I don't really know what else to call it.
The Good Friday service went well. It wasn't as exciting as I had expected (nor as well attended as usual) and when I got home I felt sandbagged by something I can only call "depression".
Is it because I am grieving over Abbie? I have not really felt like crying over her loss. Abbie was not a poignant, sympathetic, tragic figure, similarly to how my mother was not those things. Abbie really was all the things my mother was, only nicer: cerebral, direct, not suffering fools gladly, hating sentimentality. She was also someone who would always turn up and "do" if you needed her. My mother was all those things but she didn't know how to "make nice", which Abbie did. (My mother would have contemptuously dismissed that as "Southern").
In any event, the loss of Abbie is a loss and somewhat of a shock, but I don't feel sad. Since she had moved to the Left Coast about four years ago we had not seen her. And one blessing I now have is, after telling a church friend about my feeling of loss, particularly that I have now lost someone whom I always assumed would be there to be helpful when my partner died, this friend said that if she was "alive and mobile" (she is about 6 years older than I am) she would go to Maine with me to scatter my partner's ashes.
But I am feeling other losses as well. Yes, the Good Friday service went well, but once again it made me realize all the talent I am drowning in. Although there was one thing of note, a situation in which I surprised myself. The "boy soprano" woman I mentioned (she is not young; probably close to my age) sang really well, probably the best I'd ever heard her, and I was genuinely happy for her. I told her it was the best I had ever heard her sing, which is true. And she had the perfect voice for the plaintive "Agnus Dei". I think the issue is that however bitter and envious I often am, I am happy when someone my age, who is still working on her art, does well. Everyone kvells over the young talent. They breathe up all the air in the room whether they want to or not. So us older folks, who are by no means done and by no means a "finished product" want our moment too. Of course the new dramatic soprano was the star of the evening. Just because of her talent (she is certainly the opposite of a prima donna). The tenor with whom I have had a relationship that runs hot and cold (I was stunned last year when he complimented me on singing Maundy Thursday) made a fuss over her, talking with his wife on the street afterwards. On the other hand, her path forward may not be easy. She has a much bigger and more impressive voice than Little Miss, but she is less versatile and less surrounded by a clacque although she does have a supportive voice teacher. She is going to be singing a secondary role in a Wagner production somewhere. I just so yearn to be special, which I will never be.
Easter will be a vocal anti-climax. I opted to sing the alto part in "Worthy is the Lamb" from the Messiah. It is a bleeping octave below the soprano part. I think my teacher was right that the part was written for countertenors, not women. I probably could sing the soprano part (particularly since we are not doing the "Amen" at the end which has a phrase that starts on a high A) but I didn't have time to sing it into my voice and the dramatic soprano will be there singing it, so to coin a metaphor, it is stupid to put the two heaviest people on the same side of the boat. So, ironically, Easter, which is supposed to be a high point, will be a low point for me both vocally and otherwise, but then it will be over and I can go back to working on the "Drinking Song", which has a high A in it. And when I show up for warm up on Sunday I will make sure I have warmed up at home to an A just because I can.
In a more intellectual mode, I was interested to read a quote from Nadia Bolz-Weber in which she said that the message of the Resurrection is that it is an opportunity for people to be resurrected from the graves they dig for themselves. For me (someone who is totally skeptical about the "Risen Christ") this really resonates. Maybe I can rise from the grave I'm always digging for myself? I can never turn the clock back and be a teen or a 20something with a clean, glorious voice undamaged by cigarettes and alcohol, making my way undistracted. So I need to "get over it".
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Thursday, May 10, 2018
Why I've Permanently Left the UU Church
As the daughter of two atheists (one a secular Jew) who was nonetheless raised in a "WASPy" enclave where, churchgoing or not, people not strongly aligned with a minority religion lived with a "Christian assumption" (meaning we celebrated Christmas and Easter in some fashion), who found a compromise as a teenager by singing in a Unitarian church , and who now is happily ensconced in a Lutheran church as a musician and quasi-member, I am constantly having to explain myself theologically.
I am not a full member of this Lutheran church because I am not baptized (and the idea of submitting to that makes me uncomfortable) so I don't take communion. For years I sat in the choir stall singing the communion hymn, often as a solo, and laughingly referred to myself as the "Shabbas goy" (of course in reverse). Lately I have not had to do that because our new pastor always announces (after explaining that there is grape juice as well as wine, and gluten free bread if it is wanted) "if you don't want to partake you can cross your arms and come up to receive a blessing", which I do.
Many people at that church think I'm a religiously observant Jew (there are a handful of such who are at the church, mostly as musicians, but one is the husband of a congregant) and will in a well-meaning way wish me a Happy Passover, or expect me to understand religious names for parts of the Torah.
If I get caught up in a serious conversation with anyone about these things, I explain that I am culturally Jewish but not theologically Jewish. And then I say that theologically I consider myself a Unitarian. (I don't like the term "UU").
When I say that what I mean, loosely, is: I believe that God is one thing, whether you're Christian, Jewish, Pagan, Muslim, Buddhist, or something else; I believe that Jesus was an important humanitarian but not divine, and I do not call him Christ; and I believe in the "inherent worth and dignity of every human being". I don't believe in the Resurrection. I see it as a metaphor. (Interestingly, the pastors at my Lutheran church believe that Hell is a metaphor - and that Genesis is a poem - but still stand by the Resurrection.) I am agnostic about the afterlife. As I am with someone who will be 84 next month, and may lose her in the not-too-distant future, I like to hope that she will go to some sort of "Heaven", probably out above the Marginal Way where both of us want our ashes scattered. And when my mother died, despite having been an atheist all her life, she looked happy, as if she was going somewhere she wanted to be going, and I heard her talking to the people who had gone before.
So, readers might ask, why not attend Unitarian services? As I have written over and over in these pages, my voice was "discovered" at my local UU church when I was 54, by a charismatic (and later toxic) figure whom I often call "Svengali". There was a sorta kinda classical music program, meaning that the choir sang classical music a few times a year and the handful of classical soloists (now including me) sang solos. After a year or so, the choir director was fired (for a number of reasons) and all the classical music was scrapped. And has never returned despite the fact that the church has had several music directors since then (this was 2005) and now has a new minister as well.
So OK. There's a lot of music that's not "classical" that I am OK with hearing in a church: gospel, contemporary Christian music, Appalachian hymns, African-American spirituals (although I prefer these when they're arranged for classical voices), even liturgical jazz. And in fact our choir (whch is known for its Bach and Mendelssohn) has sung all of those. But what has happened at the UU church with regard to nonclassical music is quite different. They still have their head in the 60s and among their favorite selections are songs by Bob Dylan and John Lennon.
If I haven't said it enough here, probably the years that destroyed me and put me behind the 8 ball forever (and I will be 68 soon) was the period from 1964 to 1972, the heyday of all that "stuff". I can't bear to listen to it, certainly not in a church, which I see as in some ways a link to old traditions. (My Lutheran church seems to have it right: it links to the past in [most of] its music, and in its rituals, and it is firmly planted in the present in its engagement with issues of today.)
To be clear, I have been happy lately and have not wanted to dwell on negative things (although any time I get a "trigger" back to "the Sixties" I silently rage and weep for the girl who could have been - an opera singer, an academic, a lawyer?), but this post was prompted by an invitation I got from a member of my old UU church to something called "Sacred Sounds and Settings". I took a look at it (this church is in a beautiful building and could host some marvelous sacred sounds) and saw that it was going to feature music by Leonard Cohen, Bobby McFerrin, The Indigo Girls, Sly and the Family Stone. Except for Bobby McFerrin and possibly the "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen, I don't think any of the foregoing belongs in a church. Sly and the Family Stone??? That's disco (drug) music! (Oh, and I see the choir is now called a "casual choir".) How trendy and what a great way to pander to aging hippies. (If the church wants to attract young people, I have news for you. Young people are interested in many different aesthetics, not just that of the Sixties rebellions.) I didn't want to offend the woman who sent this to me, but I felt like checking the box "not interested". But that wouldn't even begin to cover it. Quite frankly I would rather have a root canal, and to me, anyhow, listening to a "concert" in a church featuring disco music seems blasphemous and I'm not a right-wing Christian!!
On a seemingly unrelated topic, our new pastor (speaking out against the racism of many white Evangelicals) said that the problem with many Christian churches is that they care more about the "culture" than about the gospel. Now I know she was talking about white red state American culture, which does not resonate with me (in fact, as a third generation New Yorker, I've had almost no contact with it). But might it be possible that I am really attracted to "church" because of the culture? (Not white American culture, obviously, but the culture of Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, and Agatha Christie?) I grew up reading Brit Lit where the Church of England (and its assorted vicars, curates, vergers, deans, sextons, and others) were recurring characters. I have recently begun working on a memoir (amazingly not about singing!) in which I describe the disconnect between my life growing up as an atheist and my continued exposure to the Church through literature. (And later through all the Britcoms I watched.)
