). So I answered honestly. “You know, I didn’t get too much singing in over the past few days” “Okay… Well, how come?” “I’ve been hit with CSI fever. I can’t help it. It’s the addiction, not me, that puts a halt to my practicing.” “Ohh! (I prepare to be struck) Which one?!” “Huh? Uh – uh – Crime Scene Investigation. Vegas style.” “I loooove that show, too!” And there you go. Permission not to practice? I think yes. We’ll just see how my voice teacher takes this. Perhaps Gil Grissom can persuade her. He is very persuasive among other things, but that is for another post and quite possibly another blog.

My mother tells me I should just give up this singing business and go into forensics. Ha. Ha. I’m hip to your game, Mother. She sees a glimmer of hope that I’ll come to my senses and abandon this quest for a life of destitution & Ramen Noodles. Maybe I thought I saw it too? Nah, I’m not so lucky. I could aspire to become Grissom or Sara, but I’d end up sad that I’m not performing and I’m cleaning up other peoples messes. I already am at a loss for faith in my fellow man. A life as a CSI would run my fountain of faith dry. (Not that the music business would add to my fountain…)

Since I haven’t seen my voice teacher in a while, only my coach (sort of), I’ve just been lax about everything. I haven’t been practicing my breathing so I’m forever running out of breath in my Mozart piece. If I weren’t watching the boob-tube I could get it right. I need someone to hide my remote & then I’d be too lazy to get up and change the channel. I think it’ll only get worse as I intend to watch all of CSI from start to finish via Netflix. Of course this is something that can be practiced while indulging in crime shows. Again, I just don’t wanna! Its spring and I can’t think of any better way to spend it than inside my room in front of the television.

Some people are emotional eaters. I’m an emotional tube watcher. When things in my life do not go as I want them to go I retire to a place where all problems are solved at the end of an hour. Some of my emotions are coming from the rejection I’ve been feeling lately. It is so silly to feel this way but I’m a little more sensitive lately (with a touch of selfishness—a touch more than I usually have). Apparently I’m wearing a sign on my forehead that says “please stand me up. I quite enjoy it.” Or perhaps it is the one saying “no matter how much I might seem into you, I’m going to be cold and make it seem like I am not. Either way, I’m shy so please let this stand in your way.” The cancellation, no phone call, no contact for a few weeks doesn’t feel good. I am not emotionally involved, a major plus, but it still stinks. Also it is a shot to the ego. Then I’ve had some singing sessions canceled (in a row, 3 voice lessons cancelled and 2 voice coaching’s). I’m not upset in the slightest, mostly worried about the well-being of one, but I do miss my teacher and my coach. How silly to feel this vulnerable. On top of that my mother has been a little busy lately and she hasn’t had time to really chat. Not at all rejection but, in a way, the accumulation of everything is making me feel badly. I reiterate, silly, but when I watch CSI, that team working together and helping each other pull through I can’t help but be a little jealous and want to be a part of it. Perhaps this post should have been called “Cloudy with a chance of selfishness.”

What the fach?

The last few bars in “Von Ewiger Liebe” are going to be the end of me. I get my rhythm! I understand that at that point I am in 6/8. I understand how to count 6/8 and I hear the rhythm in my head, feel it in my body…as long as the accompaniment isn’t playing underneath me. I cannot feel the rhythm when I’m battling the urge to follow those darn rolling chords. Then I hold the “muss” for too long and the end is just a hot mess. Every time, without fail, I flub the ending. I need a vacation from Brahms.
My recording was a few weeks ago and this week I am finally taking some time away from lessons to relax and pressure myself into singing every day. I wanted to take some time off right after my recording but I was on the fence about it. My teacher talked me into taking a one day break to reward myself but getting back into it (including my lessons). There are reasons we should trust our gut instincts. I began to get cranky and I was tired. I was tired of the same mistakes I was making & tired of all 3 pieces. My teacher would tell me that I need to correct “x, y & z “ and I would just stand there fighting my hands from knocking over the music stand. How strange to be so hostile with one of the dearest people I know. When the stubborn child in my head began to stomp and refuse to even try I knew I needed some time completely away from singing. It was odd. I felt so normal, just like the other 19 yr. olds in the world.

