The Peabody Curse

When I went to Peabody, I quickly learned about the Peabody Curse - that is, anyone you may be talking about will immediately enter the room while you are doing just that. My friend Sorab adds that the proximity of the person will be in direct proportion to just how badly you are speaking of him or her.

I thought graduating would end the curse. And generally, I don't talk about people behind their backs, and especially not in public places. The one time that I indulged - well, this is what happened.

Yesterday I had lunch with some dear friends. When I came through the door, I saw a local television personality. I see her so often that I automatically responded as though it was someone I knew well and hadn't seen for a long time( (plus the person she was waiting for me came in directly behind me so she was waving in my direction) ... but before I could say, "Hi! Long time no see!," I realized who she was and that I actually do not know her personally. 

So once we were seated, I told my friends that she was on a show that I watch but that she was not my favorite person on the show. I believe I used the word "twit" to describe my true feelings about her on-air persona. I did look to my left when I said this, because that was the direction people were coming from the bar to be seated in the restaurant. I did not, however, look to my right. And guess where she was? In the booth immediately adjacent to us - on the right. Sorab was right about the proximity element: "twit" = right next to you. If I'd said "moron," I hate to think of where she would've been seated. Probably on my lap.

I don't know if she heard me but I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed not necessarily for my opinion but for my choice of words and because I shouldn't have been speaking publicly like that. I wasn't thinking. And if she did hear me, I hate to think that she might have felt bad. 

Well, one thing I can say is that she is absolutely beautiful in person and that she was thinner than I thought she'd be. 

But I feel terrible and I wish I hadn't been so snarky. 

The Peabody Curse is only effective if you participate. If you are talking about people in a negative fashion, someone will hear you and whether or not it's the person you're talking about, it doesn't cast you in a good light.

So - unnamed TV personality - I apologize profusely for saying what I said. And friends I was with - I apologize for not being the best person I could be for those 3 minutes of blather. I promise to do better.

Playing Favorites with your Musical Children

This Friday, April 29, Ryan and I will be performing "If Music Be the Food of Love: A Culinary Cabaret" at Carroll University. This is the second of the cabaret shows that I've written for our duo, the first being "Oh, to be a movie star."


As much as I loved the first show, the idea for which ruminated in my head and heart for 15+ years, there is something about the songs we've selected and the medleys we've put together for this show that really makes my heart happy. Especially this go-round, with a couple of different songs that suit us even more than the first time we did the show. 


Each song represents a different theme of food as a metaphor for a different life experience or how it's used in culture. For example, we'll be doing Jake Heggie's "Snake" (original sin); "Vanilla ice cream" (plot twist), "The ladies who lunch" (status) and "If you love me, please don't feed me" (gluttony). 

I know I shouldn't play favorites - "Oh, to be a movie star" might be my first-born cabaret show, but there is something particularly special about "If music be the food of love." (Hmm, kind of reminds me of my relationship with my dogs Dave & Pippin.)

It's nice not to have to depend on a great turnout to break even, unlike our last few shows (curse the February 20 ice storm!), because they're paying us and there's no admission fee. But a great turn-out would be welcome not only because I'd love to have a full house, but because I think this is a great show and you'll all have a good time! And I have to admit - I want people to come so I can pull a Sally Field and say, "You like me... you really like me." (Well, hopefully not aloud.)


I've been kind of afraid of saying that because I don't want to sound petty or needy, but hey - I've attended a lot of performances over the past few years and reciprocation would be really, really nice.

So - come. Bring people. The show should be over by a little after 8pm, so there's plenty of time to go and grab a meal somewhere in Waukesha County. Lots of good food to be had, and after listening to us sing about food for an hour, you should all be hungry. (Another reason we cut "Have a little priest" - so people wouldn't be thrown off their feed.)

How to talk to a tenor (or any singer).... some thoughts

I went to a pre-conference workshop (Pedagogy Saturday) on March 26 and attended a session with the above title. It was run by two teachers, one piano, one voice, and was intended to foster communication between singers and pianists, especially those who are young and not used to collaborating. Also some things about playing for students if you're not really a pianist (hello!) or coaching singers if you're not really a singer.

