Summer Voice Festival Part DEUX:
A musical blog, in which Erin has a hard day for no reason,
and then remembers why she is here now and hear now, and then luxuriates in
some of the most beautiful music on earth.
Warning:
This blog may or may not take some turns for the happy, the
silly, the giddy, the dark, the depressed, the whiny, the pity party, the
come-uppance, and the reverent. Fasten your seatbelts…
SATURDAY
(suggested
soundtrack:
Air, Alone in Kyoto)
One
of my most infamous ex-boyfriends recently wrote me a note. It read: “Dear
Erin. Manhattan School of Music. Really? How’d you get in? I mean, that’s where
Marsi went to school.” (his ex-girlfriend previous to me.) Hm. Subtext…
subtext… subtext… the answer is… I applied, I sent in an audition, and they
accepted me. But that’s not the real answer because that’s not the real
question… All this shows me, of course, really, is that after all this time, he
still has no idea who I am. Why do I, a truly, sincerely, practicing,
life-affirming person, open my blog with this note of notoriety? I don’t know.
I don’t plan this stuff. But it seems important. I hope you’re listening to the
soundtrack as you read this, because I am listening as I write this. I’d love
for us to have a communion here, if you’d like. Any you, even notorious you,
beloved you, sweet you, motherf$%er you, every you, me you, you me you, Ali
Baba and John Paul Jones.
I’m
being cheeky, but also a little sad, a little goofy, and a little angry, and a
little wonderful. Just a little.
So
Saturday were the big auditions for placement into scenes and productions.
Auditions have long been difficult for me. I am really good live in
performance, and really good on tape….. auditions, well, that’s a different
story. I am learning to own myself as much in an audition as I do in a full
performance. I did not plan well for this audition, however. Or rather,
predictably unpredictable, I changed my mind at the last moment about what to
sing. Since I am here to learn, rather than do the sensible thing and sing the
song most likely to get me cast in a production, I decided to sing my most
exciting piece that would show the folks what I can do and where I am going. So
I sang a coloratura mezzo piece, “Una Voce Poco Fa.” I so love this song, and I
am currently experiencing (somewhat, but without the identity swapping bits of
the opera) the same sort of life as the heroine I was playing…
(Insert soundtrack #2: From THE JERK: http://youtu.be/AI8NuFAETMQ )
Well,
I tried some of the new things I had learned from my lovely teacher and didn’t
feel grounded. Oh. Alas. Sigh. They asked for some musical theater, so I sang
eight bars of “A Sleepin’ Bee.” Then they asked about cabaret. I told them I
had recently performed a one-woman show about my love life and could sing
“Making Love Alone” for them. They laughed. And then laughed some more. I have
such a way of making people laugh when I never mean to. ! ;) So I sang it and
they laughed. I wished I had offered only opera, but I did what I did and I
couldn’t take it back.
I
always give myself 20 lashings after any audition. I am working on reducing the
number to 18, and then 15, and then 12, and then, well, you get the picture,
with the optimal number being 0. Or maybe even being like, “Go Erin! Yeah! You
did it! You sang an audition and I think you are wonderful just for putting
yourself out there.” But of course, some things, perhaps all things, are
“progress, not perfection.” So, feeling a bit needy, I called my mama. She
talked me off the ledge. As she has sooooo many times.
Meanwhile,
at the school, everyone was convinced they knew me already. People kept asking
me if I was a grad student here, or if I had gone to such and such school, or
if I knew such and such person, and how did they know me, where did I live,
etc. I admit, I was having a Groundhog Day experience myself, in which I felt
as if I had lived this life but not exactly like this, but sort of similar, 50,
500, 5000 times before, every time a little different, some better, some worse,
but…. It wasn’t déjà vu, but as if it were a recurring theme in a dream…
“I’m
afraid if I kiss you, I’ll fall in love with you.” “You will?” “Then I don’t
want to.” “You don’t?” “My mother sacrificed everything to send me through
cosmetology school.” “She did?” “She has this dream for me to be someone.” “She
does?” “To marry someone with power, money, vision. Someone with a special
purpose.” “I’ve got one!!!! I’ve got a special purpose!!!!” “You do?”
