My Musical Crushes

Yesterday was Andy Williams' 82nd birthday and there was a flurry of postings of Andy Williams' song clips (Christmas and otherwise) to Facebook, which got me thinking of boys and men on whom I had crushes throughout my musical and personal development.

First, there was Alvin. Of course, this is somewhat disturbing, since 1) He is animated and 2) He is a chipmunk.

Then, of course, there was Paul and the Beatles.

When the 60s came to an end, the Beatles broke up and my tastes turned to the bubblegum boys who starred in shows like Here come the brides and The Partridge Family (although David didn't do that much for me). When the movie Tommy came out, I fell for its leading man, Roger Daltrey. (My boyfriend at the time was a tall, thin, long-haired blond - my mother hated him which, of course, made me like him all the more.)


But my pop tastes were still firmly ingrained and I was still a sucker for the well-sung romantic ballad.

Once I started studying classical music, my musical choices became even more eclectic. The hot Latin tenor, Placido Domingo (even with a disco beat!), the gorgeous American baritone (complete with baritone hair), Thomas Hampson, Broadway's Brian Stokes Mitchell, the late Jerry Hadley, and the perfect example of talent and personality being more attractive than the physical persona, Jason Alexander.

I'll close with a seasonal favorite by the beautiful German tenor, Jonas Kaufmann (kinda looks like a dark-haired Heath Ledger, doesn't he?).

Pre-Performance Rituals - what are yours?

Susan Eichhorn Young wrote a blog entry today about protecting your performance, which at its core was all about centering and finding stillness before a performance. It was an excellent blog and it got me thinking about the way I have found to work best for me in getting ready to perform.

I've read about performance preparation for years, and often, it was best summarized as "Shut up and contemplate your navel. Focus. Center." I've always felt joyful before a show and wanted to jump up and down, talk to people, and be somewhat giddy about the upcoming performance. But this behavior often seems to make people think that I'm less than serious about my craft and somewhat frivolous.

I once threw an opening night party in the afternoon of the day the show opened. We invited about 50 people, most of whom were coming to the show that night. I had a great time - at about 5:30pm, I decided that I'd had enough and I needed to go in the house and be alone for a bit before I left for the theater. We had a great opening night. I gave one of my best performances ever.

But I've been told that this isn't the right way to prepare for a show for me, that I should, again, contemplate my navel, not talk to anyone, and reserve my energies for the performance.  So back in April 2001, when I was preparing for the Kilpinen competition, I decided to try that. After all, I have had bouts of performance anxiety in the past, and maybe this was what it would take to finally conquer it.

I had heard about a monastery in Madison that rented rooms to the public, for people seeking solitude and quiet. And the rent was $33 per night. So I reserved a room/cell and went to Madison. There was no TV or radio in my room, of course. All the better to settle my mind and focus my energies. The next morning I went to the chapel and took part in a centering service and then walked the grounds. I think there was a labyrinth. Then I went back to my cell and read some meditative literature. I couldn't practice there, obviously, but I felt like I'd have enough time to vocalize before the performance.

So I went to the theater, found a practice room and vocalized for awhile, got dressed for the show, and thought, "I'm calm, I'm centered, I am prepared," and I walked into the performance space.

I have never been so freaked out in my entire life. I was shaking, I couldn't get my breath low, and I was dry. So dry that I went for my high note on the word "fly" at the end of "Paper wings" and my upper lip stuck to my teeth as I hit the note and then came off in the middle of the vowel, so that the note sounded like ... it's impossible to describe in writing. Trust me, it was weird.

The whole experience put me off singing for awhile. I felt like I had regressed to my undergrad days and that the 20 years of professional experience I'd had up to that point were all for nothing.

But I've come to realize that my way of preparing involves letting the crazies out before I hit the stage, and if that means hopping around and being goofy, that's my way of centering. I will give room to those people who need to sit in a corner and contemplate their navels but for me, that simply doesn't work. "I hop, therefore I am."

Happy Thanksgiving!

I wrote an entry awhile back about being grateful so perhaps writing another one for Thanksgiving is redundant. I don't want to focus on individual people, accomplishments or occasions. I want to look at the big picture.

I am grateful for music. For everything that it has had to offer me for as long as I can remember. I am grateful for melody, for lyrics, for harmonies that grab you by the ear and won't let go (I remember Jay Rader calling a particularly plump harmonic transition a "dirty chord," and I know exactly what he meant). I am grateful for all its manifestations - opera, musical theater, symphonies, art song, pop songs, chamber works, solo instrumental pieces, folk songs, bluegrass, country music and rap. (Okay, for the last two I'm not all that grateful but they exist and they fulfill something for someone else.)

When I'm happy, I listen to music. When I'm unhappy, I need it all the more. I'm grateful for the creativity that music seems to trigger in me, and for any vague nurturing instinct I might have that is the result of teaching music.

I'm grateful that I've been able to earn a living because of music. I'm hopeful that music will open more doors in terms of my cabaret performances (new domain name coming in 2010 just for that endeavor!), in terms of more teaching opportunities at the college level, and more possibilities of performances and workshops (alone or with other performing/teaching partners). I'm grateful that the music education I've received, from 88th Street School to Hamilton HS to Alverno College to the Peabody Institute to all the NATS workshops and non-NATS programs (shout out to Somatic Voicework and Jeannie LoVetri!), has given me the information needed to make this work for me and for my students.

I'm grateful that music gave me a way to say a final goodbye to my mother, and to hopefully give some comfort to my father.

I am grateful for having married a man who once earned his living as a musician and has never begrudged my music for one moment. And I am grateful for Facebook and for being able to re-establish contact with those musical colleagues from 88th Street School to Hamilton HS to Alverno College (not so much there - wonder why?) to Peabody etc.

Franz von Schober said it so much better than I could (and Schubert set it so much better than I ever could):

Original German	English Translation
Du holde Kunst, in wieviel grauen Stunden, Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt, Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb' entzünden, Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt! Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf' entflossen, Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir Den Himmel beßrer Zeiten mir erschlossen, Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür!	Oh gracious Art, in how many grey hours, When life's fierce orbit ensnared me, Have you kindled my heart to warm love, Transfigured me into a better world! How often has a sigh escaping from your harp, A sweet, a sacred harmony of yours Thrown open the heaven of better times, Oh gracious Art, for that I thank you!

Pianists can still play when they have a cold, dammit

Of course, singers can still sing when they have a broken finger, so I guess it kind of evens out. Except that upper respiratory infections are far more likely to afflict the general population than broken fingers. (I was going to title this blog "A throat full of snot," meant to be sung to the tune of "A heart full of love" from Les Mis but I thought it might be off-putting.)

I managed to stay plague-free ever since the advent of H1N1, despite my husband being in contact with sick people day in and day out, having kids harboring the virus entering my house daily, and now going to a college full of them 2x a week. What did it? What or who gave me, if not swine flu (God forbid), a raging head cold that caused me to cancel 2 days of students/income?

A small 2 year old child. That's her. That's the carrier. All I needed was to be exposed to her over a 2 day period and BAM, flat on my back. You know I'm not well when I cancel a day full of students who are not only among my favorites but several of them are paying me, to boot.

Of course, it was worse for my niece, Jessica. Or as I like to call her, Typhoid Jessie. (URI Jessie just doesn't have the same ring, even though it's more accurate.) The poor thing had so much congestion that she had to be hospitalized for a day and on oxygen. She's better now, and so am I.

2009 NATS!

It is 6:22am - I should still be in bed for another half hour but I was tossing and turning. So here I am, in the Eau Claire Days Inn, writing about what I hope will be a great day. It just has to get better from yesterday!