There were some good things about it - some things that reinforced what I am already doing in my own studio, some good ideas - but what bothered me was 

1. The title. Kind of reminded me of Ann Coulter's How to talk to a liberal (if you must), which advises her readers to be deliberately combative and never see an opposing point of view as having any validity. (If you agree with her, don't share it with me. I'd rather continue to think of anybody reading this as being gracious and open-minded.) It seemed to play up the "Us vs. Them" mindset or, more specifically, "Musician vs. Singer." 

2. At the end, they addressed "what if the pianist is wrong?" by telling us that the singer should take the blame.  "I didn't get that pitch - could you play that opening again?" 

That ... is ... so ... girly. 

And it made me think that maybe I need to do some writing about collaboration - from a singer's point of view, from a woman's point of view, from a pedagogue's point of view. How do we work together without becoming subordinate to our collaborator? Or making them feel like they are "wiggling their fingers in the background" while we take center stage? (Great perspective on that - see Ben Moore's song "Content to be behind me," about a diva who dismisses her pianist's prodigious chops as being all for her.)

Hm. This is something to think about.

Musings on an April Fool's Joke - one year later

Last year, someone wrote me a terrible email  criticizing me for talking too much in my lessons and not being worth the "very expensive" rate that I charged - it was signed "Anonymous" and came from someone identified as "S S" along with an email address that I will not post. I was hurt and embarrassed and wrote back to the person apologizing but also stating that if ever a student felt like he or she was not getting his/her money's worth, I would want to be told. The next email I got was "April Fool's! I hear you're a great teacher." And then the next day, an apology (still anonymous, still claiming that the person was not my student but just someone who was angry about something else and took it out on me).

It changed me. It made me examine my teaching style and made me realize that perhaps at times, I had been self-indulgent (maybe because both my parents had died within the past six months) and had shared too much about my life, primarily from a musical/career POV, thinking that what I was saying would offer some perspective from my vast life experience that they could use in their lives. Especially with people who seemed to be going through similar things that I had gone through at their age, and who seemed to be hurting. That was what I intended, but clearly not what was being perceived.

It made me realize that -

That's not what I'm not here for.  My students are not my peers, nor my children. If they ask for my advice on a non-music related matter, I will offer it (if it's appropriate), but I cannot offer unsolicited and in the case of the person who wrote the email, unwanted advice. It's not part of my pay grade.

I don't believe for one moment that this was an April Fool's joke nor that it was someone who wasn't a student of mine. I believe that it was someone for whom I crossed a line, albeit unintentionally, and who didn't have the guts to tell me. I believe it was someone who was going through a very similar situation to my own high school experience who I ached to help, but who was unable or unwilling to accept my help. And I probably would have responded the same way at that point in my life (although technology being what it was, mine would have been an anonymous letter that I never would have sent because I would have discarded it long before it getting to the mailbox - ah, the advantages of the pre-internet life). I also believe it was a she because guys simply don't handle things like that. I do believe that she was angry about something else and did take it out on me. That I believe.

As a result, I limit my chatting to the stretching portion of our lessons. I try, anyway - hey, I'm a Gemini. I chat, therefore I am. It hasn't changed my students' development - they are still as accomplished as before that email hit my inbox. They still win awards, get accepted to music programs, are cast in their musicals. What has changed is me. I am not as emotionally invested in my students as I used to be, and while that's probably a good thing, it's also a little bit sad. I'm warier now than I was a year ago. I trust a little less. My guard is up.

I hope that whoever "S S" was, she's less angry now. But I also think that I've changed because of her email. Not sure if I should thank her or not - it was probably the most hurtful thing I've ever received - but clearly, if it struck such a nerve, there was some truth to it.

The biggest risk I ever took in an audition

The last show I did was A Cudahy Carolers Christmas with In Tandem Theater in the winters of 2003, 2004 (onstage) and 2005 (run-outs, private parties). That was my first and only musical theater experience, other than the cabaret work that Ryan and I have been doing. Since my auditions for classical music have always been rather staid and presentational, I decided that I would do something a little different for the initial audition for this gig.

