So New York is "pausing" which means that all non-essential businesses are closed; except, apparently, liquor stores. That will be a recipe for disaster. And all employees who can work from home, must.
I have confirmed that I can go back and forth to visit my partner regardless, and could do that even if there were a "shelter in place" order. And I will sleep with her and snuggle with her.
I think in some ways common wisdom is wrong. I think the younger you are, the more precautions you should take, because you will still be here when it is all over, and can touch again, kiss again, snuggle again, and visit again. They talk about seniors needing to take the most precautions but actually I think they should be allowed to take the least, because they might very well not live beyond the end of this. It should be their choice whether to risk catching a virus or risk dying without ever feeling a loving touch again.
Now for a rant. Our church is closed, and the choir has been on hiatus. We can't sing in the church because there are too many of us, and it would break the "no non-essential gatherings" rule. They are streaming services on Facebook and I had assumed that that meant that the only people in the church would be the minister, one assistant, and the organist. That was true the first time, but today, guess who showed up?? "Little Miss". (If you are a new reader and want to know about her, read some of my posts from 2013-2015.) Now why the bleep was she invited to come sing??? If they just wanted one person, why didn't they ask one of the soloists from the church? I couldn't have done it today because I had been sick with a UTI that gave me a fever and I was feeling weak. (I stayed away from my partner also, even though the fever was not related to anything contagious, but will see her again Tuesday.) Anyhow, I am now stewing. I don't want to email the music director because I think it's bad form to bitch about anything during this time, but my question is - why?? I wouldn't have been at all upset if there had been one soloist from the church (not me). If that had been the case I probably would have tossed off a short email to the music director to the effect of "if you are looking for volunteers to sing in the church while you're livestreaming I'm available" and left it at that.
In any event I have no idea what Little Miss sang; I exited the livestream as soon as I saw her and went off to do something else.
I was able to practice today for a little and tomorrow will go back to working on the Carter arrangement of "Ride on King Jesus". I am not in the mood for opera, which is certainly understandable.
Showing posts with label envy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label envy. Show all posts
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
The Return of Old Hurts, and My Take on "Little Women"
Well, it seems I am in a writing mode again, although I have not felt like revisiting my memoir.
I thought I was "done" with a lot of the old hurts that I used to write about, but I just found out that once again my teacher is helming a concert with his opera cronies and I am not in it. I am done having an argument with him about this. He will just throw out one excuse after another. I think he began agreeing to participate in nursing home concerts with me because at one point I made noises about leaving him so I could study with a teacher who put on "studio recitals". Then at least I would have something.
Sadly, if I know how to leave "well enough alone", he doesn't. His wife sent me an email about their concert which went out to a large email list of "family and friends". I couldn't help but notice that when she tells people about my concerts with her husband, it's only a few choice people.
Anyhow, when I went for my lesson yesterday I didn't mention the email but when we were done singing my teacher did. So I told him that first, I am not free on Saturdays, and second, that since I resented not being asked to participate, I wouldn't come anyhow. Then he said he knew that. So why did he bring the bleeping subject up???
As I mentioned in my previous post, my anger and sadness about not being able to break into the world of the no-pay opera companies has mostly receded. Partly because of age, as I said. All I really want is to do solo singing in front of an audience, wear something glamorous, and eat up the limelight. So I can do that. Of course it's not all a walk in the park. If I want those things, I have to work hard, which I do. And really church people are a lot nicer than opera people. Interestingly, my teacher and his wife seem to have made a friendly social life in that milieu but I never found those types of classical singers to be a nice bunch.
As to the second subject of this post (I guess it's a "twofer") I got to thinking about Little Women again because of the new movie that has come out. Interestingly, the first chapter of my memoir is partly about my relationship to Little Women and how my mother was bemused by the fact that I did not identify with Jo. "Don't all brainy women see themselves as Jo?" she would ask. Well, first, at 11 or 12 I hardly saw myself as a "brainy woman". I liked to read fiction, but what I liked most was playing the piano and trying new lipstick shades. As for Jo being an "independent woman", well, in 1962 that was not as anomalous as it was in 1862. Most of the young women in their 20s whom I knew worked after they graduated from college. Many eventually married and some stayed home (my mother did that and in fact considered being able to stay home a "privilege") but reading and writing was a calling or a job, not a "lifestyle". I just realized recently that it was probably from reading Little Women and modeling herself on Jo that my mother bought into the trope that "brainy women", women who read and write, don't care about their appearance. I remember her once talking about a close friend and saying "Well Hattie obviously doesn't take herself seriously as an intelligent woman because she dyes her hair." To all these points, growing up I certainly didn't see Jo as "rebellious". She was just like all the "politically correct" women I knew over the years who were always scolding other women for primping, or buying products that they shouldn't. I mean selling her hair for a greater good? How goody two shoes can you get? I mean I think it was a noble sacrifice, but it certainly doesn't fit my definition of "rebellious".
My role model as a 13 year old was Kim Novak's Moll Flanders (and after seeing the movie, I read the book). She looked just like me for one thing (at 13 I was five foot six, weighed 155 pounds, wore a bra size 36D, and despite all that extra weight had a tiny waist). Katharine Hepburn I was definitely not. Recently, I saw the PBS Little Women and decided that if I had to identify with one of the girls it would be Amy. She took herself seriously as a painter and loved pretty clothes, primping, material comfort, and flirting.
Of course I don't think my mother wanted me to grow up to be a literary spinster like Louisa May Alcott. At the end of Little Women, Jo marries a professor many years her senior. My mother did likewise. Was it because she saw herself as Jo, I wonder? Jo loved the professor because he engaged with her writing (even if only to criticize it) not her femininity.
Ironically, I grew up to be a Lesbian who paired off with a butch who loved me for my beauty (in her eyes) and sweetness. When she could afford it she bought me flowers and jewelry.
I thought I was "done" with a lot of the old hurts that I used to write about, but I just found out that once again my teacher is helming a concert with his opera cronies and I am not in it. I am done having an argument with him about this. He will just throw out one excuse after another. I think he began agreeing to participate in nursing home concerts with me because at one point I made noises about leaving him so I could study with a teacher who put on "studio recitals". Then at least I would have something.
Sadly, if I know how to leave "well enough alone", he doesn't. His wife sent me an email about their concert which went out to a large email list of "family and friends". I couldn't help but notice that when she tells people about my concerts with her husband, it's only a few choice people.
Anyhow, when I went for my lesson yesterday I didn't mention the email but when we were done singing my teacher did. So I told him that first, I am not free on Saturdays, and second, that since I resented not being asked to participate, I wouldn't come anyhow. Then he said he knew that. So why did he bring the bleeping subject up???
As I mentioned in my previous post, my anger and sadness about not being able to break into the world of the no-pay opera companies has mostly receded. Partly because of age, as I said. All I really want is to do solo singing in front of an audience, wear something glamorous, and eat up the limelight. So I can do that. Of course it's not all a walk in the park. If I want those things, I have to work hard, which I do. And really church people are a lot nicer than opera people. Interestingly, my teacher and his wife seem to have made a friendly social life in that milieu but I never found those types of classical singers to be a nice bunch.
As to the second subject of this post (I guess it's a "twofer") I got to thinking about Little Women again because of the new movie that has come out. Interestingly, the first chapter of my memoir is partly about my relationship to Little Women and how my mother was bemused by the fact that I did not identify with Jo. "Don't all brainy women see themselves as Jo?" she would ask. Well, first, at 11 or 12 I hardly saw myself as a "brainy woman". I liked to read fiction, but what I liked most was playing the piano and trying new lipstick shades. As for Jo being an "independent woman", well, in 1962 that was not as anomalous as it was in 1862. Most of the young women in their 20s whom I knew worked after they graduated from college. Many eventually married and some stayed home (my mother did that and in fact considered being able to stay home a "privilege") but reading and writing was a calling or a job, not a "lifestyle". I just realized recently that it was probably from reading Little Women and modeling herself on Jo that my mother bought into the trope that "brainy women", women who read and write, don't care about their appearance. I remember her once talking about a close friend and saying "Well Hattie obviously doesn't take herself seriously as an intelligent woman because she dyes her hair." To all these points, growing up I certainly didn't see Jo as "rebellious". She was just like all the "politically correct" women I knew over the years who were always scolding other women for primping, or buying products that they shouldn't. I mean selling her hair for a greater good? How goody two shoes can you get? I mean I think it was a noble sacrifice, but it certainly doesn't fit my definition of "rebellious".
My role model as a 13 year old was Kim Novak's Moll Flanders (and after seeing the movie, I read the book). She looked just like me for one thing (at 13 I was five foot six, weighed 155 pounds, wore a bra size 36D, and despite all that extra weight had a tiny waist). Katharine Hepburn I was definitely not. Recently, I saw the PBS Little Women and decided that if I had to identify with one of the girls it would be Amy. She took herself seriously as a painter and loved pretty clothes, primping, material comfort, and flirting.
Of course I don't think my mother wanted me to grow up to be a literary spinster like Louisa May Alcott. At the end of Little Women, Jo marries a professor many years her senior. My mother did likewise. Was it because she saw herself as Jo, I wonder? Jo loved the professor because he engaged with her writing (even if only to criticize it) not her femininity.
Ironically, I grew up to be a Lesbian who paired off with a butch who loved me for my beauty (in her eyes) and sweetness. When she could afford it she bought me flowers and jewelry.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Postpartum Depression
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".
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".
Thursday, April 18, 2019
Sad News, and Life Goes On
A few days after I wrote my last post, my friend Abbie died. I didn't hear about it until the following Friday, from her older daughter. It is all a shock. I decided to wait to tell my partner until Sunday (Palm Sunday) when I would be at her house. She took it pretty well. And she will forget. There are days when she doesn't remember that my mother is dead, or that her sister is dead. It turns out that the cancer Abbie had was in the liver and pancreas, which rapidly becomes fatal. When she wrote to me she used the word "abdominal" which I took to mean "stomach cancer", which is why I was surprised, because that is a type of cancer that many people survive.
Less important, but to me shocking, is that no one has done anything about submitting an obituary to any news outlet. I have Googled her every day and there is nothing. Abbie had written three memoirs, a novel, numerous magazine articles, and had a Wikipedia page (I don't know who managed that). I also am surprised that she hadn't written her own obituary. My mother (who was not a "personage" like Abbie but thought she was) had one at the ready at least a decade before she died, so that I could send it to the TIMES. All I can think of was that Abbie was modest and perhaps her daughters (one lives on the Left Coast, the other deep in Trump Country) aren't interested in their mother's legacy.
The day after I heard that Abbie had died, I sang the Schubert "Ave Maria" at the funeral I mentioned. It went well. The Good Friday music is going well. As an aside, it seems that after three months of struggling with asthma and experimenting with how to treat it, it is gone. Perhaps it is seasonal. I was at the point where I was using the inhaler every day. I would say that I had some kind of upper airway distress almost every day between December 27 and April 10. Fingers crossed. In any event, that underscores why it is a good idea for me not to plan concerts during that period. And other than florid pieces like "Rejoice Greatly" I think it would be a good idea for me to stay away from singing anything with exposed high notes in public during that period.
I have the alto line in two solo quartets from the Missa Solemnis. I was disappointed not to be given the third (and in some ways the loveliest) solo part, which was given to a woman in the alto section with a pretty, small voice (sort of like a boy soprano). I suppose the choir director wanted that kind of sound at the very end (she is singing "Agnus Dei" which is the last thing we sing). I do love my solo quartets, particularly "Christe Eleison". And of course the new dramatic soprano is singing all the soprano solos. She sounds fabulous. Having her there doesn't get under my skin the way having "Little Miss" there did. Dramatic Sop is enough older (she is 30 or 31 and conducts herself like someone older) that I can sort of look at her as a mentor (if I feel like) not an irksome wunderkind. On the other hand, of course I am green with envy. There is nothing that assuages the heartache of wishing I could go back and do it over. 1964 would be a good place to start. Don't smoke, don't try to be "hip", ignore your mother pushing you to be "with it", and honor your talent.
In other (good) news, I finally heard back from the two places I had contacted about putting on a concert. One is someplace I have sung before. So I need to get back in my high dramatic mezzo groove. My teacher will be singing with me and we will probably sing the Anna Bolena duet. First up is the little mini concert in May where I will be singing the "Drinking Song" from Lucretia Borgia.
And on a totally unrelated topic, I may be a media spokesperson for events to do with the 50th anniversary of Stonewall.
Less important, but to me shocking, is that no one has done anything about submitting an obituary to any news outlet. I have Googled her every day and there is nothing. Abbie had written three memoirs, a novel, numerous magazine articles, and had a Wikipedia page (I don't know who managed that). I also am surprised that she hadn't written her own obituary. My mother (who was not a "personage" like Abbie but thought she was) had one at the ready at least a decade before she died, so that I could send it to the TIMES. All I can think of was that Abbie was modest and perhaps her daughters (one lives on the Left Coast, the other deep in Trump Country) aren't interested in their mother's legacy.
The day after I heard that Abbie had died, I sang the Schubert "Ave Maria" at the funeral I mentioned. It went well. The Good Friday music is going well. As an aside, it seems that after three months of struggling with asthma and experimenting with how to treat it, it is gone. Perhaps it is seasonal. I was at the point where I was using the inhaler every day. I would say that I had some kind of upper airway distress almost every day between December 27 and April 10. Fingers crossed. In any event, that underscores why it is a good idea for me not to plan concerts during that period. And other than florid pieces like "Rejoice Greatly" I think it would be a good idea for me to stay away from singing anything with exposed high notes in public during that period.
