10 posts tagged “singing”
This week I opened the store for 5 days straight. The customers were cranky, the tasks to be done too many for the short staffing and monotonous to boot. Yet I'd periodically find myself scanning out product/dealing with an idjit customer/listening to the latest in moronic store policy with a goofy grin on my face. Why?
In no order whatsoever:
-I'm going to a "real" university in the fall. Yes, me. Yes, me, UbiCaritas. Registered for classes and everything, I am. Yeah.
-Oooooh, but my paycheck was nice this week. It will be nice next week, too. The credit card balance is sliding lower and lower...
-A dear friend is expecting her first kid on August 4th. Me, I'm kinda hoping he shows up two days later, the 6th being this diva's birthday and all. I'm going to be Auntie UbiCaritas...and let me tell you that that makes me grin obnoxiously! Must find a name for the kid for the blog. Hmm.
-Voice workshops with voice lessons two days in a row and masterclasses and what-have-you. What's not to like?
There is a time when one spends a week preparing for one performance after another after another.
There is a time when one is up at ungodly hours on a Saturday.
There is a time when one realizes that one doesn't mind being up at such ungodly hours because one gets so much out of the experience one received in that time.
There is a time when sleep is elusive.
There is a time for unexpectedly dropping by a friend's house to laugh, talk, and laugh some more.
And there is a time for yanking off one's performance clothes, twisting one's much-abused hair into a thoroughly unfashionable knot, putting on yoga pants and an old tee shirt, and baking cookies while listening to glorious music and reading a thoroughly un-intellectually-challenging book.
This evening is one of those times.
The getting-ready-to-sing routine:
I need my hair trimmed. Why didn't I notice until today that I need my hair trimmed? Good gosh, the ends are FRIED. I look as though I stuck my finger in a light socket and finished off with a spritz or two of glue.
Oh, perfect. 99.9% of the time I have good skin. It's clear, it doesn't dry out or flake or what-have you. Today I wake up looking like I caught a pizza with my face. Of course.
My clothes are all wrong. I've looked for a nice shirt for a week. No dice. Maybe this'll work. No, now it looks as though I'm going for the linebacker look. Nah. Why didn't I lose ten pounds before this? It isn't as though I didn't know it wasn't coming up. Argh, this outfit doesn't work, either. I LIKE having the appearance of a waist, thankyouverymuch.
I fling it on top of the cat gym. That makes ensemble #6 that has been tried and discarded in disgust; the cat gym now looks more like a clothes tree, and Amadeus is looking distinctly concerned. Or he's about to eat my new shoes. One of the two.
New makeup. Last stuff wasn't working well, or I thought it wasn't working well. Either way, new makeup. Salesgirl swore it was a concealer-foundation-sunblock-powder combo that would blend in perfectly with my skin. Hmmph. It'd better, considering what it cost. Between it and the new mascara (which, if it knows what's good for it, will make my eyes stand out, look elegant and refined and sophisticated, and still be subtle), I have decidedly gone over my makeup budget for the month. Or two. It would take a miracle--perhaps in the form of a pricy concealer-foundation-sunblock-powder?--to make me look non-leprous.
Phone rings. Someone wants me to donate blood. I refrain from snarling at the caller for having the nerve to ask me to make an appointment to save lives when I am, after all, trying to decide what to wear. I make an appointment for the following week. I did have a two-hour slot tomorrow afternoon during which I could donate, I suppose, but "IV drug user" is not the impression I want to make on this audience, thank you very much, I tend to bruise a little post-donation.
I suddenly realize that I've put on an outfit consisting of a faded pair of jeans and a tube top. Err, no. Those get added to Mount Catgym. Hearing a suspicious chewing sound, I turn to find Amadeus noshing delicately upon the left of a pair of copper snakeskin pumps. I scruff him and carry him over across the room where two jingle balls, a stuffed mouse, and two catnip fish await his paws. I point out in a gentle-but-firm manner that he's quite cute, but that if he wants to see his third birthday he would be well advised not to eat my shoes. He fusses a bit, but graciously agrees to kill a catnip fish instead after I throw it for him.
As I toss the fish, something clicks. I rummage through Mount Catgym and yank out a skirt, a cami, and a blouse. Hmm. I've worn this before, and several times at that. However, I doubt the person for whom I'm singing remembers the outfit I wore a year ago. In any case, I'll put a new jacket over it.
