Wabi-sabi (Part 1)

I was asked recently if I can only enjoy singers who do everything right vocally. And the answer, without even hesitating is, No. Some of my favorites have little ~ or often no ~ vocal training. What they all have in common is the ability to interpret a song in a way to make it interesting. So, this is the beginning of a multi-part series on how you can sing badly, but still be an amazing performer. Or, conversely, sing beautifully, and be boring. Ideally, we can do both. But, that is sadly, uncommon. 

This brings me to the meaning of the title: sometimes, an imperfect voice is more beautiful because of its flaws. Wabi-sabi (侘寂) is a comprehensive Japanese world view (aesthetic) based on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. It is sometimes described as one of beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete." Kintsukuroi, or kintsugi, is one aspect of this very unique Japanese art form. 

Where to begin? 

I found this video of Tina Turner, Elton John, and Cher, and thought I'd hit the jackpot. 

Be warned: there is talking up until about 2:40. But, if, like me, you are familiar with Proud Mary, then you know that the talking is a part of the song. 

But, I was also somewhat disappointed with this. First of all, Elton John doesn't sing a note. He's just there as a pianist. Now, don't get me wrong, he is an amazing pianist, I just think he was wasted in this.

And Cher doesn't really do much, either. There are other versions of this out there, still with Tina and Cher, minus Elton. But, Cher does even less. And in the later one from 2008 or 9, (this one is from 1998, I think) Tina's voice is all but gone. Of course there are those who would argue that it was never here to begin with. 

So, here is Proud Mary as done by Ike and Tina Turner. This is my favorite version of this song. I love Ike's deep bass voice. I know that he was a drug addict and a wife beater, but he still had a lovely voice. Be warned: at the end of the song, at about the 5:55 mark, there is a strobe effect. I have been told this can be a problem if you have epilepsy.

So, what do I like here?  Her voice is rough and very nasal. Sometimes she's more screaming than singing. And yet, I still like her. On the plus side, notice how far she opens her mouth to get the sound out. "Open your mouth," is something that I find myself saying a lot to students. Tina holds nothing back, she is singing, dancing, performing full out. She is not playing it safe, worrying about the way things might have been. And, by doing that, she is exciting. She is dancing and singing. Right there. No lip-syncing. Nothing pre-recorded. There is always the chance for failure. In fact, I think that at about 4:40, when she's playing the crowd, she's running out of breath, and her timing goes just a little bit off. But this does not detract from her performance. It makes it more real. And, remember, that part of the excitement of live performances is the possibility of failure. That is a part of the air of excitement.

And, when I was a little kid, I thought that Tina was the most exciting dancer I'd ever seen. And even in her 50's and 60's, this woman could still move. To this day I am envious of her upper arms. And her energy. While she had slowed down quite a bit by the time she got to the first video here, she could still move more than I can.

I said that I was disappointed because the first video didn't have Cher doing much. So, here is one of Cher's most famous videos.

Like Tina, her voice is too nasal. Her voice is smoother, more mellow. Also, unlike Tina, Cher rarely goes full out. She teases her audience, giving them hints of where she could go, without ever really going there. You can see in the video how masterfully she plays the crowd. Check it again to see if I would yell at her to open her mouth. As an aside, I think that the young man playing guitar at about 2:38 is her son by Greg Allman. I think his name is Blue. He looks kind of embarrassed. Imagine being on stage with your mother while she pranced around like that, in little more than fishnets. You'd be a bit embarrassed, too. (Please, try not to think about your mother prancing around onstage, in little more than ripped fishnets. You need to get to sleep tonight.)

And speaking of fishnets, if you think about it, Cher's outfits hint at exhibition without every really showing us anything. More teasing.

The thing that these two have in common is the ability to convey a song in a way that makes it interesting. Some of that has to do with the instrumentation behind them. But most of it has to do with the women. Whether giving us everything that they have, or teasingly holding something back, they each manage to convince us that we know them. And not just that we know them, but we know them better, more intimately, than anyone else. It's that ability to connect with each person that makes them great performers, if not great singers. Their art is flawed which makes it more beautiful. Wabi-sabi.

And they do both open their mouths!

Nigerian Music Student?

I'd planned to come back a lot sooner. But, they say that life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. I know that John Lennon is usually given the credit for that phrase. And he did use it in the song "Beautiful Boy" which was on the Double Fantasy album. For those who were not alive at the time, this came out in 1980, months before Lennon was shot. But, I had the quote in my Quotation File Box, compiled for speech class when I was in 8th grade, which would have been somewhere in 1974-75. The point is that while Lennon sang it, the quote existed before he used it. Explanation over. There will be a test at the end.

While I was busy making other plans, I got this e-mail from a person named Steve Robert. (I always feel a little sorry for people with no last name. Steve and Robert are both first names. But, I won't poke fun. Perhaps his parents couldn't afford a last name.)