I have the alto line in two solo quartets from the Missa Solemnis. I was disappointed not to be given the third (and in some ways the loveliest) solo part, which was given to a woman in the alto section with a pretty, small voice (sort of like a boy soprano). I suppose the choir director wanted that kind of sound at the very end (she is singing "Agnus Dei" which is the last thing we sing). I do love my solo quartets, particularly "Christe Eleison". And of course the new dramatic soprano is singing all the soprano solos. She sounds fabulous. Having her there doesn't get under my skin the way having "Little Miss" there did. Dramatic Sop is enough older (she is 30 or 31 and conducts herself like someone older) that I can sort of look at her as a mentor (if I feel like) not an irksome wunderkind. On the other hand, of course I am green with envy. There is nothing that assuages the heartache of wishing I could go back and do it over. 1964 would be a good place to start. Don't smoke, don't try to be "hip", ignore your mother pushing you to be "with it", and honor your talent.
In other (good) news, I finally heard back from the two places I had contacted about putting on a concert. One is someplace I have sung before. So I need to get back in my high dramatic mezzo groove. My teacher will be singing with me and we will probably sing the Anna Bolena duet. First up is the little mini concert in May where I will be singing the "Drinking Song" from Lucretia Borgia.
And on a totally unrelated topic, I may be a media spokesperson for events to do with the 50th anniversary of Stonewall.
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Those Who Can Do; Those Who Can't Write
I certainly have always felt that way. The worse I feel about my singing (either from a technical standpoint or just in terms of where I fit in the bigger picture) the more blog posts I write.
Why am I feeling bad? I have been singing better and haven't had any more asthma attacks. The Bolena duet sounds good. I am learning the December Songs. I may even try to do something with Winterreise around my 70th birthday. I can start planning on my 69th. Thursday I will bite the bullet and ask the choir director if there are any "solo bits" on Good Friday. I don't expect anything as perfect as what I got last year. I would be happy with the alto line in a solo quartet or trio. I think what makes me nervous is that something has given me an inkling (our last writing assigment in a writing contest I am in was "inkling"; now I'm realizing I could have used the inkling I'm about to mention) that the choir director has been talking to the new dramatic soprano about Good Friday, which does not make me feel great. Even last year when he assigned me the solo I didn't know about it until we had been working on the music for several weeks as a group.
Certain people are always "triggers". Unfortunately, one of the women I "unfriended" on Facebook (or she unfriended me) because I said something about singers being self-involved, which she didn't like, is the friend of someone who is a dear friend of mine on Facebook. This dear friend is also a singer, but she is a good person and has been through a lot, and she was very helpful to me in choosing some lighter repertoire. (Of course part of me is sad that she has never said to me "You will really sing the daylights out of [fillintheblank with some impressive aria]" the way she has often said to Envy Trigger.)
Anyhow, Envy Trigger, who is probably in her late 30s, and has had her share of heartbreak and depression, nonetheless is now singing "big girl" opera roles here, there, and yonder (noplace stellar, and I don't know if any of it is for money) and I am not. I feel all that repertoire slipping away. I have a wider range than I ever had, but the stamina required to do that kind of singing continues to feel daunting. I can do it if "all the stars are in alignment", if not, not. I mean I can't second guess myself into the bottom of the alto section, the way a woman in my choir who is a few years older than I am has done. I'm sure she could sing more than she has been singing, but she has become so phobic (she also hasn't studied in years) that she now won't sing anything above an E and won't really sing solos anymore either. And on the few occasions when she's had a solo line she sounds very nervous. I won't let anything like that happen to me. Just because I blew that high A on a morning when I had an asthma attack doesn't spell doom. It was a one-off.
So I can sing sweet songs: Hoiby and Rorem and Maury Yeston. And a few arias here and there. I can still sing Rossini which flows trippingly off the tongue and doesn't seem to require the stamina needed to pack a punch at the end of, say, "Acerba Volutta".
I want so much to love my "small life" with my "small performance opportunities" and I pray for that willingness every day - but then there's Envy Trigger.
Why am I feeling bad? I have been singing better and haven't had any more asthma attacks. The Bolena duet sounds good. I am learning the December Songs. I may even try to do something with Winterreise around my 70th birthday. I can start planning on my 69th. Thursday I will bite the bullet and ask the choir director if there are any "solo bits" on Good Friday. I don't expect anything as perfect as what I got last year. I would be happy with the alto line in a solo quartet or trio. I think what makes me nervous is that something has given me an inkling (our last writing assigment in a writing contest I am in was "inkling"; now I'm realizing I could have used the inkling I'm about to mention) that the choir director has been talking to the new dramatic soprano about Good Friday, which does not make me feel great. Even last year when he assigned me the solo I didn't know about it until we had been working on the music for several weeks as a group.
Certain people are always "triggers". Unfortunately, one of the women I "unfriended" on Facebook (or she unfriended me) because I said something about singers being self-involved, which she didn't like, is the friend of someone who is a dear friend of mine on Facebook. This dear friend is also a singer, but she is a good person and has been through a lot, and she was very helpful to me in choosing some lighter repertoire. (Of course part of me is sad that she has never said to me "You will really sing the daylights out of [fillintheblank with some impressive aria]" the way she has often said to Envy Trigger.)
Anyhow, Envy Trigger, who is probably in her late 30s, and has had her share of heartbreak and depression, nonetheless is now singing "big girl" opera roles here, there, and yonder (noplace stellar, and I don't know if any of it is for money) and I am not. I feel all that repertoire slipping away. I have a wider range than I ever had, but the stamina required to do that kind of singing continues to feel daunting. I can do it if "all the stars are in alignment", if not, not. I mean I can't second guess myself into the bottom of the alto section, the way a woman in my choir who is a few years older than I am has done. I'm sure she could sing more than she has been singing, but she has become so phobic (she also hasn't studied in years) that she now won't sing anything above an E and won't really sing solos anymore either. And on the few occasions when she's had a solo line she sounds very nervous. I won't let anything like that happen to me. Just because I blew that high A on a morning when I had an asthma attack doesn't spell doom. It was a one-off.
So I can sing sweet songs: Hoiby and Rorem and Maury Yeston. And a few arias here and there. I can still sing Rossini which flows trippingly off the tongue and doesn't seem to require the stamina needed to pack a punch at the end of, say, "Acerba Volutta".
I want so much to love my "small life" with my "small performance opportunities" and I pray for that willingness every day - but then there's Envy Trigger.
Friday, January 25, 2019
The Ugly Dachshund Redux
I spent the first six or seven years in my choir feeling like The Ugly Dachshund. (For those who don't know, The Ugly Dachshund was first a book, then a movie - the book is better - about a Great Dane who thinks he is a Dachshund and therefore thinks he's ugly.)
Everything I sang was too loud; I was constantly nudged to want to sing alto (no! as I've written about on numerous occasions, singing in that limited range, which is mostly around my passaggio break, is at best unsatisfying and at worst useless as a vocal workout). I do sing alto in some of the masterworks (particularly Bach) where there are only two women's parts and the ranges of both are somewhat higher. Although there's still that hated "gap". By which I mean that choral soprano and alto parts are usually one fifth apart. As a mezzo, my voice is a third lower than a normal soprano's. Fortunately, somewhere along the line, the choir director started picking pieces with multiple women's parts so I found a home as a second soprano. It was perfect. I pretty much never had to sing a high A, but could sing lots of Es, Fs, and the occasional G, which is what I need to be doing to maintain vocal health. If I am not getting paid, singing in this choir needs to be a worthwhile and rewarding experience.
Even though as a child I imitated Julie Andrews (my first vocal solo was "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" in a school assembly when I was 6) once I grew up I never had that "float-y", shimmery, head-y sound that characterizes the soprano voice at its loveliest and most ethereal. When you think about it, neither does Julie Andrews. I heard a few clips of her singing coloratura arias as a teenager and her voice sounds a lot like Roberta Peters's: bell-like and wiry, but not ethereal, like, say, the voice of Natalie Dessay And then of course I started smoking. And like most New Yorkers, I speak entirely in my chest register. So it took years of study after I was "discovered" at 54 not just to extend my range upwards, but to liberate all that head voice. At lessons and at home I do a lot of singing on oo before I do anything else. The most scathing critiques I got about my singing during the early period (when I was going to auditions, between the ages of 56 and 60, let's say) was that I had very little head register and my voice sounded "locked". I also needed to clear out my sinuses which I did, finally, with the Neti pot. By 2014 or 2015 the way I sang had changed entirely. A fringe benefit was that not only was my operatic singing easier, I could also sing a choir soprano part in pure head voice, keeping the dynamic down sometimes as low as pp, without "getting off the voice".
During my "ugly Dachshund" period, I shed a lot of tears over comments from the choir director. I don't think he ever said anything nice about my singing unless I sang an alto solo. He didn't want me to sing "Rejoice Greatly". He thought I should transpose "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" down. When I said no, he made me make a cut. I felt a lot of despair. I mean it's one thing to know I'm not singing well and quite another to feel that my voice is simply not to someone's taste so they will never like what I do, even when I do it well.
I am not going to re-hash here all the brouhaha about the singer I refer to as "Little Miss". That is ancient history and I think the whole thing was a learning experience; namely, that if you're leading a group, it's probably not a good idea to make a "fuss" over one person in public.
After that things went on fairly smoothly for a while.
So I was startled last night by the following. We had been singing a piece with multiple parts. Both of the soprano parts were fairly high (the first soprano part went up to a B with an optional C and the second soprano part went up to a G). The new dramatic soprano (whose voice is at least as big as mine if not bigger) was not there. There were two very light sopranos singing. After the rehearsal he went up to one of them (privately) and told her how wonderful she sounded. Since I overheard them, I kind of gave him a quizzical look and all he said to me was "I know that part is very high". I told him it was in a very comfortable range for me - I mean my part, the second soprano part, obviously. So he said "it just is meant to be light and sort of child-like". After that we had a nice talk, but it still stung. Feeling that one person was getting a compliment and I was getting (once again) some veiled criticism. I mean I doubt the new dramatic soprano can sound "childlike". Would he say something like that to her? I doubt it. He always goes up to her and thanks her for singing as if by singing she's doing him a favor. Which I guess she is. She has a lot of other vocal fish to fry.
I am actually surprised by how despondent I feel. Possibly, the pain of that disaster on December 30 is still with me although I know it was most likely caused by my having had an asthma attack, leading to a situation where my being short of breath for physical reasons (and also for feeling like all my vocal apparatus was inflamed) led to my panicking and ending up short of breath for psychological reasons.
I think partly the issue here is that the choir director is impressed by sopranos with float-y voices (even the new dramatic soprano sort of has one; her voice is big, but it's not "gritty" the way mine is). He also likes very young people. (The woman he complimented yesterday is in her 20s). It seems that the younger someone is the more likely he is to give them a compliment. If the person is female. He also likes low basses.
I don't want to feel sad. I was so happy thinking about my new plan to focus on nursing home concerts in an active way, not in a reactive way because I see it as the best I can do. I now have two serious "nibbles" about full-length concerts that I am going to follow up. Wednesday I had a lesson and we talked about concert repertoire. I ordered Yeston's December Songs. I am madly in love with them and can hardly wait to sing them.
Sitting here now I am crying, and want to kick myself.
ETA: It is now Sunday afternoon. The anthem went well. The dramatic soprano was not there. I nailed all the Gs sweetly enough not to elicit a raised eyebrow. As a point of gossip, "choir girl" (have no idea how I thought up that name for her) didn't sit with the choir because she brought a "guest" to the service. She has done that before, but the last time at least the guest was her Mom from out of town. Surprised that that didn't elicit a raised eyebrow.
Everything I sang was too loud; I was constantly nudged to want to sing alto (no! as I've written about on numerous occasions, singing in that limited range, which is mostly around my passaggio break, is at best unsatisfying and at worst useless as a vocal workout). I do sing alto in some of the masterworks (particularly Bach) where there are only two women's parts and the ranges of both are somewhat higher. Although there's still that hated "gap". By which I mean that choral soprano and alto parts are usually one fifth apart. As a mezzo, my voice is a third lower than a normal soprano's. Fortunately, somewhere along the line, the choir director started picking pieces with multiple women's parts so I found a home as a second soprano. It was perfect. I pretty much never had to sing a high A, but could sing lots of Es, Fs, and the occasional G, which is what I need to be doing to maintain vocal health. If I am not getting paid, singing in this choir needs to be a worthwhile and rewarding experience.
Even though as a child I imitated Julie Andrews (my first vocal solo was "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" in a school assembly when I was 6) once I grew up I never had that "float-y", shimmery, head-y sound that characterizes the soprano voice at its loveliest and most ethereal. When you think about it, neither does Julie Andrews. I heard a few clips of her singing coloratura arias as a teenager and her voice sounds a lot like Roberta Peters's: bell-like and wiry, but not ethereal, like, say, the voice of Natalie Dessay And then of course I started smoking. And like most New Yorkers, I speak entirely in my chest register. So it took years of study after I was "discovered" at 54 not just to extend my range upwards, but to liberate all that head voice. At lessons and at home I do a lot of singing on oo before I do anything else. The most scathing critiques I got about my singing during the early period (when I was going to auditions, between the ages of 56 and 60, let's say) was that I had very little head register and my voice sounded "locked". I also needed to clear out my sinuses which I did, finally, with the Neti pot. By 2014 or 2015 the way I sang had changed entirely. A fringe benefit was that not only was my operatic singing easier, I could also sing a choir soprano part in pure head voice, keeping the dynamic down sometimes as low as pp, without "getting off the voice".
During my "ugly Dachshund" period, I shed a lot of tears over comments from the choir director. I don't think he ever said anything nice about my singing unless I sang an alto solo. He didn't want me to sing "Rejoice Greatly". He thought I should transpose "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" down. When I said no, he made me make a cut. I felt a lot of despair. I mean it's one thing to know I'm not singing well and quite another to feel that my voice is simply not to someone's taste so they will never like what I do, even when I do it well.
I am not going to re-hash here all the brouhaha about the singer I refer to as "Little Miss". That is ancient history and I think the whole thing was a learning experience; namely, that if you're leading a group, it's probably not a good idea to make a "fuss" over one person in public.
After that things went on fairly smoothly for a while.
