A critic and a performer can't live in the same body (at least not at the same time)

Don’t try to create and analyze at the same time

John Cage pointed out they’re different processes. Doing one will interfere with the other.

What will you create today? You can analyze it tomorrow.

https://seths.blog/2019/05/dont-try-to-create-and-analyze-at-the-same-time/

Years ago, I took a writing workshop that said, "You can't be a writer and an editor at the same time." I applied that to music as well, and went home and put a picture of the then-Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel music critic, Tom Strini, on my music stand .... with an X through his face.

This wasn't because I disliked Tom Strini. On the contrary, I liked him quite well. He was always good to me, even on one or two occasions where I didn't deserve it. And he had been my downstairs neighbor for a time. 

The point was - you can't be a performer and a music critic at the same time. You'll never get anything done if, in the moment, you are analyzing, criticizing, evaluating, and self-shaming. This doesn't mean that you shouldn't evaluate your performance. That's what practice is for. That's what building technique is for. That's what your lessons are for - and in your lessons, I'm the one who is analyzing and evaluating so that you can take the feedback with you to work on further improvement.

But when it comes time to perform, you have to do it. You have to create, express, and just be. Put the editor, critic, and analyst aside. For that moment, anyway. 

She's the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend - with something to say

I am a huge fan of the show Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, the fourth (and final) season of which I'm watching on Netflix right now. The star and creator and producer and writer of the show is the multi-talented (as well as multi-tasking) Rachel Bloom, who plays the title character, Rebecca Bunch.

Each episode of the show features one to two musical numbers (also co-written by Ms. Bloom). They can be about mistakes Rebecca has made in her relationships (which are legion), about the men in her life and their reactions to her, her friends, her family, etc. They vary greatly in style, from

• big, showy musical theater numbers, complete with Broadway-level choreography; 
• intimate cabaret-style solo performances
• dance music videos

I just happened upon this video of an interview Rachel Bloom did with Seth Meyers about a year and a half ago, and in it, he asks her about using songs to tackle some pretty significant issues, particularly regarding mental health. I loved the way that she describes how a song is structured (this comes in nearly 4 minutes in). She refers to them as musical essays, with the thesis statement the chorus, and the supporting paragraphs the verses and bridges.  She says, "It's a great way to distill something down,  to be like, 'this is what we're trying to say.'"

What are you trying to say in your songs? What is the main point? What is in the supporting material? 

Let's take the song "Someone like you" from Jekyll & Hyde. It's very clear what the point is: If I had someone like you in my life, it would be better. That's the chorus. You sing it three times (and the last time, higher).

The supporting material:
The beginning: I'm an outsider. Nothing has ever worked for me. I've never had any hope.
The second verse: I'm feeling things I never felt before and I think there might be a way out. I know what that is now.

Watch Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on Netflix, if you haven't seen it already (caveat: adult content). 

If you're going to make a mistake, make a BIG one

I read a blogpost the other day by a musician and psychologist named Noa Kageyama (aka "The Bulletproof Musician") about the idea that making deliberate mistakes can teach you a lot. Kageyama's focus, generally, is on being very deliberate and mindful in your practice. So I was doing some thinking when I posted this on my studio FB page:

What would happen if...

You did that wrong again, but make it really wrong, on purpose?
You gave yourself permission to do it wrong? Would you do it wrong?

While "practice makes perfect" is less true than "practice makes permanent," being mindful and making deliberate choices is much better than being on autopilot.

****

What would happen if you:

1. Sang a note deliberately flat?
2. Sang a note deliberately sharp?
3. Sang the wrong rhythm - on purpose?
4. Sang the wrong interval - on purpose?

How would it feel in your body to sing flat/sharp/just plain wrong? And how does it feel when you do it right?

You have to know what WRONG is so you can find RIGHT. If you're going to make a mistake, make it big and make it deliberate so you can figure out just what wrong is and what is wrong.

Experiment with this - if you have a phrase where you are always flat, sing it REALLY flat on purpose. What's going on? Is your tongue in a weird place? Is the registration off? Your balance breath pressure less than optimal (or if sharp, more than optimal)? How can you adjust these things in your own body? 

What would happen - if?

"An instrument of discovery"

I just read this in a Facebook ad for former U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins' poetry masterclass:

"I think of a poem as a flashlight, an instrument of discovery. I’m here to light the way for you, to show you what I’ve learned, and not just about rhyme and meter. I’ll also teach you about being open to influence, understanding who you are as a poet, and inventing a persona, that is, a distinctive voice that is yours alone. Join me in my first-ever MasterClass."

This resonated with me. If you love song, you love poetry, because that's what we're doing - we're singing poetry. And this is exactly how I feel about teaching singing. I'm here to light the way for you, to show you what I've learned, and not just about breath and resonance. 

I want you to understand who you are as a singer and as a person, to find the distinctive voice that is yours alone.

