I hate to do this because for once I'm actually sticking to my plan and regularly updating this, but (if you can't tell from the mentions in the last two posts) I am going on an extended vacation. If I am feeling exceptionally gregarious, I may post an update about how my laziness is going, but that seems counter to the whole spirit of the thing.
Happy Generic Winter Holiday of your choice! May your presents be useful, your loved ones healthy, and your families well-behaved.
See you next year!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
On the Benefits of Laziness, Part II
Well, that last post turned into something entirely unintended. You see, normally when I write anything I have an outline with me. Sometimes it's very thought-out with a point-by-point progression of ideas, sometimes it's just a few notes scribbled on a piece of paper. The scribbles for that last post are still sitting next to me, but they're definitely not what wanted to be written. It's a nasty thing, posts that insist on writing themselves without my input. I would shake a disapproving finger at my monitor, but I don't think it'd do much good.
At any rate, I figured it would be worth it to attempt a second time to expand upon what was my original idea. It'll probably be just a basic sketch, but who knows? It might actually want to be written now.
***
So the original "thesis" for that last post was not going to be in reference to the very specific laziness which is a vacation--whether a three hour long vacation on a Thursday night or a nine-day vacation over the winter holiday--but instead cultivated laziness in certain situations. Though even the definition of laziness in this situation is different from the last post--the last post dealt with actual laziness, whereas for this purpose I merely mean "laid-back": which is to say, relaxation. Which is to say: the title of this post is a complete misnomer and what I really meant to talk about is how to relax.
My original sloppy talking points got half-covered in the last point, so I will try not to bore you with revisiting the same material. I will try to talk through the bits that didn't quite get covered.
***
As part of my self-imposed pop-culture rehabilitation program (Step I of Recovering from Graduate Studies) I've been listening to the Decemberists, among other bands. In all my travel on planes, trains, and automobiles this month I've had a lot of time to listen, and one of the things that struck me about pop music is the lack of obvious micro-managing when it comes to tempo. I am a bel canto enthusiast and will proselytize for hours about the indefinite art that is rubato and I wouldn't give that up for anything; however, I must say that there was something infinitely relaxing about being able to depend on periodically getting back to the same tempo for a long stretch of time. It gives a delicious sense that the music itself is solid somehow--that music is definite.
I'm not sure if it's my fault or the fault of accompanists and conductors I've been working with or a little bit of everyone combined, but I haven't experienced that consistency in tempo in a long time. I realize that with many musicians, we have this desire to push the tempo. As though we'll lose the audience's interest if we give them a moment to think about it, we go faster, trying to hold their interest. As a coloratura, I'm known for blazing through cabalettas at suicidal speeds trying to show off my facility. However, I can't help but think that this is wrong-headed. Worse, I can't help but think that this is tension-inducing for everyone involved.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love me some dramatic tension (uhm, hello, it's opera) but pushing tempi to create it is just doing the wrong thing. Here I'm getting off track again. Let's see if I can put it this way...
Changing your tempi to create dramatic tension only works if the audience and musicians have a definite tempo established as a reference point. We have to know without a doubt that this acceleration, this deceleration, this sudden wholesale change is something of import. They can't just sit there scratching their heads thinking to themselves, "Well, gosh, I know something has changed, but what?" They must sit up straighter in their chairs, the air suddenly electric because something different is happening. The audience isn't stupid by any means, but they can't know that something different is happening unless we establish an undeviated baseline long enough that the audience can find their way back to it by instinct. It is only once the audience becomes comfortable that it becomes effective to change tempi.
It is here we have to relax. We have to resist the urge to make something happen right now because in doing so we render our musical choices moot. We have to allow the music to happen, trust the notes on the page, and wait for just the right time to act.
This same principal applies to technique. Who ever produced a high note while micromanaging it? Who ever sang a high F worth singing by obsessing? This might have a place in a practice room while you're finding your way, but in a performance you'll be completely hamstrung.