Yesterday morning I got in the car to go teach at Carroll, thinking I'd leave a little earlier and run some errands pre-teaching. Put my key in the ignition - nada. Didn't turn over, didn't click. I got out, went to the end of the driveway, swore not-so-silently and not-so-under-my-breath, and looked around to see if my neighbor Ellyn was around so I could borrow her car to get to Carroll. Didn't see her. Walked back to the car and thought, "I'll try again." It started. I got her running and got out to Carroll, hoping she'd make it there and that she'd start post-class. She did. I ran my errands after class, each time hoping the car would start when I got back to it. It did.

So I figured it was an aberration and drove the 3-3/4 hours to Eau Claire. And she ran until 6 blocks from the hotel, when the car's lights all went out and she stopped - and then started back up. Got to the hotel and registered, went to move the car to the side of the hotel where my room is - and she stopped. I think it's the alternator.

I am so fortunate - 1) That she didn't stop while I was sandwiched between the myriad of semi-trailers I encountered; 2) That my hotel is across the street from a Toyota dealership; and 3) That I have a current AAA card.

And I hope the studio's fortune also holds up today - today Kate Trotter, Ryan Stajmiger, Breanna Kaho and Magdelyn Monahan are all participating in the 2009 Wisconsin NATS auditions in the high school divisions for classical girls, MT boys and MT girls respectively. All are extremely well prepared and I have high hopes that at least one of them will go to the finals (which would make it 8 years in a row for the studio - but no pressure). We have no control over the outcome for this kind of thing, only the process, and they have done the work needed to do a good job.

And I hope that my car is ready so I can go home tomorrow!

Back to the Music!

I am so excited about so many things.

First of all, I'm studying with Connie Haas and starting to sing great "big-girl" music. I'm going to start working on some American arias including Augusta in Baby Doe, and I also want to work on some Baroque pieces. I've been enamored of Philipe Jaroussky lately, and it's made me want to sing some Vivaldi arias.

And in my other singing life, Christine O'Meally, Cabaret Chanteuse, I have two gigs coming up: December 12 at Hart Park Square Retirement Community (A Christmas Gift is the working title) and Oh to be a movie star! at St. Camillus for the assisted living community. The first show has yet to be written. The second will need to be edited for time. (Cut the Titanic parody, for one.) I'm thinking Ryan and I should set up a website.... now what to call it/us?

MacDowell Club has asked me to co-ordinate an Irish themed recital for March 14 to be held at the Greendale Public Library. This is also exciting - I don't want too much "die-dee-die-dee" music. I want to have people perform pieces that are either by Irish or Irish-derived composers or in the case of song literature, perhaps with Irish texts. I'd like to involve the Irish Fest Center/Ward Music Archives or the Irish Community Center as far as marketing. (Of course, marketing is my biggest pitfall. I have great ideas but getting them out there is another story.) I'm planning to sing several of the Barber Hermit Songs (texts by Irish monks, 11th-12th century). I'd like to have Kate Trotter sing some Yeats poetry set to music by various composers, possibly Milwaukee's own Paula Foley Tillen. And Mary Rempalski Ohm told me about some pieces by a Minneapolis composer, who I contacted - and then asked Mary if she wanted to come down and sing them.

Nervous about approaching instrumentalists. Why? It's that singer vs. musician mindset which is, unfortunately, all too prevalent not only among singers but among conductors and instrumentalists themselves. I need to get over it. I'm sure we can get a good program going, but I'd like it to be varied, not just all singers. Although getting Kurt Ollmann and Bill Lavonis on the program wouldn't be a bad thing.... Hmm.....

I also want to write a program for Mother's Day for the Milwaukee Gay Arts Center. Becky Spice always said that if I didn't write a show about my mother, she would do it. I have some ideas, one I'm going to try out at Renate's memorial service. I think it's respectful. Actually, I think it's kind of dear, and if it goes well, I'll write about it post-memorial service. (If it's a train wreck, I won't.)

So it was the last time....

After my parents went to Florida, I wrote that it might have been the last time I ever saw them.

It was. At least it was the last time I saw my mother. She passed away last Tuesday, October 6. Although she was older than my dad, it was a surprise. He had been ill for weeks before and had almost died a couple of times - the hospital was even talking about releasing him to hospice care, but then he rallied and wound up going back to the nursing home to be with my mother, who was his life. Even more than his children were - she was the center of his universe.

But my mother, even though she was primarily speaking in Estonian toward the end (and unlike the non-Yiddish-speaking Boris Thomaschefsky in the song "The King of All Broadway" in The Producers, she actually did speak Estonian!) and wasn't always sure who the people visiting her actually were, she showed no signs of any life-threatening illnesses. We all thought that in 2020, Willard Scott would say, "And celebrating her 100th birthday is Renate Bojic. She's pretty as a picture and everyone just loves her." (I don't know which would've freaked me out more - Renate living to be 100 or Willard still doing those Smucker's birthday tributes.) But one morning, the nurse went in to check on them, really being more concerned about Marko, and found Renate looking blue and her breathing labored. She was rushed to the hospital and was gone within 90 minutes.

And I am feeling - I don't know what I'm feeling. I had an initial wave of sorrow. I haven't decided if it was sorrow for her passing, sorrow for my not getting to see her again (that realization hit me the next in, of all places, my core class at the WAC), sorrow for my father -- sorrow for who she was at the end of her life and who she'd been during my childhood. I'm relieved. I'm numb.

All I can think of is how much I wish I could tell her about Boston and how much I love it. But the woman she was since her stroke wouldn't have gotten it - and the woman of the last 10 years probably wouldn't have appreciated it. She would have told my dad that I thought I was so high and mighty, going on trips all over the place. We didn't used to have that kind of relationship. Before I became more in touch with my own emotional needs, I could tell her anything. Once I became more self-aware (and I don't think more self-absorbed), I couldn't. She couldn't take joy in my joys or my accomplishments. So I shared fewer and fewer with her in those last 10 years.

I feel numb. And sad (kinda). And determined not to live my life the way she lived it, which was letting life happen to her, not being pro-active, not taking risks.

Back to singing next week. Just had to follow up. And I suspect there will be another follow-up regarding Marko before long. Or maybe he'll be on Willard Scott in 2023.

Voice lesson journal - MUS 366A

This is the format that I would like you to use for your voice lessons.

Title should include the Date, Lesson # and your name.

Body of journal:

Your Student's Name:
Lesson length:
Voice Type (if known):

Discussion:
In this section, just note how much time was spent discussing general things - health, amount of time practiced (NOTE: this CAN get away from you sometimes!)

Physical Warmups:
List what kind of warmups you did and how long you spent on them.

Vocalises:
List the vocalises used (you may use solfege or numbers, whatever is easier for you, or you may reference exercises in Miller, e.g. "2.13"). Indicate on what pitch you began the exercise and how far you took it in each direction.

Also indicate what your intention was for the exercise - breath managemnt, resonance, alignment, articulation, phonation (onset/release), as well as agility/sostenuto, range, registration, etc.

Indicate how long the vocalise portion of the lesson took.

Repertoire: Name of Song(s)
Indicate who selected the song, if it was you or the student and what you hope to gain from using that particular song. Indicate time spent on each song (unlikely you'll cover more than one per lesson).

Post-lesson Analysis:
How did it go? What did you encounter? What was successful and what was not successful? Was the student cooperative? Did he/she seem confused or not understand you at any point? How do you think you could be clearer? Is there anything I can help you with that would make the next lesson easier for both you and the student?