Having donned the outfit, I go over to the bathroom and note--not for the first time--that I really need a full-length mirror. While I can (and do) stand on the edge of the bathtub and lean rightwards a tad if I want to see everything, it isn't quite the same.
This just might work. On second thought, skip the athletic ankle socks. Much better.
I put in a new pair of dangly gold earrings, apply the makeup (which does go on nicely, now if it will just STAY on...), slip my feet into my shoes, and glance in the mirror.
Here goes.
It's official!
(SCREECH!)
I, UbiCaritas
(hopping up and down)
am officially a professional singer. Got my first PAID gig today, as a chorus member in a performance of Handel's Messiah. This performance will include members of the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra, and two soloists who I know and look forward to hearing.
(generally undignified and exhuberant behaviour)
Off to gnosh upon a nice stirfry and sip a celebratory glass of wine.
I have my FIRST PAID GIG!
I am a PROFESSIONAL SINGER!
EEEEEEEEEEEK!
If you've had the sort of day that has involved much head-against-the-wall-ing and a stong desire to let forth a piercing scream, leap through the nearest window, and run away to serve cappucinos in a cafe (location unspecified beyond Anywhere Very Far Away From Here), then these might improve it:
-having an "out of diva" experience
-finding your high C for the very first time (see above)
-having a slightly frustrating rehearsal, but it doesn't matter because the uber-wonderful director used the phrase "when you sing in opera houses" in connection with a short stagecraft lesson. "When," not "if,"; future tense, and all that.
I think I'll go sing my head off now.
Today=Monday. Mondays are usually good days to begin with, despite their 9 AM piano class (I love the sound of a well-played piano, but that isn't what one hears if I sit at a keyboard, and 9 AM ISN'T MORNING YET, why does no one understand this? But I digress). There is a voice lesson in the afternoon, and a vocal repertoire class that evening. Plus, lots of unstructured free time through the day, as I never work on Mondays. Much of this free time is spent in homework etc, but I occasionally fit a nap into the early afternoon. Naps are lovely things.
Today we had a guest master class in vocal rep, which is precisely what it sounds like. A guest "lecturer" comes in and works with a few students while the rest of us watch and learn. New perspectives, different approaches, all that good shtuff. With me so far? Excellent.
This was the first time that I sang for a guest lecturer. I expected to be terrified, or at least nervous and unable to take a deep breath. The latter frequently happens when I get onstage, even with people with whom I am very comfortable.
I wasn't nervous. Just...not at all. I felt fine. I felt at home on the stage. I didn't feel at all self-conscious, yet I wasn't just "zoned out," which I will do to avoid stressful situations. I was there, I was comfortable, I didn't think once about how I looked. I just became an anxious and upset servant girl, and sang about how dreadful it was that I had lost a pin, Heaven help me!
I enjoyed every second, and genuinely LOVED being onstage and making people laugh. It was awesome, in the original sense of the word. I'm just in awe.
Miracles abound, and are beautiful.
So (as usual) we had rehearsals for A Grand Night For Singing for much of the afternoon. I eventually went back to the practice room to work on piano while waiting to be called to rehearse scenes in which I am, and just had a friend in the recital hall call me when I was needed. It worked beautifully, and I got lots of practice in, so the piano teacher should be happy. I even managed to work on some songs I'm doing outside of the musical, and yes, such songs do exist. ;)
Anyhow...where was I?
Ah, yes. Right. Rehearsals. This thing pulling together. Et all.
Today was the kind of rehearsal day where things just pulled together beautifully. I mean BEAUTIFULLY. We got SO much done, and virtually everyone was there, and everyone "got it," and I FINALLY hit a particular entrance correctly on the first bleeding try (wonders really never do cease). It CLICKED. I wasn't shy or embarrassed onstage as I had been until now, I felt at home, I instinctively knew how and what to do during the choir rehearsals, and I just felt...good. It's hard to explain.
Suffice to say, all is well with the world. Oh yeah, and I have tomorrow off from work. How cool is that? :D
I was driving home from work last night and, as usual, had the local classical music station on. The show was "Exploring Music," in which the host takes a composer or period or aspect of music and discusses him, her or it for a week. This week it was Handel. Since this is also Christmas week, the last music played for the program for the week were the choruses "Worthy is the Lamb," "Amen" and the "Halleluiah Chorus" from Handel's oratorio Messiah. As I listened to them, it brought back memories of years past, one of which I wanted to put up on here.