Hi
How are you doing today?I want a private  lessons for my daughter,Mary. Mary is a 13 year old girl, home schooled and she is ready to learn. I would like the lessons to be in your home/studio. Please I want to know your policy with regard to the fees,cancellations, and make-up lessons. Also,get back to me with the total fees for three months worth of lessons(one-hour lesson in a
week)starting from May 23th . Looking forward to hearing from you.

My best regards,

I include the e-mail in all it's glory, complete with bizarre spacing, and syntax issues. But, I get oddly worded e-mails from prospective students every so often, and really didn't think much of it at the time.

I responded with my usual follow-up, and gave him the information he wanted. I said nothing about a meet and greet appointment. Just so you know, it will come up again, but not on the test.

He then sent me this:

Hello Annette ,

Thanks for writing back.  I'm a single parent who  always want the best for my daughter and I would be more than happy if  you can handle Mary very well for me. I would have loved to bring Mary  for "meet and greet"interviews before the lessons commence, which I  think is a normal way to book for lessons but am in Honolulu,Hawaii  right now for a new job appointment. So,it will not be possible for me  to come for the meeting. Mary will be coming for the lessons from my  cousin's location which is very close to you. Although,Mary and my  cousin are currently in the UK and I want to finalize the arrangement  for the lessons before they come back to the United States because that  was my promise to Mary before they left for the UK. Mary is a beginner  but has a strong passion for Piano lesson and will really love to work  hard with you.

As for the payment, I want to pay for the three  month lessons upfront which is $500 and I'm paying through a certified  cashier's check.Hope this is okay with you?I would be more than happy if  you can accept Mary as one of your students and start with her on  Thursday ,May 23 . Looking forward to hearing from you again.

My best regard
Steve

The font difference between the "Hello" and "Annette" I noticed right off. Some people send out multiple inquiries, and this could have been his follow-up letter. In that case, he might not have noticed the difference. I do get some odd, perfectly serious letters sometimes.

Once again, the syntax problems came out. I had discussed voice lessons, and now he's talking piano. I do teach a little piano, and this also tells me that he got my e-mail address from the Music Teachers National Association.

And then I got to the certified cashier's check. That set off a bunch of warning alarms in my head. I read all the exchanges to the Nameless Cynic and our son, the Wookiee. When we were done laughing, I sent out another e-mail to him, discussing what books he would need to purchase, and giving him the links to Amazon for ordering. Who knows? this still could have been a serious inquiry. Although things were getting fishier and fishier.

Steve's final e-mail to me was this one:

Thanks for your message.    My cousin will get in touch with you for the final lessons arrangement immediately they are back from the UK. I will want you to handle Mary very well for me because she is all I have left ever since her mother's death four years ago. Being a single parent, It's not easy but I believe God is on my side.

With regards to the payment, It will be made upfront like I promised. Like I told you in my previous e-mail,am not currently in town but I have contacted a financier who has been supporting me ever since I lost my wife and has promised to make the payment on my behalf . I also want to let you know that the payment will be more than the cost for the three month lessons. So, as soon as you receive the check, I will like you to deduct the money that accrues to the cost of the lessons and you will assist me to send the rest balance to my cousin. This remaining balance is meant for Mary and my cousin's flight expenses down to the USA, and also to buy the necessary materials needed for the lessons. I think,I should be able to trust you with this money?
  I'll like you to provide me with your full name to be written on the check,mailing address and your cell phone number.Thanks and looking forward to hearing from you again.

Regards,
Steve

Wow. Just how gullible did he think I was? In my response, (Yes, I did respond. I also sent the exchanges to the G-mail police and the MTNA - the aforementioned Music Teachers National Association.) I told him that I would be happy to accept the check for more than what we had discussed, but I would not be sending anything to the cousin, as I would count anything over the amount as a tip.

I never heard back from Steve. Or the G-mail police or MTNA, for that matter. The latter had sent out an e-mail a few years ago warning of this scam, or others like it.

The odd thing is that this scam does work. It's called the Nigerian 419 Scam. The 419 refers to the article in Nigerian law dealing with scams. And it's not always Nigerian, that's just the nationality that has come to be associated most often with this con. And it's not new. Variations of it date back to the 18th century. (That's the 1700's.)

By making this something that only the most gullible would believe, the con artist (I need another word. I don't like calling them artists. I'm an artist. And I have very little in common with these people.) allows those people to pick themselves out for the con. Thousands of e-mails can be sent out and only the most gullible respond. By answering as often as I did, they no doubt thought that I was pretty stupid. I was so sorry to disappoint Steve. And that poor little motherless child. Yeah, right. 

Maybe I was scam-baiting. Keeping them working on me, and giving them less time to work on more profitable marks. According to Wikipedia: "One particularly notable case of scam baiting involved an American who identified himself to a Nigerian scammer as James T. Kirk. When the scammer – who apparently never heard of the television series – asked for his passport details, he sent a copy of a fake passport with a photo of Star Trek's Captain Kirk, hoping that the scammer would attempt to use it and get arrested." I wonder if it worked?