The lesson in this case, might be this: that to create a product worth experiencing requires relinquishing one's neuroses and abandoning the concept of music being a linear experience where the point is to get to the finish line.
In fact, the point of this blog may yet be the journey of just that--how to have a career with myriad failures and successes while jettisoning the idea of it being any sort of a linear experience. It's not a race, it's not a game. You're not racking up points or trying to get a better time.
You're trying to make art.
So, you know, relax.
(If you manage to do that, please tell me how!)
At any rate, I figured it would be worth it to attempt a second time to expand upon what was my original idea. It'll probably be just a basic sketch, but who knows? It might actually want to be written now.
***
So the original "thesis" for that last post was not going to be in reference to the very specific laziness which is a vacation--whether a three hour long vacation on a Thursday night or a nine-day vacation over the winter holiday--but instead cultivated laziness in certain situations. Though even the definition of laziness in this situation is different from the last post--the last post dealt with actual laziness, whereas for this purpose I merely mean "laid-back": which is to say, relaxation. Which is to say: the title of this post is a complete misnomer and what I really meant to talk about is how to relax.
My original sloppy talking points got half-covered in the last point, so I will try not to bore you with revisiting the same material. I will try to talk through the bits that didn't quite get covered.
***
As part of my self-imposed pop-culture rehabilitation program (Step I of Recovering from Graduate Studies) I've been listening to the Decemberists, among other bands. In all my travel on planes, trains, and automobiles this month I've had a lot of time to listen, and one of the things that struck me about pop music is the lack of obvious micro-managing when it comes to tempo. I am a bel canto enthusiast and will proselytize for hours about the indefinite art that is rubato and I wouldn't give that up for anything; however, I must say that there was something infinitely relaxing about being able to depend on periodically getting back to the same tempo for a long stretch of time. It gives a delicious sense that the music itself is solid somehow--that music is definite.
I'm not sure if it's my fault or the fault of accompanists and conductors I've been working with or a little bit of everyone combined, but I haven't experienced that consistency in tempo in a long time. I realize that with many musicians, we have this desire to push the tempo. As though we'll lose the audience's interest if we give them a moment to think about it, we go faster, trying to hold their interest. As a coloratura, I'm known for blazing through cabalettas at suicidal speeds trying to show off my facility. However, I can't help but think that this is wrong-headed. Worse, I can't help but think that this is tension-inducing for everyone involved.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love me some dramatic tension (uhm, hello, it's opera) but pushing tempi to create it is just doing the wrong thing. Here I'm getting off track again. Let's see if I can put it this way...
Changing your tempi to create dramatic tension only works if the audience and musicians have a definite tempo established as a reference point. We have to know without a doubt that this acceleration, this deceleration, this sudden wholesale change is something of import. They can't just sit there scratching their heads thinking to themselves, "Well, gosh, I know something has changed, but what?" They must sit up straighter in their chairs, the air suddenly electric because something different is happening. The audience isn't stupid by any means, but they can't know that something different is happening unless we establish an undeviated baseline long enough that the audience can find their way back to it by instinct. It is only once the audience becomes comfortable that it becomes effective to change tempi.
It is here we have to relax. We have to resist the urge to make something happen right now because in doing so we render our musical choices moot. We have to allow the music to happen, trust the notes on the page, and wait for just the right time to act.
This same principal applies to technique. Who ever produced a high note while micromanaging it? Who ever sang a high F worth singing by obsessing? This might have a place in a practice room while you're finding your way, but in a performance you'll be completely hamstrung.
The lesson in this case, might be this: that to create a product worth experiencing requires relinquishing one's neuroses and abandoning the concept of music being a linear experience where the point is to get to the finish line.
In fact, the point of this blog may yet be the journey of just that--how to have a career with myriad failures and successes while jettisoning the idea of it being any sort of a linear experience. It's not a race, it's not a game. You're not racking up points or trying to get a better time.
You're trying to make art.
So, you know, relax.