I began thinking of going to church after reading an article by Gertrude Himmelfarb about the churchgoing habits of Victorians. She said that after the popularization of Darwin, most intellectual Victorians did not believe in the "supernatural" events described in the Bible (sounds very Unitarian to me!), but they still attended church regularly and considered themselves Christian because to them it was a social and moral identity (and being a member of the Church of England was also a part of British identity) rather than a spiritual belief system.
I know many people dislike Himmelfarb because she leans rightward, which certainly I don't (except perhaps in my attitudes to music, dress, and drug use), but I have to say that reading this article of hers made me feel "OK" about going to church, regardless of what I actually believed.
So what better place to begin than with the UUs. I had felt (wrongly) that this UU church on Manhattan's Upper West Side would be like the Unitarian church of my childhood: Protestant minus the supernatural. (Well, it was, kinda, until the choir director was fired. Then it went rogue Hippie with a vengeance!)
Let's just say it is a far cry from our 1965 Christmas Messiah sing to Sly and the Family Stone!
I'm glad I'm out, and will probably never be back.
I'm happy where I am. I just always have a lot of 'splaining to do. But that's OK. If I can sing, I'm willing to 'splain to anyone who's interested.
I am not a full member of this Lutheran church because I am not baptized (and the idea of submitting to that makes me uncomfortable) so I don't take communion. For years I sat in the choir stall singing the communion hymn, often as a solo, and laughingly referred to myself as the "Shabbas goy" (of course in reverse). Lately I have not had to do that because our new pastor always announces (after explaining that there is grape juice as well as wine, and gluten free bread if it is wanted) "if you don't want to partake you can cross your arms and come up to receive a blessing", which I do.
Many people at that church think I'm a religiously observant Jew (there are a handful of such who are at the church, mostly as musicians, but one is the husband of a congregant) and will in a well-meaning way wish me a Happy Passover, or expect me to understand religious names for parts of the Torah.
If I get caught up in a serious conversation with anyone about these things, I explain that I am culturally Jewish but not theologically Jewish. And then I say that theologically I consider myself a Unitarian. (I don't like the term "UU").
When I say that what I mean, loosely, is: I believe that God is one thing, whether you're Christian, Jewish, Pagan, Muslim, Buddhist, or something else; I believe that Jesus was an important humanitarian but not divine, and I do not call him Christ; and I believe in the "inherent worth and dignity of every human being". I don't believe in the Resurrection. I see it as a metaphor. (Interestingly, the pastors at my Lutheran church believe that Hell is a metaphor - and that Genesis is a poem - but still stand by the Resurrection.) I am agnostic about the afterlife. As I am with someone who will be 84 next month, and may lose her in the not-too-distant future, I like to hope that she will go to some sort of "Heaven", probably out above the Marginal Way where both of us want our ashes scattered. And when my mother died, despite having been an atheist all her life, she looked happy, as if she was going somewhere she wanted to be going, and I heard her talking to the people who had gone before.
So, readers might ask, why not attend Unitarian services? As I have written over and over in these pages, my voice was "discovered" at my local UU church when I was 54, by a charismatic (and later toxic) figure whom I often call "Svengali". There was a sorta kinda classical music program, meaning that the choir sang classical music a few times a year and the handful of classical soloists (now including me) sang solos. After a year or so, the choir director was fired (for a number of reasons) and all the classical music was scrapped. And has never returned despite the fact that the church has had several music directors since then (this was 2005) and now has a new minister as well.
So OK. There's a lot of music that's not "classical" that I am OK with hearing in a church: gospel, contemporary Christian music, Appalachian hymns, African-American spirituals (although I prefer these when they're arranged for classical voices), even liturgical jazz. And in fact our choir (whch is known for its Bach and Mendelssohn) has sung all of those. But what has happened at the UU church with regard to nonclassical music is quite different. They still have their head in the 60s and among their favorite selections are songs by Bob Dylan and John Lennon.
If I haven't said it enough here, probably the years that destroyed me and put me behind the 8 ball forever (and I will be 68 soon) was the period from 1964 to 1972, the heyday of all that "stuff". I can't bear to listen to it, certainly not in a church, which I see as in some ways a link to old traditions. (My Lutheran church seems to have it right: it links to the past in [most of] its music, and in its rituals, and it is firmly planted in the present in its engagement with issues of today.)
To be clear, I have been happy lately and have not wanted to dwell on negative things (although any time I get a "trigger" back to "the Sixties" I silently rage and weep for the girl who could have been - an opera singer, an academic, a lawyer?), but this post was prompted by an invitation I got from a member of my old UU church to something called "Sacred Sounds and Settings". I took a look at it (this church is in a beautiful building and could host some marvelous sacred sounds) and saw that it was going to feature music by Leonard Cohen, Bobby McFerrin, The Indigo Girls, Sly and the Family Stone. Except for Bobby McFerrin and possibly the "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen, I don't think any of the foregoing belongs in a church. Sly and the Family Stone??? That's disco (drug) music! (Oh, and I see the choir is now called a "casual choir".) How trendy and what a great way to pander to aging hippies. (If the church wants to attract young people, I have news for you. Young people are interested in many different aesthetics, not just that of the Sixties rebellions.) I didn't want to offend the woman who sent this to me, but I felt like checking the box "not interested". But that wouldn't even begin to cover it. Quite frankly I would rather have a root canal, and to me, anyhow, listening to a "concert" in a church featuring disco music seems blasphemous and I'm not a right-wing Christian!!
On a seemingly unrelated topic, our new pastor (speaking out against the racism of many white Evangelicals) said that the problem with many Christian churches is that they care more about the "culture" than about the gospel. Now I know she was talking about white red state American culture, which does not resonate with me (in fact, as a third generation New Yorker, I've had almost no contact with it). But might it be possible that I am really attracted to "church" because of the culture? (Not white American culture, obviously, but the culture of Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, and Agatha Christie?) I grew up reading Brit Lit where the Church of England (and its assorted vicars, curates, vergers, deans, sextons, and others) were recurring characters. I have recently begun working on a memoir (amazingly not about singing!) in which I describe the disconnect between my life growing up as an atheist and my continued exposure to the Church through literature. (And later through all the Britcoms I watched.)
I began thinking of going to church after reading an article by Gertrude Himmelfarb about the churchgoing habits of Victorians. She said that after the popularization of Darwin, most intellectual Victorians did not believe in the "supernatural" events described in the Bible (sounds very Unitarian to me!), but they still attended church regularly and considered themselves Christian because to them it was a social and moral identity (and being a member of the Church of England was also a part of British identity) rather than a spiritual belief system.
I know many people dislike Himmelfarb because she leans rightward, which certainly I don't (except perhaps in my attitudes to music, dress, and drug use), but I have to say that reading this article of hers made me feel "OK" about going to church, regardless of what I actually believed.
So what better place to begin than with the UUs. I had felt (wrongly) that this UU church on Manhattan's Upper West Side would be like the Unitarian church of my childhood: Protestant minus the supernatural. (Well, it was, kinda, until the choir director was fired. Then it went rogue Hippie with a vengeance!)
Let's just say it is a far cry from our 1965 Christmas Messiah sing to Sly and the Family Stone!
I'm glad I'm out, and will probably never be back.
I'm happy where I am. I just always have a lot of 'splaining to do. But that's OK. If I can sing, I'm willing to 'splain to anyone who's interested.
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
On Friendship
This blog is mostly about singing, but I have written posts about ageism, sexism, gay marriage, Trump voters, and most likely a few other topics for discussion.
I want to write about friendship because it seems to be something I am not good at (or maybe I am choosing the wrong people).
For most of my life with my partner as a couple, even though I was the "femme" from a sexual and sartorial standpoint, I suppose I was the "man" in that for most of our life together, I had the job and she had the friends. Her friends became my friends. This is not to say that I had no social life apart from her. I seemed to have a talent for finding companies where there was a large social and collegial component, so I had lots of "buddies". And up until I took my last, gruelling management job, I always was involved with some evening group activity where I met people.
But nothing ever really stuck. Once I left a setting, I only saw the people intermittently, at the odd annual group get together (or - recently - at a funeral).
I have said numerous times that since about 2007, most of my and my partner's mutual friends, people who became my friends as well as hers, have all either died, moved, or are always traveling. I have found it very hard to make new friends although it has been at the top of my list of "projects" after earning a living, taking care of my partner, and singing.