Student goal for the next lesson:
What have you asked your student to work on?

Your PERSONAL goal for the next lesson:
What do YOU want to work on? How will you prepare for the next time you see this person, based on what you learned today?

A Culinary Cabaret!

Tomorrow, Ryan and I perform our 2nd cabaret show, If Music Be the Food of Love: A Culinary Cabaret at the Times Cinema Theater, 5906 West Vliet Street, Milwaukee. The show starts at 1:30pm, and will be followed by the 1996 movie Big Night.

I like pairing shows with movies that share a theme. The last time we did our movie show and followed it with Singin' in the Rain. Not really the same theme except we sang about movies, old and new, and then watched a classic film. This time, we are doing a show about food and how the subject of food is used in song as a metaphor for finding love, losing love, sex, as status, as a way of saying goodbye, in marketing, and as entertainment. I'm very excited about the show - I like all the songs we've picked and I think we've put them together very creatively. And the movie is one of my favorites, starring Monk's Tony Shalhoub and Stanley Tucci (Julie & Julia, which I haven't seen yet). It's about two Italian brothers who come to 1950s New Jersey to open an authentic restaurant and are met with skepticism from a market that thinks nothing but spaghetti & meatballs is REAL Italian food.

We've been marketing this show much more than we did our May show. Our February show was full, even though our marketing was primarily via Facebook - but that didn't work for May. We put up a lot of posters, mailed postcards, and did a lot of BOGO deals for my students, WAC members, neighborhood association members. I'm hoping it pays off. Even without a BOGO deal, $15 for a live show + a great movie is a steal. So please come - we're good, really! :D

The obligatory 9/11 post

Boy, that sounds cynical. And it's 9/12 today, so what's the point of writing yet another post about how yet another person never will forget 9/11 and remembers exactly where he/she was when everything happened?

Of course I thought about 9/11 multiple times during the day - if you were on the internet, had the TV or the radio on, you couldn't help but being reminded of the day. Plus I was singing the alto solo in Karl Jenkins' The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace last night with the Menomonee Falls Symphony at the Basilica, and the piece has a very strong anti-war message. So in my mental preparation for the piece, I thought of how I was going to bring my feelings about war into my interpretation.

I find it difficult to sit still on stage. Suddenly everything begins to itch. It didn't help that I bought a new dress and didn't realize till I was sitting on stage that if I dropped my head even slightly, it brought the tag into direct contact with my back. And I had to sit there through 7 movements - I was singing in movements 8, 11 and 13.

In movement 7, the chorus sings a charge to battle. It's powerful music - very rhythmic, utilizing all the forces of the orchestra and chorus. But at one point, the chorus begins to scream - cries of anguish crescendoing along with the orchestra and then stopping abruptly. 30 seconds of silence follow, and then a trumpet solo rings out, unaccompanied. The strings come back in with a sustained, dissonant line, joined the tolling of bells, and the low strings playing a foreboding melody.

It was the screaming that got me. All I could think of was when the towers came down on 9/11, and you saw the people outside running away from the smoke and debris, and heard the screaming. And it was just like that. I'm sure my face gave away all my emotions - it was so visceral for me, and I'm sure for the audience as well. Getting up to sing the 8th movement, with text written by a survivor of Hiroshima - "Pushing up through smoke - in a world of darkness with overhanging cloud...." was heart-wrenching.

The section starts at 4:40 on this video. (I find it interesting that this is a Slovenian group performing the piece - my father is from Slovenia, and I don't find a lot of Slovenian performances on You Tube. )

Grateful, grateful, truly grateful I am

I am grateful that my summer schedule was so full, and that I got to enjoy working with returning students (Maureen, Julia, Elyse), and with a whole bunch of talented newbies (Grace, Grace, Rose, Joanne, Luke & Anna), as well as the rest of my wonderful students.

I am grateful for the opportunity to work with wonderful peers and learn new things about CCM at the Shendandoah Conservatory with Jeannette Lovetri and her master teachers. And to enjoy being out on the east coast again, which is ultimately where I belong (but not just yet - maybe 5-10 years).

I am grateful for the creativity of my peers and musical partners, and for their acceptance of my creativity.

I am grateful I made it through a summer schedule that crammed 5 days' worth of singers (plus the returning ones and newbies - see above) into a 3-1/2 day schedule. A schedule that will not be repeated again next summer, I can tell you that right now!

I am grateful for a husband who prepares wonderful meals for me at the end of my teaching day, and a wonderful dinner for the party held yesterday at the end of the teaching season (the summer season, anyway). And for those who came and partook - and for those who didn't, hey, there's a lot of tax-deductible leftovers for us to enjoy!

Transitions

When I started this blog, I intended to write once a week about singing- and studio-related things only, venturing into the personal only as it related to the main topic.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, my last blog entry was July 15...

and forgive me for self-indulgence but I want to write about other things today.

Yesterday I put my parents on a plane to Florida. They will be moving into a nursing home near my sister's home. I may never see them again.

For those of you who know my relationship with my parents or who know my parents, you might be saying, "Congratulations!" For those of you who judge my relationship with my parents, you might be saying, "So what's the difference? You hardly ever saw them anyway."

My relationship with my parents has been contentious, to say the least. I returned to Milwaukee in 1996 because the family medicine residency programs were top notch and would afford Bill good training and because I had a yearning to reconnect with my parents and my hometown.

Two out of three ain't bad.

I had done a lot of self-work in getting through my divorce. I recognized mistakes I had made in my personal and professional relationships in my 34 years of life and worked very hard at correcting them and trying not to repeat them. I thought I could apply the same concepts to my relationship with my parents and be a better daughter and have the family relationship I always wanted growing up.

It didn't work. My attempts at reaching out were never enough - always too little, too late as far as they were concerned. Always an opportunity for comparison - "Caroline calls more than you do and she's in Florida." (I called more when I was in Baltimore because they were always happy to hear from me then!) - for sarcasm - "We thought you forgot our phone number." (Two days had gone by between calls - and phones work both ways.) And after Mom's dementia kicked in, for twisting the knife - "Yeah, she calls for you all night, and I tell her, don't bother, Christine doesn't care."

And even though I distanced myself in the interest of self-protection (at the advice of professionals), making dutiful calls at least once a week, visiting on holidays, and wishing that they had listened to my sister and me when we tried to get them to move to Florida or at least to assisted living before all these health issues had surfaced, when my sister told me last Friday that she found them a spot in a nursing home in Florida and had booked them a flight for August 8, I felt ... lost. (Okay, that was after the initial celebratory glass of wine.)

My husband doesn't get it. He only knows these people as the ones who snuck out of our wedding early because they weren't getting enough attention, who told us our wedding was "nothing to brag about" because it wasn't Catholic, who have said dreadful things about people of other races and religions and gender identities, and whose initial response to the end of my first marriage was "What about the money you owe us?" He's thrilled that they will be too far away to hurt me anymore.

But I remember - or at least I have pictures of - the little girl whose Daddy adored her, and was constantly whispering in her ear and laughing with her. I remember the Mother who would defend her child no matter what, sometimes going overboard, but fierce in her defense. And that went beyond childhood. I remember when the priest at my first teaching job berated me in front of the school (that job is a whole 'nother blog entry!) and she called him and identified herself as a mother whose daughter had called her, very upset about how he had treated the music teacher, and gave him a piece of her mind. The poor old coot was racking his brain trying to figure out just which student had a mother with a foreign accent, and kept asking her, "Are you Maria's mother? Jenny's?" and she told him, "I won't tell you because I don't want you to take it out on my daughter."