(If you manage to do that, please tell me how!)
Monday, December 22, 2008
On the Benefits of Laziness
Ah, the wonder and glory of laziness. The unparalleled happiness of sitting around doing nothing. The incredible freedom of having no obligations. The power to delegate everything but sleeping and eating to someone else. Wondrous, rejuvenating laziness.
...Now, now, don't freak out immediately. I, of course, don't mean academic laziness or technical laziness. If you knew me in person, trust me, you'd know I would never advocate anything of the sort. But around this time of year my thoughts always turn to vacation and what it means to me.
As a hardcore academic, I've been in school non-stop now for going on twenty years. The academic track I chose found me in a pattern of ever-accelerating obligations, to the point where this winter break is the first span of consecutive free time longer than two days I've had in over a year-and-a-half. Last week also marked the first weekend I'd been able to take in two-and-a-half months. I am not by nature a "lazy" person.
However, it's because of that that I value my free time so much. I jealously guard the days off I can afford to take and will seldom allow them to be infringed upon. What with practice, classes, performances, internships, and the jobs I take to actually pay the rent, 12-16 hours days can become pretty normal during the semester. Actually, given the fact that my summer job was waiting tables at an Irish bar that closed at two in the morning, 12-14 hour days weren't too uncommon during summer break, either. All that stress builds up, and it has to go somewhere.
During the year it usually goes into an extra strenuous practice session--if I can afford to--or a long trip to the gym--if I have the time. But these are both stop-gap measures. At the end of the day, my body just can't be pushed any farther. At the end of the day, one needs some time to stand still.
Peaches and I have been talking about the fact that even the act of standing still is hard. We both want to be moving forward in our craft, and the prevailing opinion is that time spent resting is time wasted, but I would disagree.
A life with no time spent reflecting, no time allowed to process experience or remember what it's like to not live in a place where every moment of every day must be structured, lest one lose an instant of productivity, is a hollow one. If I'm going to use the popular metaphor of my brain being a computer--I only have so much processing power. I can only go for so long before all systems begin to simply freeze up.
I think everyone has experienced this. I have. I know when I'm getting burnt out because the signs of it are everywhere. First to go is any semblance of order in my living space. Now, even in the best of times I live by the sentiment that a disorganized room is a sign of a well-organized mind, but when I begin to shut down, you stop being able to see the floor. Dirty laundry piles up on the floor of the bathroom. Scores and books stop making it back to the bookshelf and instead sit in piles mere feet from their proper places. It's the physical manifestation of beginning to give up. I've started to surrender to the idea that I can't maintain order in my life.
Second to go is my mental health. I stop being social. I can't carry on a conversation with any but my closest friends. I have problems making eye contact or meaningful connections in casual conversations. Then comes the crying. Movies, music, books, an innocently intended word; all are cause for waterworks.
After that, my body follows. I become more and more lethargic, even while I doggedly continue to drag myself to one obligation after the next. My voice--whose salient point is its clarity--begins to get ragged and dull. If I get even close to the lower end of my middle register I will find myself unceremoniously dumped into chest voice.
Lastly, of course, I get sick. My body finds a way to make me shut down and get the rest it needs. I used to do this like clockwork each year right around the same time--pneumonia one year, mono the next, the sinus infections from H-E-double-hockey-sticks two years running after that. Finally I learned the art of shutting down before my body made me do it.
This year, despite what must have been the most ridiculous semester on record--an internship at a B level opera company, my M.M. recital, a role in a mainstage production at my conservatory and twelve auditions on the Northeast coast--I have been healthy as a horse. I owe it all to a newly discovered appreciation of laziness. Okay, and an extremely comprehensive heath insurance plan that allowed me to finally get preventive care for some pre-existing conditions.
Still.