It's hard to tell how much money is lost each year to these scams. Some people are no doubt too embarrassed to go to the police. But, in 2006 it's extimated that $198.4 million was lost in the US alone to the Nigerian 419 scam and its many variants.

As for me, I felt somehow violated. However many others he sent these e-mails to, he targeted me personally, because I'm a music teacher. He knew that I teach out of my home. My contact information has to be out there, or I don't get new students. That makes me vulnerable. Also, I teach out of my home. I don't have many male students, and that may be a good thing. Not that men are the only ones out there capable of violence, but 90% of the murders in this country are committed by men. So, there have been a few times when I was glad that the Wookiee is still living at home. No one has ever been violent, or at all objectionable, but I don't know that until they are in my living room, singing within easy arm's reach of me.

I couldn't find any information on how many music teachers are attacked in the course of a lesson. Not that I looked very hard. This is information that I really don't want to have. I will continue to have my name out there. And I will probably get more of these e-mails in the future. But, it does make me wonder ~ how safe are we?

Test: Did the phrase, Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans, originate with John Lennon? (Ha! You thought I'd forgotten didn't you?)

Walking

I'm swamped this week and next. Performances out the wah-zoo, and next week will be a 5-K walk for breast cancer. I think I'll take a brief vacation from blogging. So, I'll leave you with a suitable walking song.

See you in a couple of weeks!

Spring Music Week

I'm going to do something a little different this week, and endorse a music program. Not just that, but I'm going to endorse an Appalachian music program. The Augusta Heritage Center at Davis and Elkins College has been in existence since the early '70s. I know, because I took a furniture refinishing class the first year. Davis and Elkins College is in Elkins, West Virginia, and is one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Really, it is. 

As a little kid, this was my playground. Not a bad place to grow up.

And now, along with being a college, this is the home for the Augusta Heritage Workshops. Augusta teaches all sorts of things, but primarily is known for Appalachian music. This is not a style that I usually talk about. But, that doesn't mean that I can't appreciate the artistry. 

This video has one of the instructors for the upcoming Spring Music Week on hammered dulcimer. She's on the far left. Hammered dulcimer is a fascinating instrument. It's a very old instrument, dating from before the middle ages. A direct descendant is the modern piano.

So, if Appalachian, folk, blue-grass, or ancient music happens to fascinate you, check out the workshops. Augusta Heritage is worth the air fare. I would go if I could.

Flower Duet

I am trying new pain medications this week. Because of this, I can move! I just don't want to. I'm tending to lose the track of what I'm saying mid-sentence, sometimes mid-word! So, I'm not going to write much this week. I will give you a lovely spring song. (Wikipedia provided most of the following synopsis.)

Lakmé is an opera in three acts by Léo Delibes  which is set in British India in the mid-19th century. The opera includes the popular Flower Duet (Sous le dôme épais) for sopranos performed in act 1 by Lakmé, the daughter of a Brahmin priest, and her servant Mallika.

Lakmé (which derives from the Sanskrit Lakshmi, meaning to percieve or observe) (Lakshmi is also the Hindu goddess of wealth and purity)  and Mallika go down to the river to gather flowers where they sing the Flower Duet. As they approach the water at the river bank, Lakmé removes her jewellery and places it on a bench. A party of British officers, Frederic and Gérald, arrive nearby while on a picnic with two British girls and their governess. The British girls see the jewellery and request sketches: Gérald volunteers to stay and make sketches of the jewellery. He sees Lakmé and Mallika returning and hides. Mallika leaves Lakmé for a while; while alone Lakmé sees Gérald and, frightened by the foreigner's incursion, cries out for help. However, simultaneously, she is intrigued and so she sends away those who had responded to her call for help when they come to her rescue. Lakmé and Gérald begin to fall in love with each other. Nilakantha returns and learns of the British officer's trespassing and vows revenge on him for his affront to Lakmé's honour.

This being an opera, things do not go well for our lovers. There is humiliation, stabbing, betrayal and death. But, early on, we are given this glorious duet. At various times, I have sung both parts, and must admit that both are fun to sing. 

If you are interested; here are the words and a translation. This being opera the words are repeated. A lot. Sous le dôme épais Où le blanc jasmin À la rose s’assemble Sur la rive en fleurs, Riant au matin Viens, descendons ensemble.

Doucement glissons de son flot charmant Suivons le courant fuyant Dans l’onde frémissante D’une main nonchalante Viens, gagnons le bord, Où la source dort et L’oiseau, l’oiseau chante.

English Translation

Under the thick dome where the white jasmine With the roses entwined together On the river bank covered with flowers laughing in the morning Let us descend together!

Gently floating on its charming risings, On the river’s current On the shining waves, One hand reaches, Reaches for the bank, Where the spring sleeps, And the bird, the bird sings.

Have a good week!

Recitals

Yesterday was my music studio's Spring Recital. I've got roughly 20 students right now, ranging in age from 7 to mid-50s. We had a fun afternoon, I think. I'm very proud of them all. 

