Benchmarking

I know I always feel compelled to write when I am sad, so I owe it to my readers to also write when I am happy!

Tuesday night was the kickoff rehearsal for the September 12 concert, and I sang really well.  I can really tell how far I've come when I sing "Angel" because it was the second solo I sang after being "discovered" (actually "Mon Coeur" was the third; I just date that Valentine's Day as being the beginning of it all, because that was when I changed forever), and I have also sung it numerous times at the Lutheran church.  True, it is easier to sing if I am not terrified of singing one notch above pp, but also my voice is more open.  I have found that "headspace" that all the good female singers have, even the amateurs, that I never did.  So of course I am terrified that I am going to lose it.  (Talk about neurotic!)  The reason, though, is I have made vocal breakthroughs before, and they have not held.  Although I think this is different.  Can it all be the result of using the Neti pot?  I think things began to improve when my teacher had me focus on getting rid of the "gargly" sound that I had in my upper passaggio.  We had never focused on that before because we were mostly (not very successfully) working on high notes and (successfully) on getting rid of the break in my lower passaggio.  But when I began examining the problem with the top F, I realized that it was caused by my not having "room" behind my soft palate which was at least in part caused by all the sinus drainage I had, which I never really noticed. In any event, whether it's thanks to the Neti pot, or just practice, practice, practice, I now am able to lift my palate, which seems to not only make it easier to sing higher (the B flat is easy sailing now, although I still have to sing another note first ) but makes my entire voice sound better and less "obstructed".

Anyhow, the woman producing the concert told me how great I sounded.  The last time she heard me was December, when I was singing some Spanish Christmas-themed art songs that called for a "lighter" sound.  What is interesting about "Angel" is as it is part of Wagner's Wesendonck Lieder, it is not written for a light voice, it is written for a heavy voice singing softly.  So in the concert I am going to sing "Angel" and "Primary Colors" (by Jake Heggie).  We had to scrap "Love is" by Heggie because the producer said that she knows no pianist who could play the accompaniment.  My coach could probably play it, as could my choir director, but we will not be getting anyone at that level.

And everything is set for my bookstore "Habanera".  I will tell my partner about it on August 3, after all my birthday celebrations are over.  Who knows?  Maybe she won't mind.

And to top it all off, a "friend" (can't give details here) sent me a big bouquet of flowers.  I was quite surprised.  This diva always loves to get flowers.

I Live to Sing

Last night I watched this on tv. Of course, being me, what I took away from it was not what I was "supposed" to.  I know Apartheid was a tragedy, and that the living conditions of people of color in the townships are still shocking, even today.  That anyone can emerge from there an opera singer (or anything, really; a doctor, a judge) is quite astounding.  But having grown up in a Marxist family, I am sort of "immune" to finding political messages where I "should," the way some people who grew up fundamentalist are "immune" to positive messages about religion.

Since taking the writing class I have determined to be more authentic.  If I only write what I think people want to hear, I will be boring.

I have written here and elsewhere about the issue of being "discovered".  Most people don't understand what I mean when I write about that.  I don't mean singing at a bake sale and suddenly finding myself whisked away to the Met.  I mean having a talent that someone notices, and having that "someone" stick with me, maybe eventually passing me along to someone else who will take things from there, but always feeling "held" by caring people.  That is how I felt in AA; that is how I sometimes feel in this church where I sing, mainly about my problems with my partner and the toll it takes on me.  I have never felt that way about singing, except once, when the Mentor sprinkled me with stardust.  I was thinking about him just now because he is friends with a number of my friends on Facebook, and for the first time in the 5 or so years I've been on Facebook, he and I commented on the same person's post.  I wonder if he will read what I wrote and click on my profile?  Or read this blog?  (I really shouldn't care.)

The person I was most mesmerized by in the film was a woman named Linda. Linda had every possible strike against her. She grew up in the squalor of the townships, lost both her parents, and is struggling with tuberculosis (I myself am a TB survivor as a result, probably, of having drunk and used drugs in crowded crash pads in the late 1960s, while at the same time suffering from malnutrition).