My best friend is a fantastically lazy person, with emphasis on "fantastic." She's an incredible musician and (as if this were even possible!) an even better friend. She is also one of the most enthusiastic nappers I have ever come across. She and I have whiled away countless evenings playing video games, doing word and number puzzles (her) and reading (me.) She places an incredible amount of importance on eating, sleeping, and making time for frivolity. It is, without a doubt, one of the biggest reasons for my continued sanity and productivity.
Yes, productivity.
Here's my point: cultivating laziness is productive if you do it right. Because that unseemly emphasis on rest means that I now don't feel ashamed to insist on my eight to nine hours of sleep per night. Learning how to value the time I spend cooking and eating and playing video games meant I made time for it. I finally learned how to make time for standing still. You know what I figured out? If I make room in my schedule to be lazy, I can fit into eight-to-twelve hours what I used to fit into twelve-to-sixteen. Even better than that, I am a much better colleague when I do it.
***
So as I head toward a Christmas Eve and Day with said best friend and some of my very favorite people along with a week after that spent luxuriously doing nothing, I'll keep in mind that even this beautiful halycon period of laziness is for a purpose. The store of energy I'm going to get from hoarding my resources during this precious week is what will get me through the inevitable disappointments and the rigorous planning that is waiting for me in the new year.
So you can work through your break if you want. You can take the over-extended frantic pace of the rest of your life and carry it with you all the time. I salute you. It takes a stouter heart, body, and mind than mine to bear that kind of a strain. As for me, I'll be over here, raising a glass and laughing with friends and remembering what other uses my heart and brain are good for other than getting ahead; and at the end of it...
It'll be a new year.
...Now, now, don't freak out immediately. I, of course, don't mean academic laziness or technical laziness. If you knew me in person, trust me, you'd know I would never advocate anything of the sort. But around this time of year my thoughts always turn to vacation and what it means to me.
As a hardcore academic, I've been in school non-stop now for going on twenty years. The academic track I chose found me in a pattern of ever-accelerating obligations, to the point where this winter break is the first span of consecutive free time longer than two days I've had in over a year-and-a-half. Last week also marked the first weekend I'd been able to take in two-and-a-half months. I am not by nature a "lazy" person.
However, it's because of that that I value my free time so much. I jealously guard the days off I can afford to take and will seldom allow them to be infringed upon. What with practice, classes, performances, internships, and the jobs I take to actually pay the rent, 12-16 hours days can become pretty normal during the semester. Actually, given the fact that my summer job was waiting tables at an Irish bar that closed at two in the morning, 12-14 hour days weren't too uncommon during summer break, either. All that stress builds up, and it has to go somewhere.
During the year it usually goes into an extra strenuous practice session--if I can afford to--or a long trip to the gym--if I have the time. But these are both stop-gap measures. At the end of the day, my body just can't be pushed any farther. At the end of the day, one needs some time to stand still.
Peaches and I have been talking about the fact that even the act of standing still is hard. We both want to be moving forward in our craft, and the prevailing opinion is that time spent resting is time wasted, but I would disagree.
A life with no time spent reflecting, no time allowed to process experience or remember what it's like to not live in a place where every moment of every day must be structured, lest one lose an instant of productivity, is a hollow one. If I'm going to use the popular metaphor of my brain being a computer--I only have so much processing power. I can only go for so long before all systems begin to simply freeze up.
I think everyone has experienced this. I have. I know when I'm getting burnt out because the signs of it are everywhere. First to go is any semblance of order in my living space. Now, even in the best of times I live by the sentiment that a disorganized room is a sign of a well-organized mind, but when I begin to shut down, you stop being able to see the floor. Dirty laundry piles up on the floor of the bathroom. Scores and books stop making it back to the bookshelf and instead sit in piles mere feet from their proper places. It's the physical manifestation of beginning to give up. I've started to surrender to the idea that I can't maintain order in my life.
Second to go is my mental health. I stop being social. I can't carry on a conversation with any but my closest friends. I have problems making eye contact or meaningful connections in casual conversations. Then comes the crying. Movies, music, books, an innocently intended word; all are cause for waterworks.