So I was startled last night by the following. We had been singing a piece with multiple parts. Both of the soprano parts were fairly high (the first soprano part went up to a B with an optional C and the second soprano part went up to a G). The new dramatic soprano (whose voice is at least as big as mine if not bigger) was not there. There were two very light sopranos singing. After the rehearsal he went up to one of them (privately) and told her how wonderful she sounded. Since I overheard them, I kind of gave him a quizzical look and all he said to me was "I know that part is very high". I told him it was in a very comfortable range for me - I mean my part, the second soprano part, obviously. So he said "it just is meant to be light and sort of child-like". After that we had a nice talk, but it still stung. Feeling that one person was getting a compliment and I was getting (once again) some veiled criticism. I mean I doubt the new dramatic soprano can sound "childlike". Would he say something like that to her? I doubt it. He always goes up to her and thanks her for singing as if by singing she's doing him a favor. Which I guess she is. She has a lot of other vocal fish to fry.
I am actually surprised by how despondent I feel. Possibly, the pain of that disaster on December 30 is still with me although I know it was most likely caused by my having had an asthma attack, leading to a situation where my being short of breath for physical reasons (and also for feeling like all my vocal apparatus was inflamed) led to my panicking and ending up short of breath for psychological reasons.
I think partly the issue here is that the choir director is impressed by sopranos with float-y voices (even the new dramatic soprano sort of has one; her voice is big, but it's not "gritty" the way mine is). He also likes very young people. (The woman he complimented yesterday is in her 20s). It seems that the younger someone is the more likely he is to give them a compliment. If the person is female. He also likes low basses.
I don't want to feel sad. I was so happy thinking about my new plan to focus on nursing home concerts in an active way, not in a reactive way because I see it as the best I can do. I now have two serious "nibbles" about full-length concerts that I am going to follow up. Wednesday I had a lesson and we talked about concert repertoire. I ordered Yeston's December Songs. I am madly in love with them and can hardly wait to sing them.
Sitting here now I am crying, and want to kick myself.
ETA: It is now Sunday afternoon. The anthem went well. The dramatic soprano was not there. I nailed all the Gs sweetly enough not to elicit a raised eyebrow. As a point of gossip, "choir girl" (have no idea how I thought up that name for her) didn't sit with the choir because she brought a "guest" to the service. She has done that before, but the last time at least the guest was her Mom from out of town. Surprised that that didn't elicit a raised eyebrow.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Changing the Narrative (Today's Sermon)
Almost every Sunday there is something in the sermon that speaks to me, even though I am not Christian. Today, the minister posed the question: Is there a place in your life where God is knocking on the door, a place where you feel stuck or broken? And I realized that the answer is "yes". The part of me that knows I will never have a place, even a tiny one, in the "world of singers" here in New York (which for me is "the world" as I have never lived anywhere else and would not know how to). That does not mean, however, that there is no place for me to sing. For a long time I have felt a calling to work with the elderly. Not now really, because I am involved in taking care of my partner. So beyond singing in senior venues there really is nothing I need to be doing. But if I outlive her (which I most likely will) I will want something to do, and volunteering to work with the elderly (I imagine this as being one on one; singing to them, particularly, not for applause but to give them their favorite songs, but also talking with them, listening to their stories, and just being with them) will be that something. It will never fill the hole in my heart that will be there forever when my angel is gone and it will not buy me the respect of "the Forum crowd" but it will fill my soul.
God is knocking on my door here. I know this.
The question is, will I listen. Is S/he knocking loud enough to drown out all the self-promotion of the hordes of people who have come here to "make it" in the performing arts, who make me feel so irrelevant and envious?
God is knocking on my door here. I know this.
The question is, will I listen. Is S/he knocking loud enough to drown out all the self-promotion of the hordes of people who have come here to "make it" in the performing arts, who make me feel so irrelevant and envious?
Wednesday, January 16, 2019
A Need to Change the Narrative
Or move the needle, as people are always saying.
I am trying to make a happy life for myself by putting as much creativity in it as I have time for, and being grateful for the rest.
I don't consider taking care of my partner a burden; it's not just that I love her, I also find many of the people-rich activities I am involved in as her caregiver to be stimulating. I love most of the aides who take care of her. They have opened my eyes and heart to a whole world that is very different from the one I grew up in and still live in, and which always leaves me feeling that I don't measure up.
A team of nurses came to see my partner. We are now enrolled in a program that originated when she was in the hospital the last time. It is geared toward people over 75 who end up in the hospital via an emergency room. They suggested that I buy her a coloring book. Now they are trying to get her a "buddy" (which would be a graduate student) from the Alzheimers Association.
I have one mini concert on the horizon and am doing some other networking. My far off future plan, if my loved one dies and I am still healthy, is to sing for seniors not just by giving concerts but also by volunteering at nursing homes where I could come sing at their bedsides (or talk with them, listen to their stories, read, or anything else).
I am not going to try to get any kind of advanced degree. I hate academics. I can do this as a volunteer and continue to spend 20 hours a week copy editing. It is boring and isolating, but it is what I need mostly because I can make my own schedule and I know how to find work. It is a very low maintenance kind of livelihood. And (God works in mysterious ways) I now am working on a journal about aging.
Here's the problem: I am distracted by bright shiny objects.
Almost every new person I meet is a real performer of some kind. Is or was. Is enough to have a web site and a list of credits going back to high school. Gorgeous professional head shots. A place to be seen. For example, if I tick off the 20 or so people in my choir, more than half of them have music or theater degrees and more than half of them have advanced professional degrees from prestigious schools. Many people have both. Someone new joined the choir (she is very nice, and not someone I would be competing with because she is a musical theater style belter) who has a flashy web site and a public presence. (Right now she has taken a "break" from regional theater to work in tech, and who knows? She might stay there.) But her web site is what I mean by a bright shiny object. Not the site so much as the fact that someone I met in a church choir has one. I want one too. I suppose I could make myself one, but what for? I have this blog, and a Youtube channel, but I am not part of the conversation. People will tell me "oh, you sounded lovely" but I am still at the bottom of the food chain. The people in my Pilates class are all retired academics, or something similar. One was a casting agent, one was (is?) an architect.
I can be having a happy day and then something coming out of the tsunami of uber-successful people I am drowning in will act as a trigger and I will dissolve into self deprecation because I am not a "bright shiny object" the way they are. Someone told me (I suppose a propos of all the talk about Stormy Daniels) that with my large frontage (real), my age (a niche market) and my expertise with hair, makeup, wigs, and even masks, I could have a web site full of "adult" photographic content. Is this the best I can do?? No thank you. Prudery aside, that's an overcrowded market, too. Is there anything that isn't?
If I can't have bright shiny objects (or be one) why can't I change the narrative? I can lose myself and be happy in small things (although nothing - except snuggling with my frail, sweet, partner - makes me as happy as getting up in front of an audience, singing well, and hearing applause) so why can't I stay there?
ETA: As always a glutton for punishment, I went back and googled "choir girl" to see what else I could find (a Facebook page? see who her friends are?) and found an article from last year's TIMES about her and her roommate (an aspiring opera singer) not about them as performers but about their travails with a North Manhattan apartment (I don't want to link to the article here for the sake of people's privacy). There was a gorgeous photo, and quite a lot about these two young women. So how did they nail a piece of publicity like that? That's what I'm dying to know. Are aspiring performers better at networking with journalists so that they can promote themselves in every way possible? I know a lot of people have various apartment travails and they don't have huge pictures of themselves in the paper. This just confirms my whine that I just don't know the right people.
I am trying to make a happy life for myself by putting as much creativity in it as I have time for, and being grateful for the rest.
I don't consider taking care of my partner a burden; it's not just that I love her, I also find many of the people-rich activities I am involved in as her caregiver to be stimulating. I love most of the aides who take care of her. They have opened my eyes and heart to a whole world that is very different from the one I grew up in and still live in, and which always leaves me feeling that I don't measure up.
A team of nurses came to see my partner. We are now enrolled in a program that originated when she was in the hospital the last time. It is geared toward people over 75 who end up in the hospital via an emergency room. They suggested that I buy her a coloring book. Now they are trying to get her a "buddy" (which would be a graduate student) from the Alzheimers Association.
I have one mini concert on the horizon and am doing some other networking. My far off future plan, if my loved one dies and I am still healthy, is to sing for seniors not just by giving concerts but also by volunteering at nursing homes where I could come sing at their bedsides (or talk with them, listen to their stories, read, or anything else).
I am not going to try to get any kind of advanced degree. I hate academics. I can do this as a volunteer and continue to spend 20 hours a week copy editing. It is boring and isolating, but it is what I need mostly because I can make my own schedule and I know how to find work. It is a very low maintenance kind of livelihood. And (God works in mysterious ways) I now am working on a journal about aging.
Here's the problem: I am distracted by bright shiny objects.
Almost every new person I meet is a real performer of some kind. Is or was. Is enough to have a web site and a list of credits going back to high school. Gorgeous professional head shots. A place to be seen. For example, if I tick off the 20 or so people in my choir, more than half of them have music or theater degrees and more than half of them have advanced professional degrees from prestigious schools. Many people have both. Someone new joined the choir (she is very nice, and not someone I would be competing with because she is a musical theater style belter) who has a flashy web site and a public presence. (Right now she has taken a "break" from regional theater to work in tech, and who knows? She might stay there.) But her web site is what I mean by a bright shiny object. Not the site so much as the fact that someone I met in a church choir has one. I want one too. I suppose I could make myself one, but what for? I have this blog, and a Youtube channel, but I am not part of the conversation. People will tell me "oh, you sounded lovely" but I am still at the bottom of the food chain. The people in my Pilates class are all retired academics, or something similar. One was a casting agent, one was (is?) an architect.
I can be having a happy day and then something coming out of the tsunami of uber-successful people I am drowning in will act as a trigger and I will dissolve into self deprecation because I am not a "bright shiny object" the way they are. Someone told me (I suppose a propos of all the talk about Stormy Daniels) that with my large frontage (real), my age (a niche market) and my expertise with hair, makeup, wigs, and even masks, I could have a web site full of "adult" photographic content. Is this the best I can do?? No thank you. Prudery aside, that's an overcrowded market, too. Is there anything that isn't?
If I can't have bright shiny objects (or be one) why can't I change the narrative? I can lose myself and be happy in small things (although nothing - except snuggling with my frail, sweet, partner - makes me as happy as getting up in front of an audience, singing well, and hearing applause) so why can't I stay there?
ETA: As always a glutton for punishment, I went back and googled "choir girl" to see what else I could find (a Facebook page? see who her friends are?) and found an article from last year's TIMES about her and her roommate (an aspiring opera singer) not about them as performers but about their travails with a North Manhattan apartment (I don't want to link to the article here for the sake of people's privacy). There was a gorgeous photo, and quite a lot about these two young women. So how did they nail a piece of publicity like that? That's what I'm dying to know. Are aspiring performers better at networking with journalists so that they can promote themselves in every way possible? I know a lot of people have various apartment travails and they don't have huge pictures of themselves in the paper. This just confirms my whine that I just don't know the right people.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
The Bitter and the Sweet 2018 Wrap Up
I need to find a more imaginative title; this one is getting stale - maybe.
Of course I need to start with the Sweet; to quote Stephanie Ruhle "Who doesn't like good news, right?"
My life is sweet. I am enjoying Christmas. I bought both my partner and myself a small Christmas tree.
I have learned to enjoy Christmas. If I consider myself a Unitarian theologically, I can celebrate any holiday I like. Also, my therapist told me something interesting. She said that probably the reason my mother always had a Christmas tree (and loved Christmas) despite considering herself a secular Jew was that in Germany before the Holocaust, most Jews (who were not Orthodox) celebrated Christmas. It was considered a German holiday, much as Thanksgiving is considered an American one. My maternal grandfather came from Austria-Hungary. My maternal grandmother's family had been in Philadelphia for generations and most likely originally came from Germany in 1848.
I have a solo. On Christmas Eve I will get to sing lovely music with the choir. I am surrounded by beauty.
My voice seems to be back on track. "O Mio Fernando" is back in my voice. Right now I'm not sure where I'd sing it; maybe I can swap it with "Mon Coeur" in one of my nursing home concerts. If I do the 30 minute demo concert that I had discussed with the recreation director at a new residence, I would use "The Drinking Song" as my aria because it's bouncy and "party-ish".
As for future church plans, I was speaking with the new dramatic soprano in the choir. and we may do a duet together next year. (For whatever reason, I don't feel envious about her the way I did about "Little Miss"; probably because she's older, much more modest, and does not want to use church as an arena for showing off. She helps with the choir or sings a solo when asked, period.) Anyhow she mentioned to me that she had made a recording of "Inflammatus" from the Rossini Stabat Mater and so I told her that I had sung "Fac ut Portem" at church several years ago. I mentioned that there is a duet in Stabat Mater and that maybe we could sing it during Holy Week 2019. I will take a look at it and when the time is appropriate, see if the Music Director could find a spot for it. She seemed to be interested.
As for the Bitter.
Last night our chamber music series featured a one act opera that starred a mezzo whom I had been in one of those meetups with long ago. (I didn't go to it; I said I would be tired after teaching all afternoon, but I suppose in addition I didn't think seeing this particular woman would be all that great for my resolve to love my life and mind my own business.) In retrospect, I can say that what I learned from those meetups was that they were for people like her not for people like me. At the time she was very young and just doing audition rounds. I was struggling with my large unwieldy voice and my nerves. She was probably in her 20s. I was about 58. Now, 10 years later (I looked at her resume) she has not only received acclaim for her world premieres, she seems to have an extensive resume of roles from Rossini to Wagner, both soprano and mezzo, and to top it all off she is no bigger than a size 8!! (I know this not just by looking at her picture but because the stage manager was trying to find the right kind of skirt for her to wear in the performance.) Digging deeper (boy am I a glutton for punishment!) I read that she grew up with musician parents and spent every summer at a prestigious music festival, beginning with the age of four (sounds like the children of my choir director and his wife). So this is my "competition". Not for roles - I don't have that much hubris!! - but for attention, for getting to perform in free spaces, for audiences. And people like her are everywhere. And with each year that my singing technique improves, these people multiply and, say, go from A to M in the time it has taken me to get from A to D and I am between 30 and 40 years older than they are and time is running out!! So again, it's really an issue of struggling to make myself believe that I matter.
