A Very Tiny Fish

Usually I take my bad moods to "the other place" (someplace I write under a pseudonym and yes, you will have to waterboard me to get the link), but since this one is specifically about singing, why not bring it before a wider audience.

First of all, I am not in a great mood because I have no freelance work on the immediate horizon (something's supposed to come in at the end of the month) and I'm waiting for a check to come in the mail.

Then I heard one of the "real" singers in my building warm up. By "real" I mean she is no doubt under 45 and makes a living entirely from music-related activities, like cantoring, giving voice lessons, and singing a leading operatic role at a C or D house.

And to add insult to injury, she is a large-voiced soprano who can, oh so easily, sail up above high C.

So ok, I am really really really envious not just of singers who can do it for a living, but also of singers who don't have to struggle and fight just to sing a note or two above A natural. And this includes a lot of mezzos. My teacher assures me that this is physiological, not technical. He is not the only teacher I have studied with but aside from being able to sing staccati up to an E flat as a teenager (before I was well ensonced into my two pack a day cigarette habit), I have really never been able to sing consistently above A natural no matter what technique or imagery I use. I mentioned my teenage smoking here, but I've been told that since I haven't had a cigarette in almost 30 years now, that is not the culprit. My teacher says my vocal chords may be "shorter and thicker" than many female singers, even mezzos.

So ok. I will never have an easy upper register (for an opera singer - compared to people who sing pop or even some MT my voice sounds very high)just as I will never have narrow hips or be 5 foot 8 (I am still hoping to make it back up to 5 foot 5, since I was once 5 foot 6).

It's also very painful being a wannabe living around the corner from the Met. I mean most of the time I feel truly blessed. I have a rent stabilized apartment around the corner from the Met, on a safe street, in a building where dogs are allowed, where there's an elevator, and where we have a very strong tenants association that lobbies for our rights and then some. So barring a disaster or a huge windfall, I intend to die here.

But on the other hand I am constantly reminded that I am way at the bottom of the food chain where singing is concerned. The city is crawling with women who sound as good (and can sing a note or three higher than I can with no struggle), look as good, are 30 years younger, have conservatory degrees, and all sorts of apprenticeships and YAPs on their resumes.

So what am I really? A middle aged (well, they now say middle age lasts until you're 60) who had the chutzpah and ingenuity to put on a concert version of Samson et Dalila in a church? Who has the chutzpah to get up and sing in "meetups" where everyone else is either (much) younger or managed? I mean even in our no-pay Upper West Side choir now there are "stars" from conservatories. So ok, there are 52 weeks of the year and I can still get plenty of solo spots.

So, ok, I just have to look on the brighter side. Today I have a "free" day (I mean really, there are only so many hours I can send out resumes) so after picking up my mail (and hoping there's a check there), and doing a few errands, I can take my "battle with the B flat" into my bathroom with the water running full blast.

I really only have a few more days to wrestle with this duet. My nursing home concert is coming up where I'm singing the Judgment Scene (not hard for me) and several other duets so I need to go back to those.

And make sure I know the second soprano part on this spiritual we're singing.