The
above scene did not happen on Saturday, but in that moment from THE JERK… I
don’t happen to have the Special Purpose that Steve Martin is talking about… if
you don’t know what I am talking about then please, please, please do yourself,
and humanity, a favor and RENT THIS MOVIE! But I DO have those same fears, and
those same hesitations, and those same dreams, and my own version of a special
purpose… more on that in a moment.
(Insert Soundtrack #3: Believe. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Uu3kCEEc98)
Saturday
evening I visited a friend from childhood and we revisited a few old times, and
new ones. I loved that I could connect with this sweet man in another
incarnation. When I was a little girl, living in my mom and dad’s house next to
the woods, at our house on 13th St in Sauk Rapids, I could look out
the back patio door, through the oak trees, and see his front door across the
street and a bit kitty corner. He and his sister would come over and play for
hours, and of course the infamous story is the year he was a vacuum cleaner for
Halloween. He was the cutest thing.
SUNDAY
Odd feelings.
SOUNDTRACK
Strauss:
Strauss:
Nothing
ever goes the way I expect it to go, so as much as I can, I try not to expect
it to go anyway at all. That evening was the Barbecue for all the singers and
staff. About half the singers got up to sing and it was for me such a joy, such
a luxury. I sat and listened, thinking to myself, what a wonderful gift each
person her has, and is, to this world… what a sweet gift I am giving myself, to
be amongst so many wonderfully talented people. I suppose the gift of being a
few years older than most (not all, but most) of the others is that I can
appreciate being here differently. I can’t say better or worse because I can
only speak for myself… but the gift of spending all day with other singers who
love music as deeply as I do… and don’t get me wrong. It isn’t that I am not
grateful for my day job, or the experience my life has brought me touring in
pop and cabaret and rock bands, and living in Hollywood, and having loss and
grief and joy and life and having enough life experience to know that there is
always another day, another chance, another thing to wake up for, and it can
all start right now… but still. I know the toil of not fulfilling one’s dreams…
I know a little bit about flirting with “deferring the dream,” and then losing
sight of it…. And so I know the deep presence of love available through
“musik!” and I was so grateful for the gift of getting to learn so much.
I
sang Carmen- the Habanera…. Of course I didn’t just sing it. I had to be me. So
I climbed up on chairs and got everyone else to sing the chorus. Look. I could
say I was a good little girl and I sang a real pretty song. But damn if I’m not
Erin. I just follow the spirit in the moment, and am thankful now upon writing
this with some reflection, for time and age and wisdom, to be able to have some
appropriateness these days. I had a blast, though. And people sang along, so it
was fun for all of us! I used to sing it back in the days of Le Cirque Rouge in
a bustier and top hat, so this was actually quite tame in comparison.
MONDAY
SOUNDTRACK:
Kurt Weill, as sung
by Anne-Sofie von Otter
I
have long loved Anne Sofie von Otter. I’ll never forget once, I had this guy I
was sorta halfway seeing, and really liked, who lived in San Francisco. I went
to visit him there, and we spent a day browsing music and bookstores, and I
found a CD of Anne Sofie von Otter and Elvis Costello…. then we went back to
his place, where he lit a fire (I know! Right in downtown San Fran.) and poured
some champagne. We turned on the music, and he put his arm around me, and he
looked down at me, and I looked up at him, and he leaned in…. and suddenly I
was freezing cold and yet sweating and he said… “Um, Erin, you’re kinda burning
up.” I nodded. “No,” he said, “like, you’re giving off a lot of heat.” It hit
me. Boom. “I think I need to lay down,” I said. Three days later I woke up. I
had been in various versions of fever delusions during which time, apparently,
I accused the poor guy of trying to poison me. I believed he was in league with
the ex boyfriend (mentioned in the beginning of this blog) and that he was
slowly killing me. The opposite was true; he had taken several days off work to
nurse me to health, calling his Uncle the medical doctor to get advice on
whether or not to bring me to the emergency room, and constantly changing my
sheets because I was soaking them through in fever sweats.
I
never heard from him after that, except for a few pleasantries on Facebook. I
do NOT blame him. He was wonderful enough to take care of me while I was very
sick and all I did was accuse him of trying to kill me. Sigh. Anyway.
My
lack of polish doesn’t extend only to my love life. No. It also extends to my
singing life. And I was, and am, very excited to be learning more about where I
lack professionalism, skills, diction abilities, and, where, in general, I try
too hard….