While I was in high school, I was crazy about music. Choir music, classical music, the little bit of opera I'd heard, Irish music--you name, it, I'd listen to it, sing it or dance to it. Needless to say, I also persuaded myself that I could never do anything with music, so I could just enjoy it but major in something that would provide a firm job offer after school. But I digress, as usual.
When an aquiantance from church mentioned a citywide community-based choir that sang the Messiah every year, I immediately thought "cool." Now, I'd heard a few pieces of it before, but not the whole thing. I'd even sung "Lift Up Your Heads, O Ye Gates" and the "Halleluiah Chorus." (My church had a very unusual choir director). Still, I figured, it's music. What's not to like?
So I spent my Sundays that fall driving to church for choir (an hour away), driving back to the house, driving back down a few hours later for the community choir practice, and driving back to the house again. All told, I spent about four hours in the car each Sunday, as my parents lived (and still live) an hour away from anything except cows. But it really was worth it. While not a professional choir by any reach, the vast majority of people in the 200-voice choir had at least some kind of musical training, from degrees in music (there were a lot of teachers in the choir) to good church choirs. We sang it with a very good instrument ensemble, and the soloists were flown in from around the country. The director was really patient, really talented, etc. I had so much fun that fall that I did it again the next year.
Every year we put on two performances; a Saturday evening and a Sunday afternoon. We had a dress rehearsal with the instrumentalists and the soloists that Friday night. The rather large church in which we performed was always packed to the rafters for both performances.
I had a friend from church who had enjoyed going to performances of the Messiah many years before, but due to health issues (asthma/chemical sensitivity/environmental allergies etc) hadn't been to a musical concert in many years. This friend and I had met in church; she and her husband were old enough to be my parents or (very young) grandparents, but we all got along quite well. At some point, I had the idea of having them attend the dress rehearsal. After all, I reasoned, virtually no one else will be in there, so the allergies/asthma wouldn't be as triggered by perfumes and such.
I explained the situation to the director, who was quite agreeable. And so they came.
The soloists that year were outstanding. The highlight of the evening, I think, was the bass/trumpet solo "The Trumpet Shall Sound." Absolutely glorious.
At the end, I went and found my friends to ask what they thought. She literally had tears in her eyes from the beauty of it all.
The other thing I remember is watching the soprano soloist very closely the following evening. She was dressed in this stunning black evening dress with long net sleeves. I remember that the neet of the sleeves was beaded and in a kind of spiderweb pattern, which sounds weird but was stunningly beautiful. I remember her singing the aria "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth" and, at some point during that looking up with this expression on her face of "I live for making this glorious sound." I also remember how gracious she was; she was smiling most of the evening and when she was given a standing ovation at the end of the program, she bowed and then turned to the choir, indicated us with her hand, and bowed. I remember thinking (as a very awkward teenager) how much I wanted to be that: beautiful, happy, talented, and a lady.
I think I learned several things that evening. First, how glorious Handel is. Second, how music can touch people's hearts and lives. And third, what I wanted to be.
And all that, which I hadn't thought about in years, came back to me as I listened to that Handel last night.
Book: The Inner Voice
Author: Renee Fleming
Originally Published In: 2004
Rating: How much higher than five stars can one go?
Several weeks ago themaureencorps and shewhomustbeobeyed asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I gave them a list which basically said opera, opera, more opera, some music, some books, some prints. Obviously, this was a list from which they would choose a few things to get; I was just trying to make it easy. We do lists for each other around Christmas because while I know that themaureencorps will want DVDs, she has THOUSANDS of them already so I would otherwise have no idea what to get her and shewhomustbeobeyed has specific yet wideranging ideas (this year, I got her temporary tatoos and a new sweater). In my case, they admit to not knowing much about my kinds of books or music or art, so I give 'em a list.
Anywhoooo-where was I?
Oh, right.
Bear in mind that while I love classical music as a whole, I am still but a freshman, and really haven't familiarized myself with opera as much as some others have. I grew up in a household with NO exposure to opera beyond the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas (don't get me wrong, I still love G&S). So, aside from Pavarotti (childhood friend introduced me to him singing "Nessun Dorma" and I fell in love) I know almost nothing about opera or its singers except what I hear around me at school and read about in my spare minutes. I watch clips on YouTube and am slowly aquiring a CD collection. Right now I have some each of Joan Sutherland, Pavarotti, Kathleen Battle, Jessye Norman, Cecilia Bartoli; very wide ranging, but I'm still trying to figure out what I like and what's what and who's who in opera. This is a very fun time!