I remember my first piano recital. I was either 5 or 6, and had been studying for most of the school year. My piano teacher lived down the street, and taught out of her basement. I played If I Could Talk to the Animals which had been in "Dr. Dolittle" at the end of the year recital. It was actually rather advanced for a child that young, and I remember lots of tears mixed into the rehearsal process. To make it worse, it had to be memorized! I was terrified that I would forget something. The recital, in May at the end of the school year, was in her church's fellowship hall. I remember my mother making cupcakes for the reception afterward, so I guess it was a kind of pot-luck affair. There were no lessons after that until the next fall, by which time, we'd moved.

In the new town, I studied with the wife of a professor at the college where Dad taught. She taught out of her living room, on a wonderful grand piano. She had a huge braided rug in the room, (I'd never seen one before!) and a huge Persian cat who liked to sleep on the rug. I loved her and her cat. I remember playing at her recital, but I don't remember where it was or what I played, except that I played a solo and a duet with another student. That was out of a book that I still have and was called Hot Potato. (I still think it's fun.)

Then the crazy pianist came to town, and convinced all the other teachers to retire. Her end-of-year recitals were a big deal. They were held in the main hall of Halliehurst Hall on the college campus. 

Halliehurst Hall, Davis & Elkins College

There was always a rehearsal the day before the recital, followed by a rehearsal dinner at the most expensive restaurant in the area. (And this for 30-40 kids!) Then the recital itself was always followed by a reception that she had had catered. 

You were given your recital piece just before Christmas. Months were spent on that song. First you had to learn all the notes, and the dynamics that were on the music. (Dynamics tell you how loudly or softly to play sections, where to speed up, where to slow down. That type of thing.) Once you got that down, then she would tell you what your interpretation was supposed to be. 

Now, by the time I was 12, I had 7 years of piano under my belt. And while I knew that there were years of lessons to come, I had worked my way up to being the 3rd from the last to perform at the recital the year before. (There was a strict heirarchy - you played in the order of your ability, so if you were the last one, you were the best.) So, when she started to tell me what my interpretation was going to be, I balked. If it was MY interpretation, shouldn't I have some say in the matter? The answer to that was NO. So, I played it her way in her living room. At home, I had to practice even more to work on my way of doing the song, along with hers. I played it the way she'd insisted at the rehearsal, but; and I'm still a little surprised at my own bravery, but when my turn came at the performance, I played Capricietto the way I wanted to. Turns out that was my last recital with her. 

We came to a parting of the ways the following year when she found out that piano was my second instrument, after voice. And she'd wanted me to practice for 6 hours every single day. And I had her for glee club every school day, plus an afternoon for my piano lesson. And I'd finally had enough of her brand of crazy.

Even though I've studied piano almost continually since then, that was my last piano recital. Or at least the last one that I played in. Because the recital saga continued with the next generation. Years later, my children took piano for a while.

Of theirs, the recital that was the most memorable was also the worst: 4 1/2 hours of kids and a few adults playing bad to mediocre piano solos. Yes, 4 1/2 hours! Besides my daughter, who was, of course, brilliant and had her song flawlessly memorized, I only remember one other performer. Poor thing, she was a beginning adult student. She walked up to the piano and began her song. You could see her hands shaking from the 3rd row. She played a few measures, and stopped. Blushing horribly, she started over, got to the same place, and stopped. She tried a third time, and then burst into tears and fled. Most of that could have been solved if she'd only been allowed to have the music with her. 

Anyway, I thought it was rude to stay for your child and then leave, so I insisted that we stay til the end. I had no idea it would be THAT long. But, we toughed it out. After all, I kept telling the kids, there's sure to be food afterward, you don't want to miss that. Food? One veggie tray that the teacher had picked up at the grocery. I would happily have brought something if I'd known. I think that she only had that, because she didn't expect anyone to stay though til the end.

So, when the time came to think about how I wanted to run recitals, I had a fair bit of experience in the field. (Yes, I know I'm primarily a voice teacher, but a recital is a recital, regardless of the instrument.) When compared to the usual round, I have made quite a few changes. I don't do the one big recital at the end of the year. I do one roughly every quarter. I want my students to have as much performance experience as I can give them. We talk a lot about how to perform, how to present yourself. And they perform for each other even more often than the recitals, with Master Class.

I don't insist on memorization. There are places where it is essential, and I will happily help prepare for that, but the recitals are not it. I can't afford to cater the reception, and I want more than a single veggie tray, so I ask people to bring munchies. My living room can't hold everyone, so I turn the recital into an open house, with people coming and going. Rather than have programs, I look around, see who is there, and call someone up to perform. We keep it relaxed, and have a fun party. So far, people seem to like it. Does this solve all the problems inherent in the recital process? Nope. But, it's the best I can think of at the moment.