(SOUNDTRACK: Anne Sofie again, another Weill tune): http://youtu.be/b2MQCTgbW0c
(from The Seven Deadly Sins)
Most
of the day was spent meeting my fellow singers, meeting the directors of the
opera scenes I will be in and learning from my wonderful teacher. And the
technique she is teaching me is so much simpler than how I sing, and so much
more relaxed. And again and again, the message is: Too much. Too hard. Trying
too hard.
Oh!
To be an overachiever. It has a special frustration all its own, and then you
try hard not to try too hard and then you eventually just call your sister or
try not to call your mother for the thirtieth time all needy-like, and you just
go to the Crepe place near your new apartment and say, give me your most
delicious crepe, and they make you a crepe with nutella and strawberries and
bananas and raspberry sauce, and you sit and eat it and gossip with the girls
about men and love and Lauryn Hill, and you forget you ever tried too hard in
the first place and calm yourself thinking about…
SOUNDTRACK:
Ah, beautiful moments, sad and happy all at once. Some
Groundhog Days happen only once, I guess.
TUESDAY
Rain,
and rain, and more rain. I have always loved the rain. To me it is profound,
and poetic, and lush, and cleansing. Tuesday was a special day…
SOUNDTRACK:
Nitin Sawhney
Firmament
I
decided to go for a jog in the rain. I needed a good cleansing of my emotional
palate. I was trying way too hard, I was too hard on myself, I was having all
these inner dramas. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I was having a ton of fun
listening to wonderful singers, and learning, and eating, and sleeping. (yes!
Finally getting good rest.) But I also… well, in setting up having no
expectations of how anything would go during this time, I discovered a strange
re-experiencing of my fretful and difficult youth: I was watching myself expect
to know things I didn’t already know…. Do things I couldn’t already do… I
wasn’t letting myself have the freedom to be a true student. So I went for a
nice run along Riverside Park in the rain, praying for freedom, and
availability, and-
….there,
what was that? I stopped in my tracks. I turned around and looked down. There
at my feet was the biggest four-leaf clover I had ever seen! I bent down to
pluck it when… what was that? There was a five leaf clover! And there! Another
four leaf clover! And there! And there! And everywhere I looked. I was in a
field of four and five leaf clovers. I selected as many one hand could hold, a
bouquet of magic, and walked, giddy, back to my apartment. I texted a few
people the picture, and then decided the world of facebook might like to see
these sweet little wonders…
TUESDAY
AND WEDNESDAY:
I
have had the benefit of hearing some wonderful singers. I have been running the
gamut of emotion. I don’t want to bore you with the run from needy to angry
(with self) to joyful to bliss. I want to leave this tome only with bliss. Who
knows what tomorrow may bring, who knows what the next moment may bring. But in
Masterclasses with Neil Rosensheim, and then Ashley Putnam, I have been able to
watch people transform. I have learned so much. I have heard Menotti, Sondheim,
Rossini, Mozart, Verdi, and…. I will leave you with this. I heard an incredible
singer perform this (and was excited that I have her teacher as my teacher for
this program, and in the room that used to belong to Leontyne Price….)
(And you all know how I feel about Strauss.)
Breit' über mein Haupt dein schwarzes Haar,
Neig' zu mir dein Angesicht,
Da strömt in die Seele so hell und klar
Mir deiner Augen Licht.
Ich will nicht droben der Sonne Pracht,
Noch der Sterne leuchtenden Kranz,
Ich will nur deiner Locken Nacht
Und deiner Blicke Glanz.
Spread over my head your black hair,
and incline to me your face,
so that into my soul, so brightly and clearly,
will stream your eye's light.
I do not want the splendor of the sun above,
nor the glittering crown of stars;
I want only the night of your locks
and the radiance of your gaze.
…
and, another woman who tread these same halls…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWmCbEbMmeU
Now it is time for me to go to sleep and awake refreshed. I
will try hard not to try too hard. I will try not to punish myself for the
subtleties of frustration in my heart that probably only I have noticed, and I
will avail myself to the best of my awareness to the freedom of having room for
life to occur. Good, bad, ugly, beautiful. Life. Life life life… self. Room for
self. And love. And music, and fun. And joy. And laughing at all my foibles.
What a piece of work is (wo)man.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