He deserved it.

So even though I haven't known those people for years, and I never will again, those are the people for whom I feel loss. I will truly never see those people again. As far as the people who took their place, I may never see them again. And I probably will start calling them more frequently, because now that we are far apart, they will again be happy to hear from me.

Letting people go

Today I had to tell a long-time student's mom that I could no longer work with that student anymore. There have been too many no-shows, examples of thoughtlessness, "forgetting" checks, breaking promises ... and I haven't been doing the student any favors by accepting excuses, rescheduling missed lessons, or accepting payment weeks late. It has to stop for my own self-preservation as well as to teach the student that there are consequences for bad behavior.

I'm sad about this. I hate letting good singers go, even if it's for good reasons. And this student has a great deal of potential - great musician, fine young voice, and smart.

The two students that I've had to let go because of trust issues were both people who professed to be beyond-devout Christians... and I've caught both of them in lies.

Putting together the fall schedule

I just sent out an email to my students to set up the 2009-2010 schedule. I lost about 10 people at the end of this school year - 6 graduated, 4 decided to move on for various reasons. But I replaced 6 of them, and several of the current roster decided to increase their lesson times from 30 minutes to 45 minutes. I was surprised - last year I had decided to phase out the 30 minute lesson time entirely because longer lessons are so much more effective in helping the student apply the technical things we do in the first 15 minutes to actual singing. But with the economic crisis, I wasn't going to push it. I didn't have to. People wanted to do it.

Also, I'll be teaching vocal pedagogy at Carroll University again this fall. I'm excited about that - I really enjoy helping people find their teaching voices so that they can help others find their singing voices. Plus I've decided that the income from that gig is going toward a ... wait for it ... cleaning woman. (Reinemachefrau!)

Heading out at the end of this week for Jeannette Lovetri's Contemporary Commercial Music Pedagogy Institute at Shenandoah Conservatory. I'm doing the first two levels of the program and will be certified in Levels 1 and 2 of Somatic Voicework. I'll tell you what that means when I get back!

Top Ten Things That Make Me a Happy Voice Teacher

1. When a student posts a line of a song I've given her or him as his/her Facebook status - "I'll find myself at the end of the world where the earth and the sky are one."

2. When a student tells me she'll remember singing the Dead Nuns Chorus from Carmelites for the rest of her life.

3. When a student tells me that she loves opera - and she's only 13 and came in to the studio a year before only liking bluegrass and boy bands and I haven't even given her opera to sing, she's just heard other people doing it and wants to do it too.

4. When the parent of a student who has just done her first ensemble recital tells me, "Your studio is full of really nice, supportive kids, and they made my daughter feel at home."

5. When someone tells me her high school senior project is about vocal pedagogy.

6. When a kid who formerly only followed heavy metal headbanging tells me that he is now obsessed with Wagner. (Honestly, it's not that much of a stretch.)

7. When a girl who formerly swooned over the Jonas Brothers now swoons over Placido Domingo - at least on recordings.

8. When a brand new student can read the IPA I've written on my dry-erase board.

9. When I told my students that Richard Miller died, and most of them said, "OH NO!" (Again, my base is grades 9-12.)

10. When students see a song from Street Scene or Lady in the Dark or Threepenny Opera and immediately blurt out, "I don't mean to be curt, but give me that vial!" (See L.A. Law)

One good thing about getting older....

I can now sing the repertoire that caused people to say, "Ms. Thomas, why are you singing this aria?" back in my 20s.

I've started working with Connie Haas - I had a couple of lessons with her before she went to teach at Eastman a few years ago but by the time I could afford to have lessons on a regular basis again, she'd started teaching in Rochester. Now she's back, and I want to get back on the "someone listen to me" train again.

It's going well - she speaks in the same kind of language I speak in to my students, and it cracks me up when she'll say "Does that make sense to you?" because I say that all the time, usually after I've made some bizarro request to my student that they then manage to execute with the exact outcome I wanted.

So we've decided to work on some heavier mezzo rep, and for the last two days I've sat down and sung through "O mio Fernando" and "Stride la vampa" (!!!) and man, does that feel good.

Sometimes aging doesn't suck.

What the Skylight means to me

Last week, Skylight Opera Theater announced the elimination of its artistic director and company manager positions, and consequently, the termination of the two people filling those positions, Bill Theisen and Diana Alioto. I have worked with both Bill and Diana - Bill in the 80s, when we were both in the Skylight's Gilbert & Sullivan choruses, and Diana when I sang Pilar in Rosina in 2001 and Dottie in Viva La Mamma in 2003. And later in the week, they also fired the music director, Jamie Johns, who is probably the best musician in the city - no, the region.

Although I haven't done anything with Skylight since 2003, its place in my heart and in my history has never diminished. It's the Skylight that set me on the right track as a performer.

After college, I studied with Judith Erickson for a couple of years. During that time, she suggested that I audition for the Skylight. I hadn't heard of the company - my very sheltered Sout' side upbringing and Alverno education had limited me quite a bit (when your parents don't let you go east of 27th Street, you don't do much). I was really only familiar with the Florentine Opera, with whom I was singing chorus. So Judy gave me comps to see A little night music, which was being performed in Wehr Hall. I loved it and wanted to audition - so Judy set something up. (Judy was not the teacher who gave me the wrong rep, as referred to in an earlier post.)

I auditioned for Colin Cabot and Donald St. Pierre - I had no idea that this was a big deal audition, so I wasn't particularly nervous. I sang "Una voce poco fa" and "Memory" (back in the days when "Memory" was a viable audition piece) and at the end of the audition, Colin said, "Christine, did Judy misrepresent you?" and I said, "I... I don't know... what do you mean?" And he said, "Well, she said you just wanted to be in the chorus." Again, I stammered out a response. I had no thoughts of doing anything other than chorus - I had no idea of what else I could do.

I sang 6 shows with Skylight over the next few years - Pinafore, Patience, Pirates & Mikado (the latter of which broke the alliteration cycle) as well as The Student Prince and Desert Song. It was Skylight that offered me my first role - Pitti-Sing in The Mikado. Going on tour with Skylight for Pirates and Mikado exposed me to other singers who had career aspirations and showed me that my current direction was limited and that I needed to learn more, do more, find more.

It was also Skylight's co-artistic director, Stephen Wadsworth, who asked me the question, "Why are you singing this aria?" and more importantly, told me why I shouldn't be singing it, which resulted in my re-educating myself about fach and context. It also made me leave my then-teacher and seek out someone who could give me what I needed.

I left Milwaukee the June after the 1986-87 season but whenever I came home, I tried to catch a show at the Skylight. When I came back in 1996, I auditioned for Skylight and was cast the ensemble in Sweeney Todd, which was a magical experience. My role in Rosina resulted in my first and only review in Opera News, which was thankfully positive (and that issue arrived on my birthday, to boot!) and my 2003 performance in Viva la Mamma resulted in my meeting Matt Flynn, who performed my wedding to Bill.

The Skylight's cabaret series also opened my eyes to a venue in which I have found myself at home - through the inspiration of performers such as Becky Spice, Joel Kopischke, Carolynne Warren, Linda Stephens, Jack Forbes Wilson, and always, always, the incomparable Jamie Johns.

The Skylight has given me a great deal, personally and professionally. The short-sighted and knee-jerk reaction of TPTB at the Skylight, ostensibly to save money, has resulted in an outcry of artists and patrons alike. No one wants to see the Skylight fail - but no one wants to see the Skylight become a cookie-cutter one-size-fits-all kind of company with no passion, that takes no risks, that brooks no challenges to its authority.