Soprano or mezzo?
That will be the question. My voice teacher and coach say I am not, however, my voice teacher’s teacher insists that I am. I do not necessarily want to be a mezzo (except for the prospect of playing trouser roles, but that is on a different level). I do not dislike mezzo rep. nor do I think sopranos have a better sound. I don’t want my high notes to go away or be discredited. My teacher tells me as of now I could go either way. It is nice to know I’ve got options and thankfully (!) I’m not a soubrette so I’ll be cast in something at some point in my life. I admire the deep and dark sounds of a mezzo but I like the flexibility that sopranos have in their range. Of all the things that I’ve got to worry about, though, fach will not be one of them. Let it be.

procrastination

I only practiced for 2 hours tonight. I should have (honestly, would have) gone longer but my roommate came home and we are having landlord troubles. Ah, the joys of life as a semi-grown-up living in NY. I’ve been working on the Mozart recit like a wild girl. I’ve discovered a new level of hard in the Mozart recit. It is demanding in every way that something can be demanding. Breath support has to be flawless because improper breath inhalation or uneven distribution will not allow me to produce any sound in the last notes of those long ass phrases (how inappropriate to diminuendo when it clearly is not marked in the score!). And stupid intonation! I am forever going sharp in the entire Mozart piece. How is this possible when I drill the melody into my head night after night, hour after hour? I hate it. Damn, I love it so much. I’m 2 inches away from going to pieces. My recording is in less than a week & I’m trying not to think about it. I missed a lesson last week because my teacher had a conflict. I told her it was okay, but it totally wasn’t. I have a hard time telling people exactly how I feel, especially if it turns into a problem for the other person. Thus, I miss some quality singing time. I can’t make these wonderful sounds on my own. My A’s are squeaking and there is absolutely NO vibrato, and I’m developing new intonation problems. But I just need to let it go. If I don’t it’ll bring me one step closer to my meltdown. I hope I hold up until my recording.
I suppose this is just a rant, but I do need a good rant!
Everything has been locked up inside for so long because I’ve been trying to be strong and brave, but I don’t know for whom.
All problems and stress aside, I’ve been having the time of my life! I feel alive when I sing, important; I can bring something new to the world and inspire everyone who hears me to take risks and go after happiness, not complaisance. How enthralling to sing everyday and to work on what I love to pass my time here. Ya know what? I think I’ll make a career out of this! I’ve recently come to the conclusion that life is short. Too short, in fact, to spend good chunks of it wrapped up in activities that we feel lukewarm about. I’m going to have fun. (Of course, fun for me is practicing until my entire body is overcome with fatigue and I can lay down with a glass of cabernet and spend quality time with Virginia Woolf.) Goodbye not living up to my potential in academia guilt! I am free and it feels so good. I’ve also given myself permission to screw up royally & change my mind. These come in handy when I’m having a bad singing day. I tell myself I just need to get to the end of this piece, playing my part on the keyboard so it is in my head for the day the right way, and then I can live out my non-music fantasy that involves a used bookstore in a small New England town. Of course I won’t give it up, but it is nice to not force anything on myself. I appreciate it. It does the body & the voice good by relieving unnecessary tension.

I’m a person, too, gosh darn it! I don’t quite know how to end this post so I thought an excerpt from Bernstein would do the trick.

euphoria

Ice cream and singing.

Tonight I had a vocal coaching. I’m still frustrated with my slow progress (but really, it’s quite amazing progress, I’m just antsy). We tackled the recit. Mozart recits can be fun, in the “I cannot feel my larynx anymore, thanks” sense. I’ve been singing too much in my throat (not to be confused with “on the throat”) and producing a fog-horn-ish type sound. It’s all about keeping a balance. I can’t feel these changes I’m supposed to be making so I’m having difficulty. My coach came up with a great exercise to bring my sound more forward. It completely worked and it made the recit wonderfully easy – well, easier than it has been for me. We then applied it to the aria. I swear, this man is a genius. We’re also working on my vibrato. Hello burps!
My coachings are always an interesting experience. My coach is terrific. He gets wonderful sounds out of me. However, he is extremely hard on me. I don’t get compliments, which is a good thing [I keep telling myself], and I’m expected to do better than my best. I leave feeling odd. I feel so good about myself and so bad about myself at the same time. I feel good because it’s the best singing I’ve ever done. I feel bad because I was constantly reminded that I should be further along I am and how much I really don’t understand, musically. I am also physically tired from the insane amounts of energy I put in. (You try vocalizing for 3 hrs, you’ll fel like something black and curious on the subway platform.) I’m also feeling some vocal fatigue. Thus, ice cream and tea.
Yesterday I had my voice lesson. I was not in a singing mood so it was doomed to go badly. When I showed up my teacher wrote me a not saying she was on vocal rest for 3 days. She was singing high F’s along with her coughing fits and burst a blood vessle in her throat! Tisk, tisk. Its a good thing we’ve been together a while and I could understand a lot of her gestures. It was still draining, though. I wanted to knock over the music stand. I’m working on a Bernstein song from the “I hate music” cycle (the one about balloons and red things). It is all over the place. I don’t know whether to start in head or chest or to have a high-mix or a low-mix OR a combination of them. And what the eff is a 1/4 rhythm anyway? I swear.
But anyway I’ve set a date for my recording. I’m getting ready to apply to music schools. I’m very much looking forward to the entire process being over. I’m going to reward myself with some ice cream. I had a progressive evening. I feel happy and relaxed. And anxious because I know I have ice cream.