Of course I need to start with the Sweet; to quote Stephanie Ruhle "Who doesn't like good news, right?"
My life is sweet. I am enjoying Christmas. I bought both my partner and myself a small Christmas tree.
I have learned to enjoy Christmas. If I consider myself a Unitarian theologically, I can celebrate any holiday I like. Also, my therapist told me something interesting. She said that probably the reason my mother always had a Christmas tree (and loved Christmas) despite considering herself a secular Jew was that in Germany before the Holocaust, most Jews (who were not Orthodox) celebrated Christmas. It was considered a German holiday, much as Thanksgiving is considered an American one. My maternal grandfather came from Austria-Hungary. My maternal grandmother's family had been in Philadelphia for generations and most likely originally came from Germany in 1848.
I have a solo. On Christmas Eve I will get to sing lovely music with the choir. I am surrounded by beauty.
My voice seems to be back on track. "O Mio Fernando" is back in my voice. Right now I'm not sure where I'd sing it; maybe I can swap it with "Mon Coeur" in one of my nursing home concerts. If I do the 30 minute demo concert that I had discussed with the recreation director at a new residence, I would use "The Drinking Song" as my aria because it's bouncy and "party-ish".
As for future church plans, I was speaking with the new dramatic soprano in the choir. and we may do a duet together next year. (For whatever reason, I don't feel envious about her the way I did about "Little Miss"; probably because she's older, much more modest, and does not want to use church as an arena for showing off. She helps with the choir or sings a solo when asked, period.) Anyhow she mentioned to me that she had made a recording of "Inflammatus" from the Rossini Stabat Mater and so I told her that I had sung "Fac ut Portem" at church several years ago. I mentioned that there is a duet in Stabat Mater and that maybe we could sing it during Holy Week 2019. I will take a look at it and when the time is appropriate, see if the Music Director could find a spot for it. She seemed to be interested.
As for the Bitter.
Last night our chamber music series featured a one act opera that starred a mezzo whom I had been in one of those meetups with long ago. (I didn't go to it; I said I would be tired after teaching all afternoon, but I suppose in addition I didn't think seeing this particular woman would be all that great for my resolve to love my life and mind my own business.) In retrospect, I can say that what I learned from those meetups was that they were for people like her not for people like me. At the time she was very young and just doing audition rounds. I was struggling with my large unwieldy voice and my nerves. She was probably in her 20s. I was about 58. Now, 10 years later (I looked at her resume) she has not only received acclaim for her world premieres, she seems to have an extensive resume of roles from Rossini to Wagner, both soprano and mezzo, and to top it all off she is no bigger than a size 8!! (I know this not just by looking at her picture but because the stage manager was trying to find the right kind of skirt for her to wear in the performance.) Digging deeper (boy am I a glutton for punishment!) I read that she grew up with musician parents and spent every summer at a prestigious music festival, beginning with the age of four (sounds like the children of my choir director and his wife). So this is my "competition". Not for roles - I don't have that much hubris!! - but for attention, for getting to perform in free spaces, for audiences. And people like her are everywhere. And with each year that my singing technique improves, these people multiply and, say, go from A to M in the time it has taken me to get from A to D and I am between 30 and 40 years older than they are and time is running out!! So again, it's really an issue of struggling to make myself believe that I matter.
Thursday, December 13, 2018
A Bummer
Yesterday's lesson did not end well, which is something that has not happened for a long time.
The short version is: after doing my regular exercises and singing through my solo for December 30 (a solo version of the carol "I Wonder as I Wander", which I transposed up so that the top note is an F sharp), I tried to read through "Non piu di Fiori" from La Clemenza di Tito. I did a great job until I got to the last page at which point I ran out of steam and realized that no way could I get up to that high A and hold it for 5 counts. Yes, I can now hold a high A for 5 counts (did it in the opening to the Bolena duet that I sang with my teacher in several concerts) but this A comes after two pages of singing without a break. And no ad libbing.
As I've said, my high register has gotten a lot better, and I've sung a lot of flashy and challenging things, but I realize that these are mostly bel canto arias where the singer can take lots of liberties leading up to difficult passages (or the passages themselves are improvised cadenzas), including dropping out of the vocal line for 2-4 measures before the final climax (which is an old tradition).
Anyhow, my teacher was annoyed with me for "giving up" (I had no trouble singing the phrase with the high note if I just sang the note and the few measures leading up to it) but then we agreed that if I was not "madly in love" with the piece it was not worth putting in all that hard work. (As a contrast, I was madly in love with "Tanti Affetti" and was able to master all the florid passages with the high B flats, but as I said, most of those were a piacere).
And whether or not I was madly in love with "Non piu di Fiori", I don't think it would have "mass appeal" for the only non-church audiences I now sing for: in nursing homes. "Tanti Affetti" did have mass appeal, because like all Rossini, it's bouncy.
So my teacher and I decided that I should go back to "O Mio Fernando", something I have not sung in years, but that I always sang well. And maybe I'll go back to working on "Bel Raggio", the (putative) soprano aria from Semiramide (I say "putative" because it only goes up to an A and I found it in one of my mezzo aria books.)
The irony at my lesson, come to think of it, was that I had wanted to sing through "Bel Raggio" but my teacher didn't have a copy of it.
I think another problem is that I have been hit hard with my winter respiratory problems. My bronchial tubes are full of dry mucus. I cough, I wheeze, I blow my nose constantly. And this despite using my Neti pot every morning (I won't be scared away by stories of fatal amoebas; I boil the water first.) So at my lesson, even in the beginning, singing was hard work.
And to end it all, it doesn't help that I am seeing posts on Facebook that often involve conversations among some of the people I had unfriended because I was envious of them (or maybe they unfriended me because I said things that were nasty; see previous post) so I am deeply engaged with the green-eyed monster again.
Recently I have disengaged from him/it by staying away from "real" singers, other than my teacher, and what I can watch on Youtube. I don't need to hear women in their 30s talk about repetoire and all the auditions they are going to and (among the worst of the worst) how much they despise amateurs and pretenders. I am much happier when I confine my performing arts consumption to instrumental music and ballet, with the occasional stop to hear lieder.
So, OK. now it's time to pull up my socks and look forward to spending January networking to schedule a concert.
The short version is: after doing my regular exercises and singing through my solo for December 30 (a solo version of the carol "I Wonder as I Wander", which I transposed up so that the top note is an F sharp), I tried to read through "Non piu di Fiori" from La Clemenza di Tito. I did a great job until I got to the last page at which point I ran out of steam and realized that no way could I get up to that high A and hold it for 5 counts. Yes, I can now hold a high A for 5 counts (did it in the opening to the Bolena duet that I sang with my teacher in several concerts) but this A comes after two pages of singing without a break. And no ad libbing.
As I've said, my high register has gotten a lot better, and I've sung a lot of flashy and challenging things, but I realize that these are mostly bel canto arias where the singer can take lots of liberties leading up to difficult passages (or the passages themselves are improvised cadenzas), including dropping out of the vocal line for 2-4 measures before the final climax (which is an old tradition).
Anyhow, my teacher was annoyed with me for "giving up" (I had no trouble singing the phrase with the high note if I just sang the note and the few measures leading up to it) but then we agreed that if I was not "madly in love" with the piece it was not worth putting in all that hard work. (As a contrast, I was madly in love with "Tanti Affetti" and was able to master all the florid passages with the high B flats, but as I said, most of those were a piacere).
And whether or not I was madly in love with "Non piu di Fiori", I don't think it would have "mass appeal" for the only non-church audiences I now sing for: in nursing homes. "Tanti Affetti" did have mass appeal, because like all Rossini, it's bouncy.
So my teacher and I decided that I should go back to "O Mio Fernando", something I have not sung in years, but that I always sang well. And maybe I'll go back to working on "Bel Raggio", the (putative) soprano aria from Semiramide (I say "putative" because it only goes up to an A and I found it in one of my mezzo aria books.)
The irony at my lesson, come to think of it, was that I had wanted to sing through "Bel Raggio" but my teacher didn't have a copy of it.
I think another problem is that I have been hit hard with my winter respiratory problems. My bronchial tubes are full of dry mucus. I cough, I wheeze, I blow my nose constantly. And this despite using my Neti pot every morning (I won't be scared away by stories of fatal amoebas; I boil the water first.) So at my lesson, even in the beginning, singing was hard work.
And to end it all, it doesn't help that I am seeing posts on Facebook that often involve conversations among some of the people I had unfriended because I was envious of them (or maybe they unfriended me because I said things that were nasty; see previous post) so I am deeply engaged with the green-eyed monster again.
Recently I have disengaged from him/it by staying away from "real" singers, other than my teacher, and what I can watch on Youtube. I don't need to hear women in their 30s talk about repetoire and all the auditions they are going to and (among the worst of the worst) how much they despise amateurs and pretenders. I am much happier when I confine my performing arts consumption to instrumental music and ballet, with the occasional stop to hear lieder.
So, OK. now it's time to pull up my socks and look forward to spending January networking to schedule a concert.
Friday, November 9, 2018
Note to Self: Pull Yourself Together
I never got a chance to post anything about my second concert, which went really well (I think I sang better than the first time) because the next day my partner appeared listless and complained of a bellyache so I had to rush her to the ER. It turned out she had what could have been a life-threatening bowel blockage. Then just when it seemed as if she was going to go home, she developed C. difficile.
All together, she was in the hospital for 9 days. My number one priority was being with her so I didn't get much work done. I did get a little practicing done but really wasn't focusing on singing.
Since she's been back, for whatever reason, I have missed my 5-6 practice time. There is actually no reason why that should be my practice time, other than that because I am used to working in an office, if I am home any part of 9 to 5, I use those hours to do the editing that I do for a living. Tuesday I missed my practice time to watch the election!!
Amazingly, my voice is still there (Wednesday I had a lesson), but I really need to get back in the saddle. Yesterday (Thursday) I missed choir rehearsal and spent the whole day in such a nonstop state of stress that I thought I was going to have a heart attack. First I went around the block five or six times with my case manager and an attorney to find out if my partner's Medicaid had been renewed, then I spent an hour trying to find out where our ambulance was (to take her to a follow-up appointment) only to be put on hold for a total of 30 minutes. Skipping choir practice was planned as I didn't know what time I would be back to the Upper West Side after bringing my partner home from the appointment (I got home at 7:30, which is when rehearsal starts, and as it takes 20 minutes for me to get there and at least 15 for me to warm up, not to mention that I was sweaty and needed to organize some things at home so I would not have made it there even if I were in any shape to sing which I probably was not).
It seems lately I have been practicing every three days (and some of these times are just warming up for choir, but I guess that's enough if I warm up at least to a B flat).
Part of the problem, of course, is that I have no date on my calendar. I don't schedule concerts between Thanksgiving and Easter partly because of all the singing that's going on at the church, but mostly because I don't want to plan anything major during the season when it might snow. The number one way in which age has affected my physical well-being is that I feel unsafe in the snow, even with a cane. Other than church and choir practice, any other commitment is up for rescheduling during those months. So right now I've got my eye on December 30. I have sung on that Sunday (last year it was the 31st and the year before it was January 1) for the past two years, but I won't know anything until I get the Advent/Christmas choir schedule and touch base with the Music Director about scheduling. If someone else wants that date they should have it because I've had two "turns", on the other hand, half of the choir goes "home" for Christmas so there might not be any other takers, other than a man who likes to sing at the early service (he sang at 9 last year when I sang at 11). I pulled out the Lauridsen "O Magnum Mysterium", which I sang three years ago some time in December, and have found a new song by Wolf, called "Schlafendes Jesuskind" that might be appropriate. It would have been a "no" four or five years ago because it has an A flat in it (the previous Music Director didn't like "heavy voices singing in that range") but now it should be fine, with my new level of confidence and my slighly higher "sweet spot". I will listen to a Youtube of it and see what I think. And of course there's always "Rejoice", which is my favorite thing to sing in the whole world. You know, it's one of those pieces that sounds difficult (and it also sounds high) to other people but it is actually not (high) and it has always been very easy for me to sing.
For another time, I found a song by Alma Mahler called "In meines Vaters Garten" which I really like. I brought it to my lesson on Wednesday and my teacher said he liked it. He said it reminded him of the Wesendonck Lieder (I guess I could also sing "Angel" in church but that's more suitable for Advent) and that because it's "tuneful" I could probably add it to a recital program.
So now I just need to get back to my practice routine. I should be able to practice Monday. Tuesday probably not because I may have to sleep over at my partner's if her podiatrist is coming Wednesday morning. If he's coming Wednesday afternoon (I won't know that until Tuesday) I can practice Tuesday as well. If I don't get to practice Tuesday I will pass on a neighborhood meeting I had penciled in for Wednesday evening and practice instead.
And I can't lose heart. Last night (when I was already exhaused and feeling emotionally drained), I "re-encountered" one of the people on Facebook I had unfriended (or maybe she unfriended me) because the envy I felt for her led me to say something that she didn't like (that singers were self-absorbed maybe? well, they are! particularly if they don't have children or some other responsibility that's more important to them than flaunting head shots and photos of themselves in gowns). Anyhow, that put my self-esteem back in the basement, somewhere it has not been for a while.
No matter how old and wise (?) I get, it never stops being painful to be surrounded by people who are doing in real life what I imagine myself doing, wished I were doing, can do a tiny bit of, and will never do a lot of no matter how hard I work (which isn't an excuse to stop working by the way).
We were having a conversation about neighbors and I was realizing that having a building full of people who go to the Met all the time (it's around the corner) including one who's a music critic with a wife who majored in voice at Manhattan School of Music who even though she doesn't sing any more has the snobbish attitude of 99% of the conservatory graduates I've ever met, nobody gives a damn if I sing because I'm so nothing.