I hope to work at the Skylight again someday - I hope there will be a Skylight at which to work. I think things need to change in order to grow, but that change needs to be organic and well-thought-out, not the result of what some have called a coup.

Auditioning students

I just read an article at the music teachers helper website about auditioning students for acceptance in your studio. http://www.musicteachershelper.com/blog/?p=693&pg=blog&action=taking-on-new-students-developing-an-audition-process#comment-104851

I've thought about doing this from time to time. On the one hand, it ensures that you are going to have students who are serious and who can read music, who can hold a part, who can stay in tune. All of your students will be coming in with a basic level of ability on which you can build without needing to spend time working on matching pitch and plunking through parts for them to learn. What a luxury!

On the other hand - it seems kind of elitist to me, especially at the high school level. High school kids are insecure enough without having someone judge whether or not they are worthy of being taught. No matter how kind you may be in telling them that they didn't make the cut, their emotional response is going to be that they are not worthy of your time. It's part of the high school mindset. I don't want to be a factor in someone deciding "I guess I can't sing -- so why bother?"

I have never dismissed a student for not being able to sing. I have dismissed students for poor attitude, for no-showing, for non-payment, for vocal health issues that they didn't want to address (e.g., nodes caused by poor vocal practices outside singing such as yelling in soccer), because I felt someone else might be of more use to them in the style they wanted to learn, but never because I didn't think they had any talent. Who am I to tell someone he can't sing? Isn't that my job, to facilitate his singing the best he can?

If I turned down people who couldn't match pitch at their initial lessons, I would never have gotten to work with one of my favorite students, who is now a wonderful young basso. Working with him has been a joy, and not only because he can sing better now but because he's a great kid with whom I've enjoyed working! How many great people would I not have gotten to know because I decided in the first half hour that I didn't want to make the effort to take them from non-singers to singers?

To make that decision at an initial lesson, when people are nervous and feeling so vulnerable, just seems to me to be counter-intuitive. It takes several lessons for us to get to know each other and figure out where we're going on this journey.

My high school students pay for five lessons at a time. This is for two reasons - to guarantee that they show up after the first week (the practical reason), and to allow them to become more comfortable with me. I can be intimidating, and not because I am on a high lofty perch but because I'm so intense about singing and because, frankly, I'm a little weird. (In a good way.)

I do like ideas in this article about structuring that first lesson and I'd like to implement them, but not because I want to determine if this student is worthy of acceptance to my studio. I think some of these ideas will allow me to determine what I need to do for new students more quickly and become more efficient in helping them progress and realize their potential.

A good week: Two performances - one for them, one for me!

This past Sunday was the annual high school showcase. This year I had decided to focus primarily on my juniors and seniors and go with more of a cabaret format. I wound up including a few sophomores after all but we still kept the program at 20 people total, which allowed us to go with a more intimate format and not have to pad the program in order to include everyone in enough numbers to warrant their recital fee.

It went really, really well. I wasn't overwhelmed the way I was last year but I don't think it was because of the performances. It was because the rep I chose was good, solid music that was entertaining and pleasant. We didn't have "The ballad of Sweeney Todd" or the final chorus of Dialogues of the Carmelites (aka "The dead nuns' chorus") or any soaring opera arias, because that wasn't the kind of show we did this year. We did a show that focused on American composers and allowed the singers to just sing without worrying too much about staging. There was some staging because we had to have some pretty pictures up there, but it was very simple and specific and consequently, very effective.

On Wednesday night, I sang with the newly formed "Trio con Brio" at the Italian Community Center. We did a 2-1/2 hour program (!!!!) of arias and show tunes. The soprano was Wendelin Lockett, the mezzo was ME, and the bass was Tom Weis, with whom I worked in Cosi 10 years ago. We were supported by the amazing Amanda Carnahan on piano - a lovely young woman who is doing her masters in the collaborative piano program at UWM. (Collaborative piano is the preferred term these days instead of "accompanying," which relegates the pianist to a subordinate position instead of being an equal partner - which is what the pianist should be.) I definitely want to work with Amanda more often - perhaps on future studio recitals when Ryan is not available?

The program was great - it was wonderful to sing with 3 fantastic people who were not only fun to work with (which I knew would be the case going in) but with whom I could make some really beautiful music. We all blended well with each other and we were able to stimulate each other to make wonderful interpretive choices. The audience was small but enthusiastic and stayed for the entire show (which did include a 20 minute intermission). We have another show tentatively scheduled for August 8 on the Delafield Summerstage program, and I got a name from a friend of a contact to call for a high-end retirement community.

As far my performance - I still have issues with using reading glasses for ensemble numbers, which we chose not to memorize, at least not for this initial performance. I find it very difficult to emote wearing glasses. I memorized my solos although "I can cook" tripped me up at rehearsal (who'd have thought that not having sung a song for 10+ years would result in my forgetting the words?). So I typed up the words in a big font so that I wouldn't have to wear the reading glasses. I did the same thing for our closing number, "Together wherever we go," since I didn't really need the music for that number. I may do that for the future, at least for a few pieces. I think I might look into progressive contact lenses later this year - like my glasses, which allow me to read and drive and function without having to change glasses. I think the time has passed for me to do Lasik - because I would STILL need to use reading glasses (unless they've developed a Lasik format that corrects presbyopia). Aging doth suck.

I'm on a break post-recital - I feel inspired to return to teaching and performing next week - and to start learning some new rep for myself!

Showcase today!

Today is our Showcase, which this year will meld two of my great loves - cabaret and American Song. I'm excited about the program, which will open with the title song, "Look for me in the songs" by Craig Carnelia. The final solo is John Bucchino's "Grateful," which pretty much sums up how I feel about working with these great kids. We close with the song "Joy" by Ricky Ian Gordon as a big group number, which sounded GREAT yesterday.

Too much to do to write much more, but if you are in the vicinity of Underwood Memorial Baptist Church (76th & Hillside) at 3:30pm, please come on in! Admission is free and you will hear wonderful high school age singers from the entire Milwaukee area (and I'm going to sing "What a movie!" from Trouble in Tahiti, which seems to be my new signature piece).

This Wacky Economy

This week I lose 8 - possibly 9 - students. The majority of them are because of graduation. However, a couple are because of the economic hardships that American families are facing right now.

I'm always willing to work with people who are having troubles. I remember when I lost my day job in October 1990, right when I was starting to make some significant inroads in my singing career - getting roles with Opera Theater of Northern VA, bit parts with Washington Opera, etc., and thinking of going back to school for my masters. I had to go to Marianna, my teacher, and Gillian Cookson, my coach, and tell them that I had to stop working with them because I had no income and was having trouble even finding temp work (the job I'd had for 3 years used MultiMate word processing software, and suddenly the standard was WordPerfect, which I didn't know). Both of them agreed to work with me on a deferred payment basis. I worked with them for no charge for about 6 months, and as soon as I started working again and had some income, I paid them both. I have extended this courtesy to people who I felt were talented and who I would hate to see interrupt their studies. And I've been compensated. Emotionally and financially.

I am not willing to work with people who are deadbeats. That sounds harsh, and I don't mean people who don't have money. I mean those who for whatever reason are willing to take your services and defer payment without making arrangements. If this kind of deal exists in your own head and you haven't talked it over with me, it's not an arrangement, it's taking advantage. And it's not going to happen any more. I don't care how talented you are, if you aren't upfront, there's no relationship, professional or otherwise.