In true Cinderella fashion, Linda gets the kind of "total immersion" at Glimmerglass that I so ache and long for, and seem not to be able to give myself, except in fits and starts.  The Mentor gave me hints of that: when we went over the "Habanera" he coached my diction, my facial expressions, my hand gestures, even told me what kind of flowers to use!  I don't get that from anyone now.  My teacher and various coaches sometimes correct my pronunciation and my choir director is a stickler for dynamics even when I'm singing a solo, but total immersion?  No.

Sometimes I imagine the vocal equivalent of an AA sponsor; someone who contacts me every day and reviews what I am doing in detail.  Or the money to see someone other than just my voice teacher to go over repertoire on a regular basis.  (I have such a superb ear I don't need a coach to drill notes and rhythm: I can do that myself singing "against" recordings.)  That's what Linda got.  Now if anyone deserved it, she did, but that didn't make me any less sad.

And the crown jewel of all this was: Linda was told by several coaches that she needed to feel entitled to be the center of attention and believed she deserved it!!  No one has ever ever ever said that to me.  I am always being told to be quiet, dress more conservatively, sing softly when I'm singing a church solo (which is 90% of my singing) because it's "about" people taking communion.

Well, I've got my "Habanera" moment.  I now have the sound file to rehearse with.  I will watch Youtube videos of different mezzos singing the Habanera. I will organize my costume and block out some staging.  Even though the purpose of the taping is to make a tape as a  promotional material, there may be a de facto "audience"  if people are in the store buying books while we're taping.

And no matter what, I will not let my partner spoil my happiness.  Or my birthday, for what it's worth.

As a friend said to me "I will walk into that bookstore as if I own the place."

Some Things Taking Shape

Next Tuesday is the first rehearsal for the September 11 concert (which this year will be on September 12).  I spoke with the woman planning it, and we agreed that I would bring the two Jake Heggie songs, Wagner's "Angel", "O Rest in the Lord", and Dvorak's "God is My Shepherd".  If she likes the Heggie songs I will try to get a flautist.  I need to drill these with the accompaniment.  This may mean that I need to buy a CD, because the sound on my computer isn't really loud enough to let me hear where I'm supposed to come in.

"Angel" felt much easier to sing even than it did in December.  Part of that is that I don't have to sing the entire piece ppp because most people are not as big sticklers about pianissimi as my choir director is, who seems to want everything at least one degree softer than what's written.

My singing in general feels easier, even (dare I say it) the B in the "Seguidilla".  One thing my teacher told me is that if I start my vocalizing routine lower, my voice will be anchored more and it will be easier to go higher, which, surprisingly, has seemed to work.  I also think using the Neti pot religiously has made it easier to lift my soft palate.  I think some of the problems I had with my upper register were caused by my having so much sinus drainage back there (something a lay person might not notice) that it was weighting down my palate and making it impossible to make space.

Also, details are firming up regarding my singing the "Habanera" at the bookstore.  I think I will tell my partner that I got this gig through someone I sent a publishing resume (aka my job resume) to.  I put at the bottom that I am a church soloist.  If she thinks I found out about the gig that way she will be less angry than she would if she thought I was trawling singer message boards.  Of course she may probably say something about my wanting to "display" myself (my costume does show some cleavage) but I will do what I can to blow that off.  (Really it never ceases to amaze me how much Lesbians have in common with right-wing fundamentalists when it comes to women's clothing.)  I also am not going to tell her about it until the week before, because my birthday is at the end of July and I don't want her to use being angry at me about this thing to cause her to do something vindictive (I mean all she can afford to do is join with one or two friends to take me out to lunch, and buy me some flowers, but still...)

I told the woman from the publisher that "in lieu of payment" I would like a copy of the videotape that she is going to have made, so that I can use it for my own promotional purposes.  If I had had one made, I probably would have had to pay several hundred dollars, so it seems fair.

This afternoon I am off to my lesson.

Who Needs to Sing When Life is an Opera?