I had to prepare a Christmas carol. I knew that they knew that I could sing it beautifully, but I didn't know if they knew what else I could do. So I decided to pick a carol that lent itself to a different interpretation. And in fact, I almost didn't get to sing it, because Jane and Chris both knew that I could sing beautifully, and didn't need to hear it. But I said, "Oh, please... this is going to be something a little different than what you might have expected."

I sang "Silver Bells," a song that I never found particularly comforting or joyous, but more of an expression of the frantic nature of the season. Especially since I do not have children and do not find masses of them screaming "Santa!" even remotely endearing. Nor incessant bell-ringing. Nor jostling for position in department stores.

So... I sang it as a mad scene.

"Christmas makes you feel EMOTIONAL!

It may bring parties or thoughts devotional -

Whateverhappensorwhatmaybe ....

Here is what Christmas time means to me...."

Hard to convey in writing but I got the role.

Merry Christmas! (And put down that bell.)

Trampoline

I've been using the analogy of the trampoline lately in approaching high notes. If someone is on a trampoline and wants to go high into the air, do you stand in the middle of the trampoline and jump up? No, you jump into the trampoline and let the momentum "ka-boing" you into the air. If you just jump up, you won't go very high and you'll probably fall down and hurt something. Point being - ground yourself, support the lower note and the high note will be there for you (assuming your articulators are all free and nothing else is in your way).

Of course, I've never actually been on a trampoline, so that analogy is strictly from observation. I'm afraid of heights, so going up into the air is a frightening prospect, albeit less frightening than it used to be. I was afraid of high notes for the longest time, but they're less frightening than they used to be also.

So now that I've had this big realization that opera and classical singing really need to be a part of my life, where do I take this?  I've decided that it is time to plan my recital for next fall. I've hired David Sytkowski to be my accompanist, I have a tentative date (September 23) in mind and will be finalizing with Dr. Harper at Carroll University in January, and I have a program in mind:

Rossini - the two pieces I sang this past Sunday and another
Marx and/or Zemlinsky
Kilpinen
Either the Judith Weir pieces for the Classical Celtic program in March OR
Libby Larson's "Love after 1950"
Two musical theater pieces:
   "Here alone" from Little Women
and
   "Fable" from Light in the Piazza
"Dodecaphonia" by John Corigliano (the only place you can do that piece is in academia)

So that's the plan. I've taken a few practice bounces, and I have a couple more in mind. Now it's time to go for the big jump.

Leap and the net will appear.

Ka-BOING!

Opera Plus self-review

Today I had my MacDowell Club performance of the two Rossini concert arias. In the past few years, many of my performances and auditions have been compromised by performance anxiety which has frustrated me. It's left me vocally dry, unable to unlock my breath, consequently affecting my legato and sostenuto. Sometimes I've gotten around it by emoting a whole lot at least to seem artistic. But sometimes, even that doesn't work.

It has reminded me of when I was a legal secretary and would take pre-employment typing tests. Even though I could type at well above 80wpm, the minute that timer started, I felt as though I was numb, that I was out of my body, that the whole thing wasn't real. And while I did well, I always felt that I could've done better, that my speed was good but my accuracy was not what I expected of myself, and that I would never be hired again. (And I always was.)

This didn't happen today. As I wrote a few days ago, this was my return to operatic singing. I remember the last time I sang operatically and in Italian - it was 1999, Cosi fan tutte with Milwaukee Opera Theater (Dorabella). It was a great performance, but after that, I moved into my house in Tosa and really started to develop my studio, so that was pretty much it. I've auditioned for things in Italian, but performing? Nope.

Today, I felt, as I said before, at home in my classical voice the way I haven't since Cosi. There was a sweet spot on stage that made me feel like "Hey, this is working! I don't need to do anything but let it go!" And Carla Coonan played wonderfully for me. Even though she hasn't accompanied a lot of singers, she was on the spot for everything I did.

So... no performance anxiety. No vocal fatigue. It's kind of a miracle what your body will do for you when you give it what you need. In this case, what I need is Rossini.

This doesn't mean I'm giving up cabaret or musical theater. I'd like to work on Margaret in Light in the Piazza and perhaps Madame Morrible in Wicked, Emma Goldman in Ragtime (no? too belty?), and I still want to work with Ryan on cabaret rep. But this has to be part of my life. It just has to.