I just can't think about that. I can't lose heart. A friend told me that someone told her that if I sing I'm a singer, and if more than 50% of what I sing is operatic, I'm an opera singer, and all the "snitterati" on the Forum can't take that away from me.
All together, she was in the hospital for 9 days. My number one priority was being with her so I didn't get much work done. I did get a little practicing done but really wasn't focusing on singing.
Since she's been back, for whatever reason, I have missed my 5-6 practice time. There is actually no reason why that should be my practice time, other than that because I am used to working in an office, if I am home any part of 9 to 5, I use those hours to do the editing that I do for a living. Tuesday I missed my practice time to watch the election!!
Amazingly, my voice is still there (Wednesday I had a lesson), but I really need to get back in the saddle. Yesterday (Thursday) I missed choir rehearsal and spent the whole day in such a nonstop state of stress that I thought I was going to have a heart attack. First I went around the block five or six times with my case manager and an attorney to find out if my partner's Medicaid had been renewed, then I spent an hour trying to find out where our ambulance was (to take her to a follow-up appointment) only to be put on hold for a total of 30 minutes. Skipping choir practice was planned as I didn't know what time I would be back to the Upper West Side after bringing my partner home from the appointment (I got home at 7:30, which is when rehearsal starts, and as it takes 20 minutes for me to get there and at least 15 for me to warm up, not to mention that I was sweaty and needed to organize some things at home so I would not have made it there even if I were in any shape to sing which I probably was not).
It seems lately I have been practicing every three days (and some of these times are just warming up for choir, but I guess that's enough if I warm up at least to a B flat).
Part of the problem, of course, is that I have no date on my calendar. I don't schedule concerts between Thanksgiving and Easter partly because of all the singing that's going on at the church, but mostly because I don't want to plan anything major during the season when it might snow. The number one way in which age has affected my physical well-being is that I feel unsafe in the snow, even with a cane. Other than church and choir practice, any other commitment is up for rescheduling during those months. So right now I've got my eye on December 30. I have sung on that Sunday (last year it was the 31st and the year before it was January 1) for the past two years, but I won't know anything until I get the Advent/Christmas choir schedule and touch base with the Music Director about scheduling. If someone else wants that date they should have it because I've had two "turns", on the other hand, half of the choir goes "home" for Christmas so there might not be any other takers, other than a man who likes to sing at the early service (he sang at 9 last year when I sang at 11). I pulled out the Lauridsen "O Magnum Mysterium", which I sang three years ago some time in December, and have found a new song by Wolf, called "Schlafendes Jesuskind" that might be appropriate. It would have been a "no" four or five years ago because it has an A flat in it (the previous Music Director didn't like "heavy voices singing in that range") but now it should be fine, with my new level of confidence and my slighly higher "sweet spot". I will listen to a Youtube of it and see what I think. And of course there's always "Rejoice", which is my favorite thing to sing in the whole world. You know, it's one of those pieces that sounds difficult (and it also sounds high) to other people but it is actually not (high) and it has always been very easy for me to sing.
For another time, I found a song by Alma Mahler called "In meines Vaters Garten" which I really like. I brought it to my lesson on Wednesday and my teacher said he liked it. He said it reminded him of the Wesendonck Lieder (I guess I could also sing "Angel" in church but that's more suitable for Advent) and that because it's "tuneful" I could probably add it to a recital program.
So now I just need to get back to my practice routine. I should be able to practice Monday. Tuesday probably not because I may have to sleep over at my partner's if her podiatrist is coming Wednesday morning. If he's coming Wednesday afternoon (I won't know that until Tuesday) I can practice Tuesday as well. If I don't get to practice Tuesday I will pass on a neighborhood meeting I had penciled in for Wednesday evening and practice instead.
And I can't lose heart. Last night (when I was already exhaused and feeling emotionally drained), I "re-encountered" one of the people on Facebook I had unfriended (or maybe she unfriended me) because the envy I felt for her led me to say something that she didn't like (that singers were self-absorbed maybe? well, they are! particularly if they don't have children or some other responsibility that's more important to them than flaunting head shots and photos of themselves in gowns). Anyhow, that put my self-esteem back in the basement, somewhere it has not been for a while.
No matter how old and wise (?) I get, it never stops being painful to be surrounded by people who are doing in real life what I imagine myself doing, wished I were doing, can do a tiny bit of, and will never do a lot of no matter how hard I work (which isn't an excuse to stop working by the way).
We were having a conversation about neighbors and I was realizing that having a building full of people who go to the Met all the time (it's around the corner) including one who's a music critic with a wife who majored in voice at Manhattan School of Music who even though she doesn't sing any more has the snobbish attitude of 99% of the conservatory graduates I've ever met, nobody gives a damn if I sing because I'm so nothing.
I just can't think about that. I can't lose heart. A friend told me that someone told her that if I sing I'm a singer, and if more than 50% of what I sing is operatic, I'm an opera singer, and all the "snitterati" on the Forum can't take that away from me.
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
The Bitter and the Sweet (Fall 2018 Edition)
I guess life is "the bitter and the sweet", hence my repeated use of this post title.
First the bitter (because I'm writing about events in chronological order).
Sunday afternoon I went to an anniversary service for my church's former pastor (the tall, drop dead gorgeous blonde) at her new church, and guess who was singing? Little Miss. I was in shock. I had expected maybe a soloist from my pastor's new church, or their choir, but no, there was Little Miss and her violinist boyfriend (whom I always had a great relationship with; he used to accompany me for solos with violin, like the Bach "Laudamus te").
I guess Pastor had invited them. And I suppose one reason was that she got a "twofer".
In all honesty, I can't say that I was upset that she didn't ask me, why should she.
I think I was upset because Little Miss represents everything I wish I'd had, wish I had, wish I'd done, and wish I'd been (or still was). First of all she's young and on an upward trajectory. She has been performing (not singing classical music, but singing) since she was in middle school. She's been disciplined, admired, curated, what you will, since then. Of course she put in the work. I will never say she got something for nothing. But it's often a feedback loop. You do well, people encourage you, you do better. You make friends and colleagues among those who do what you do, and that follows you into the future.
Now if you were to ask me if I think Little Miss will have a brilliant career and the world's greatest opera houses, I will probably say no. She is a generic lyric soprano. Where she is unusual, is/was in exhibiting such technical vocal perfection at such a young age. She sang the soprano solo in the Brahms Requiem five years ago, at the age of 20, in a totally flawless way, just sitting in a choir chair in a pair of jeans and tossing it off. She belts, she acts, she sings musical theater, she sings contemporary music. Probably if the New York City Opera were like it had been in the 60s, she could probably land a spot there. She has a "feel" for new music and opera in English that's a little bit like musical theater. And of course she has mentors. A famous voice teacher from a famous conservatory, a CV containing master classes and summer programs, and her boyfriend, who was a child prodigy with his own Wikipedia page and who has his finger in every possible kind of musical and theatrical pie.
Now I need to add here, as I have said before, that Little Miss is neither conceited nor Prima Donna-ish. She just is. She excels, she enjoys it, people gush, and she enjoys that, in a sort of innocent childlike way.
At the celebration on Sunday when I went to the party afterwards to give my regards to Pastor, I ran into Boyfriend and we chatted and then he mentioned that Little Miss was there and wanted to say "hello". So I did. I'm sure she was genuinely happy to see me.
So I ended up in a funk for the next day. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to give myself the kind of polish you get in a conservatory when you spend 8 years there and don't have anything else to worry about.
So on to the next thing. The Sweet. We had our last rehearsal for our recital and it went well. Really the only difficult thing I have to sing is the Bolena duet and it is going well. Not to jinx myself, but these days I seem to be able to confidently hold onto a high A for 8 counts without choking or panicking as easily as I used to be able to hold onto an F.
And when I was on my way to rehearsal yesterday, I got an email from a woman from another senior residence about doing a 30 minute demo recital. I had contacted her a while ago about doing a concert of some kind and she said she was a bit leery because the last time she had elicited feedback from the residents they had told her that they wanted more "nonclassical" music. So she said a compromise would be that I would do a half hour demo recital and she would ask for feedback. So I can have fun deciding what to sing (and I will ask my teacher if he wants to join me).
And I will order an anthology of songs by Alma Mahler. Monday night I went to the monthly free chamber music concert at my church (they bring in up and comings; sadly, nothing for the homegrown talent) and a woman sang two songs by Alma Mahler. The choir director (who runs this program) said I should look into singing some of them. I told him I had bought a book of songs by Fanny Mendelssohn but had not sung any of them; I said I couldn't find anything suitable for church. Well, maybe now with the Mahler, the Mendelssohn, and the anthology I bought of spirituals/art songs by Florence Price I can put together a recital of songs by women composers. Or maybe just add a set to my nursing home recital program. If I want to do a whole program of songs by women I would have to find an appropriate venue and nothing comes to mind.
First the bitter (because I'm writing about events in chronological order).
Sunday afternoon I went to an anniversary service for my church's former pastor (the tall, drop dead gorgeous blonde) at her new church, and guess who was singing? Little Miss. I was in shock. I had expected maybe a soloist from my pastor's new church, or their choir, but no, there was Little Miss and her violinist boyfriend (whom I always had a great relationship with; he used to accompany me for solos with violin, like the Bach "Laudamus te").
I guess Pastor had invited them. And I suppose one reason was that she got a "twofer".
In all honesty, I can't say that I was upset that she didn't ask me, why should she.
I think I was upset because Little Miss represents everything I wish I'd had, wish I had, wish I'd done, and wish I'd been (or still was). First of all she's young and on an upward trajectory. She has been performing (not singing classical music, but singing) since she was in middle school. She's been disciplined, admired, curated, what you will, since then. Of course she put in the work. I will never say she got something for nothing. But it's often a feedback loop. You do well, people encourage you, you do better. You make friends and colleagues among those who do what you do, and that follows you into the future.
Now if you were to ask me if I think Little Miss will have a brilliant career and the world's greatest opera houses, I will probably say no. She is a generic lyric soprano. Where she is unusual, is/was in exhibiting such technical vocal perfection at such a young age. She sang the soprano solo in the Brahms Requiem five years ago, at the age of 20, in a totally flawless way, just sitting in a choir chair in a pair of jeans and tossing it off. She belts, she acts, she sings musical theater, she sings contemporary music. Probably if the New York City Opera were like it had been in the 60s, she could probably land a spot there. She has a "feel" for new music and opera in English that's a little bit like musical theater. And of course she has mentors. A famous voice teacher from a famous conservatory, a CV containing master classes and summer programs, and her boyfriend, who was a child prodigy with his own Wikipedia page and who has his finger in every possible kind of musical and theatrical pie.
Now I need to add here, as I have said before, that Little Miss is neither conceited nor Prima Donna-ish. She just is. She excels, she enjoys it, people gush, and she enjoys that, in a sort of innocent childlike way.
At the celebration on Sunday when I went to the party afterwards to give my regards to Pastor, I ran into Boyfriend and we chatted and then he mentioned that Little Miss was there and wanted to say "hello". So I did. I'm sure she was genuinely happy to see me.
So I ended up in a funk for the next day. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to give myself the kind of polish you get in a conservatory when you spend 8 years there and don't have anything else to worry about.
So on to the next thing. The Sweet. We had our last rehearsal for our recital and it went well. Really the only difficult thing I have to sing is the Bolena duet and it is going well. Not to jinx myself, but these days I seem to be able to confidently hold onto a high A for 8 counts without choking or panicking as easily as I used to be able to hold onto an F.
And when I was on my way to rehearsal yesterday, I got an email from a woman from another senior residence about doing a 30 minute demo recital. I had contacted her a while ago about doing a concert of some kind and she said she was a bit leery because the last time she had elicited feedback from the residents they had told her that they wanted more "nonclassical" music. So she said a compromise would be that I would do a half hour demo recital and she would ask for feedback. So I can have fun deciding what to sing (and I will ask my teacher if he wants to join me).
And I will order an anthology of songs by Alma Mahler. Monday night I went to the monthly free chamber music concert at my church (they bring in up and comings; sadly, nothing for the homegrown talent) and a woman sang two songs by Alma Mahler. The choir director (who runs this program) said I should look into singing some of them. I told him I had bought a book of songs by Fanny Mendelssohn but had not sung any of them; I said I couldn't find anything suitable for church. Well, maybe now with the Mahler, the Mendelssohn, and the anthology I bought of spirituals/art songs by Florence Price I can put together a recital of songs by women composers. Or maybe just add a set to my nursing home recital program. If I want to do a whole program of songs by women I would have to find an appropriate venue and nothing comes to mind.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
The Pursuit of Excellence
At first glance this post will seem to diverge from the topic of the day, but there is a connection. As a late-starting classical singer who, no matter how hard I work, no matter how well I now sing, will never ever be as polished as someone who spent 8 years at a conservatory as a vocal performance major, this article really hit home. I am probably not what he means by a true amateur or a hobbyist. I sing well, well enough to give solo recitals, sometimes with other people, at nursing homes and senior centers, and to sing featured solos at church services, but anyone who has spent years at a conservatory and who mingles in those circles, can tell that I am not the real deal. I still have rough spots in my singing technique (far fewer with each passing year, and I am 68 now), I am not 100% musically literate, my language pronunciation is not always perfect, and I often look awkward on stage (not very awkward; I am good at connecting with audiences, but I am unsure how to enter and exit, bow, and keep my arms still if I think doing this or that will help my singing).
The author wrote "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Which is what I have been saying all along.
What is so sad, is that, with performing arts at least (I think sports are different, maybe) there is no place for people like me. There are all sorts of choruses, but no performance groups that are simply for older avocational performers who may need a little polishing. Or if there were one, it would, like all the "amateur" opera groups, be overrun with out of work professionals and young people looking to get a leg up. So what I'm saying is there are not performance groups for people like me that have a way of keeping certain types of people out.