I believe I have mentioned a friend whom I have described as "rich and stingy". Well, sadly, I now have to add "querulous and disagreeable". The only reason I still see her is that she feels some responsibility toward my partner and sometimes brings her supplies from a big box store (which, needless to say, I pay her for out of my partner's bank account). She has complained about how "depressing" it is to see my partner and how sad it makes her and is unable to see that this situation is not about her, it's about my partner. Yesterday she came for a visit (I thought we would be watching tennis) and went into a rant about how although she attends a synagogue she doesn't "believe all that" and just goes for the social interaction. I suppose many people do that, although they would not word it so harshly. I am not Christian, but I continue to attend Lutheran services, not just to sing, but also to be in an environment where people are invested in being kind and supportive of each other (and toward the world at large). To me that is different from "social". What keeps me there isn't that I might be able to have dinner with people (I don't - I occasionally have lunch with people usually on the premises), but that people genuinely seem to care about each other and some even offer to help their fellow parishioners in their hour of need.
This friend and I were talking about fasting on Yom Kippur (which we both agreed is physically unhealthy) so I asked her if she did anything "symbolic" (if it were me I would probably spend the day drinking water, tea, and the odd bottle of Ensure) and she said no. What struck me wasn't so much that she said no, but how hard and cynical she sounded. Then we went on to other topics, including my distress at the lack of "community" in apartment buildings and neighborhoods, particularly where my partner is living. It has now become a moot point as far as she is concerned, because she has 24/7 home care, but it offends me in principle. I mean when there's a snowstorm, for example, anyone with a tv can hear whoever the current mayor is telling people to "check in on their elderly neighbors". You don't even have to think to do it on your own. So when I mentioned this she launched into a vitriolic rant about how the building isn't a senior residence, etc. and basically said that if I'm bothered by these things it's my problem. Hello??? If I am offended by a general societal lack of character that's my problem??
It is really coming to dawn on me that this is someone not only who is stingy with money (she spends thousands upon thousands on luxury cruises but thinks she's being generous if she buys someone a danish), but is stingy in her soul. I don't know if she has ever read Ayn Rand, but she seems to think everyone should just look out for themselves, and that this is OK, and that that's what she is going to do. I was truly appalled. When I got home I felt like I had been in some alternative universe with values that were so alien to me I didn't even know where I was.
What's ironic is that this woman in some ways has had many of the same losses that I have had; it's just that she can distract herself with pots of money (which come from her family; there isn't even the saving grace that she worked hard to earn it). Most of her friends have either died or moved as well, including someone who just died recently. Maybe I should have offered her condolences?
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Values Voting
I guess this topic is particularly a propos in view of the current presidential campaign, but that's not what has prompted this post.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around the "breakup" with LC. I am less hurt than left wary. How will I know, next time, if I confide in someone about how I am feeling, that they won't see that as a violation of their values in some way and decide to dump me because our correspondence isn't "working"? How can I trust anyone again?
I will have to say that this has never happened to me before. Friends and I have drifted apart. There have been people I have made a point of interacting less with, if I felt we didn't have much in common (not really true here) or if I found that the more I knew them the less I liked them, but letting go was a process, not a violent act. Slamming a door is a violent act.
My mother was a "values voter" and in fact, referring back to this post, all the ruptures between my mother and LC, and between my mother and her mother, were about values. My mother didn't like the fact that LC's mother appeared oblivious to the political situation in Greece or the fact that LC cruelly sent a shelter dog to its death (one she had claimed to be madly in love with) rather than mop up after it for a few more weeks or months. My mother "voted with her feet" to end other friendships over values as well. With one woman it was because she had voted for Reagan and read Commentary magazine. With another it was that she bought expensive shoes and didn't donate money to PBS.
I would like to think that I don't operate that way. To me, there is nothing more important than a friendship, and I only judge people based on how they treat me, or perhaps as well on how I see them treating others. I can't imagine totally cutting someone off because of what they say they think or how they say they feel. If I cry over a deleted video and LC cries over a mass shooting, that does not give her the moral high ground. Neither one of us has made the world a better (or a worse) place based on what triggers our tears.
Or maybe she didn't like that I referred to myself as "underprivileged". Yes, I know, context is everything, and that's why I scrape together money from time to time to give to the church food pantry. However underprivileged I feel living in a sea of highly paid professionals married to highly paid professionals who go away four and five times a year (or every weekend!), I have enough food and I have a (very nice) place to live. But why should someone else care how I want to benchmark myself? I could understand her being upset if I had been stingy with her in some way as a result of thinking that, but why was that any of her business? I think abruptly ending a friendship is much crueler than anything a person might opine (or not opine) about.
Maybe it's a UU thing. Even though I consider myself to be a UU (or more accurately, a nineteenth century Unitarian like Susan B. Anthony and Louisa May Alcott), I never cease to be amazed at their smarmy sanctimoniousness. In addition to dispensing with a lot of the "magical thinking" of Christianity (what I like about UUs), they also seem to have dispensed with the Christian notion of charity, not just toward the poor, but toward the "sinner". So if LC thinks I am shallow and selfish (I can't imagine what else it is that caused her to end our friendship that she doesn't want to tell me) shouldn't that be a reason for her to pity me and be charitable? (Only half said tongue in cheek.) And was my selfishness so egregious that she couldn't just say something like "We don't seem to be on the same page right now, so why don't we take a time out?"
What I said to her in my final response is true. I don't care if she doesn't like me as she is not a part of the fabric of my life. But I am angry. She got to dump me and feel self righteous and there's nothing I detest like self righteousness. Really good people don't talk about how good they are all the time.
And no one who has done all the things I have done for my partner in her declining years can be considered selfish. I have a clear conscience if nothing else.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around the "breakup" with LC. I am less hurt than left wary. How will I know, next time, if I confide in someone about how I am feeling, that they won't see that as a violation of their values in some way and decide to dump me because our correspondence isn't "working"? How can I trust anyone again?
I will have to say that this has never happened to me before. Friends and I have drifted apart. There have been people I have made a point of interacting less with, if I felt we didn't have much in common (not really true here) or if I found that the more I knew them the less I liked them, but letting go was a process, not a violent act. Slamming a door is a violent act.
My mother was a "values voter" and in fact, referring back to this post, all the ruptures between my mother and LC, and between my mother and her mother, were about values. My mother didn't like the fact that LC's mother appeared oblivious to the political situation in Greece or the fact that LC cruelly sent a shelter dog to its death (one she had claimed to be madly in love with) rather than mop up after it for a few more weeks or months. My mother "voted with her feet" to end other friendships over values as well. With one woman it was because she had voted for Reagan and read Commentary magazine. With another it was that she bought expensive shoes and didn't donate money to PBS.
I would like to think that I don't operate that way. To me, there is nothing more important than a friendship, and I only judge people based on how they treat me, or perhaps as well on how I see them treating others. I can't imagine totally cutting someone off because of what they say they think or how they say they feel. If I cry over a deleted video and LC cries over a mass shooting, that does not give her the moral high ground. Neither one of us has made the world a better (or a worse) place based on what triggers our tears.
Or maybe she didn't like that I referred to myself as "underprivileged". Yes, I know, context is everything, and that's why I scrape together money from time to time to give to the church food pantry. However underprivileged I feel living in a sea of highly paid professionals married to highly paid professionals who go away four and five times a year (or every weekend!), I have enough food and I have a (very nice) place to live. But why should someone else care how I want to benchmark myself? I could understand her being upset if I had been stingy with her in some way as a result of thinking that, but why was that any of her business? I think abruptly ending a friendship is much crueler than anything a person might opine (or not opine) about.
Maybe it's a UU thing. Even though I consider myself to be a UU (or more accurately, a nineteenth century Unitarian like Susan B. Anthony and Louisa May Alcott), I never cease to be amazed at their smarmy sanctimoniousness. In addition to dispensing with a lot of the "magical thinking" of Christianity (what I like about UUs), they also seem to have dispensed with the Christian notion of charity, not just toward the poor, but toward the "sinner". So if LC thinks I am shallow and selfish (I can't imagine what else it is that caused her to end our friendship that she doesn't want to tell me) shouldn't that be a reason for her to pity me and be charitable? (Only half said tongue in cheek.) And was my selfishness so egregious that she couldn't just say something like "We don't seem to be on the same page right now, so why don't we take a time out?"
What I said to her in my final response is true. I don't care if she doesn't like me as she is not a part of the fabric of my life. But I am angry. She got to dump me and feel self righteous and there's nothing I detest like self righteousness. Really good people don't talk about how good they are all the time.
And no one who has done all the things I have done for my partner in her declining years can be considered selfish. I have a clear conscience if nothing else.
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Not About Valentine's Day
I am long overdue for a blog post, but have simply been busy and have not had much to say.
Monday it will be 12 years since that fateful Samson et Dalila duet that changed my life forever. Two weeks ago at church, it was Transfiguration Sunday, and there was a guest minister who spoke about transfiguration. About God taking you out of your comfort zone. He asked if anyone had ever had an experience like that that had changed them forever. I raised my hand. As I said to the woman who interviewed me for Classical Singer (she didn't print this quote), when the duet was over, after the audience went wild,I knew then that I wanted that (that mélange of glorious music, sex, glamour, applause, and magic) more than anything in the world and that I would make any sacrifice to have it.