Over the Rainbow

Last week I found myself talking with a friend, another opera singer, about my experience with the teacher who'd told me that I had no talent. She'd had a similar conversation with a voice teacher in college. Her teacher had been a little more polite, but the message had been the same. This led to a discussion on how she felt the college vocal program had let her down. 

Besides the obvious problem of not liking her voice, how had she been disappointed? In quite a few ways, actually. And I had some similar complaints from my days in college. When you are a voice major, there are certain requirements

Not long ago, I posted an article that listed the 10 most demanding college majors. They, the National Survey of Student Engagement, looked at:

• Average Weekly Hours of Study/Class Prep Time - the time that students spent studying out of class each week
• Number of Hours Faculty Expects You to Study - the amount of time that faculty told researchers that students needed to study to be fully prepared
• Percentage of Seniors that Spent 20+ Hours Studying for Class - "preparing" equals study
• Number of Hours Working for Pay - jobs to help pay for tuition

The 4th most demanding major was Arts and Humanities. Music falls under that umbrella. 

• Average Weekly Hours of Study/Class Prep Time - 17 hours
• Number of Hours Faculty Expects You to Study - 18 hours
• Percentage of Seniors that Spent 20+ Hours Studying for Class - 31%
• Number of Hours Working for Pay - 12

When I was a voice major, I had to sing in the concert choir. It was required of all voice majors, plus, my scholarship depended on that choir. The class counted for 1 credit hour. It met Monday through Friday for an hour. We were required to go on a two week tour during spring break, along with singing in many, many concerts throughout the year.  After the initial run-though on a song, we were expected to work on notes and timing on our own time. Rehearsals were for fine-tuning and learning the director's interpretation. All that for one measley credit.

I took voice for 3 credit hours. You got one, maybe two hours of time with the instructor each week, but were expected to spend at least an hour each and every single day working on your own. The main difference between the 1, 2 and 3 credit hours that you could take voice for was in the number of songs you were expected to memorize each semester and the number of times you were to perform in various venues.

We were also expected to be in each semester's "opera" workshop. Their idea of opera doesn't quite jibe with mine. They considered The Sound of Music to be an opera. Rehearsals were 3-4 hours, 6 evenings a week. The opera workshop gave you 1 credit hour. 

It takes 12 credit hours to be counted as a full-time student. Most music classes were only for 1 or 2 credits. And there were a bunch of them: Music Theory 1&2, Ear Training, Sight-singing, Vocal Pedagogy (learning how to teach voice), Directing, Diction for Singers 1&2, Improvization, the list goes on and on.  Foreign languages were a must. And we mustn't forget the rest of the college requirements: Math, English, Science and the like. Many music majors find themselves taking 18+ credit hours, or taking 5 years to get their degrees.

And for many, when they leave, they find that they really haven't learned what they needed. 

The program in most colleges centers around the various choirs. There are the basic concert choirs, jazz choirs, madrigal choirs, a cappella choirs, show choirs. . . I think you get the idea. These are great for bringing money into the college, almost like the sports teams. And, like the sports, they focus on team playing. Yes, there are a couple of star players, but overall, the goal is to play as a team. A choir must have a homogenous sound, with no voice standing out. With that goal in mind, most of the vocal instructors work toward that sound. And so, most singers come out with a "collegiate" sound, a voice just like every other singer that's out there. This sound is all about blending in and control. If the singer has hopes of a career in singing, this is not necessarily good. They are not encouraged to do anything that would help them stand out in an audition. 

And if the singer has a voice that doesn't easily fit into the cookie cutter standard, then they are discourged from pursuing this major. 

But there are other issues, too. At no point are the students taught how to audition. And by this, I mean how to how to present themselves as a hireable commodity. What to wear, what to say, or how to construct a good resume.

There is one skill that very few college voice teachers cover. I was very lucky in my second college voice teacher. Herr Weinsinger began to cover the art of singing. Not just the nuts and bolts, the technique, but the art: how to interpret a song, how to understand the period of a given piece, and then, how to make it your own.

Let me give you a f'r instance - Somewhere Over the Rainbow. To start with, here's Judy Garland.

She sticks pretty close to the printed music, although there are a few notes held out a touch longer than written. There's a little bit of sliding, and a couple of grace notes, all perfectly allowable in the era. Lovely, lovely voice; simple and elegant interpretation.

Now, if we want to leave simple far, far behind listen to Patti LaBelle.

And now for something completely different: Iz Kamakawiwo'ole

Three very different versions of the same song. There are hundreds of others: Eric Clapton, Frank Sinatra, Eva Cassidy, Josh Groban, Katharine McPhee, Glee, Martina McBride, or Celtic Woman, to name only a few. 

What's my point? I try to teach my students how to make a song their own. Some of this I learned with Herr Weinsinger, but most of this I gleaned from Mike Rhodes, my teacher in Germany. I learned today that he passed away last Sunday. This is a very small part of what he taught me.

The first step is to learn the music as written. Words, notes and timing. Many never make it past this step, but, once that's done, the fun (and the real work) starts. 

