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.)
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
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?
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
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
Saturday, September 12, 2009
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. )
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. )
Monday, August 24, 2009
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!
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!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