The road has been long, rocky, and filled with disappointments. There is the exhilaration of finally, beginning sometime in my 64th year, being able to let my voice fly free the way I believe it was always meant to, counterbalanced by the knowledge that I am too old for it to matter.
But I would never go back, Never.
And finally, this year, I barely gave a passing thought to The Mentor. A man in his mid-fifties who has a Facebook cover photo that zeroes in on his crotch is rather pathetic, when all is said and done. Yes, I envy that he has managed to make a life out of the arts, and I have not, but that is all.
Carmen is now approaching. I don't work on it too often, lest it get stale.
So next up is finding, with the help of the Director of Music Ministries, an appropriate Lent solo. For Good Friday we will be singing excerpts from the Faure Requiem. I asked about singing the "Pie Jesu" (which I had sung before on Maundy Thursday) but this Director says that Pie Jesus are inappropriate for Holy Week. Who knew? As a singing Jewish/Marxist/Unitarian, my knowledge of these things is a bit spotty, but I want to educate myself. I don't have to believe this or that to become well versed in appropriate liturgy. Church singing has become my craft. It is what I do best, and what I can do best because my age isn't (or shouldn't be) a barrier, and neither is my lack of physical mobility.
So I have revisited "Liber Scriptus". Now that I sing several high C sharps every day, that A flat that I was so nervous about is easy. And the low Ds are rich and plummy, not squawky the way they used to be. And there's the gorgeous "Lord's Prayer" by Malotte. I think there will be some evening services during Lent that center around the Lord's Prayer. And I would love a chance to sing the Rossini "Fac ut Portem" again. Everything is so different now and so much easier.
This week, for the first time ever, I had to miss a big service. My partner was rushed to the ER on Ash Wednesday. She fell as she was letting her occupational therapist into the apartment. The OT called 911. They thought she had broken her pelvis. It turned out nothing was broken but I didn't make it to the 6:30 call. I had alerted the choir director, and as I did not have a solo, I was ok about not singing. I was disappointed, because the piece was in 8 parts, which is when I am in my glory. Second soprano parts are hard, musically, but they are in a better part of my range than alto parts, but because there is still another part above me, I don't have to worry as much about keeping the volume down as I do if I am singing soprano in a four part piece (which is usually vocally healthier than singing alto, and allows me to use my full range). Now of course I worry what if my partner has an emergency when I am supposed to sing Carmen, but I just can't go there. If God wants me to sing, I will. And I will make a plan B, for someone to take care of any emergency my partner might have.
There is a weather alert, so we are taking a rain check on Valentine's Day. We will have lunch out on Wednesday - or have lunch in and watch a movie on demand.
OK, so yes, sometimes I wonder what The Mentor would think if he could hear me now.
Monday it will be 12 years since that fateful Samson et Dalila duet that changed my life forever. Two weeks ago at church, it was Transfiguration Sunday, and there was a guest minister who spoke about transfiguration. About God taking you out of your comfort zone. He asked if anyone had ever had an experience like that that had changed them forever. I raised my hand. As I said to the woman who interviewed me for Classical Singer (she didn't print this quote), when the duet was over, after the audience went wild,I knew then that I wanted that (that mélange of glorious music, sex, glamour, applause, and magic) more than anything in the world and that I would make any sacrifice to have it.
The road has been long, rocky, and filled with disappointments. There is the exhilaration of finally, beginning sometime in my 64th year, being able to let my voice fly free the way I believe it was always meant to, counterbalanced by the knowledge that I am too old for it to matter.
But I would never go back, Never.
And finally, this year, I barely gave a passing thought to The Mentor. A man in his mid-fifties who has a Facebook cover photo that zeroes in on his crotch is rather pathetic, when all is said and done. Yes, I envy that he has managed to make a life out of the arts, and I have not, but that is all.
Carmen is now approaching. I don't work on it too often, lest it get stale.
So next up is finding, with the help of the Director of Music Ministries, an appropriate Lent solo. For Good Friday we will be singing excerpts from the Faure Requiem. I asked about singing the "Pie Jesu" (which I had sung before on Maundy Thursday) but this Director says that Pie Jesus are inappropriate for Holy Week. Who knew? As a singing Jewish/Marxist/Unitarian, my knowledge of these things is a bit spotty, but I want to educate myself. I don't have to believe this or that to become well versed in appropriate liturgy. Church singing has become my craft. It is what I do best, and what I can do best because my age isn't (or shouldn't be) a barrier, and neither is my lack of physical mobility.
So I have revisited "Liber Scriptus". Now that I sing several high C sharps every day, that A flat that I was so nervous about is easy. And the low Ds are rich and plummy, not squawky the way they used to be. And there's the gorgeous "Lord's Prayer" by Malotte. I think there will be some evening services during Lent that center around the Lord's Prayer. And I would love a chance to sing the Rossini "Fac ut Portem" again. Everything is so different now and so much easier.
This week, for the first time ever, I had to miss a big service. My partner was rushed to the ER on Ash Wednesday. She fell as she was letting her occupational therapist into the apartment. The OT called 911. They thought she had broken her pelvis. It turned out nothing was broken but I didn't make it to the 6:30 call. I had alerted the choir director, and as I did not have a solo, I was ok about not singing. I was disappointed, because the piece was in 8 parts, which is when I am in my glory. Second soprano parts are hard, musically, but they are in a better part of my range than alto parts, but because there is still another part above me, I don't have to worry as much about keeping the volume down as I do if I am singing soprano in a four part piece (which is usually vocally healthier than singing alto, and allows me to use my full range). Now of course I worry what if my partner has an emergency when I am supposed to sing Carmen, but I just can't go there. If God wants me to sing, I will. And I will make a plan B, for someone to take care of any emergency my partner might have.
There is a weather alert, so we are taking a rain check on Valentine's Day. We will have lunch out on Wednesday - or have lunch in and watch a movie on demand.
OK, so yes, sometimes I wonder what The Mentor would think if he could hear me now.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Theological Musings for 2016
It's already the 11th and I have not yet written anything to mark this new year!
First, I want to say that in rereading some of my old posts that were not about singing, particularly the ones about same-sex marriage, sexism, and ageism, I see that they are good pieces of writing that can stand on their own, and that I would be proud to read at any writers' workshop. So I am going to write more of these.
As for my singing, as the huge endlessly frustrating technical problems that I struggled with for years seem now to be at an end, there is less to write about, unless I have sung something somewhere or am making plans. Every now and then I will have a "bad day" (my teacher and I had a talk about this at my last lesson) but for the most part I have a reliable technique that will stand me in good stead in most situations I am likely to find myself in.
I have two concerts scheduled for 2016: a reprise of the concert version of Carmen (on May 2), and my birthday concert (on July 31).
I have been able to squelch the envy that can overtake me by simply shutting out the world of all the emerging professionals, semi-pros, and others who flock to my neighborhood (the opera Mecca of the world). I don't go to their performances or read their blog postings or comments. Little Miss is mostly gone from the choir. Yes, I am still, somewhere, seething that she has performed with two of the opera companies that rejected me, and that the choir director forwards her email announcements when he never forwarded mine, but my next concert, at least, will only be open to guests over 60 so there!!
Now, as for the title of this post. One thing I was pondering recently was why, on the one hand, I always define myself theologically as a Unitarian, when, on the other hand, I don't like attending their services. I think I finally came up with an answer. I was reading a piece about Unitarians and Christmas that really resonated with me. This was back when Unitarians celebrated Christmas, which now seems to be one of the many sources of friction at their congregations, along with classical music and Biblical art. Reading that article made me realize that what I am is a nineteenth-century style "Unitarian" not a contemporary "UU". Suddenly an image came to mind, an image of a large tree. Judaism is the roots, because of course Christianity grew out of Judaism, and the trunk is what people think of as "JudeoChristian" culture and values. The tree now has many branches, some of which are fundamentalist, and some of which more liberal, like Reform Judaism and mainline Protestantism, all of which denominations accept same-sex marriage and tend toward the political Left. Unitarianism used to be a branch of mainline Protestantism. One that had been growing away from strict doctrine, yes, but still attached to the tree (for example the Unitarian church in Brooklyn where I grew up featured traditional church music, and the choir wore robes). Now, however, I feel that "UU-ism" has fallen off the tree and is another plant entirely, and it is that with which I am not comfortable. Having been raised as an atheist, I certainly don't feel rooted in JudeoChristian doctrine, but I do feel rooted in Western culture, much of which involves JudeoChristian music, art, and stories. How one interprets the art, music, and stories is another matter. So for example, I see most Bible stories as myths or parables, not as things that happened. I do not believe that Jesus was the only Son of God, simply a person who was killed for speaking truth to power, and I do not want to be Baptised. But if I want to have a "church" experience, I want it to be an authentic one (the kind I remember fondly from reading Anthony Trollope and Agatha Christie). I don't want to hear African drumming or Buddhist chanting. I also don't want to hear songs by Bob Dylan or John Lennon. On the other hand, I do appreciate African-American spirituals, even gospel music, because to me those are part of the rich fabric of Western religious experience, particularly in this country. And I would be happy to to sing or listen to some of the music that is featured in synagogues.