You need to take the time to sit, with the music in hand, and listen to every recording you can find. Thanks to YouTube, you can now find possibly hundreds of different performers doing any song you can think of. Listen to as many as you can stand, and then listen some more. Make notes, (always in pencil!) in your music of what you like. Then every few performers, stop and sing through the song, incorporating what you thought you liked. Sometimes once is enough to decide if it's right for your voice or not. Sometimes it may take a few tries to decide. 

As you play with the song, you will probably find that your understanding of the song changes. That's exactly what we want! My goal is to make your interpretation of the song unique. I don't even have to like it! The important thing to me is that my student, the singer, likes it, and feels that a part of herself is in the song. 

This is hard work. But fun work. And scary work. You can find that the song is suddenly telling far more about you than you'd originally intended. That's when it becomes art.

Is every song worth all this work? I don't know. I would say, probably not, but just because I think a song isn't worth this much effort, doesn't mean that you need to agree with me. That's part of the beauty of any art form: different tastes. 

Why did I pick this song? One of my students has been working on it. She'll be singing it at my studio's Spring Recital next weekend. She has taken a lot of time to listen, and practice, and think about what the song means to her. She's known it since she was little, as many of us have. But, as she's gotten older, it has come to mean different things. All of those things are right there in her voice. 

Each one of us is unique. Each one of us brings a different outlook to our song. That is beautiful.

You Can't Win Them All

This past month has been a busy audition season for my studio. I've written about it before, griping about what is going on in music today. Specifically what is going wrong with music in our schools. But, the auditions still happened, and some of my kids (all of my students are my kids, even the ones who are older than I am) got what they'd gone out for, and some didn't.

That combined with the upcoming anniversary of my birth, has made me feel a bit nostalgic. Again. 

1970 was a banner year for me. I saw my first opera. La Boheme. (Le Sigh.) It was magnificent. I came home and convinced my mother to help me learn Muzetta's Waltz. At 9. It must have been horrible. (I know that Mom's Italian was bad. Mine could only have been worse.)

That year also saw my first leading role. One day the morning announcements at school held an item of interest to a budding young opera singer: there would soon be auditions for Hansel and Gretel, an operetta to be put on by grades 3-6. I bubbled about that all morning. When I went home for lunch, I exploded all over the car. (Think Mentos and Diet Coke.) By the time we got home, my mother had reassured me that she had a song from the opera for me to use for the audition. I wolfed down my lunch so that we would have time to work on it before I went back to school. After all, they hadn't said when the audition would be.

Days passed. Weeks passed. No mention of the audition came on the loudspeaker. The music, carefully stored in my desk, was getting a little frayed. Finally, one morning, came utter devastation. An announcement about the upcoming auditions, to be the very next day! For grades 5 and 6. I was in grade 3. How I made it through the rest of the morning, I do not know. I may have cried through several classes. My teachers would have ignored that. ( I was something of a dramatic child.) I sobbed all through lunch. It is quite possible that my mother kept me home the rest of the day. I don't remember. What I do remember is her calling the principal. Poor Mrs. Constable. After all these years I still remember her name. She knew my parents quite well. Mom yelled at her a lot. Dad got things done much more quietly. 

Anyway, the next day, I got my audition. One of only two children whose parents' had raised a stink about the grade shift, I was very nervous. This was before not the usual grade-school music teacher, but the high school chorus director, a woman of far higher standing in my young mind. But, I had been well-rehearsed, and sang Evening Prayer from Engelbert Humperdinck's opera the best that I knew how. I met Mom at the car floating about 20 feet off the ground. I had been granted a place in the Angel Chorus! This was heady stuff! 

That night, we got the momentous phone call. Mrs. Whatsername (Why can I remember the principal's name but not the music teacher's?) had heard all the young aspirant's auditions, and had been forced to rethink her initial casting. I would not be in the Angel Chorus. I was going to be Gretel! My career was on it's way! And ~ she wanted me to stay through lunch the next day to sing Evening Prayer for Hansel and the Angel Chorus, to show them what it was supposed to sound like. Think about this for a moment: a 3rd grader is not only cast in a leading role, over 5th and 6th graders, but is now going to be showing them how to sing one of the songs. Really, the only kids who liked me were Papa, Hansel and the Witch. Most would not give me the time of day. And Mama actively hated me. Kind of fitting for the part, I guess. I wonder if she had wanted Gretel. 

Anyway, after a lot of drama and tears, the show had its run. We played on a real stage, with actual theater lights, and everything. Students from the college came to do our makeup, and run tech. The high school chemistry teacher made a smoke pot so that when we shoved the witch into the oven, smoke billowed out. I received rave reviews. I was a star.

And the day following our close, life returned to normal. I was crushed. How could people not continue to see how special I was? I must have been amazingly annoying.