And then there's the vitriol. Which is one reason I have stopped participating in singer discussion groups. I find my blood pressure is a lot lower if I stick to groups that talk about pets, British tv, and literature. If I want to know about singing I can talk to my voice teacher, my choir directors, or my accompanists. Until I made contact with these groups I had no idea that by referring to myself as an "opera singer" (well yes, that's what I've trained to sing and that is the kind of music I do sing even if it's just in a nursing home) I was besmirching an art form, leading the public astray, and doing damage to OPERA as a cause to be promoted. I actually find that hard to believe. If anything could turn people off opera as an art form it's the mud-slinging these people get involved in, with each other and at people they deem "their inferiors".
To the second part of this post, it seems that it doesn't link up with the horrors of this week, but in a way it does. I read an article in the Times a few days ago that spoke of the world that Kavanaugh and Blasey Ford grew up in: unrealistically high expectations, high achievement, and escaping from the pressure with drunken debauchery.
Some of that was familiar territory to me, some not. My father was a professor and most of my parent's friends were doctors, academics, and school principals. Their sons were expected to be doctors. Their daughters were expected to be what I call "Jane Austen" girls. Do well in school, be smart, but not smarter than the boys, and stick to the arts: literature, painting, playing a musical instrument, singing a little, taking some ballet classes. Get into a good college so that you can meet the right kind of husband. My generation rebelled, but differently. First and foremost we rebelled by rejecting achievement. Turn on, tune in, and drop out. And for many of us, we stayed "dropped out" long after we discontinued drug or alcohol abuse.
The parties described by Blasey Ford and others, though, are quite different from the ones I attended (and I was a little older). Yes, alcohol flowed freely, drugs were readily available, and there was lots of meaningless casual sex, but nothing was ever violent. Was that because we were the "free love" generation? The men who were there were ones who had found a way to avoid going to Vietnam, who hated war, who, yes, wanted lots of women to be available and didn't want to be tied down, but I don't remember anyone forcing himself on me or anyone else. We were all in it together. Looking back I would call it "quasi-consensual" sex. Things I and other women wouldn't have done it we'd been sober, but I don't remember anyone assaulting or pursuing me if I said "NO", which of course I was more likely to do if I was sober. Love was free then.
Not long after that I became a Lesbian Separatist and we encouraged each other to observe the "Pence rule" if we had to venture beyond the bounds of our sect (mainly this meant at work). Don't consume alcohol at mixed parties (many of us were twelve steppers anyhow). Don't go for a meal alone with a man. Dress modestly. If you work in an office with straight men and it's too conservative for pants suits, make sure your skirt comes below your knees. Don't smile excessively. Be businesslike and matter of fact. Apparently that (and the fact that I worked in an industry that was predominately female) stood me in good stead.
If I am bitter about anything from those days, it is not that I got myself into sleazy situations when I had had too much to drink (or more) but all the waste. Time and energy I could have spent on my talent. Yes, "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Those people must have been around in 1968 or in 1971. Why didn't I take my cue from them?
The author wrote "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Which is what I have been saying all along.
What is so sad, is that, with performing arts at least (I think sports are different, maybe) there is no place for people like me. There are all sorts of choruses, but no performance groups that are simply for older avocational performers who may need a little polishing. Or if there were one, it would, like all the "amateur" opera groups, be overrun with out of work professionals and young people looking to get a leg up. So what I'm saying is there are not performance groups for people like me that have a way of keeping certain types of people out.
And then there's the vitriol. Which is one reason I have stopped participating in singer discussion groups. I find my blood pressure is a lot lower if I stick to groups that talk about pets, British tv, and literature. If I want to know about singing I can talk to my voice teacher, my choir directors, or my accompanists. Until I made contact with these groups I had no idea that by referring to myself as an "opera singer" (well yes, that's what I've trained to sing and that is the kind of music I do sing even if it's just in a nursing home) I was besmirching an art form, leading the public astray, and doing damage to OPERA as a cause to be promoted. I actually find that hard to believe. If anything could turn people off opera as an art form it's the mud-slinging these people get involved in, with each other and at people they deem "their inferiors".
To the second part of this post, it seems that it doesn't link up with the horrors of this week, but in a way it does. I read an article in the Times a few days ago that spoke of the world that Kavanaugh and Blasey Ford grew up in: unrealistically high expectations, high achievement, and escaping from the pressure with drunken debauchery.
Some of that was familiar territory to me, some not. My father was a professor and most of my parent's friends were doctors, academics, and school principals. Their sons were expected to be doctors. Their daughters were expected to be what I call "Jane Austen" girls. Do well in school, be smart, but not smarter than the boys, and stick to the arts: literature, painting, playing a musical instrument, singing a little, taking some ballet classes. Get into a good college so that you can meet the right kind of husband. My generation rebelled, but differently. First and foremost we rebelled by rejecting achievement. Turn on, tune in, and drop out. And for many of us, we stayed "dropped out" long after we discontinued drug or alcohol abuse.
The parties described by Blasey Ford and others, though, are quite different from the ones I attended (and I was a little older). Yes, alcohol flowed freely, drugs were readily available, and there was lots of meaningless casual sex, but nothing was ever violent. Was that because we were the "free love" generation? The men who were there were ones who had found a way to avoid going to Vietnam, who hated war, who, yes, wanted lots of women to be available and didn't want to be tied down, but I don't remember anyone forcing himself on me or anyone else. We were all in it together. Looking back I would call it "quasi-consensual" sex. Things I and other women wouldn't have done it we'd been sober, but I don't remember anyone assaulting or pursuing me if I said "NO", which of course I was more likely to do if I was sober. Love was free then.
Not long after that I became a Lesbian Separatist and we encouraged each other to observe the "Pence rule" if we had to venture beyond the bounds of our sect (mainly this meant at work). Don't consume alcohol at mixed parties (many of us were twelve steppers anyhow). Don't go for a meal alone with a man. Dress modestly. If you work in an office with straight men and it's too conservative for pants suits, make sure your skirt comes below your knees. Don't smile excessively. Be businesslike and matter of fact. Apparently that (and the fact that I worked in an industry that was predominately female) stood me in good stead.
If I am bitter about anything from those days, it is not that I got myself into sleazy situations when I had had too much to drink (or more) but all the waste. Time and energy I could have spent on my talent. Yes, "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Those people must have been around in 1968 or in 1971. Why didn't I take my cue from them?
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
A Family Quarrel
The older I get, the more of a loss it feels that I don't have a family. Families seem to be something that most people take for granted; sort of like arms or teeth. Some people like theirs, some don't. But most people seem to have some kind of "next of kin" who will step up to the plate, however begrudgingly, if something is needed. It might involve a cross-continental move (usually on the part of the needful - I am thinking of a friend dying of cancer who moved in with her sister in the MidWest) but someone is there.
Once my partner became non compos, one day it dawned on me that I am no longer anyone's responsibility or problem. I have no "in case of emergency please notify". I can't think of anyone who would consider it their obligation to cancel their plans because I was in the hospital with, say, a concussion. Yes, I have an attorney, a physician, a psychotherapist, and a pastor. I have friends but they are all busy (we squeeze each other in once a month for an outing).
All this is a prelude to my writing about my first cousin. I do have a first cousin, who lives in New York (Brooklyn?), has a wife, and has a son (who is probably at college or beyond now). But he cares less about me than a stranger on the street would, and I would trust him less than I would trust that stranger to make a life or death decision for me.
When I was growing up my family consisted of my parents, my mother's parents, my mother's sister (my aunt), her husband, and their son (the cousin). At some point my mother and her sister had a falling out. I can't be sure over what, but it had something to do that even though my aunt and uncle published a communist-leaning magazine and went to all sorts of meetings and conferences, my uncle suddenly had developed a passion for antiques and was buying and selling them, making money hand over fist, which included bilking people by telling them that what they had was worth very little when in fact this was a lie. All he suddenly wanted to talk about was money. When he wasn't bragging about his Chippendale chairs, my aunt was on a soapbox exhorting my mother not to vote (I think she was talking about the fact that my mother was going to vote for Jimmy Carter in the 1980 election, so I would have been 30.)
After that it was downhill all the way. My mother made a decision not to have anything to do with her sister. Although there was a temporary thaw when my grandparents suddenly needed care (see my opening paragraphs). My mother handled the appointments and paperwork, her sister handled the money. The last and final quarrel they had ('Tis the final conflict LOL!) was over the fact that my aunt sold a lot of my grandparents' possessions and offered to divide up the proceeds with my mother without having asked my mother first if she wanted anything as a memento.
So this brings me to the cousin (my "next of kin" whom I will do anything to avoid listing on any form which might spell the difference between life and death for me, like a health care proxy). Why he decided to continue the quarrel on to the next generation, I have no idea. I tried to make contact a few times. When he got a big promotion. When he and his wife had a baby. No reply. About a year after this my aunt had a stroke and was put in a nursing home. My mother actually went to visit her once a week. She was appalled at how little care the family (uncle, cousin, wife) were trying to obtain for her. All they talked about was how to get her on Medicaid without losing the house. I came once and took pictures of my cousin and his family (this was back in the days of old fashioned film cameras). I sent him the pictures. I got no reply. Not shortly thereafter my mother stopped visiting her sister because there had been a two week period when she had not visited because she had been ill. Uncle never called to ask how she was.
I remember having a talk with my mother about all this (more than one talk, I am sure) about why we couldn't just have a family that hated each other but kept in touch on special occasions, like other people. She said she thought things might have been different if my cousin's wife had had any social skills, but that she did not. A friend, recently, also mentioned this. She said often women will reach out to family and try to patch up quarrels (for example the loathesome LC has stopped speaking to one of her sons but she is still on good terms with his wife). The wife did once or twice reach out to my mother, always tentatively and fearfully, according to my mother, so she might have been afraid of my mother. But why ignore me? Wasn't she curious? Any one with a rudimentary knowledge of psychology should know that a 90 year old mother and her 55 year old daughter are not one flesh!
But the family quarrel is not what prompted me to write this blog post. It's an old story. What prompted me to write was that last night, just because, I googled the name of my cousin's wife. I knew she was some sort of academic who wrote about feminism, and that she had co-authored several academic-type articles (I never read any of them). Well! It turns out that she has written four or five books (one coming out next year) on fascinating subjects ranging from criminology to the rise and fall of feminism. My cousin is a criminologist who has bounced back and forth between academia, government, and the world of foundations. He even got a George Soros grant once.
So this just again emphasizes how tiny a fish I am in a world that seems to be overwhelmingly populated by those who are much larger.
I'm good at this and I'm good at that and I sing and I write and I know about all sorts of things but I am still in the 10% of my social acquaintance, family, and childhood friends and schoolmates who has no flashy academic credentials, bylines, or serious theater or music work in my past.
I was just starting to make some headway learning how to be grateful for my little life, and now this.
What am I lacking? I have brains and various talents.
As I said not long ago, if I can't do well, I guess I have to settle for doing good.
Once my partner became non compos, one day it dawned on me that I am no longer anyone's responsibility or problem. I have no "in case of emergency please notify". I can't think of anyone who would consider it their obligation to cancel their plans because I was in the hospital with, say, a concussion. Yes, I have an attorney, a physician, a psychotherapist, and a pastor. I have friends but they are all busy (we squeeze each other in once a month for an outing).
All this is a prelude to my writing about my first cousin. I do have a first cousin, who lives in New York (Brooklyn?), has a wife, and has a son (who is probably at college or beyond now). But he cares less about me than a stranger on the street would, and I would trust him less than I would trust that stranger to make a life or death decision for me.
When I was growing up my family consisted of my parents, my mother's parents, my mother's sister (my aunt), her husband, and their son (the cousin). At some point my mother and her sister had a falling out. I can't be sure over what, but it had something to do that even though my aunt and uncle published a communist-leaning magazine and went to all sorts of meetings and conferences, my uncle suddenly had developed a passion for antiques and was buying and selling them, making money hand over fist, which included bilking people by telling them that what they had was worth very little when in fact this was a lie. All he suddenly wanted to talk about was money. When he wasn't bragging about his Chippendale chairs, my aunt was on a soapbox exhorting my mother not to vote (I think she was talking about the fact that my mother was going to vote for Jimmy Carter in the 1980 election, so I would have been 30.)
After that it was downhill all the way. My mother made a decision not to have anything to do with her sister. Although there was a temporary thaw when my grandparents suddenly needed care (see my opening paragraphs). My mother handled the appointments and paperwork, her sister handled the money. The last and final quarrel they had ('Tis the final conflict LOL!) was over the fact that my aunt sold a lot of my grandparents' possessions and offered to divide up the proceeds with my mother without having asked my mother first if she wanted anything as a memento.
So this brings me to the cousin (my "next of kin" whom I will do anything to avoid listing on any form which might spell the difference between life and death for me, like a health care proxy). Why he decided to continue the quarrel on to the next generation, I have no idea. I tried to make contact a few times. When he got a big promotion. When he and his wife had a baby. No reply. About a year after this my aunt had a stroke and was put in a nursing home. My mother actually went to visit her once a week. She was appalled at how little care the family (uncle, cousin, wife) were trying to obtain for her. All they talked about was how to get her on Medicaid without losing the house. I came once and took pictures of my cousin and his family (this was back in the days of old fashioned film cameras). I sent him the pictures. I got no reply. Not shortly thereafter my mother stopped visiting her sister because there had been a two week period when she had not visited because she had been ill. Uncle never called to ask how she was.
I remember having a talk with my mother about all this (more than one talk, I am sure) about why we couldn't just have a family that hated each other but kept in touch on special occasions, like other people. She said she thought things might have been different if my cousin's wife had had any social skills, but that she did not. A friend, recently, also mentioned this. She said often women will reach out to family and try to patch up quarrels (for example the loathesome LC has stopped speaking to one of her sons but she is still on good terms with his wife). The wife did once or twice reach out to my mother, always tentatively and fearfully, according to my mother, so she might have been afraid of my mother. But why ignore me? Wasn't she curious? Any one with a rudimentary knowledge of psychology should know that a 90 year old mother and her 55 year old daughter are not one flesh!