For the most part, singing and worshiping (the latter in my own fashion, which is what Unitarians do, after all) in a progressive Lutheran church has satisfied that need. And not just my need as a singer, but also my need as a person who cares about social justice, social outreach, and the life of the mind.
Yesterday, however, I heard a sermon that I found deeply offensive, something that has never happened to me at that church before. Usually it's simply a question of taking things with a grain of salt, staying in my seat during the procession toward communion (I have now laughingly named myself the "Shabbas Goy" of the choir because when other people are communing, I sing the communion hymn - sometimes it has been as a solo!!), and not speaking prayers beginning with the words "I believe" if, in fact, I don't. (If I am speaking, I am BabyD a private person. If I am singing, I am a church singer doing a job, even if it's one I don't get paid for.)
But getting back to yesterday's sermon. The woman preaching was one of the seminarians, but she is not young. I would guess late 40s early 50s and ministering is obviously a second career for her. I have always been very fond of her. She was preaching on Baptism. I have heard sermons on Baptism before and in fact several years ago the beloved drop dead gorgeous blonde pastor who has moved on to another career, gave a sermon on Baptism, after which I told her that I loved coming to that church but that I did not want to be Baptised because my mother was Jewish and she said that was perfectly OK.
The woman preaching yesterday, however, obviously had another opinion. She did not just say that Baptism gives you membership in the Body of Christ (something I am very certain I do not belong to), but that Baptism is what makes you a child of God. I found that outrageous. I am a child of God (as is everyone) and to be that you do not need to belong to any particular religious group or adhere to their specific doctrines.
But worst of all was how she ended the sermon. She said "If there's anyone here who is not Baptised, come make an appointment to see me now!"
I really feel that this overstepped a line. That is the sort of thing that you hear in right-wing fundamentalist churches, not a Lutheran church on the Upper West Side that is a magnet for classical musicians as well as Lutherans.
So when I hear this sort of thing I am reminded of why I call myself a Unitarian. But not a "UU". I'm still very much a "churchlady" (and yes, I love wearing "Sunday best" to services), just one with a healthy twenty-first century skepticism. But with a love of high art, a lot of which was inspired by Christianity, but exists for the aesthetic appreciation of all.
First, I want to say that in rereading some of my old posts that were not about singing, particularly the ones about same-sex marriage, sexism, and ageism, I see that they are good pieces of writing that can stand on their own, and that I would be proud to read at any writers' workshop. So I am going to write more of these.
As for my singing, as the huge endlessly frustrating technical problems that I struggled with for years seem now to be at an end, there is less to write about, unless I have sung something somewhere or am making plans. Every now and then I will have a "bad day" (my teacher and I had a talk about this at my last lesson) but for the most part I have a reliable technique that will stand me in good stead in most situations I am likely to find myself in.
I have two concerts scheduled for 2016: a reprise of the concert version of Carmen (on May 2), and my birthday concert (on July 31).
I have been able to squelch the envy that can overtake me by simply shutting out the world of all the emerging professionals, semi-pros, and others who flock to my neighborhood (the opera Mecca of the world). I don't go to their performances or read their blog postings or comments. Little Miss is mostly gone from the choir. Yes, I am still, somewhere, seething that she has performed with two of the opera companies that rejected me, and that the choir director forwards her email announcements when he never forwarded mine, but my next concert, at least, will only be open to guests over 60 so there!!
Now, as for the title of this post. One thing I was pondering recently was why, on the one hand, I always define myself theologically as a Unitarian, when, on the other hand, I don't like attending their services. I think I finally came up with an answer. I was reading a piece about Unitarians and Christmas that really resonated with me. This was back when Unitarians celebrated Christmas, which now seems to be one of the many sources of friction at their congregations, along with classical music and Biblical art. Reading that article made me realize that what I am is a nineteenth-century style "Unitarian" not a contemporary "UU". Suddenly an image came to mind, an image of a large tree. Judaism is the roots, because of course Christianity grew out of Judaism, and the trunk is what people think of as "JudeoChristian" culture and values. The tree now has many branches, some of which are fundamentalist, and some of which more liberal, like Reform Judaism and mainline Protestantism, all of which denominations accept same-sex marriage and tend toward the political Left. Unitarianism used to be a branch of mainline Protestantism. One that had been growing away from strict doctrine, yes, but still attached to the tree (for example the Unitarian church in Brooklyn where I grew up featured traditional church music, and the choir wore robes). Now, however, I feel that "UU-ism" has fallen off the tree and is another plant entirely, and it is that with which I am not comfortable. Having been raised as an atheist, I certainly don't feel rooted in JudeoChristian doctrine, but I do feel rooted in Western culture, much of which involves JudeoChristian music, art, and stories. How one interprets the art, music, and stories is another matter. So for example, I see most Bible stories as myths or parables, not as things that happened. I do not believe that Jesus was the only Son of God, simply a person who was killed for speaking truth to power, and I do not want to be Baptised. But if I want to have a "church" experience, I want it to be an authentic one (the kind I remember fondly from reading Anthony Trollope and Agatha Christie). I don't want to hear African drumming or Buddhist chanting. I also don't want to hear songs by Bob Dylan or John Lennon. On the other hand, I do appreciate African-American spirituals, even gospel music, because to me those are part of the rich fabric of Western religious experience, particularly in this country. And I would be happy to to sing or listen to some of the music that is featured in synagogues.
For the most part, singing and worshiping (the latter in my own fashion, which is what Unitarians do, after all) in a progressive Lutheran church has satisfied that need. And not just my need as a singer, but also my need as a person who cares about social justice, social outreach, and the life of the mind.
Yesterday, however, I heard a sermon that I found deeply offensive, something that has never happened to me at that church before. Usually it's simply a question of taking things with a grain of salt, staying in my seat during the procession toward communion (I have now laughingly named myself the "Shabbas Goy" of the choir because when other people are communing, I sing the communion hymn - sometimes it has been as a solo!!), and not speaking prayers beginning with the words "I believe" if, in fact, I don't. (If I am speaking, I am BabyD a private person. If I am singing, I am a church singer doing a job, even if it's one I don't get paid for.)
But getting back to yesterday's sermon. The woman preaching was one of the seminarians, but she is not young. I would guess late 40s early 50s and ministering is obviously a second career for her. I have always been very fond of her. She was preaching on Baptism. I have heard sermons on Baptism before and in fact several years ago the beloved drop dead gorgeous blonde pastor who has moved on to another career, gave a sermon on Baptism, after which I told her that I loved coming to that church but that I did not want to be Baptised because my mother was Jewish and she said that was perfectly OK.
The woman preaching yesterday, however, obviously had another opinion. She did not just say that Baptism gives you membership in the Body of Christ (something I am very certain I do not belong to), but that Baptism is what makes you a child of God. I found that outrageous. I am a child of God (as is everyone) and to be that you do not need to belong to any particular religious group or adhere to their specific doctrines.
But worst of all was how she ended the sermon. She said "If there's anyone here who is not Baptised, come make an appointment to see me now!"
I really feel that this overstepped a line. That is the sort of thing that you hear in right-wing fundamentalist churches, not a Lutheran church on the Upper West Side that is a magnet for classical musicians as well as Lutherans.
So when I hear this sort of thing I am reminded of why I call myself a Unitarian. But not a "UU". I'm still very much a "churchlady" (and yes, I love wearing "Sunday best" to services), just one with a healthy twenty-first century skepticism. But with a love of high art, a lot of which was inspired by Christianity, but exists for the aesthetic appreciation of all.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Countdown to the Requiem
I had hoped to write something yesterday, as yesterday/today is the ninth anniversary of that fateful Valentine's Day, but I couldn't think of anything.
The Requiem is now really really happening. Flyers are made, and there will be an announcement on the church's web site as well as on its Facebook page.
I said more prayers that I will be worthy of this endeavor.
This is the biggest thing I have done since the concert of Samson et Dalila in 2008. I am singing better now, but have far, far less chutzpah.
Back then I thought just the fact that I could slog through the role of a femme fatale, wearing a pretty dress, made me special.
Since then I have been rejected by every single no-pay "community opera group" except one that wanted to charge me a hefty fee (at least that was for singing a lead) and another whose director cast me in an infinitesimal role and then used me as a punching bag, so I walked out.