The other thing that happened that year was that my older brother started college. Being a member of our family, of course he sang in the college choir. And, of course, he'd auditioned for the special, cool, choir. And he got in. Of course. I remember the first concert, about Christmas time. The first half was the concert choir. Ho-hum. Boring. I was waiting for the second half. The Madrigal Choir. Once I got over the giggles at seeing Hal in a tunic and tights, I was enthralled. The velvet gowns, the harmonies, the songs! It was beautiful. I knew that I had to sing in that choir when I was a student there. If you're not familiar with madrigal singing, and even if you are, check this out!

Years passed. I continued to get just about every choir or role that I went out for. By the time I was 17, I was a college freshman getting ready to audition for the college madrigal choir. I had been devastated to learn that the choir director just that summer had done away with the coveted madrigals. Now, in its place was a jazz choir. Dissappointed, I still confidently went out to audition. Having seldom, if ever, been turned away from any audition part-less, I was reasonably sure I would get something. But there was another difficulty: the madrigal choir had consisted of 12 singers. The new jazz choir would only be 8 voices. The existing choir would have first crack at being in the new group. Damn. Still, I knew that I was destined to be in this choir. 

The audition went well. I knew the director; had been the primary baby-sitter for his four children for years, piece of cake. He called me later with the news. I was in the jazz choir - sort of. There were no open soprano positions. But ~ he was starting a system of alternates, another quartet. We were understudies for the other parts. We would learn all the music and the choreography, and when someone was unable to perform, or left the choir, we would be ready to step in. This was the best that I could have hoped for under the circumstances, and I was pleased. 

The year went on. The other alternates slid into their appointed slots. I was left. Alone. And I was beginning to notice problems. The director, also my voice teacher, wasn't doing my voice any favors. I'd come into the year with a range of about 2 1/2 octaves. (That's not bad.) By spring, I barely could sing a full octave. (That's very bad.) He had tried to convince me that I wasn't really a soprano. He felt that my speaking voice was too low: I was really an alto. Even though I had no notes in the expected range for an alto. And then, he began missing my voice lessons. I'd go to his office at the correct time and the office would be locked. I'd knock. Nothing. I'd sit and wait and wait, and finally, after my lesson was up, leave a note saying that I'd been there, and asking where he'd been. This happened not once, not twice, but many times.

The spring semester was winding to a close, and he called me to his office. I went, expecting for him to apologize for all the lessons he'd missed. I was wrong. Oh, boy, was I wrong. He wanted to tell me that he was doing away with the alternates idea. And even though both of the sopranos were graduating, I would not be moving into either slot. He'd been discussing me with some of the other students (!), and the consensus was that I had no talent and should get out of music. I was 18. After the tears, I swore that he would not destroy my dream: I would be an opera singer! He would be made to eat his words. 

It wasn't easy undoing the damage that he'd done to my voice. I was years working my range back to where it had been, and then improving it. All of this has made me a better voice teacher. I think that even through the worse years, if you knew what to listen for, you could possibly have heard something in my voice worth the time and energy to draw out. It was only a few years later that I was offered a full voice scholarship to another college. I am very grateful to Herr Weinsinger, who heard that something in my voice. I owe him a debt of gratitude that I try to repay with my own students.

When I watched some of the first-round auditions for American Idol, (I put myself through this torture for the posting on auditions) and heard how the judges laughed at contestants who didn't measure up, I cried inside. I know how those people felt. How dare they laugh at a person's dream. You never know who will turn around and make it. When I got the good news about my scholarship all those years ago, I sent Dick (his real name!) a letter telling him what an idiot he'd been to say those things to me. I had proof now that I did have talent. He never got the letter. He'd been fired that spring. Karma can be a bitch sometimes.

Have I gotten every role that I've auditioned for since then? No. Have I become a lot more humble and more grateful for what I've got? Yes. Would I change anything? Probably. Would I like to go back and do it again? Are you kidding? No way! 

Each audition is a chance to show the adjutants and yourself what you are capable of doing. Whether they take you or not is merely a sign that you are not what they are looking for at this moment. They may take you the next time you appear before them. Or, they may call you out of the blue, and offer you a job. (It's happened, more than once!) All you can do is put yourself on the line and do the best that you can do. UItimately, you are the only judge that matters.

Duckies

I have pain issues. This weekend, my hands and wrists are being a  problem. It's very hard to type without using your hands or wrists. So, this week, I'm going to give you two songs that makes me smile.

 Enjoy and smile!

You Raise Me Up?

A few years ago my mother gave me the sheetmusic for a song that I "had to learn." I played through it and sang it for her, and she was thrilled. I wasn't impressed. I'd never heard of it before, (it appears that I live in a sound-proof bubble) and I just didn't think it was that amazing. Some of the problem may have been a certain tendency on my part to not like it simply because of the provenence. So, I put it up. 

Then I had a student who wanted to sing the song. I pulled it out, and looked at it anew. And still didn't like it. I've called this piece a hook in search of a song. But, I had a difficult time expressing just what it was that I didn't like.