I only meant to post a link to an article from Making Music magazine about how "Music Fits the Budget," but I went off on a rant. Ah well. I have that right, don't I?
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=115135120147&h=ZR7Rz&u=uZUj4&ref=nf

To music

I was teaching "An die Musik" today (art song by Schubert) and in light of my most recent post, I thought I would post the original German text and its English translation. This gets to the core of what my family simply doesn't get about me:

Du holde Kunst, in wieviel grauen Stunden, Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt, Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb' entzunden, Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt!

Oh gracious Art, in how many grey hours, When life's fierce orbit ensnared me, Have you kindled my heart to warm love, Transfigured me into a better world!

Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf' entflossen, Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir, Den Himmel beßrer Zeiten mir erschlossen, Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür!

How often has a sigh escaping from your harp, A sweet, a sacred harmony of yours thrown open the heaven of better times, Oh gracious Art, for that I thank you!

"All you care about is your music"

Something bothered me the other day.

My parents and sister have always referred to my career choice as "your music" with this tone that can only be described as scorn. "My music" is why I'm not a mother, why I wouldn't be a good mother, why my first marriage failed, why I'm not rich, why people don't like me, and why I'm not a "family person." Now, with the exception of the ending of my first marriage and my lack of children, none of these things are true. But the music is not the reason for these two truths - there are a whole host of reasons which I'm not going to get into here.

When I have students who complain about their parents being too involved in their lives, too interested in their musical development, just too much, I always tell them that they are fortunate. (Mostly - there was the student I had many years ago whose mother's picture could have been found in a slang dictionary to illustrate the phrase, "Stage Mom from Hell.") When you have a parent who thinks you are talented, that your talent should be nurtured, and that you could be successful performing, embrace that. It's a damn sight better than the parent who receives your personal triumphs with, "That's nice. Don't you miss being a legal secretary? Now that's a real job."

A few years ago I heard an interview on NPR with Alfred Lubrano of the Philadelphia Inquirer promoting his book Limbo: Blue Collar Roots, White Collar Dreams. http://www.amazon.com/Limbo-Blue-Collar-Roots-White-Collar-Dreams/dp/0471714399 He spoke of the chasm between the working class family and the child who wants something more - higher education, a career rather than a job, to live somewhere besides the old neighborhood - and also the chasm between that upwardly mobile person and the class to which she aspires. I was driving when I heard the interview and I almost drove off the road. I felt as though he was describing my life. I purchased the book immediately. After reading it, I didn't feel alone. I didn't feel any better about my family's attitude toward "my music," but at least I knew that there were others who had similar experiences. (I do wish the book had included stories about people who had gone into the arts as well as people who took more traditional paths.)

Music is the center of my life. I love to teach it, I love to perform it, I love to hear it. In that respect, my biological family has it right. But music has made me a more complete person and I do not apologize for its place in my life nor the direction in which it has taken me.

Scratching the directing itch

"To open the show, I always like to do one thing that is impossible. So right now I'm going to suck this piano into my lungs." —Steve Martin

About 8 years ago, I decided I was going to break away from the standard park-&-bark assembly line kind of recital, at least at the end of the year. What I really wanted to do was a scenes recital, sort of like the one Richard Crittenden puts on as the final project of his Acting for Opera workshop each summer. I was going to assign middle- and high-school students scenes from musical theater and opera.

One disadvantage to being a private teacher is that I don't have a set venue in which to do performances. Every recital involves finding a space, usually at a church. For an ordinary recital, I would need the space on the day of the program, perhaps an hour or two before so that my students could run their songs with the pianist. For a recital like this, we were going to need the space for at least one prior rehearsal. Plus my students would have to come to each other's lessons during the weeks leading up to the performance.

We held the first recital at a nearby church, with rehearsal scheduled for all day Saturday. The first sign of trouble was when the church called me to inform me that there would be a wedding Saturday afternoon, so we wouldn't be able to use the church past noon. That was just a few weeks before (shotgun wedding, anyone?). Then 4 days before, I was called and told that there would be a funeral in the morning, so Saturday was out. We could rehearse Wednesday night and we could rehearse Friday till 6pm, when the wedding rehearsal would begin. We had no pianist for Wednesday, and only half the cast was available on Friday. We rehearsed during those two limited times and ran the music in my studio on Sunday.

The performance came and it was rough. The room was really, really live, and the majority of my students were young beginners who had soft breathy voices and little performing experience. While the live room was a boon to those who had larger voices, it made the smaller voices sound as though they were muffled with a wet blanket thrown over their heads. =

BUT - there were a few moments that were incredible. Carl Levie & Jamie Gorman doing a scene from Susannah (I know, what was I thinking?) that took people's breath away. Jennie Leevan, then 8 years old, singing "April Showers" while backed up by 3 seniors wearing rain slickers and holding parasols - cute, silly, but it made everyone smile. And although I can't say the whole show was a success, it was good enough that I had to do it again. And again.

We've had varying levels of success since - never schedule a program for the day after prom when your best singers are all juniors - but overall, the recital (now "a High School Showcase") has been extremely rewarding for everyone involved. Last year's program was so incredibly well done and a tough act to follow that I decided to take a break from doing scenes and incorporate my new love, cabaret, into the format.

Amanda McBroom once called cabaret "personal musical theater" and said that sometimes when you put together your songlist, a theme appears. That's what has happened with our upcoming June 7 showcase, "Look for Me in the Songs: An American Song Centennial." We will be celebrating the work of American composers (half of whom are actually alive), still following the mostly ensemble format of the past 8 years, but relaxing the staging component a bit to break new ground.

The show will be June 7 at 3:30 at Underwood Memorial Baptist Church in Wauwatosa. Admission is free!

Why I teach - part II

So I left Milwaukee in June 1987 for the DC area. I started to audition for anything and everything and discovered, much to my chagrin, that my sightsinging skills left a lot to be desired (and all the auditions called for sightsinging). Since my husband at the time (hereafter "HATT") was on the road a lot and I knew only a handful of people, I spent a lot of time with hymnals practicing solfege on my own. After a few months of that, I was hired by two high-end performing groups - the Paul Hill Chorale and the Washington Bach Consort. I also found a teacher, Marianna Busching, who became a friend, a mentor and an inspiration to me. In June 1988, I auditioned for the Washington Opera chorus and was hired to sing in La forza del destino the following winter. The Kennedy Center became my home for the next 7 seasons -and Marianna's studio.

My own home was growing increasingly tense and uncomfortable. HATT and I were having terrible marital troubles - we had since before we left for DC and it didn't get any better once I began to grow as a singer and begin singing in more professional venues, both as a soloist and as a chorister. Since Marianna had been hired at Peabody, I found it more and more difficult to get a lesson time that would fit with my work schedule. So I decided to bite the bullet and go back to grad school - at Peabody.

I took a lot of flack for it. My parents were horrified that I would go out on my own and move up to Baltimore. When I tried to talk to Renate about how things were going, she would change the subject, saying that it made her stomach hurt. HATT alternated between being verbally supportive and passive aggressive. (So what else was new?) But ultimately it was the best thing that I could've done for myself. We wound up making the break permanent shortly after I graduated.

I still had a day job post-grad school and was singing with Washington Opera and in solo roles with smaller companies throughout the area. And, oh, I'd met Bill at the beginning of my second semester at Peabody, so the big move to NYC upon graduation was no longer in the cards. So --

I came back to Milwaukee. Since I had worked as singer from 8/87 through 6/96 with barely any time between rehearsals, I had no doubts that I would return to conquer my hometown. I took a job as a legal secretary and hit the audition trail. I really thought I'd only be here for the 3 years of Bill's residency and then return to the east coast. In the meantime, I was sure that I'd be working constantly!