I see that everywhere I turn, in this city and especially in this neighborhood, I am drowning in young talent with conservatory degrees and apprenticeships, and women 15-20 years younger (which still makes them in their 40s) who are totally polished, with several decades of singing in my fach behind them (and conservatory degrees and apprenticeships, back from the "dark ages"). So this has shaken my confidence.
At the last rehearsal I fell on my face with "Lux Aeterna" which has now given me two things to worry about (that I will worry about the A flat in "Liber Scriptus" is a given). In "Lux Aeterna" I not only have to sing the phrase with the G, I also have to concentrate on counting so that I stay together with the two other people. Well, I have done things like this in the choir. I just have to drill it over and over and over, with the recording.
Putting God back in it helps. On Ash Wednesday we were invited to write "sins" (or something else) on paper, which would be burned with the palms that they use to make the ashes. So I wrote to "banish fear and self-doubt". I don't really believe in "sin", unless I am doing something hurtful to other people. I believe that I sin when I lose my temper at my partner, but that's about it. I suppose my fear and self-doubt is a sin of sorts. God gave me back this gift and even if the person who lit the spark was often more Mephistophelian, I can't just walk away from it. This is something I am doing for the church.
Lent has begun. For me it will be a time to ramp up my practice of my art, which is, after all, a spiritual practice.
And now, I see, it is now longer "today".
The Requiem is now really really happening. Flyers are made, and there will be an announcement on the church's web site as well as on its Facebook page.
I said more prayers that I will be worthy of this endeavor.
This is the biggest thing I have done since the concert of Samson et Dalila in 2008. I am singing better now, but have far, far less chutzpah.
Back then I thought just the fact that I could slog through the role of a femme fatale, wearing a pretty dress, made me special.
Since then I have been rejected by every single no-pay "community opera group" except one that wanted to charge me a hefty fee (at least that was for singing a lead) and another whose director cast me in an infinitesimal role and then used me as a punching bag, so I walked out.
I see that everywhere I turn, in this city and especially in this neighborhood, I am drowning in young talent with conservatory degrees and apprenticeships, and women 15-20 years younger (which still makes them in their 40s) who are totally polished, with several decades of singing in my fach behind them (and conservatory degrees and apprenticeships, back from the "dark ages"). So this has shaken my confidence.
At the last rehearsal I fell on my face with "Lux Aeterna" which has now given me two things to worry about (that I will worry about the A flat in "Liber Scriptus" is a given). In "Lux Aeterna" I not only have to sing the phrase with the G, I also have to concentrate on counting so that I stay together with the two other people. Well, I have done things like this in the choir. I just have to drill it over and over and over, with the recording.
Putting God back in it helps. On Ash Wednesday we were invited to write "sins" (or something else) on paper, which would be burned with the palms that they use to make the ashes. So I wrote to "banish fear and self-doubt". I don't really believe in "sin", unless I am doing something hurtful to other people. I believe that I sin when I lose my temper at my partner, but that's about it. I suppose my fear and self-doubt is a sin of sorts. God gave me back this gift and even if the person who lit the spark was often more Mephistophelian, I can't just walk away from it. This is something I am doing for the church.
Lent has begun. For me it will be a time to ramp up my practice of my art, which is, after all, a spiritual practice.
And now, I see, it is now longer "today".
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Prelude to Some Links
I got the sound files back from the engineer. Six of them (four of these the ones I made on the day I was not singing well, which required splicing) sounded good. Two from the day I was singing well did not, which really upset me. Whether or not I sing as well as I would like, I can tell by how it feels most of the time if I sound good or I don't. Especially with high notes. Either it spins or it doesn't.
When I asked the engineer if he could make fixes to the ones that did not sound good (in the past, he seemed to offer to make fixes ad infinitum) he wrote me a nasty email saying that there was nothing he could do and that sometimes I don't really sing - I just scream.
Let me make one thing absolutely clear: No one gets away with insulting me that way and stays in my life. Constructive criticism is one thing (e.g., "that didn't sound good, you should do it over for the recording" - which he actually said a few times on the day I wasn't feeling well - or "I don't think that aria is ready to be recorded, why don't you choose something else" which would have been fine too) but an insult that has no counterweight and is not a gateway to a problem-solving process is not acceptable.
I am almost afraid to write any more, because I was feeling depressed. If my "good" singing isn't even good, what's the point?
I think a place to start is to send all the files to my teacher, including the bad ones, and ask him what he thinks.
One thing the engineer did say was that on the second day he had me stand farther away from the mike and that also I was moving around more. The latter is probably true. Although I was feeling good, I was very nervous as a result of how badly I had sung in the first session, and I know moving around keeps my nerves under control and helps me sing better (and looks good onstage - moving during "Condotta" in my concert made the aria come across as exciting and dynamic). So should I have been wearing a body mike? I am not well informed about those things and thought that he was.
So we left it that he would put everything on a CD and then "call it quits". That was my phrase, which could be interpreted two ways: either we wouldn't do any more tweaking with the files that don't sound good, or we would call our relationship quits, at least for a good long time. That's too bad, in that I have known him since I was 14, but he was a friend of my mother's not of mine, really (I mean he is much younger than she was - he's probably in his mid 70s).
Then he wrote back and said he would try to make some improvements to the "bad" files. I hope they sound good enough that I can have a CD with eight arias on it to sell at the church, but if not, I can have six decent mp3 files to post here and there.
Some day I may have to be nothing but a church soloist singing things that never go above an F or a G, but that day is not today. I mean I love church music and I have enormous respect for the church where I sing (which is why I made a donation to them) but I am not Christian, and I am definitely not virtuous! (I am finished with monogamy as a lifstyle for starters, which is not the sort of thing I usually post here, but it exemplifies why I am happier as a Pagan with some Christian edges than I would be considering being Baptised!) And I ain't ready to give up shaking my booty, tearing my hair, chewing up the scenery, and being a drama queen. Which I can't do in a church.
ETA: I removed all the sound links from this blog. Someone made a nasty comment (there's a difference between constructive criticism, which is balanced, and nastiness, which wipes a person out totally) This is a good object lesson that I need to be selective in whom I solicit feedback from. My teacher tells me what does/does not sound good, which is different from basically saying I should throw the baby out with the bathwater.
When I asked the engineer if he could make fixes to the ones that did not sound good (in the past, he seemed to offer to make fixes ad infinitum) he wrote me a nasty email saying that there was nothing he could do and that sometimes I don't really sing - I just scream.
Let me make one thing absolutely clear: No one gets away with insulting me that way and stays in my life. Constructive criticism is one thing (e.g., "that didn't sound good, you should do it over for the recording" - which he actually said a few times on the day I wasn't feeling well - or "I don't think that aria is ready to be recorded, why don't you choose something else" which would have been fine too) but an insult that has no counterweight and is not a gateway to a problem-solving process is not acceptable.
I am almost afraid to write any more, because I was feeling depressed. If my "good" singing isn't even good, what's the point?
I think a place to start is to send all the files to my teacher, including the bad ones, and ask him what he thinks.
One thing the engineer did say was that on the second day he had me stand farther away from the mike and that also I was moving around more. The latter is probably true. Although I was feeling good, I was very nervous as a result of how badly I had sung in the first session, and I know moving around keeps my nerves under control and helps me sing better (and looks good onstage - moving during "Condotta" in my concert made the aria come across as exciting and dynamic). So should I have been wearing a body mike? I am not well informed about those things and thought that he was.
So we left it that he would put everything on a CD and then "call it quits". That was my phrase, which could be interpreted two ways: either we wouldn't do any more tweaking with the files that don't sound good, or we would call our relationship quits, at least for a good long time. That's too bad, in that I have known him since I was 14, but he was a friend of my mother's not of mine, really (I mean he is much younger than she was - he's probably in his mid 70s).
Then he wrote back and said he would try to make some improvements to the "bad" files. I hope they sound good enough that I can have a CD with eight arias on it to sell at the church, but if not, I can have six decent mp3 files to post here and there.
Some day I may have to be nothing but a church soloist singing things that never go above an F or a G, but that day is not today. I mean I love church music and I have enormous respect for the church where I sing (which is why I made a donation to them) but I am not Christian, and I am definitely not virtuous! (I am finished with monogamy as a lifstyle for starters, which is not the sort of thing I usually post here, but it exemplifies why I am happier as a Pagan with some Christian edges than I would be considering being Baptised!) And I ain't ready to give up shaking my booty, tearing my hair, chewing up the scenery, and being a drama queen. Which I can't do in a church.