After that, my body follows. I become more and more lethargic, even while I doggedly continue to drag myself to one obligation after the next. My voice--whose salient point is its clarity--begins to get ragged and dull. If I get even close to the lower end of my middle register I will find myself unceremoniously dumped into chest voice.
Lastly, of course, I get sick. My body finds a way to make me shut down and get the rest it needs. I used to do this like clockwork each year right around the same time--pneumonia one year, mono the next, the sinus infections from H-E-double-hockey-sticks two years running after that. Finally I learned the art of shutting down before my body made me do it.
This year, despite what must have been the most ridiculous semester on record--an internship at a B level opera company, my M.M. recital, a role in a mainstage production at my conservatory and twelve auditions on the Northeast coast--I have been healthy as a horse. I owe it all to a newly discovered appreciation of laziness. Okay, and an extremely comprehensive heath insurance plan that allowed me to finally get preventive care for some pre-existing conditions.
Still.
My best friend is a fantastically lazy person, with emphasis on "fantastic." She's an incredible musician and (as if this were even possible!) an even better friend. She is also one of the most enthusiastic nappers I have ever come across. She and I have whiled away countless evenings playing video games, doing word and number puzzles (her) and reading (me.) She places an incredible amount of importance on eating, sleeping, and making time for frivolity. It is, without a doubt, one of the biggest reasons for my continued sanity and productivity.
Yes, productivity.
Here's my point: cultivating laziness is productive if you do it right. Because that unseemly emphasis on rest means that I now don't feel ashamed to insist on my eight to nine hours of sleep per night. Learning how to value the time I spend cooking and eating and playing video games meant I made time for it. I finally learned how to make time for standing still. You know what I figured out? If I make room in my schedule to be lazy, I can fit into eight-to-twelve hours what I used to fit into twelve-to-sixteen. Even better than that, I am a much better colleague when I do it.
***
So as I head toward a Christmas Eve and Day with said best friend and some of my very favorite people along with a week after that spent luxuriously doing nothing, I'll keep in mind that even this beautiful halycon period of laziness is for a purpose. The store of energy I'm going to get from hoarding my resources during this precious week is what will get me through the inevitable disappointments and the rigorous planning that is waiting for me in the new year.
So you can work through your break if you want. You can take the over-extended frantic pace of the rest of your life and carry it with you all the time. I salute you. It takes a stouter heart, body, and mind than mine to bear that kind of a strain. As for me, I'll be over here, raising a glass and laughing with friends and remembering what other uses my heart and brain are good for other than getting ahead; and at the end of it...
It'll be a new year.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Disappointment
This blog was founded on the idea that I have things to say worth listening to. Over the past few weeks I have discovered that these things are not "rah-rah" speeches or a pedantic list of things you should do to get on your way. This is because I realized that... Well, I really don't know.
I know all the basics of auditioning--have well marked music for your accompanist, a Five that are so well-rehearsed you can sing them in your sleep, a dynamite dress that is memorable, modest, and accompanied by the right underpinnings, and a resume that looks delicious.
I was finally confronted this month with the fact that I don't know it all. That my knowledge isn't enough. The voice and the talent that breezed me right through undergrad and grad school and all manner of community productions are not enough anymore. Somewhere along the line, I listened a little too well and polished myself to a high gloss without bothering to tackle the stuff below the sheen.
High off of an incredibly successful grad career I expected doors to keep opening without a terribly huge amount of effort. I told myself not to expect much but really was looking for the world to just fall at my feet.
I have learned that it doesn't quite work that way, and I am on my way to discovering that that is a very good thing. This is the thing that makes this blog a little different--I'm going to go ahead and admit that I'm not perfect. I'm not. I need more core in my sound, I need a better Five, I need yet another coat of polish. I need to be memorable and not merely competent. We'll be discovering the how of that together along the line, and I have every intention of sharing. For now, though, we'll start at the very beginning.
