VIVA TO THE DIVAS! (Minus one)

This afternoon I am hosting a studio recital called "VIVA TO THE DIVAS!" featuring 14 13 of my students, Ryan Cappleman and myself. I was really excited about it and I still am, except my best performer just dropped out, two hours before her call.

If this happened in the "real world" (meaning theater, if you can call that a real world), a person would be fired. I organized my whole program around who had committed to perform this afternoon... some of the people are very young and/or less advanced than others, and I organized the program carefully to showcase everyone and not have anyone feel inadequate, while still making the program interesting and entertaining for the audience. Also, having the best people on the show inspires the young ones to take their performances to the next level.

I had just printed the programs an hour before the call. I put on this recital to allow people to present material that they have performed or will be performing in an audition or performance setting, whether that be WSMA, college, or as the lead in an upcoming musical.

I went by a verbal commitment - perhaps I should only count financial commitment (i.e., paying the recital fee) as valid. Going forward, if you don't pay your recital fee by the Friday before the performance, you're not on it. I committed to paying Ryan to play for 14 singers - he has practiced the music for 14 singers, and I'm still paying him what I committed to paying him. Even if it has to be out of my own pocket.

Sorry to cast a pall on the day - I will get over it because the remaining singers are committed and wonderful and the performance will be phenomenal!

Resolutions, Sacrifices and Benchmarks

I don't know why we bother making new year's resolutions when Lent is so close by. Unless it's so we can use Lent as a benchmark to evaluate how we're doing so far and what changes we can make to achieve the goals we set nearly two months before. That seems logical to me. Perhaps there should be benchmarks set throughout the year, roughly 40 days apart. Little mini-Lents.

I didn't make any new resolutions on January 1. I had some vague ideas about being more productive, about trying new things (I started a bucket list! Does that mean I'm trendy or just getting old?), but I didn't really resolve to do anything specifically.

So I decided, after wasting numerous hours on the computer playing Bejeweled and the trial version of its even more seductive cousin, Bejeweled Twist (which downloaded itself after an update of the original version - uh, thank you?), that it was time to make a specific resolution, even if it was for 40 days. I'm not going to play either of them at least till Easter, and on Easter, I will decide if I'd like to extend that resolution for another mini-Lenten period. Perhaps till Memorial Day!

It's still on my computer but it's not in my Start menu. I could access it, but it's not right there. The first day was really hard - I realized how often I play it while waiting for a file to open, as a break while typing a lecture, when I can't sleep at night and don't want to involve myself in something that will keep me from going back to bed. I can rationalize that it's a great way to fine-tune my eye-hand coordination, to think quickly, that it's "only one more game," but honestly, it's a time suck. A bigger time suck than Facebook, than AIM, than the phone. And it's keeping me from things I should be doing.

Like practicing. Or working out. Or writing my lecture. Or taking the puppies for a walk (well, the latter will happen more often when it gets warmer). But if I resolve to "practice more" or "work out more," I'll find a way around it.

I resolve to schedule things that I need to do for specific times. If I have "practice" on my calendar for a specific daily time, there's a good chance I'll do it. If I just think, "I should practice now," the thought will be finished with, "Maybe later. After one more game."

It would be even better if I scheduled "practice Moore songs" rather than a generic "practice."

I'll set a benchmark. On Easter Sunday, I will evaluate how not playing Bejeweled (or its mobile counterpart, "Jewels," also on my Droid!) has caused me to be more productive. And how my scheduling is going.

And now my 3:45 student is here - so I resolve to teach!

Walking in the World

I haven't written lately. I feel as though I have been doing so much, and at the same time, nothing at all. I'm organizing a studio recital for next week, and singing on an Irish-themed program for the MacDowell Club on March 14 (which I am also coordinating.

The latter is giving me tsuris. (I always wanted to be Jewish.) Not because I can't do it but because I'm used to doing things on my own timetable - in other words, fabulously, but at the last minute. I'm also used to asking people to do things and having them say, "But of course!" I'm having the worst time finding participants from the club membership. I don't know if it's the Irish theme, or if it's a bad time of year, or if it's me, but the majority of the performers are guest artists because people are simply not returning my calls/emails. So I feel somewhat dejected and paranoid, which is absolutely ridiculous. It's that voice with the Estonian accent that still lives on, even after its owner has left this earth, that says, "Maybe people don't like you."