hmm…

Wouldn’t it be nice if we never had to make our own decisions? That way we would never be held accountable for ourselves. We would never have to own up to our own mistakes. Who cares about integrity or character building if we get away with everything; after all we only need to excuse ourselves for sound mind.

Okay. So this way of thinking, or rather, not thinking has its flaws. I am so scared of making a decision that will cost me my youth, my happiness, or a lot of money. I am struggling about whether or not I should go off to a music conservatory. My alternate option is a four-year college with a good music program where I can double major in vocal performance and something else. The problem comes in the “something else.” I don’t know wat else I want to do. A language? Yes, a degree in a language would compliment a music degree, but I do not believe it can propel me much further than a performance degree. I am also concerned that another strong field will take away practice time. My goal shouldn’t be compromised, should it? How much can I bring to the world when I am debilitated because of my debt from school that I can’t pay back? How does one perform or practice or even find the strength to get up with that kind of weight bearing down?

the funny thing is…

I’ve recently heard a recording, for the first time, of me singing. An understatement would be to say that I was surprised. I always thought my sound would be darker, richer. I was even taken back by my speaking voice on the tape. For a while I went through a vocal ennui where I could not bring myself to practice or go to lessons or my coaching. I wanted to quit because I hit a bump. I know, I know, I’m not supposed to listen to myself. Ever. I am supposed to rely solely on feeling and sensation. However, I am not a robot and I am a fan of self-sabotage, so I listen and make technical corrections depending on sound. (The result is usually not pretty; a sharp note OR a complete key change, not in a Bernstein song that calls for it, when I didn’t mean to!)
The ironic key to control in music (at least in my experience) is that the more you try and control the sound you produce, the more ugly, abstract and mechanical the sound becomes. It is only when I relinquish my control do I become relaxed enough to let my body make the adjustments it needs to make some kick-ass sounds. Muscle memory should not be discredited. I have only recently learned that my body knows what to do. I’ve taught it technique, now I need to let go. The trick is letting go. I am a control freak in every sense of the word. I would control the Earth’s orbit if it were in my power to do so. How do you just let go? The more I try the more I hold on for dear life.
My teacher says that I need to give it time and eventually things will get better. However, I am impatient. I don’t want to give it time. I want results now. I love my teacher dearly. She has given me so much musically, artistically and emotionally. However, sometimes I just want to scream four letter words at her. I know none of this animosity is directed toward her. It is directed toward me. But she is in the hot seat, telling me everything I’m telling myself on the inside.
I believe the reason I was so upset with the recording was the disappointment I felt. I thought I let myself down, that I didn’t sing to the best of my ability and that is always, whether bad singing day on not, unacceptable. This is a silly thing to think; especially since I’ve just made a claim that I’m not a robot. I had placed so much emphasis on success that failure was devastating. Of course, I go to the extreme again. It was only one recording, one day out of the year. I realized that I had been more than determined; I was obsessed. I made music the most important thing in my life. I made it that I would be unable to survive without producing beautiful sounds. Music is a very big part of my life, but there is so much more to me than music. I am glad that I caught on before I got any further. Whether it is music or any other thing we are passionate about, one single thing in our lives should not be our sole purpose for survival. What happens when that goes away? Do we go away too? That isn’t fair. It is important, but not the most important. How do we all define ourselves?