***
I've been germinating the idea of a professional blog for a long time, but it never seemed to be the right moment. I never knew how anonymous I wanted it to be. The events of the last month made me realize that I want it to be completely anonymous so you can know me better. It needs to be completely anonymous so I can say what I have to say and not censor myself. It needs to be completely anonymous so I can tell you what I never, ever want any employer to know. In short, that I am not perfect.
This month I did my first "real" audition season. I applied to every summer program and YAP that I could, I bought three audition dresses, spent all semester polishing my rep, and at the height of the semester did all my work weeks early to leave school to audition for everyone who would hear me. In total, I believe I was heard by about twelve programs--an excellent start.
Results started coming in. My best friend was accepted into the Rolls-Royce of summer programs, her roommate was wait-listed at the Ferrari of Summer Programs, my ex-roommate was accepted at a mid-level program to cover two roles that I desperately love. The days have ticked by and I have no calls. There is a somewhat happy ending--I was wait-listed at a mid-level program and so I am quite hopeful that perhaps something else might happen for me, but the point to this is not my status in terms of having something to do this summer.
No, the point is what not having the outside validation of having a program accept me did to me. I was devastated. Somehow, somewhen I had begun expecting things. I had started to think that things were owed me as a singer. I've seen it happen to people around me and been disgusted by it but had never thought to look for it in myself. Well, I turned around a week ago and there it was. Suddenly, I expected validation to the point where it actually threatened how I saw myself.
Well, okay. It threatened how I saw myself for a day or two, then I mentally smacked myself and remembered that I am fantastic and just need to be more so. There are thousands of sopranos with high notes out these, so I need a little more work to stand out. That's not a bad or shameful thing, and I shouldn't need other people to bolster my ego. That's one of my goals, even beyond the technical work I have to do--rely on interior feedback.
It's also something that I think everyone in the profession has to address at one time or another. It is such a delicate balance keeping your head right in this game. Keeping your ego and self-esteem at a level which keeps you positive and insulated to small blows can often explode into an unmanageable ego. Instead of being hopeful, a person can become entitled. It's a very real danger and it makes for a bad artist. People who feel entitled to things don't feel the need to change and grow so they can deserve them; they just sit and let stuff fall into place. I'm aiming at growing a little extra humility this year and seeing where it gets me. Real humility: not the false modesty that keeps a person endlessly fishing for compliments, but real, honest-to-god, internal self-sufficiency, and a new clarity in how I look at myself professionally.
So now we begin.
Lesson of this post: No one owes you anything, and that's GOOD. If you didn't have to earn it, it wouldn't be worth anything.
I know all the basics of auditioning--have well marked music for your accompanist, a Five that are so well-rehearsed you can sing them in your sleep, a dynamite dress that is memorable, modest, and accompanied by the right underpinnings, and a resume that looks delicious.
I was finally confronted this month with the fact that I don't know it all. That my knowledge isn't enough. The voice and the talent that breezed me right through undergrad and grad school and all manner of community productions are not enough anymore. Somewhere along the line, I listened a little too well and polished myself to a high gloss without bothering to tackle the stuff below the sheen.
High off of an incredibly successful grad career I expected doors to keep opening without a terribly huge amount of effort. I told myself not to expect much but really was looking for the world to just fall at my feet.
I have learned that it doesn't quite work that way, and I am on my way to discovering that that is a very good thing. This is the thing that makes this blog a little different--I'm going to go ahead and admit that I'm not perfect. I'm not. I need more core in my sound, I need a better Five, I need yet another coat of polish. I need to be memorable and not merely competent. We'll be discovering the how of that together along the line, and I have every intention of sharing. For now, though, we'll start at the very beginning.
***
I've been germinating the idea of a professional blog for a long time, but it never seemed to be the right moment. I never knew how anonymous I wanted it to be. The events of the last month made me realize that I want it to be completely anonymous so you can know me better. It needs to be completely anonymous so I can say what I have to say and not censor myself. It needs to be completely anonymous so I can tell you what I never, ever want any employer to know. In short, that I am not perfect.