I very rarely have disruptive physical health problems (my migraines stopped after menopause) but last night I kept waking up and tossing and turning and had mammoth sinus drainage and a headache.  I hadn't used my neti pot yesterday because I hadn't felt the need, and I have been, perhaps, eating too much Greek yoghurt (I still haven't decided whether or not the connection between dairy and mucus is a myth or not), and also, I found myself in the middle of a little online drama.

For whatever reason, I seem to be a magnet for opinionated managerial women, the way some of my female friends and acquaintances have said they are a magnet for creepy guys.  I have no idea why.  Do I seem like I need mothering?  (What I do need, is a little "fathering" as in having someone rich, strong, and physically protective in my life, whatever their biological gender!)

The good news is, that all this tossing and turning led to my having a huge insight (although what I'm going to do with it is anyone's guess).  I realized that my love of all the interpersonal drama that, as a matter of course, happens in groups that are stuck together in any setting, e.g., an office, masked how utterly meaningless I found what I actually was doing for a living.  Now that I am stuck with that and only that, it is frustratingly clear.  Actually this happened before I began working at home.  The last few years at my last job, which I had initially loved because I was supervising between 15 and 20 people and spent a lot of time hiring, training, and evaluating them, became Hell (the only time I ever seriously wanted to kill myself was my last few years there) when the lower level staff was replaced with an outsourcing service and my interaction with lower level staff was replaced with hours spent scanning Excel spreadsheets looking for error patterns.

I love group dynamics and interpersonal drama.  That's why I love opera.  That's why I was happy at 12 step meetings when I went regularly and knew everyone, and why I was happy at the LGBT counseling center.  I stopped going to the caregiving group because I was tired of the dysfunctional people and the lesbian bi-phobia, but even there there was something I could sink my teeth into. That's why I was happy in the writing class and at the Moon Circles. (I got to go to one Monday night and actually have fun in the rain!)

Now it's only me and some misplaced modifiers, more or less.

Quite frankly, if I have free time and money, the last thing I want to do with it is go somewhere to "network".  On the other hand, I may be missing something.  When I think of "freelance editorial work" I think of what I, personally, do for a living: read technical articles and clean them up, which occasionally (particularly if it's a social science publication) has the fringe benefit that I learn something about the world that might be of use to me in it.  But there's all kinds of freelance work.  Maybe I might meet someone who edits steamy romance novels.  If I could get a toe into that world maybe I would feel less dreary.  Or maybe someone would be interested in my writing.

So, OK.  I spent an hour last night on drama, and several hours tossing and turning and brooding.

Now it's back to work.  I used my Neti pot and took a migraine pill for good measure, and was pleasantly surprised at how the latter seemed to clear up my sinus headache.

My reward can be doing some work on Carmen.  That B in the "Seguidilla" is getting better and better, whether I decide to sing it in the public performance or not.

Back to Business

First, at my voice lesson yesterday my teacher and I finalized that what I should do for my 2014 concert is excerpts from Carmen.

He thought I should do:

Habanera
Sequidilla (as a duet)
Song and dance duet
Card Scene
Death Scene

This will require a tenor, and then I can let someone else do something else for the second half of the program.  Maybe the Spanish woman would like to do something.  After September 11 I will get in touch with her about using the performance space.

My teacher feels that I sing this material well (if I am still not comfortable with the B in the "Seguidilla" - although it is sounding better than it ever has - I can transpose that page down a half step).

And the work I did on Werther is not wasted.  I sing the "Letter Scene" very well, and it is something I can use for another time.

For September 11 I hope I can sing one or two of the Jake Heggie songs.  The Spanish woman knows a flautist who might be able to play the accompaniment.

And I have a definite date to sing the Bach "Laudamus te" for a church solo with the violinist.

So I feel back in the swing of things.

I'm also hoping that my involvement with the writing class prods me to finish the "Cinderella" play and do something with it.

Is Anybody Out There??

First, let me say that since taking the writing class (which I loved), I am eager to write, and I may, from time to time, write about things other than singing.

This doesn't mean that I have stopped singing!  In fact I am looking forward to my voice lesson today, when I can work on some of the scenes from Carmen.

But I would like to branch out.

Something happened yesterday that made me terribly sad, and of course now I feel like an idiot for feeling sad!