So, when asked what I wanted for Christmas, I threw some of the aforementioned names on a list, along with that of Renee Fleming. When themaureencorps and shewhomustbeobeyed found that Renee Fleming had written a book, they got me two of her CDs and the book (as well as some delightful Degas and Monet prints, but that's another post) for Christmas. (end of second digression)
I just finished reading the book.
Wow.
Wow.
WOW.
I think I'm still trying to process a great deal of it. But still---WOW.
She wrote that she wrote the book in part because she wanted a book like this when she started out as a singer. It is brilliant. Perfect. Exactly what I needed right now. And I'll be reereading this periodically.
She describes so many of the ideas (technical, emotional, performance, you name it) that I have or had been thinking about or ponder occasionally. This really is exactly what I needed. I only wish it had gone on longer, but she covered pretty much everything.
This book is not an autobiography of her so much as it is an autobiography of her voice and what singing is all about. It is humorous, supportive and gentle. She doesn't (thank you!) turn her life into a soap opera (oh, thank you so much!); instead, she touches on family stuff so far as it affects her voice, but doesn't air dirty laundry. In short (now that WOULD be a first) the book is broadening, amusing, and classy. She discusses things technical (mask singing, how to reach high notes, et all), businesslike (managers, for example), scholastic (her wonderful teachers through the years) and even relationships with directors/producers/actors/singers.
If you are considering studying classical voice, are interested in opera or classical singing, or need, as a singer, a boost of wisdom and humor--READ THIS BOOK. NOW. And I don't want to hear about how you don't have time to read anything. I (who am a firm believer in practicing, practicing a lot, and then practicing some more to the point of occasionally solfeging in my sleep) say that this is as important as practicing.
So, READ THIS!
this dratted computer ate the post I tried to do earlier (words cannot express how much I dislike this infernal machine, I spent an HOUR AND A HALF on that post) so I will try again. If this post is eaten, the computer gets thrown onto the freeway in rush hour traffic.
Now then: Christmas spirit!
First, we went to midnight Mass...
themaureencorps is much too cool for all this
shewhomustbeobeyed is being tolerant of the diva and her new camera
i love ze christmas, i love ze midnight Mass, i love ze music, i love-hey! did you just take a picture of me?
Regina Caeli et Terrae
(and this camera can zoom way up over the altar!)
poinsettias on the high altar
golden light all over the altar
adoration of the shepherds
and then we went home to open a present and go to bed...
the angel on the magnificent tree (about 7 feet tall, give or take-the tree, not the angel)
and fell into bed, to get up the next morning and feed the herds of animals that are petsat, returning to open PRESENTS:
food, glorious food! (expensive, canned, once-a-year food at that)
the cosmos-dog will hate me for this (evil cackle here)
i think themaureencorps was just possessed by a zombie. amun-cat is very worried.
thelibrarian has toffee, and cosmos-dog wants some. pretty please?
this man is the biggest three stooges fan alive
i rest my case
the hat is very archie goodwin
what to get the terminator fan who has everything terminator? why, the leather-and-bronze box set from the UK, of course!
where is cosmos-dog?
all bow down in worship of the glory of shewhomustbeobeyed's new shoes
this man makes most trekkies look run of the mill. when we have "enterprise" tree ornaments...
all she wanted for christmas was an exercise mat on which to practice her nunchuck skills-AND SHE GOT IT!
after much present-opening and eating of turkey, i got dressed to go sing gregorian chant at my beloved tridentine Latin Mass:
in texas, roses bloom at Christmas, and I have proof!
the reading of the epistle
silence really is beautiful sometimes
why, why, WHY did so many churches tear out their communion rails and high altars? this is too beautiful!
what it's really all about
oh, I had a wonderful Christmas! It was spent with "chosen family," laughter, fun, smiles and love. Also many darling pussycats and puppydogs, who had about twice as much turkey as was good for them (they were out cold all day). While it didn't snow, there were roses. I sang and sang, and there was incense and chant and all that is lovely. And then I returned to the house for more turkey and chocolate and banana bread and hot cocoa. doesn't get much better!
I hope you all had as merry and blessed and peaceful and beautiful a Christmas as I did.
And remember, Christmas is not technically over until the 6th of January (Twelfth Night, or Epiphany), so feel no guilt about continuing the festivities until then! (err, unless you're trying to run and lose weight, in which case homemade eggnog may be a remarkably bad idea).
Merry Christmas!