ETA: I removed all the sound links from this blog. Someone made a nasty comment (there's a difference between constructive criticism, which is balanced, and nastiness, which wipes a person out totally) This is a good object lesson that I need to be selective in whom I solicit feedback from. My teacher tells me what does/does not sound good, which is different from basically saying I should throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Some Thoughts on Holy Week and Answering Snark with Kindness
First, Holy Week. On Maundy Thursday I sang "Pie Jesu" from the Durufle Requiem, with the choir director on the organ and his wife on the cello. It went really well and I got compliments from people who had never much liked my singing before. I could say it was possibly some of my best singing. Unfortunately, no matter what I do, I can't carry that sound/confidence up above an A flat (the highest note in "Pie Jesu" is an F sharp). Sometimes I wonder why I keep bashing my head against a brick wall over opera, but I just love it, and my voice is definitely the right size and timbre, I just can't seem to keep hoisting it north.
Singing the Mozart Requiem yesterday as part of the Good Friday Passion Play was an unbelievably magical experience. It's because of things like this (and getting to sing sacred solos regularly) that I am spending Sundays at this Lutheran church, whether I agree with their theology or not. I still consider myself a Unitarian but they are such louts when it comes to classical music. They whine that it's "Christian" instead of seeing how glorious it is. If my atheistic Jewish mother could say "the angels always want to hear Mozart" what is these people's bloody problem? (I hear they are singing Beatle songs regularly on Sundays - excuse me while I go stick my head in the loo).
I also sang the alto line in one of the solo quartets. Now that there are two operatically trained coloratura sopranos there it is utterly pointless for me to sing soprano in pieces like that. The alto parts (certainly the one in the Requiem) are not particiularly comfortable, either, (it's rather sad that I get all excited every time I see a D sitting toward the top of the staff) but going forward there will be more opportunities there.
I still want to keep my seat in the soprano section, though, so I can sing second soprano when the occasion arises, which is the most comfortable. I can get to sing a lot of Es and Fs and a few Gs but don't have to struggle with keeping the volume down on an A.
Which reminds me. I have to decide if I am going to torture myself with the soprano part in the "Halleluia Chorus" again tomorrow. I will be in the soprano section for another piece, which does have a second soprano part. I may. I will view it as an exercise. Of course I won't sing it as well as the real sopranos (I probably sang it as well as the untrained ones when that's all there were) but there are things I need to work on. Last year I "squeaked" on the high A. I have to remember not to sing "he". Who sings a word like "he" on a high A?
Getting to the second part of this post title, which in a way is the most important, what happened was I got an invitation on Facebook from a young man who has an opera company, that I auditioned for, and got nothing from, inviting me to a concert of "amazing voices ages 10-42" (where he found a 10-year-old I have no idea). So I posted something saying "too bad it stops at 42" and then updated my status to say something about the fact that I needed to get back to working on planning another concert for older singers. So this man got back to me and told me about the concert venue (which is unbelievably cheap, and near where I live - well, I live in Opera City, which is rather ironic) and said he would help me organize it. I was so touched. He is a good person, even if he never invited me to sing in one of his concerts. So I said I wanted to do something with my teacher in the Fall and he said "why not now?" No, I'll stick to the Fall. Now I have to think about rep. It would be nice to have a few other people. There's a dramatic soprano who sings with my teacher. If we can get her, she and I can do the Aida/Amneris duet and I'd love to take a crack at Manrico/Azucena. I am afraid to sing the Amneris/Radames duet although maybe we should work on it until the last possible minute and see. I need to overcome my phobia about those high notes. I have to find something, some gimmick or technical trick that will enable me to get up there. I can do it but it's so "on the edge" like a skater doing a triple axel. It's not natural. And then there's my partner to deal with. She thinks I should just give up opera entirely, for whatever reason. No one seems to understand that when I work on this stuff I am fighting both my own fear and a significant other who doesn't want me doing it.
Well, now it's almost time to start my day, which means doing some of my work for pay at the laptop (I've got tons) and going to visit my partner and doing chores for her. My luck I only got 6 and a half hours sleep. I just didn't want to stay in bed any later.
While I'm at it, I might as well post an "intention" as they used to say in the women's Moon Circle:
Every day that I can I will work on one piece of Verdi or Verismo until I overcome my fears and build up my stamina.
Singing the Mozart Requiem yesterday as part of the Good Friday Passion Play was an unbelievably magical experience. It's because of things like this (and getting to sing sacred solos regularly) that I am spending Sundays at this Lutheran church, whether I agree with their theology or not. I still consider myself a Unitarian but they are such louts when it comes to classical music. They whine that it's "Christian" instead of seeing how glorious it is. If my atheistic Jewish mother could say "the angels always want to hear Mozart" what is these people's bloody problem? (I hear they are singing Beatle songs regularly on Sundays - excuse me while I go stick my head in the loo).
I also sang the alto line in one of the solo quartets. Now that there are two operatically trained coloratura sopranos there it is utterly pointless for me to sing soprano in pieces like that. The alto parts (certainly the one in the Requiem) are not particiularly comfortable, either, (it's rather sad that I get all excited every time I see a D sitting toward the top of the staff) but going forward there will be more opportunities there.
I still want to keep my seat in the soprano section, though, so I can sing second soprano when the occasion arises, which is the most comfortable. I can get to sing a lot of Es and Fs and a few Gs but don't have to struggle with keeping the volume down on an A.
Which reminds me. I have to decide if I am going to torture myself with the soprano part in the "Halleluia Chorus" again tomorrow. I will be in the soprano section for another piece, which does have a second soprano part. I may. I will view it as an exercise. Of course I won't sing it as well as the real sopranos (I probably sang it as well as the untrained ones when that's all there were) but there are things I need to work on. Last year I "squeaked" on the high A. I have to remember not to sing "he". Who sings a word like "he" on a high A?
Getting to the second part of this post title, which in a way is the most important, what happened was I got an invitation on Facebook from a young man who has an opera company, that I auditioned for, and got nothing from, inviting me to a concert of "amazing voices ages 10-42" (where he found a 10-year-old I have no idea). So I posted something saying "too bad it stops at 42" and then updated my status to say something about the fact that I needed to get back to working on planning another concert for older singers. So this man got back to me and told me about the concert venue (which is unbelievably cheap, and near where I live - well, I live in Opera City, which is rather ironic) and said he would help me organize it. I was so touched. He is a good person, even if he never invited me to sing in one of his concerts. So I said I wanted to do something with my teacher in the Fall and he said "why not now?" No, I'll stick to the Fall. Now I have to think about rep. It would be nice to have a few other people. There's a dramatic soprano who sings with my teacher. If we can get her, she and I can do the Aida/Amneris duet and I'd love to take a crack at Manrico/Azucena. I am afraid to sing the Amneris/Radames duet although maybe we should work on it until the last possible minute and see. I need to overcome my phobia about those high notes. I have to find something, some gimmick or technical trick that will enable me to get up there. I can do it but it's so "on the edge" like a skater doing a triple axel. It's not natural. And then there's my partner to deal with. She thinks I should just give up opera entirely, for whatever reason. No one seems to understand that when I work on this stuff I am fighting both my own fear and a significant other who doesn't want me doing it.
Well, now it's almost time to start my day, which means doing some of my work for pay at the laptop (I've got tons) and going to visit my partner and doing chores for her. My luck I only got 6 and a half hours sleep. I just didn't want to stay in bed any later.
While I'm at it, I might as well post an "intention" as they used to say in the women's Moon Circle:
Every day that I can I will work on one piece of Verdi or Verismo until I overcome my fears and build up my stamina.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Theology and Music
I should be getting to bed (I have to get up at 7:30 for Pilates class) but I wanted to write something about this topic, as it's one that interests me.
This morning I went to the Lutheran church where I sing in the choir during our regular season, because they were having a summer "pickup choir" and also because there was going to be a special program on Theology and Music.
It wasn't quite what I expected. To me "Theology and Music" means Bach, Handel, and the other great composers of sacred music, but this morning's fare was more contemporary. Mostly original songs written by members and friends of the congregation. Several of these were surprisingly moving in their authenticity. (I am usually not a fan of "popular music" of any kind.)
Although my parents were militantly atheistic, my mother often took me to churches to hear sacred music. She saw nothing odd about being a secular Jewish atheist and listening to the Messiah or the Bach Passions, or going to see the Play of Daniel, or spending time at the Metropolitan Museum looking at sacred art. She came from that generation of well educated first generation Americans (actually her mother was born in Philadelphia) who had been taught to revere "Western Civ". This included knowing Greek mythology and the Bible. A parable about Jesus, or the aria "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" was no less beautiful than a "myth" about Athena or a statue of Apollo. None of this had anything to do with religion (if you weren't religious).
As an adult I always felt ashamed of my atheistic background (I was for years the only child in school whose answer to the question "what is your religion"? was "none") so as an adult I became a Unitarian. I had actually sung in a Unitarian choir as a teenager and remembered the services (and the music) to be as "old fashioned" as any Protestant service except that the word "Christ" was removed from the hymns and there was no Communion. But there was Handel aplenty and the church was a historic building.