But the family quarrel is not what prompted me to write this blog post. It's an old story. What prompted me to write was that last night, just because, I googled the name of my cousin's wife. I knew she was some sort of academic who wrote about feminism, and that she had co-authored several academic-type articles (I never read any of them). Well! It turns out that she has written four or five books (one coming out next year) on fascinating subjects ranging from criminology to the rise and fall of feminism. My cousin is a criminologist who has bounced back and forth between academia, government, and the world of foundations. He even got a George Soros grant once.
So this just again emphasizes how tiny a fish I am in a world that seems to be overwhelmingly populated by those who are much larger.
I'm good at this and I'm good at that and I sing and I write and I know about all sorts of things but I am still in the 10% of my social acquaintance, family, and childhood friends and schoolmates who has no flashy academic credentials, bylines, or serious theater or music work in my past.
I was just starting to make some headway learning how to be grateful for my little life, and now this.
What am I lacking? I have brains and various talents.
As I said not long ago, if I can't do well, I guess I have to settle for doing good.
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
A Bold Move
After a terrible experience getting harsh (and I suppose mostly gauche) negative criticism (it was so severe and all encompassing it completely took me aback and left me shaken for weeks) after posting some (badly engineered) sound clips at a time when I wasn't sounding as good as I would have liked, I have only once posted a video of myself singing here. That was in 2012 (the day after "Sandy Hook") and I posted a video made in church of me singing "Der Engel" by Richard Wagner, struggling to keep the whole thing pianissimo, and only using half my voice.
Well, now This video of me singing Rossini is the culmination of 14 years of hard work. I was debating whether or not to publish it here, and I know that I'm doing it partly because I'm proud and partly because I'm angry and depressed.
I know this is silly; I know how hard I've worked, how much progress I've made, everyone says it including my teacher and the choir director (I can sing a pianissimo high A off the cuff which I couldn't even do last year). But all I have to do is engage with real singers talking about singing and I feel like nothing. Like a tiny mouse who has found herself in a den of snakes. Sometimes they ignore me, sometimes I think they're laughing at me. Mostly I feel like someone who's stepped into an exclusive club where I don't belong. And I keep trying! I keep putting feelers out. Because I'm stupid and have no self-esteem.
(I'm also depressed now because I have no more solo singing on the horizon other than something in church in July or August tbd).
So here's "Tanti Affetti", one of the most flamboyant mezzo arias on the planet. Like it or lump it.
Well, now This video of me singing Rossini is the culmination of 14 years of hard work. I was debating whether or not to publish it here, and I know that I'm doing it partly because I'm proud and partly because I'm angry and depressed.
I know this is silly; I know how hard I've worked, how much progress I've made, everyone says it including my teacher and the choir director (I can sing a pianissimo high A off the cuff which I couldn't even do last year). But all I have to do is engage with real singers talking about singing and I feel like nothing. Like a tiny mouse who has found herself in a den of snakes. Sometimes they ignore me, sometimes I think they're laughing at me. Mostly I feel like someone who's stepped into an exclusive club where I don't belong. And I keep trying! I keep putting feelers out. Because I'm stupid and have no self-esteem.
(I'm also depressed now because I have no more solo singing on the horizon other than something in church in July or August tbd).
So here's "Tanti Affetti", one of the most flamboyant mezzo arias on the planet. Like it or lump it.
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
Second Recital and Some Random Thoughts
The second recital went well. The setting was less formal than that in the other nursing home and senior centers where I've sung, but that was OK. Most of the "noise" came from the area near the front door of the facility. The people in the room (including a girl who looked about 8 or 9) were very quiet.
I felt as if I sang better than before, but as there won't be any videos, I can't be sure.
I like the new accompanist. He is a wonderful musician and very supportive. I will probably stay with my primary accompanist as a first choice (he charges less and lives in a more convenient location, for one thing) but it's good to have a backup. Of course I had a tiny "ouch" moment when he said he would like to come back there and play because a setting like that is "a good place to try out" repertoire that he is going to be playing in a more formal setting. This made me wince because it is precisely that phenomenon that has shut me out of so many of even the humblest venues. The most blatant example to me is "Sing-Through Central" (a chance to sing operas from a book with other people, for a coaching fee) which is used by professionals and emergings to learn or test-drive roles, when an outfit like that should really be for amateur "living room singers" like me who want a chance to do something they love that they will never be able to do anywhere else. Will all the "outreach" venues go that route, I wonder?
But I can't think that way. I am now getting back into gear to find a new place to sing. I guess singing for seniors is my "niche". I have an affinity for the elderly, partly because I take care of one, and doing this is a chance to "give back" (although I don't really see it that way as it's my only chance to sing for an audience other than church, not something I do out of the goodness of my heart despite other opportunities beckoning) and a low-stress setting in which I can sing whatever I want to, more or less. And I refuse to think of what I'm doing as "second best" any more than I would ever think I've settled for "second best" because the charming, funny, sweet, romantic love of my life turned out to be someone bone idle and totally unable to manage time, money, or a living space. And now she's a frail senior. Which makes it easier because a frail senior by definition no longer can manage those things, so I no longer resent doing them for her. I can't see myself as a failure because neither I nor my spouse was ever an "upper-middle class professional". Our minister said something interesting in last Sunday's sermon. She said we as a society shouldn't only value people according to their ability to be "productive". That the "endless cycle of producing and consuming" is not what life is about.
Speaking of church, my voice keeps getting higher and I am more and more comfortable singing even a high soprano part if the alternative is a low alto part, or in any event, one that has such a minimal "arc" that I can't get my voice to do what it does best: make a big beautiful sound somewhere between the middle and the top of the staff. We sang the final chorus from Elijah, and the compromise was that the second sopranos sang soprano until we got to the little chunks of music where the sopranos were singing a high A at which point we sang with the altos. Of course I got completely lost. I wouldn't have if I had had time to rehearse, which I hadn't. I am not a natural harmonizer, don't sightread, and know nothing about music theory, so unless I am singing the top part (which is all I hear if I listen to any kind of recording) I have to drill my part over and over, singing "against" a recording with the volume turned way up. I probably should have just stuck with the soprano part and might even have been able to sing the high As. At this point I am not only "reaching" but blossoming on B flats, B naturals, even the occasional C, when I vocalize. Next week we are singing a tiny snippet of Bernstein's Mass. The sopranos have four piano/pianissimo high As, which I can definitely sing because there is a big break before each set of two.
As for the "random thoughts", I posted an article on Facebook about all the downsides to marijuana use. Yes, I begrudgingly (very begrudgingly) support legalizing recreational use if only so that young people of color don't end up with a criminal record for being caught smoking it or carrying it, but I am dubious. Social drinking is one thing; it can be considered part of fine dining. But the only reason for nonmedical use of marijuana is to get "high" or "stoned" and to me that is such a waste of human potential (ditto for drinking to get drunk or "wasted") that why make it easier for people. The people who will go hog-wild with it will mostly be under 25, which is the time period when young people need to be alert and at their best so that they can make plans about their future and carry these out. I know that the tragedy of my life isn't that I drank alcoholically and abused diet pills (I was never much of a marijuana smoker - I didn't like the way it made me feel; never mind that it made me hungry which was a deal breaker) but that I did it during the years between 18 and 25 when I could have been going to college, exploring extracurricular activities, making connections with people that could last a lifetime, and charting a course through adulthood. And I saw this with a great many of my peers. And some of them ended up dead, in prison, or permanently psychotic from taking LSD or even smoking hashish. Scrambling to earn a living and get a college degree at night between the ages of 27 and 40 did not allow me to accrue any of the advantages that young people are accruing today beginning in high school (at which point in my life I was so deep in an eating disorder that I might as well have been out of it on drugs). Theater kids? Did that concept even exist when I was growing up? That's who I'm competing with if I want to perform somewhere. The conservatory kids and theater kids who are now in their 30s, even 40s. Even the ones who never made a profession out of performing have that to draw on when all I have is a lovely voice and a good ear. And the nonperforming young people were deep into summer immersion programs when they were as young as 12 or 13. Those things stay with you. Which brings me back to my original point about marijuana. Smoking it when you're young and impressionable (a phase that neuropsychology believes lasts until the age of 25) is like deliberately saddling yourself with a handicap. The world is a harsh, difficult, treacherous, and competitive enough place to navigate. Why make it harder for yourself? If I remember and repeat to myself daily any slogan from AA it's "There's no situation so bad that drinking won't make it worse." Yes, there's no situation so hard that doing it stoned (or hung over) won't make it harder.
I felt as if I sang better than before, but as there won't be any videos, I can't be sure.
I like the new accompanist. He is a wonderful musician and very supportive. I will probably stay with my primary accompanist as a first choice (he charges less and lives in a more convenient location, for one thing) but it's good to have a backup. Of course I had a tiny "ouch" moment when he said he would like to come back there and play because a setting like that is "a good place to try out" repertoire that he is going to be playing in a more formal setting. This made me wince because it is precisely that phenomenon that has shut me out of so many of even the humblest venues. The most blatant example to me is "Sing-Through Central" (a chance to sing operas from a book with other people, for a coaching fee) which is used by professionals and emergings to learn or test-drive roles, when an outfit like that should really be for amateur "living room singers" like me who want a chance to do something they love that they will never be able to do anywhere else. Will all the "outreach" venues go that route, I wonder?
But I can't think that way. I am now getting back into gear to find a new place to sing. I guess singing for seniors is my "niche". I have an affinity for the elderly, partly because I take care of one, and doing this is a chance to "give back" (although I don't really see it that way as it's my only chance to sing for an audience other than church, not something I do out of the goodness of my heart despite other opportunities beckoning) and a low-stress setting in which I can sing whatever I want to, more or less. And I refuse to think of what I'm doing as "second best" any more than I would ever think I've settled for "second best" because the charming, funny, sweet, romantic love of my life turned out to be someone bone idle and totally unable to manage time, money, or a living space. And now she's a frail senior. Which makes it easier because a frail senior by definition no longer can manage those things, so I no longer resent doing them for her. I can't see myself as a failure because neither I nor my spouse was ever an "upper-middle class professional". Our minister said something interesting in last Sunday's sermon. She said we as a society shouldn't only value people according to their ability to be "productive". That the "endless cycle of producing and consuming" is not what life is about.
Speaking of church, my voice keeps getting higher and I am more and more comfortable singing even a high soprano part if the alternative is a low alto part, or in any event, one that has such a minimal "arc" that I can't get my voice to do what it does best: make a big beautiful sound somewhere between the middle and the top of the staff. We sang the final chorus from Elijah, and the compromise was that the second sopranos sang soprano until we got to the little chunks of music where the sopranos were singing a high A at which point we sang with the altos. Of course I got completely lost. I wouldn't have if I had had time to rehearse, which I hadn't. I am not a natural harmonizer, don't sightread, and know nothing about music theory, so unless I am singing the top part (which is all I hear if I listen to any kind of recording) I have to drill my part over and over, singing "against" a recording with the volume turned way up. I probably should have just stuck with the soprano part and might even have been able to sing the high As. At this point I am not only "reaching" but blossoming on B flats, B naturals, even the occasional C, when I vocalize. Next week we are singing a tiny snippet of Bernstein's Mass. The sopranos have four piano/pianissimo high As, which I can definitely sing because there is a big break before each set of two.
As for the "random thoughts", I posted an article on Facebook about all the downsides to marijuana use. Yes, I begrudgingly (very begrudgingly) support legalizing recreational use if only so that young people of color don't end up with a criminal record for being caught smoking it or carrying it, but I am dubious. Social drinking is one thing; it can be considered part of fine dining. But the only reason for nonmedical use of marijuana is to get "high" or "stoned" and to me that is such a waste of human potential (ditto for drinking to get drunk or "wasted") that why make it easier for people. The people who will go hog-wild with it will mostly be under 25, which is the time period when young people need to be alert and at their best so that they can make plans about their future and carry these out. I know that the tragedy of my life isn't that I drank alcoholically and abused diet pills (I was never much of a marijuana smoker - I didn't like the way it made me feel; never mind that it made me hungry which was a deal breaker) but that I did it during the years between 18 and 25 when I could have been going to college, exploring extracurricular activities, making connections with people that could last a lifetime, and charting a course through adulthood. And I saw this with a great many of my peers. And some of them ended up dead, in prison, or permanently psychotic from taking LSD or even smoking hashish. Scrambling to earn a living and get a college degree at night between the ages of 27 and 40 did not allow me to accrue any of the advantages that young people are accruing today beginning in high school (at which point in my life I was so deep in an eating disorder that I might as well have been out of it on drugs). Theater kids? Did that concept even exist when I was growing up? That's who I'm competing with if I want to perform somewhere. The conservatory kids and theater kids who are now in their 30s, even 40s. Even the ones who never made a profession out of performing have that to draw on when all I have is a lovely voice and a good ear. And the nonperforming young people were deep into summer immersion programs when they were as young as 12 or 13. Those things stay with you. Which brings me back to my original point about marijuana. Smoking it when you're young and impressionable (a phase that neuropsychology believes lasts until the age of 25) is like deliberately saddling yourself with a handicap. The world is a harsh, difficult, treacherous, and competitive enough place to navigate. Why make it harder for yourself? If I remember and repeat to myself daily any slogan from AA it's "There's no situation so bad that drinking won't make it worse." Yes, there's no situation so hard that doing it stoned (or hung over) won't make it harder.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
The Bitter and the Sweet (2018 Version)
This is a title I use frequently, but have not used this year so far. I guess it's just life.
I got the videos from the recital and thought everything sounded good except for the Handel (which I knew didn't sound good because I sang too fast and didn't take breaths that I should have taken).