Anyway, to get myself out of this rut, I am re-doing Walking in the World, which is Julia Cameron's sequel to The Artist's Way. I've done The Artist's Way and felt that it helped me find a focus that I had misplaced when I moved back to Milwaukee. The added element to the sequel is the weekly walk. That I'm not getting done so much - it's cold out! But this week my artist date was going to a vintage shop and picking up 3 scarves for $10 (still trying to find my "signature look" that someone on the Today Show said was necessary to "establish my brand;" it's either scarves or jackets, can't decide which). And I'm writing my morning pages and filling out the questions in the book (or in my journal).

So far the universe has revealed that I am a frustrated Francophile who wants to live in an apartment, dance, and paint. Okay, so I get back on the Rosetta Stone train and keep doing Zumba (not moving, though!). But painting? Since I can barely wield a paintbrush to cover a WALL, let alone a canvas, I decided this meant that I need to include a trip to an art gallery or to the MAM in one of my artist dates.

Lo and behold, the very day that these discoveries made themselves known, I received a postcard labeled MUSIC AND ART! Milwaukee Choral Artists is doing a CD release party at an art gallery on Brady Street on Friday, 2/26. I think this means I have to go. The universe told me so.

I was one of the original members of MCA - I left after two years because I didn't feel comfortable singing second soprano in the 3 part music, but alto was often too low. I felt that I was not blending well and was not an asset to the group, and when I did try to blend to the conductor's satisfaction, I felt vocally constipated. I realized that the things that made me the happiest about singing with the group were the times I sang big solos - the Vaughan Williams Magnificat, the Debussy La Damoiselle Elue, the Britten That Yonge Child - and that wasn't what I was there for, really. So I left.

I stayed in Bel Canto Chorus for another year, simply because I didn't feel as though I stuck out so much. And then I left that because my studio was taking off and I was just vocally wiped by the time I got to rehearsal (which again, made me not an asset to the group). I felt as though Sharon felt that I chose BCC over MCA and it really wasn't that - I just didn't feel I was giving MCA what they needed.

So I'll go to the MCA party and hopefully mend some fences that I didn't mean to break. And meanwhile, I'll continue my navel-gazing and see what else I find out.

Some mixed feelings

I wanted to start out the new year with a really positive post. I had laser surgery on my eyes and was looking forward to writing about my clear vision, and my excitement over my students' upcoming college auditions. Then several things happened.

1.  My recovery from the operation was much more complicated than I expected. I had discomfort and blurry vision for a full week and a half, and just became functional as I began my teaching this week. So I got very little done in preparation for the new year. I have a syllabus to write for a class beginning the 19th (if it's not cancelled - only 3 people have registered) and a recital to organize for the MacDowell Club.

2. My father died on Thursday of this week. He was 86, he had a leg amputated 2 years ago, he had the beginnings of dementia, he was on dialysis 3x a week and he had a necrotic foot. His little toe literally fell off the day before my eye surgery. But still, he and I were closer than my mother and I ever were and losing him is hard to fathom. Especially the part about "I'm an orphan now."

3. My best student, who I was preparing for auditions, decided NOT to go into music. She wept about it but she decided that as much as she loves music and wants to perform, she doesn't want to be a music major. I accepted it well - I kind of expected it based on a FB status she'd posted recently - but I'm so disappointed, not in her, but because I really, really believe she could have a major career. But she still intends to study, she still intends to sing, and all the colleges to which she's applying have music departments in which she can participate, and who knows? She may change her mind. Then she can audition NEXT year.

On the positive side, my eyes feel MUCH better - I'd say today is the first day that I think my vision is at about 20/25 (I wake up with 20/20). And I got 4 new students this week and next, one of whom is cramming for auditions because she was working with someone who focused on technique to the exclusion of repertoire (something I can understand but NOT when someone is preparing for college auditions!).

So hopefully the next time I write, it will be from a position of clarity, visually, emotionally and personally. I will try to refrain from a title of "I can see clearly now," but I may not be able to resist.

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!