I just feel so much loss.  Loss of the possibility of doing anything "noteworthy" with singing, loss of the possibility of having an interesting and stimulating livelihood, loss of a peer partner (which is a lose-lose situation; if she dies I will be desolate, and as long as she lives I am trapped in a lesser life), loss of my mother, who, even though she had a deformed spirit, still really was interested in what I was thinking and doing, even if only to argue with me about it.

The thing that made me sad involved an interchange between a father and daughter on Facebook, in which the father expressed pride in an blog essay the daughter had written about bisexuality.  True, this is not a new story.  In fact,this article covers a lot of the same territory. But I felt sad that never, in a million years, would my mother have been "proud" of anything I wrote as it stood. (The subject matter here is immaterial; it never bothered her that I had a same sex partner, it bothered her that I had such an ordinary life.) Her first impulse would always have been to gleefully, like a child asking permission to eat a forbidden cookie, say "is it ok if I take out my red pencil" (pant pant slobber slobber) which of course put an end to it.  If I said no, she would tell me she would rather not read it.  She was never really interested in what I thought, or in how well I formulated my thoughts, or in relating to me as a separate person, with whom she could agree to disagree.  Although specifics really didn't matter.  No matter how compellingly I might write that something was blue, she would make a case for the fact that it was red, and if I had written compellingly about the fact that it was red, she would have made a case for the fact that it was blue.  In any event, discord would ensue and everything would be spoiled.

But since she died, in some ways things are worse.  Give or take one or two people (my SO aka my "it's complicated" is not one of them) no one really gives a damn.  I can't tell you how many interesting Facebook status updates I've made that no one has responded to (and believe me, most of them are more interesting than what Jane Doe ate for dinner or the fact that Mary Smith spilled soup on her blouse!).  Or the fact that this blog has only 13 followers (the daughter I referenced has 23).   I mean every day I look at my stats, which show that obviously I have more than 13 readers, but still.

My therapist helped me see that so much of what makes me feel wanting is generational.  The women who have the things that I want are 40, not 63.  I have not done badly for someone who was told during what is now called emerging adulthood to "turn on, tune in, and drop out", the latter with disastrous lifelong consequences.  Few women of my generation had "careers".  Blue collar women had blue collar jobs and "intellectual-ish" women worked in the pink collar ghetto of the publishing industry cleaning up grammar and syntax, which is what I am still doing.  That work has as little to do with the putative "glamourous world of publishing" as being a house cleaner has with being an interior designer.  But the types of "career" that not only pay well but that entail traveling, attending conferences, and meeting people, did not figure in the lives of most women, even intelligent ones with a good postsecondary education.  And it was not just the women.  Baby boomers dropped out of college in droves, to finish, sometimes, at night as middle aged adults.  People in their early 20s made hippie marriages, some of which they ended up stuck in (I would count myself here even though I am not legally married).  Being lazy was a virtue, working too hard was frowned on (one of the dream jobs back then was being a case worker for the city, which in those days entailed visiting clients, allowing for huge swaths of absenteeism during the day that went unnoticed).

So I really don't feel wanting compared to most women my age, except that some managed to marry someone gainfully employed for most of their lives, and many are still working full time (many at jobs they dislike as much as I disliked mine).  The handful of women I grew up with who had enviable careers are all single.

I probably was happier in those two sessions of the writing class than I have been in a long time.  That was the first time in - decades, it seems - when I was in a small group where it felt that the playing field was level, and each person's story was deemed equally worthy.  Each person got an equal share of the talking time and was listened to.  I can't remember the last time I felt listened to on a regular basis, even in cyberspace.

I am not sure where I am going with this.  Tomorrow I am having lunch with the only friend I have (herself bisexual, and, like me, someone who never had  the luxury of being a stay at home wife and mother) who totally agrees with me that marriage is about money not about love.  Unfortunately, my SO will be there with me, so we can't talk about that (last time we talked about it briefly while my SO was in the loo).  Maybe if I can catch her on the fly she will tell me "you made a good point there, BabyD, succinctly and well put".  Other than in the writing class, that's a phrase I haven't heard in a very long time.