Becoming a Unitarian as an adult, the church I attended was also a historic building but I was quite surprised to find that the mosaic of Jesus over the altar, which showed him washing the feet of the disciples, was often covered up with a curtain. Apparently people in the congregation found it offensive. I found this rather amusing, and no less "yokelish" (one of my mother's favorite words) than John Ashcroft wanting to cover up the naked statue of Justice. It was a work of art, no? People could interpret it as they saw fit. I was equally surprised that people were offended by my singing "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" at Easter and even more surprised that they were surprised that I wanted to sing it.
I suppose it is odd in a way that as someone who grew up "Godless" I seem to have such an affinity for sacred music. Well, on the one hand, to me, anyhow, it has all the beauty and drama of opera (art songs leave me cold, for the most part, sorry) without the overtaxing range and volume. Also you can sing a selection or two and call it a morning. And you can sing in the morning which for me is a lot easier than singing at night (I simply don't understand how all the great singers can hit a "peak" vocally after 9 pm). And you sing on Sunday, which, when I worked in an office, was more convenient than trying to sing on a weeknight.
Eventually I left that Unitarian church over their decision to drastically curtail any classical sacred music in the services.
I was directed toward the Lutherans, as having the best music, liking bigger voices, and not insisting on choirs singing "straight tone".
And I would be lying if I didn't say that singing there for me has been some kind of spiritual experience, although I cannot always say what kind.
And now, since in three weeks I will be singing the heroic "Judgment Scene" from Aida in a Sunday concert, I really do need to get back to my regime of high protein, low sugar, and 8 hours of sleep at night.
This morning I went to the Lutheran church where I sing in the choir during our regular season, because they were having a summer "pickup choir" and also because there was going to be a special program on Theology and Music.
It wasn't quite what I expected. To me "Theology and Music" means Bach, Handel, and the other great composers of sacred music, but this morning's fare was more contemporary. Mostly original songs written by members and friends of the congregation. Several of these were surprisingly moving in their authenticity. (I am usually not a fan of "popular music" of any kind.)
Although my parents were militantly atheistic, my mother often took me to churches to hear sacred music. She saw nothing odd about being a secular Jewish atheist and listening to the Messiah or the Bach Passions, or going to see the Play of Daniel, or spending time at the Metropolitan Museum looking at sacred art. She came from that generation of well educated first generation Americans (actually her mother was born in Philadelphia) who had been taught to revere "Western Civ". This included knowing Greek mythology and the Bible. A parable about Jesus, or the aria "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" was no less beautiful than a "myth" about Athena or a statue of Apollo. None of this had anything to do with religion (if you weren't religious).
As an adult I always felt ashamed of my atheistic background (I was for years the only child in school whose answer to the question "what is your religion"? was "none") so as an adult I became a Unitarian. I had actually sung in a Unitarian choir as a teenager and remembered the services (and the music) to be as "old fashioned" as any Protestant service except that the word "Christ" was removed from the hymns and there was no Communion. But there was Handel aplenty and the church was a historic building.
Becoming a Unitarian as an adult, the church I attended was also a historic building but I was quite surprised to find that the mosaic of Jesus over the altar, which showed him washing the feet of the disciples, was often covered up with a curtain. Apparently people in the congregation found it offensive. I found this rather amusing, and no less "yokelish" (one of my mother's favorite words) than John Ashcroft wanting to cover up the naked statue of Justice. It was a work of art, no? People could interpret it as they saw fit. I was equally surprised that people were offended by my singing "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" at Easter and even more surprised that they were surprised that I wanted to sing it.
I suppose it is odd in a way that as someone who grew up "Godless" I seem to have such an affinity for sacred music. Well, on the one hand, to me, anyhow, it has all the beauty and drama of opera (art songs leave me cold, for the most part, sorry) without the overtaxing range and volume. Also you can sing a selection or two and call it a morning. And you can sing in the morning which for me is a lot easier than singing at night (I simply don't understand how all the great singers can hit a "peak" vocally after 9 pm). And you sing on Sunday, which, when I worked in an office, was more convenient than trying to sing on a weeknight.
Eventually I left that Unitarian church over their decision to drastically curtail any classical sacred music in the services.
I was directed toward the Lutherans, as having the best music, liking bigger voices, and not insisting on choirs singing "straight tone".
And I would be lying if I didn't say that singing there for me has been some kind of spiritual experience, although I cannot always say what kind.
And now, since in three weeks I will be singing the heroic "Judgment Scene" from Aida in a Sunday concert, I really do need to get back to my regime of high protein, low sugar, and 8 hours of sleep at night.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Art and Chaos
Although I do not define myself as Christian (my mother is an atheistic Jew and my father was an atheistic Scotsman) I sing in a Lutheran church. So I am getting quite a theological education, which I find fascinating, whatever I decide to do with this in terms of how I live my own life.
Today was Pentecost Sunday, which meant that people wore red, the pastors and children waved magnificent red banners, and the choir sang a lovely piece of Mozart. (I sang with the altos and had a couple of short solos.)
The theme today was The Holy Spirit (referred to as "she"!) and the pastor's sermon was on "Chaos", and how when the Holy Spirit enters one's life, chaos can ensue (I hope I got that right).
When my life changed forever on February 15, 2004, it was thrown into chaos. There were a lot of contradictions that day: I was in a house of worship, albeit a Unitarian one, in the thrall of a mentor whose attraction for me was a lot more than spiritual, singing the sexiest aria ever written, to commemorate Valentine's Day no less. Was there a Holy Spirit hole in the church ceiling that day? I now think maybe so. None of this was what I had expected to be experiencing in a church.
I had already developed a faith in God as I understood (him? her?) after finding my voice in the back of that Unitarian church, after 23 years of not singing. (Although I dreamed about singing all the time, which must say something.) But this was something more. I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
To pursue art for no money when there are so many other things that need to be done, so many bills to be paid, so many other "more important" priorities, is, I suppose, a form of living with the Holy Spirit. For me to have scheduled a coaching for two auditions that probably won't lead to anything, when my severance check is half gone, my unemployment insurance has most likely run out, and I have no work on the horizon, is certainly a leap of faith although I'm not sure of what kind. Pretty soon things will be in a state of chaos if I don't have a full time income.
Lately there's been a very earthly voice in my ear saying "Look. If you get offered a full time job you should take it, even if it means losing valuable practice time [not to mention losing sleep] and maybe not being able to get to all the singing activities you want to. Just forget about singing all that strenuous opera. You can be a nice choir alto, even a nice choir alto soloist without overtaxing yourself, worrying about how much sleep you get, how much you talk, the nutritional value of every morsel you put in your mouth. If you have a full time job you can take a vacation. You can read novels on the train. Things can be the way they were more or less, on February 13, 2004."
But I don't think the Holy Spirit will let me.
Today was Pentecost Sunday, which meant that people wore red, the pastors and children waved magnificent red banners, and the choir sang a lovely piece of Mozart. (I sang with the altos and had a couple of short solos.)
The theme today was The Holy Spirit (referred to as "she"!) and the pastor's sermon was on "Chaos", and how when the Holy Spirit enters one's life, chaos can ensue (I hope I got that right).
When my life changed forever on February 15, 2004, it was thrown into chaos. There were a lot of contradictions that day: I was in a house of worship, albeit a Unitarian one, in the thrall of a mentor whose attraction for me was a lot more than spiritual, singing the sexiest aria ever written, to commemorate Valentine's Day no less. Was there a Holy Spirit hole in the church ceiling that day? I now think maybe so. None of this was what I had expected to be experiencing in a church.
I had already developed a faith in God as I understood (him? her?) after finding my voice in the back of that Unitarian church, after 23 years of not singing. (Although I dreamed about singing all the time, which must say something.) But this was something more. I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
To pursue art for no money when there are so many other things that need to be done, so many bills to be paid, so many other "more important" priorities, is, I suppose, a form of living with the Holy Spirit. For me to have scheduled a coaching for two auditions that probably won't lead to anything, when my severance check is half gone, my unemployment insurance has most likely run out, and I have no work on the horizon, is certainly a leap of faith although I'm not sure of what kind. Pretty soon things will be in a state of chaos if I don't have a full time income.
Lately there's been a very earthly voice in my ear saying "Look. If you get offered a full time job you should take it, even if it means losing valuable practice time [not to mention losing sleep] and maybe not being able to get to all the singing activities you want to. Just forget about singing all that strenuous opera. You can be a nice choir alto, even a nice choir alto soloist without overtaxing yourself, worrying about how much sleep you get, how much you talk, the nutritional value of every morsel you put in your mouth. If you have a full time job you can take a vacation. You can read novels on the train. Things can be the way they were more or less, on February 13, 2004."
But I don't think the Holy Spirit will let me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)