Join me. Turn on that flashlight.

 

***

Billy Collins' poetry

Money Notes

Wikipedia's definition:

A money note is a music industry slang term which refers to a part of a live or recorded singing performance which is subjectively judged to be very dramatic or emotionally stirring.

Mezzoid's definition:

A note you sing that is so fantastic, that sits in just the right place, that you've infused with so much emotion and strength and power, that people will throw money at you to keep doing it (and is hopefully not the opposite, where they'll throw money at you to make you stop).

Perfection is not attainable. In Power Performance for Singers by Shirlee Emmons and Alma Thomas, the authors liken preparation for singing to the preparation done by athletes. An athlete prepares by practicing, by knowing the field on which they're going to play, by mentally rehearsing the game, by packing their gear. They do not expect to make every shot, hit every ball, catch every ball, but they are going to create the conditions that will facilitate this so that they're going to miss every shot or every ball that comes their way.

Let's look at baseball. Mike Trout plays for the Oakland As and is considered the best player right now. His lifetime batting average is .308 and he has been up to bat 3902 times. This means that he has actually hit the ball almost 1,202 times, or 3 times out of every 10 times he's been up at bat. (Math is not my strong suit - feel free to recheck my numbers).

This doesn't seem all that impressive. But of those 1,200+ hits, 245 have been home runs (money notes) and 660 have been runs batted in.

As a performer, I think we'd all like to hit more than 3 out of every 10 notes right in order to consider ourselves successful. And all notes matter, not just the money notes.

Idina Menzel said in an interview, "There are about 
3 million notes in a two-and-a-half-hour musical; being a perfectionist, it took me a long time 
to realize that if I'm hitting 75 percent of them, 
I'm succeeding. "

That is true. And I think if we're batting .750 as singers, we're doing great.

BUT.

• If Mike Trout comes up to the plate at the bottom of the 9th inning and the other team is ahead one run, and the bases are loaded and he strikes out; OR
• If the note that people are paying you to sing (i.e., the money note and subject of the blog) is not among the 75%;

Both of you might as well have stayed home.

I submit for your consideration:

New Resource for Choosing Repertoire!!

Last week, I added yet another item to my list of things-to-spend-money-on-so-that-all-our-lives-can-be-better!

This resource is MusicalTheaterSongs.com and offers thousands of songs from 1850 to the present day (with the purchase of a subscription - and my NATS membership gets me 50% off of the annual subscription price).

For example - are you looking for a song for an audition for a girl under 13, written between 2010-2016? Just plug those things into the search engine, and voila! Thirty-five songs come up. Click on one of them to find out - let's look at this obscure one:

It's short (1 page?); it has an octave range; it's not too difficult to play; and it's pretty obscure. In fact, it's only available if you subscribe to contemporarymusicaltheatre.com (sigh, another one to check out), which you find if you go to the "find the sheet music" link.

AND you can create a song list of songs that you're saving. Right now, I have one saved for a project I'm going to propose for a conference next year for musical theater songs for women of a ... ahem... certain age.

This is offering so many possibilities! I can't tell you how excited I am. But I'll show you:

HIMYM Barney GIF from Himym GIFs

Spring Forward!

UGH, it's Daylight Savings Time. I hate the transitions both in and out of DST. I feel like I gain nothing in the fall because I wake up too early, and I definitely feel the loss of the hour in the spring. (Spring? It's spring?)

But I do like the idea of "spring forward." Of finding some new things to do and thinking outside the box.

For example, at my church job today, I decided that I was going to put the emphasis on all the prepositions in the hymns and responses. At first, it was a source of amusement (which pretty much sums up how I approach almost anything new), and then I realized it was a way to be really aware of the words I was saying. Too often, responses are on autopilot, and so are hymns (if you're just singing the melody to something you've known for years). But if you put the emphasis on a different word, you have to think about all the words before and after it.

"And also with you."
"Our Father, who art in Heaven."
"Make you to shine like the sun."

I did something like that recently in a cabaret performance of the song, "As if we never said goodbye" from Sunset Boulevard. I have always sung the lyric, "Has there ever been a moment?" with the emphasis on "ever." But in my last performance, it just felt right to put it on "been."

Now, I realize that emphasis is kind of Chandler Bing-esque, but it felt right to me in that moment. It seemed like it made all the other words in the line even more important.

There's an acting game to take a phrase and change the emphasis to get a different point across:

"I didn't say she stole my money."
"I didn't say she stole my money."
"I didn't say she stole my money."
"I didn't say she stole my money."
"I didn't say she stole my money."
"I didn't say she stole my money."
"I didn't say she stole my money."

How would you interpret each of this lines with the different emphasis? Which one might be defensive? Sad? Evasive?

How could you apply this to a song you're working on? Or a song you've known for years? How would it change the interpretation? What works? What doesn't?

Try this and see what happens. And remember....