But
I just hate how awkward I look. As the evening wore on, I looked less and less awkward, but that's because as the evening wore on, the pieces I sang became vocally easier and easier so I was able to relax and have fun. But I don't want to give up the difficult pieces that I sing well. Here's the problem. I fidget, look worried, do things with my arms to "aid" in vocal production (do these things really aid anything?) and worst of all, for whatever reason, I walked off the stage at the end of "Tanti Affetti" when the pianist had not yet finished playing, to get some water between songs. Getting water was OK; doing it without letting the pianist finish was not. It was like when I sang Carmen in costume and forgot to take my glasses off. What upsets me about this isn't that I don't like how I look; it's that I know these problems are the result of my never having had the right kind of "grooming". Over the past 14 years I have just about had the time to devote to refining my vocal technique and learning music. I have not been in any setting where I would be coached on how to walk on and off the stage, look at the audience, and look poised while I'm singing. This is the kind of thing that someone like "Little Miss" has had going for her since she was 10, and now I guess she's in her mid 20s.
The good news is that I had my first rehearsal with the new pianist today. I had gotten very little sleep because after looking at the videos last night around 10 pm I was upset and found it hard to stay asleep (I didn't have a problem falling asleep, but woke up several times, the last being at 5:50 am, after which I could not go back to sleep). Well, I can sleep tonight, I hope. Anyhow I really sang well, including "Tanti Affetti" so I guess I really own all those high notes and fancy gimmicks and can do them at will (the way I can sing "Rejoice Greatly", which sounds hard to other people). This pianist is more of a coach than my other pianist, who is predominatly an accompanist (I have never heard him tell me anything about style for example). This new pianist gave me a number of pointers, including about "Mon Coeur", which I have been singing for over a decade. These subtleties are very interesting and I hope to do them justice.
So now I just have to rest (we have choir rehearsal tomorrow, for which - I think - all I have to do is sing an alto part on a chorus from Elijah) for the next few days. I have a lesson on the 29th, last rehearsal on the 31st, and the concert on June 2. Then I will decide what to do next.
This new pianist aspires to be a conductor and has conducted operas with a small company in Brooklyn that has an orchestra. He asked me if I would want to sing in their opera chorus and I said no (politely). There is no pay involved and there would be a lot of rehearsal time. I would rather sing recitals of songs and arias in front of a small audience than be lost in a big opera chorus. I might do it if I were younger and could see it as a step toward singing a leading role, but now, no.
I got the videos from the recital and thought everything sounded good except for the Handel (which I knew didn't sound good because I sang too fast and didn't take breaths that I should have taken).
But
I just hate how awkward I look. As the evening wore on, I looked less and less awkward, but that's because as the evening wore on, the pieces I sang became vocally easier and easier so I was able to relax and have fun. But I don't want to give up the difficult pieces that I sing well. Here's the problem. I fidget, look worried, do things with my arms to "aid" in vocal production (do these things really aid anything?) and worst of all, for whatever reason, I walked off the stage at the end of "Tanti Affetti" when the pianist had not yet finished playing, to get some water between songs. Getting water was OK; doing it without letting the pianist finish was not. It was like when I sang Carmen in costume and forgot to take my glasses off. What upsets me about this isn't that I don't like how I look; it's that I know these problems are the result of my never having had the right kind of "grooming". Over the past 14 years I have just about had the time to devote to refining my vocal technique and learning music. I have not been in any setting where I would be coached on how to walk on and off the stage, look at the audience, and look poised while I'm singing. This is the kind of thing that someone like "Little Miss" has had going for her since she was 10, and now I guess she's in her mid 20s.
The good news is that I had my first rehearsal with the new pianist today. I had gotten very little sleep because after looking at the videos last night around 10 pm I was upset and found it hard to stay asleep (I didn't have a problem falling asleep, but woke up several times, the last being at 5:50 am, after which I could not go back to sleep). Well, I can sleep tonight, I hope. Anyhow I really sang well, including "Tanti Affetti" so I guess I really own all those high notes and fancy gimmicks and can do them at will (the way I can sing "Rejoice Greatly", which sounds hard to other people). This pianist is more of a coach than my other pianist, who is predominatly an accompanist (I have never heard him tell me anything about style for example). This new pianist gave me a number of pointers, including about "Mon Coeur", which I have been singing for over a decade. These subtleties are very interesting and I hope to do them justice.
So now I just have to rest (we have choir rehearsal tomorrow, for which - I think - all I have to do is sing an alto part on a chorus from Elijah) for the next few days. I have a lesson on the 29th, last rehearsal on the 31st, and the concert on June 2. Then I will decide what to do next.
This new pianist aspires to be a conductor and has conducted operas with a small company in Brooklyn that has an orchestra. He asked me if I would want to sing in their opera chorus and I said no (politely). There is no pay involved and there would be a lot of rehearsal time. I would rather sing recitals of songs and arias in front of a small audience than be lost in a big opera chorus. I might do it if I were younger and could see it as a step toward singing a leading role, but now, no.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
Choir "Gossip" and A Conundrum
Well, wouldn't you know? Only a few years have passed since Little Miss left and now we have a bona fide dramatic soprano (a 30-year-old training to sing Strauss) in the choir. Apparently she has been living in New York for seven years, but only just now decided she wanted to find a "home church". So we will see. She is very different from Little Miss. She is quite shy, and seems like a grownup (not a child bubbling over expecting - and getting - oodles of praise). I first saw her name on the solo list, which is fine. There is plenty of room for anyone who wants to sing a solo: there are probably 45 Sundays where at least one service has no choir singing and a few other special services (and the Spanish service). I don't really know why this woman wants to sing with the choir. It will definitely be good to have her singing on Good Friday, when we will be doing sacred pieces by Schumann. She is singing in the soprano section, so I am singing in the alto section, which makes sense because nobody in the alto section can make a big enough sound to sing with an orchestra. I just don't want to get stuck in the alto section not because I don't like singing low, but because (I have probably mentioned this before) although soprano parts sometimes go low, alto parts never go high, so singing alto all the time is like going to the gym and only exercising half my body.
A while back I spoke to the choir director and asked if there would be any solos in the Good Friday music and was told that there might be a sopranos solo that was not too high that I might sing. So what will happen now? Best scenario would be if the music contains both a soprano and an alto solo. Then everyone will be happy.
I think what bothered me so much about the situation with Little Miss wasn't how well she sang (although yes, it was gut-wrenching to know that I was less vocally polished than a 20-year-old; being less polished than a 30-year-old would probably smart less) but all the attention she got. To me that bespoke poor leadership as much as anything because particularly in a group setting whoever does or does not get solos, it is not appropriate to ooh and ah and gush over someone.
It is interesting also to see how different these two women's Facebook presences are. Little Miss's page is filled with videos of her (often posted by other people) shared and circulated everywhere and gushed over by family and voice teachers. On the other hand, the new dramatic soprano has nothing on her Facebook page but pictures of her wedding.
As for other solos, I will have something either on Maundy Thursday or the Sunday after Easter. So between that and wanting to make a big plummy "professional" sound on the alto part in the Schumann, I am going to work on my lower register for a while (the Maundy Thursday solo would probably be the Vivaldi "Qui Sedes al Dexteram Patris").
I suppose the saddest thing isn't this or that individual, but that because of where I live, every year a new tidal wave of elite singers gets vomited up from conservatories all over the country, so no matter how much better I sing with each passing year, I can't get off the ocean floor.
A while back I spoke to the choir director and asked if there would be any solos in the Good Friday music and was told that there might be a sopranos solo that was not too high that I might sing. So what will happen now? Best scenario would be if the music contains both a soprano and an alto solo. Then everyone will be happy.
I think what bothered me so much about the situation with Little Miss wasn't how well she sang (although yes, it was gut-wrenching to know that I was less vocally polished than a 20-year-old; being less polished than a 30-year-old would probably smart less) but all the attention she got. To me that bespoke poor leadership as much as anything because particularly in a group setting whoever does or does not get solos, it is not appropriate to ooh and ah and gush over someone.
It is interesting also to see how different these two women's Facebook presences are. Little Miss's page is filled with videos of her (often posted by other people) shared and circulated everywhere and gushed over by family and voice teachers. On the other hand, the new dramatic soprano has nothing on her Facebook page but pictures of her wedding.
As for other solos, I will have something either on Maundy Thursday or the Sunday after Easter. So between that and wanting to make a big plummy "professional" sound on the alto part in the Schumann, I am going to work on my lower register for a while (the Maundy Thursday solo would probably be the Vivaldi "Qui Sedes al Dexteram Patris").
I suppose the saddest thing isn't this or that individual, but that because of where I live, every year a new tidal wave of elite singers gets vomited up from conservatories all over the country, so no matter how much better I sing with each passing year, I can't get off the ocean floor.
Thursday, December 21, 2017
2017 Wrap Up
Right now I couldn't even begin to think about making New Year's resolutions. I can't think of anything I need to be doing (that's realistic) that I'm not already doing. And I hope it's not a cop-out to say that so much of what is lacking in my life is about the lack of opportunities for someone with my level of talent in the environment I'm in.
As for how the outgoing year was, here's a wrap up. (And please note, this is only about me and the people in my life. It is not about the year as a political saga.)
The Good
As for how the outgoing year was, here's a wrap up. (And please note, this is only about me and the people in my life. It is not about the year as a political saga.)
The Good
- My partner is finally settled on Medicaid with a package of services and a support team. Barring her coming into money (unlikely), this can roll over from year to year.
- She is much healthier. I am no longer worried that she is going to die within weeks or months.
- Through managing all of her care providers and coordinating services, I have acquired skills that, most importantly, give me a feeling of competence, and secondly, keep fresh the management skills I once used at jobs for pay, if I ever want to look for another one.
- I keep singing better and better.
- Through my involvement with her home care team, I have learned about many different ways to make a life, even here in New York. There are people of different ethnicities, living in outerborough neighborhoods, with skills, talents, and beautiful souls, that have nothing to do with the world of Upper West Side successful professionals with performing arts degrees, around whom I feel like I'm the size of a mosquito. I thank these women not just for the loving care they provide my partner, but for sharing their hearts and their lives with me.
The Disappointing
- Despite singing better and better, it seems harder and harder to find a place to sing. Outreach venues don't call me back. If I were to pay a modest fee to rent a studio, I would have to fill it with an audience, and with all the high-level performances here (many of them free), there won't be one. Some people will no doubt come to be polite, but they really are not all that interested.
- Despite repeated efforts, I have not been able to create a network of similarly situated aspiring performers (older adults with a certain level of talent and skill who are eager to perform and willing to invest a certain amount of work in throwing something together). The people I meet are either younger or more experienced and are plugged into networks of their own that would not be open to me or it they're my age, they're pretty much done unless something falls into their lap.
- I realize more and more that most of the people who have the life I want began on a path when they were in their teens or shortly thereafter. At least among people I meet regularly, I seem not only to be one of the few without an advanced degree or some degree in a performing arts related field, but also one of the few who was never in a school show or an extracurricular performing arts group. This is time and experience I can never get back.
- Despite spiritually knowing better, I still yearn for a life I can't have: a life primarily defined by the arts. To the world I am a freelance copyeditor who is a caregiver - oh, and I have a lovely voice, sort of as an aside.
- I can no longer even envision doing anything for a living, even part-time, that does not involve some iteration of "paper pushing" sitting at a desk.
Lesson of the Year
Since I apparently will never do well, maybe I have to settle for doing good.
Thursday, October 5, 2017
So Why Are So Many of My Former Friends Famous?
Yes, this is just a typical Thursday morning whine, triggered by the random googlings of a bored copyeditor.
In what appears to be my most-read post, I discovered several years ago that a drugged out anorexic bar hopping roommate that I had in 1969 became someone famous (although still drugged out and anorexic). Who knew? By the time she became famous I was sober and long gone from that scene.
Well! The other day, I googled two different roommates from the same era (c. 1970), and found that both of them are or were famous enough to have their own Wikipedia pages, one (who died several years ago) for things that were unsurprising (although the level of her fame was quite surprising), the other for holding public office.
And it was only a month or so ago that I saw that a woman with whom I used to socialize as part of a group on holidays (before my friends' great migration to either the afterlife or warmer climes), had not just an editorial obituary in the TIMES, but a front page obituary.
For a long time, I blew off the fame and fortune of young women I grew up with, from the family physician who became a regular TIMES columnist to the female choral conductor who became one of the first female symphony orchestra conductors in the country, to a famous essayist and a famous novelist. I don't recall being particularly envious, mostly because these women were not happy. (I don't know about the novelist; I didn't know her very well when I was growing up, but neither the physician nor the conductor ever found a life partner despite numerous failed efforts, and both they and their mothers did a lot of complaining about this. And the essayist's writing style is a melange of sarcasm, bitterness, and wit, although I have no idea if this reflects her actual feelings, or is simply her writer's "voice".)
In any event, whether I sometimes fleetingly envied these women or not, I could rationalize that they became famous because they had worked hard: going to medical school, graduate schools, yes, studying and focusing on personal development instead of on dating and romance. So I had made a different choice.
But the three women I began this post by referencing were not that different from me. They had all dropped out (although the politician obviously at some point "dropped back in" with a vengeance; she has both an MD and a JD degree). So how did their involvement in various subcultures and counter-cultures lead to their making a "name" for themselves and mine did not?
And I did an informal study once (why not? I edit manuscripts full of data) and found that approximately 50% of the people I have met in the years since I stopped working full time (at church, in my Pilates class, at women's circles) either went to prestigious colleges, have graduate degrees, or have degrees (or careers) directly or indirectly connected to the performing arts.
So where are the rest of us?
One tiny ray of hope is that I will have a "legacy project". Right now the project is for my partner. The senior agency we got involved with offers this option to their clients. So I will have videos of her talking. I desperately wanted those because I had photographs, but no audios, other than voicemail messages, which are quite ephemeral. And bits and pieces from my recital will be interspersed. And it will all be on the organization's web site. And if she dies, I can become a client of that organization too. I don't need "services" but I would sure love to participate in some group activities and have a legacy project of my own. And if I participate in group activities there, who knows? I might actually meet some retired paper pushers who went to a city or a community college!
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