This is not Baltimore. This is not Washington. This is still Milwaukee. So I decided to hang out my shingle and teach, just until the gigs started pouring in. I figured it was better than filing. My initial students were castoffs from other teachers ("I don't have room for you, but I know someone who might") and frustrated choir directors ("you learn to sing in tune or you're out!"). Most of them couldn't read music, couldn't match pitch, in some cases couldn't speak a lot of English (I still remember the guy to whom I said, "This exercise is on the syllable, 'ng,'" and he said, "That's easy for me. It's my name!"), were being forced to come by their parents, and often forgot to bring money.

But I found myself, much to my complete surprise:

1. Really good at this;
2. Determined to help anyone as long as they wanted to be helped - some didn't;
3. Absolutely passionate about the subject of voice and wanting to learn more, not only to sing better myself but to take people further than they thought they could go.

By September 1998, word of mouth had resulted in my having to make the decision to quit the day job - my car wasn't paid off yet, which was the criteria for pursuing teaching full-time. I had no choice. I couldn't stand being a secretary for another day.

In 10-1/2 years, I've become

1. Even better at this;
2. Still determined to help anyone as long as they wanted to be helped - and some still don't, but I don't get castoffs anymore. At least I don't consider them castoffs.
3. Still passionate, still wanting to learn more and still wanting my students to exceed their own expectations, if not mine. (I always feel like anyone who walks in might be the next B'way or opera diva - it's up to them to prove me wrong!)

Even though it was the "hey, at least I'm not typing" option, teaching voice is my calling. Marianna says that you can teach for as long as your ears work - I'm hoping they work for a good long time!

Si canta come si parla

"One sings as one speaks." This is the phrase I think of when I think of Richard Miller, who passed away last Tuesday at the age of 83.

I met Richard Miller on 3 occasions - a week in June 1999 when I attended his pedagogy workshop at Concordia University-River Forest, a master class at NATS 2002 in San Diego, and a master class on Teaching Men to Sing in 2006. The 1999 workshop changed the way I talk about singing, the way I think about singing, and the way I sing. I was singing well before, but it was more or less by sheer luck. I was doing things correctly for the most part, but despite having taken pedagogy in both undergrad and grad school, and voice lessons for 23 years up to that point, I wasn't really able to describe what I was doing. I had some ideas but they were largely based on imagery and gut, rather than the science and technic of the process.

A few things I remember about Richard Miller...

There was no mirror in the hall at CURF and at one point, he was working with a young girl who was undulating while she sang, and he said, "I wish I had a mirror so I can show you what you're doing," and I raised my hand and said, "I have a full-length mirror in my car." (I had just done a show the week before with limited dressing room facilities and hadn't unloaded my car before heading down to Illinois.) He said, "You do? Where's your car?" I said, "Just down the block," and he said, "WELL, GO GET IT!" So I ran out of the hall, ran down the block, and dragged a full-length mirror down the street, up the steps and into the hall. He used the mirror in his class for the rest of the week.

I also remember singing for him in a master class at the end of the week (after taking copious notes on the previous singers and his comments to them so that I would know what not to do!) and having him say to me, "You will never sound old." He basically told me to watch out for lifting my chin too much and gave me positive feedback. (Clearly, the man was a genius!) I felt validated, empowered, and invigorated to go back home and rethink the way I was explaining things. My studio took off after that point.

I had been intimidated by the idea of taking this workshop because I didn't think I'd understand all the scientific jargon. I was never good in science growing up and I was afraid I'd be lost during the lectures. His books had seemed difficult to me before this workshop - I owned several of them, but they weren't my primary sources. After the workshop, I re-read Structure of Singing and heard his voice in the narrative, awakened to the wit and intelligence behind the science. My admiration of him only grew in San Diego in 2002.

In June 2006, I saw him on the final day of the Teaching Men to Sing workshop and he looked old, small and frail, and I thought, "Oh, what is this going to be like? He's clearly diminished from 4 years ago. Poor old guy - after all, he is 81 and he has been ill." The impression was wrong - he was still vibrant, intuitive and as entertaining as ever. My main regret is that I didn't bring a book for him to autograph - I didn't want to bother him.

I had looked forward to driving down to Bloomington this June to see him in a master class and bringing my student, Maureen, who was deeply influenced by his books in doing her challenge paper on vocal pedagogy (high school!) to see him. And I was going to get that autograph!

When I read that he had died, I felt a deep loss. I had referred to him semi-seriously as my pedagogical father and that's the kind of loss I feel.

Yes, he was 83 and lived a good long life. But there was still more he had to offer, and I'm sorry that this upcoming generation of singers will not get to hear that voice.

With that mind, I think I'll go dig out my cassette of his 2002 master class. Perhaps if I hear him speak, I will want to sing.

Why I teach - part I

I have to confess that there have been two times in my life when teaching was something to "fall back on." The first time was when I majored in music at Alverno College, and told my advisor that what I wanted to do was to sing professionally and teach voice privately. I had never even had a voice lesson at that point, but there was something about it that called to me. My advisor said, "You want to be a music education major," and I said, "Well, no, not really, I don't think I'd really like that or be that good at it." She said, "Well, what was your favorite class in HS? Who was your favorite teacher?" I said, "Well, choir and Mr. Fox. He was an amazing choral director." She smiled triumphantly and said, "Well, don't you want to be just like Mr. Fox?"

That would have been nice, but Mr. Fox was primarily a pianist who loved choral music and could play anything. I was a vocalist who enjoyed choral music and could play piano - kinda. But I was raised to listen to authority figures who most certainly knew much more than a girl from the working-class sout' side a'Muhwaukee ever could, so I majored in music ed. Throughout the 4 years, I ignored my internal voice that said, "You don't like this. You don't want to do this. You just want to sing." I didn't put any stock into that internal voice because it was my own. It did not have an Estonian accent. That internal voice was more likely to say, "You aren't a good enough singer. You don't sing soprano - how can you be a singer when you are an alto?"

So I graduated from Alverno with a Bachelor of Music Education degree and started teaching at St. Dominic's in Brookfield. I taught there for two years, hating the administration (the priest there deserves his own blog entry), hating giving grades, writing lesson plans, getting up early, disliking everything I was doing - except when I was putting on performances with my students. That I enjoyed. Otherwise, I called in sick a lot, and way more often than the sick days allotted to me. Even though the economy was pretty much akin to what it is now, I listened to my own inner voice and did not sign the contract offered me for a 3rd year. (The Estonian accented one was screeching at me that I was an idiot to turn down work when jobs were so scarce - oh, wait a minute, that was the external voice of my mother.)

For the next few years, I worked day jobs and sang with the Skylight, Florentine and Milwaukee Opera companies, with Music under the Stars, and tried to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. I took lessons with someone who really didn't understand my voice and gave me repertoire that resulted in auditioners saying, "Miss Thomas, why are you singing this particular aria?"

So I wasn't teaching (good!) and I was singing (also good), but not at the level to which I aspired. Something had to change.

Last night's performance

Last night Ryan and I performed "Oh, to be a movie star" for the 2nd time, this time at the Times Cinema. We were freaking out a few days before because ticket sales were going extremely slowly. And then I decided that at the very least, this was an opportunity for us to perform the show again and get a (hopefully) decent video that we can use for future marketing of the show.