This month I did my first "real" audition season. I applied to every summer program and YAP that I could, I bought three audition dresses, spent all semester polishing my rep, and at the height of the semester did all my work weeks early to leave school to audition for everyone who would hear me. In total, I believe I was heard by about twelve programs--an excellent start.
Results started coming in. My best friend was accepted into the Rolls-Royce of summer programs, her roommate was wait-listed at the Ferrari of Summer Programs, my ex-roommate was accepted at a mid-level program to cover two roles that I desperately love. The days have ticked by and I have no calls. There is a somewhat happy ending--I was wait-listed at a mid-level program and so I am quite hopeful that perhaps something else might happen for me, but the point to this is not my status in terms of having something to do this summer.
No, the point is what not having the outside validation of having a program accept me did to me. I was devastated. Somehow, somewhen I had begun expecting things. I had started to think that things were owed me as a singer. I've seen it happen to people around me and been disgusted by it but had never thought to look for it in myself. Well, I turned around a week ago and there it was. Suddenly, I expected validation to the point where it actually threatened how I saw myself.
Well, okay. It threatened how I saw myself for a day or two, then I mentally smacked myself and remembered that I am fantastic and just need to be more so. There are thousands of sopranos with high notes out these, so I need a little more work to stand out. That's not a bad or shameful thing, and I shouldn't need other people to bolster my ego. That's one of my goals, even beyond the technical work I have to do--rely on interior feedback.
It's also something that I think everyone in the profession has to address at one time or another. It is such a delicate balance keeping your head right in this game. Keeping your ego and self-esteem at a level which keeps you positive and insulated to small blows can often explode into an unmanageable ego. Instead of being hopeful, a person can become entitled. It's a very real danger and it makes for a bad artist. People who feel entitled to things don't feel the need to change and grow so they can deserve them; they just sit and let stuff fall into place. I'm aiming at growing a little extra humility this year and seeing where it gets me. Real humility: not the false modesty that keeps a person endlessly fishing for compliments, but real, honest-to-god, internal self-sufficiency, and a new clarity in how I look at myself professionally.
So now we begin.
Lesson of this post: No one owes you anything, and that's GOOD. If you didn't have to earn it, it wouldn't be worth anything.
Friday, December 19, 2008
The Big Reveal!
Okay, so all of one person follows this blog so far and she already knows who I am, but what is a blog if not the illusion that someone is listening and cares?
I started this blog with the vague thought that writing about this profession--this demanding, exhilarating, highly personal profession--might be easier under the guise of something very far from myself. When my roommate bought me a stuffed sheep for an early Hannukah present, I figured it was as good a persona as any.
However, in a profession such as this which becomes so much a part of personal identity, putting something else in between you and I just blocks the entire purpose of this blog. There are many blogs about opera. Most of the blogs about the business we read because they talk like they have things all figured out, from both sides of the table. But I realized as I read all these blogs that something was missing.
It was missing my perspective. It was missing an underdog. There are so many blogs and websites and forums that you can go to if you want people to tell you what to do, but when a person is searching for real honesty it can be hard to find. Most blogs are hidden beneath a professional veneer that in some ways is as fake as a talking stuffed animal. I haven't been able to find a one yet that speaks really honestly about the things that I care about.
So this is my contribution to the blog world. My little corner of the internet will be reserved for honesty.
***
I guess that means it's time for a real introduction. I'm a coloratura soprano (but aren't we all!) just about to graduate from an MM program in a major city in the Northeast. In my day I've had monikers like "The Queen" and "The Diva" but these days I think I'd like to try on something a little more modest.
You can call me Smoofie.
I started this blog with the vague thought that writing about this profession--this demanding, exhilarating, highly personal profession--might be easier under the guise of something very far from myself. When my roommate bought me a stuffed sheep for an early Hannukah present, I figured it was as good a persona as any.