Sales picked up at the last minute and we wound up with a small but enthusiastic crowd, and the show went very well. Although we did not make enough to pay for the rent, the rent was reduced because the Times Cinema was very impressed by the entertainment value and quality of our show and offered to reduce the balance owed in exchange for a performance commitment in the future. How could we say no to that? So we wound up losing only about $25 and I can live with that. We made a profit last time and didn't expect to. And we had a great time with the nigh-private showing of Singin' in the Rain afterwards. What a brilliant movie that is.

Next time I think we should consider doing a matinee and marketing it to some of the nicer retirement communities in the area - San Camillo, Hart Park Square. The Times Cinema has said that they would make a greater commitment to marketing future shows. Perhaps we have a cabaret home - and perhaps this is just the beginning!

Oh, to be a movie star!

My fascination with movies and movie stars began because I was an obnoxious child who began reading early. Or because of parental neglect. You be the judge.

I started reading at about 4 years of age and would read every chance I got. One of those chances was at the grocery store because I hated grocery shopping and pitched a fit as soon as we got there. In order to keep the peace, my mother would just drop me off at the movie magazines and let me blissfully enjoy the gossip about which stars were in a "trial marriage," whose actual marriages were on the rocks, and who was having a secret baby. I didn't quite understand any of those stories, but I found them exciting and could have sat there all day reading about Sandra Dee & Bobby Darin, Annette & Frankie, and Liz & Eddie (& Dick). One day I was reading a section on celebrity birthdays when I realized that that very day was the 21st birthday of my TV idol. I was so thrilled by this that I turned to the adult standing next to me and blurted out, "TODAY IS ANNETTE FUNICELLO'S BIRTHDAY!" and she just looked at this small and kind of weird child and said, "Uh.... okay...." and walked away.

Renate plunked me down in front of the TV a lot in the evenings. Those were the days of Monday Night at the Movies, Tuesday Night at the Movies, Wednesday, Thursday, etc. and I saw a wide variety of 40s and 50s films, dramas, comedies and musicals.

My cabaret show, "Oh, to be a movie star!" draws upon these early influences. I have collected songs over the years, not specifically from movies but about them and their now-legendary stars. The show features familiar music such as Elton John's "Candle in the wind" (which Ryan is singing) and obscure songs I've run across over the last 20 years including "Humphrey Bogart" by Leiber & Stoller and "Poem" by Christopher Berg (which begins with the immortal line, "Lana Turner has collapsed!").

The show will be at a wonderful old movie house, the Times Cinema at 5906 W. Vliet in Milwaukee, on Sunday, May 3 at 7pm. It will be followed by a showing of another of my favorite "X Night at the Movies" chestnuts, Singin' in the rain. The cost is $10 in advance and $15 at the door. I will be accompanied by Ryan Cappleman, pianist and baritone.

I really hope that we have a good turn-out. Performing this show back in February was a dream come true and it's a good show that allows me to share my love of music and my love of movies.

I did it my way

What a cliched title (how do you do accents in this format, anyone know?). Surely I could think of something better, something less obvious, something more original. But I can't, because it's the title of the first song I ever sang for a large audience and the song that made other people identify me as a singer.

After my Streisand epiphany, I spent a couple of years trying to figure out how to make singing happen for me. I knew nothing about voice lessons - the attitude in my working-class neighborhood was pretty much "Either you can sing or you can't." In fact, when I signed up for 8th grade girls' chorus for an elective, my father refused to sign the sheet for it: "Chorus? You don't have the build to be a chorus girl. Take home ec." While I tried to impress upon him that I would be less likely to perform as a Rockette at Bell Jr. High and would most likely be doing SSAA renditions of "I feel pretty," he still told me to take home ec. In which I got a C.

Of course, this is the same person who, when I wanted a pretty red dress in first grade, said, "Red? What are you, a communist?" and I answered, "No, I'm 6." Still didn't get the red dress.

But I digress.

In 9th grade, I signed up for the Bell Jr. HS Annual Variety Show. I decided I was going to sing Frank Sinatra's "My way." I was terrified to do this on my own, so I recruited my friends Janet Weger and Sandy Whateverherlastnamewas to be my backup singers. Neither of them could actually sing but I wanted them there for moral support so that I wasn't up on that stage completely alone.

The bridge of "My way" was a bit too high for me at that time. So Janet & Sandy had the task of singing the melody on "oo" while I spoke the text. I didn't realize till the actual performance that this text had connotations that made 13 year boys hoot and holler (and of course, had I sung the text, I suspect it wouldn't have been quite so evident):

"Yes, there were times, I'm sure you know
When I bit off more than I could chew,
But through it all, where there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out."

Amazingly, I managed to keep my composure through the spoken part and soared into the final line: "And did it myyyyyyy wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" The audience cheered my performance, and afterwards, I was known as "the singer."

Why I Sing

I sing because I can?

Maybe there's more to it than that.

When I was very little, my parents took pictures of me doing everything. Bathing, playing, and, of course, singing. One of my favorite childhood pictures is of me standing on a "stage" (the sofa) wearing an "evening gown" (my mother's ecru slip), Mickey Mouse ears, and singing into a "microphone" (upside down Romper Room horse).

My earliest influences were the girl singers, especially the ones on TV shows. In retrospect, none of them were really very good. Especially not Annette Funicello, but I had her album! (Wonder what happened to it - probably worth something now. Then again, probably not.) The first movie I remember seeing was Summer Magic with Hayley Mills. I came home singing the music from the show, which was written by the Sherman Brothers, who became more famous for my next and probably most significant influence:

Mary Poppins. I saw that movie at 7 with my father. My mother didn't like movies. They made her nervous. I wonder if she might have had adult ADD - but that's for another musing. Again, I came home singing all the Sherman Brothers tunes, which were far more memorable than those of Summer Magic. Probably because Julie Andrews was a better singer. And it had Dick van Dyke in it, on whom I had a terrible crush.

I got to take piano lessons - group lessons through MPS. I think my parents sprung for piano lessons because some Slovenian kid was taking lessons and my mother always had to compete with the Slovenian families. (Again, that's for another musing.) We got a piano from Bob Kames Pianos on the South Side - the first piano was a mahogany upright. Beautiful instrument.

Too big and too dark, according to Renate. Back it went and in its place came a walnut spinet. Didn't matter that it was an inferior piano - it looked better in the room.

Of course, I didn't know that till years later. All I knew was that I had a piano and I could now pick out tunes and sing songs. All the time. I think it was beneficial that my father worked second shift during my early years because I could come home from school and play all evening.

I discovered I also had a talent for writing and for writing song parodies. (Me and Michael Scott.) So I started to write silly parodies, both prose and song, and sing and act them for my friends and classmates. In fact, for a few years, I thought I'd be a writer. I was writing stories - all of them terribly derivative and probably owing a great deal to The Diary of Anne Frank.

And then when I was 11, I saw another movie that determined my life's path. By myself, this time. I went to the Southgate Theatre and saw Funny Girl. My parents didn't come because they hated Barbra Streisand (and she wasn't even political yet!) and my friends really didn't have much interest in that movie. Or maybe they weren't around.

I loved every minute of the movie - except the last 5, which I missed because I decided I could no longer wait to go the bathroom. But the scene that meant the most to me was the scene where Fanny Brice pursues Nicky Arnstein, and she's on the boat singing "Don't rain on my parade." I sat there in the theater, a fat little girl sitting by herself in a back row, with tears running down my face, and all I could think of was "That's what I want to do. That's what I have to do." I left the theater stunned with that realization. (And pissed off because I missed the end of the movie.)

So that's why I sing.