However, in a profession such as this which becomes so much a part of personal identity, putting something else in between you and I just blocks the entire purpose of this blog. There are many blogs about opera. Most of the blogs about the business we read because they talk like they have things all figured out, from both sides of the table. But I realized as I read all these blogs that something was missing.
It was missing my perspective. It was missing an underdog. There are so many blogs and websites and forums that you can go to if you want people to tell you what to do, but when a person is searching for real honesty it can be hard to find. Most blogs are hidden beneath a professional veneer that in some ways is as fake as a talking stuffed animal. I haven't been able to find a one yet that speaks really honestly about the things that I care about.
So this is my contribution to the blog world. My little corner of the internet will be reserved for honesty.
***
I guess that means it's time for a real introduction. I'm a coloratura soprano (but aren't we all!) just about to graduate from an MM program in a major city in the Northeast. In my day I've had monikers like "The Queen" and "The Diva" but these days I think I'd like to try on something a little more modest.
You can call me Smoofie.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
A Lesson Regarding Sparkly Soubrette Repertoire
A word to the wise--if at no point during the performance of a soubrette aria you smile, laugh, or are generally honestly charming--well, I hate to use the internet parlance, but...
ur doin it rong.
You're vivacious, charming, and quick-witted. All that's really required is that you act like your own sweet self.
Ah, see? That was so much easier.
ur doin it rong.
You're vivacious, charming, and quick-witted. All that's really required is that you act like your own sweet self.
Ah, see? That was so much easier.
General Advice
I find that the words of Henry Ford can be easily adapted to audition arias.
Whether you think you think that aria you added to your list merely as a requirement is boring or not, you're right.
If you don't feel as though you can add anything true or heartfelt to your interpretation, the aria doesn't belong on your list. No matter that it shows off the fact that you can hit a high Q or that it has lots of patter in the right language or that your teacher insists that you'd be a PERFECT FIT for it or even if it does genuinely sound pretty. If you're bored singing it, those watching you will feel the same way.
Come now. You are so talented and have so much to give to what you do. You deserve better than an aria that makes you look boring.
Whether you think you think that aria you added to your list merely as a requirement is boring or not, you're right.
If you don't feel as though you can add anything true or heartfelt to your interpretation, the aria doesn't belong on your list. No matter that it shows off the fact that you can hit a high Q or that it has lots of patter in the right language or that your teacher insists that you'd be a PERFECT FIT for it or even if it does genuinely sound pretty. If you're bored singing it, those watching you will feel the same way.
Come now. You are so talented and have so much to give to what you do. You deserve better than an aria that makes you look boring.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Audition Fatigue
Yes, you've just spent half your savings account traveling to various cities along the east coast.
Yes, you're also working various jobs and trying to work out various holiday/family obligations.
Yes, it is easy to think of this as being boring, repetitive, and pointless.
However, this is your best chance to show people who can hire you how wonderful you are. This is the first step to getting to rise another level in your craft. More importantly and more immediately than that, this is a room full of people who are there to hear you sing. It might be a small room and a smaller audience; they might be there to see a whole host of other people, but for those few precious moments, they are there to hear you. You have a chance to make a connection with other human beings, and isn't that why you're really doing this anyway?
Go get a full night's sleep. Hydrate. Listen to some inspirational music.
Try to do it because you love it, and not for any reason but that.
Yes, you're also working various jobs and trying to work out various holiday/family obligations.
Yes, it is easy to think of this as being boring, repetitive, and pointless.
However, this is your best chance to show people who can hire you how wonderful you are. This is the first step to getting to rise another level in your craft. More importantly and more immediately than that, this is a room full of people who are there to hear you sing. It might be a small room and a smaller audience; they might be there to see a whole host of other people, but for those few precious moments, they are there to hear you. You have a chance to make a connection with other human beings, and isn't that why you're really doing this anyway?
Go get a full night's sleep. Hydrate. Listen to some inspirational music.
Try to do it because you love it, and not for any reason but that.
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