And now I'm taking a music writing course. After only one class, I'm better able to articulate what I dislike about You Raise Me Up. Yes, I know that Josh Groban brought you to tears on the last chorus. I know that it's a standard now in many, many churches. That doesn't change what I dislike about it. 

Mr Groban has a lovely instrument, possessed of both power and subtlety. But, that's not what makes this song so popular. Borrowing heavily from Londonderry Aire (otherwise known as O Danny Boy), the beginning of the chorus is already in our heads. We may not consciously recognize it, but there is a feeling of familiarity, of comfort, right off the bat.

The music was written by Rolf Løvland, and was originally an instrumental piece for his band, Secret Garden. Then he asked Brendan Graham to write lyrics for the song. The result is a verse and a chorus. That's it. One verse and one chorus. I have the sheet music in front of me: it is six pages long. One verse and one chorus taking up six whole pages. How is this possible? Well, let's see. 

The first page is instrumental, and is our introduction to the melody line. I started to say the melody line for the chorus, but that's also the melody line for the verse. There's only one tune going on here. Over and over.

Then we get the verse. It's pretty short, taking up only three lines. This is performed very softly and simply. Instrumentation is minimal, just a piano playing very simple chords.

Comes the first rendition of the chorus. "You raise me up," on the word "up" the strings come in, bringing the energy of the song up a step. You have now heard the entire song. There is absolutely nothing new from here on out. I promise. Nothing. We are in the middle of page three. Did I mention that there are six pages?

Then we get a brief instrumental interlude. I'd like to call it a bridge, but a bridge is supposed to take you somewhere: in this case, from one section of a song to another. Or allow us to come to the chorus from a different perspective. This is just a repeat of the short melody with slightly different instrumentation. Oh, yes, and in a new key, literally raising us up a whole step. Then we go into the chorus, in the new key. 

Now, one of the things I've learned in this song writing class is that the first verse should be relatively low as far as energy goes, so that the song has space to grow. The first time through the chorus should be bigger, fuller, more energy. The second verse pulls back, but should still have more than the first verse so that the next chorus can be much fuller, more instruments, more backup singers, more energy.  Now, let's see if the next chorus blossoms forth with more instruments, more voices, more everything.

Yup, there it is. And another new key, this time, we've been raised up a half-step. Ooo, there's now a full chorus behind him. We've also gained percussion. Ane the literal high-note of the song, in this key, a B, just below the legendary high-C.

The chorus repeats - AGAIN - in the same key, with a few variations, and then pulls back to hint at the intimate nature of the song, to end softly and simply.

Wow. There is nothing to this song. And it was a huge hit. Why? Well, it is a catchy tune, what there is of it. And it does have, as I said a feeling of familarity. And I will add that the Celtic Woman version has a second verse. Theirs being live and outdoors, not only adds choirs, but fireworks at the climax of the song. I feel manipulated. This is a perfect example of how a song is performed being more important than the song itself. Yes, I think those performances are powerful. I get goosebumps when it raises me up with it. But, it's all a sham. 

When the song is good, I don't care that I'm being manipulated by the performance. The production values then just become a part of the whole, not something that is masking the lack of content.

Alicia Keyes' Girl on Fire is another case in point. I'm not going to go over it point by point, but see if you can hear the similarities to You Raise Me Up. Although, just to mention it, Girl on Fire at least has a bridge. But the song actually goes nowhere. I'm not on fire over it.

In this next song, though, they do it right. The buildup is the same, but I don't feel manipulated. There is no bridge, but they do bring us to the chorus from a different perspective simply by bringing in the song's composer and first singer. Oh yes, and by singing in English, up until now, the song has been sung in Italian, not the original language for Nights in White Satin.

All in all, I'm feeling pretty good about this song writing course. Who knows what I'll learn in the coming weeks?

Do It In Your Sleeve

There's an old Beatles' song called Why Don't We Do It In The Road. This is an interesting slant on that basic premise. 

As a private music instructor I get coughed and sneezed on with alarming regularity. Many times, I have had to take time out of lessons (time that the parents are paying good money for!) to instruct a child on the proper way to cough or sneeze. 

Sadly, it's not always the kids who are doing this. I was at a music conference, sitting and  waiting for a church choral reading session. There were some people standing behind me who were chatting and coughing all over my back and hair. I tried ducking, flinching, scooting my chair, and finally, (I'd been there before they came to stand behind me.) I turned and asked them to please take their coughing somewhere else. I got called a bitch and several other negative words, but, after a pointed cough in my face, they moved. (I wish I was making that up, or exaggerating, but I'm not.) And, guess what? I came home with a bad cold that turned very quickly into bronchitis.

You see, I am one of those people who are prone to upper respiratory infections. A cold, sometimes even allergies, quickly becomes bronchitis. Every year, I faithfully get whatever flu shots are available, as well as the pneumonia shot. (I know we're getting clear of flu season, but allergy season is almost here. It's just as bad.)

And I'm not the only one. Let's join the campaign to teach the proper way to cough or sneeze. It's not hard. And it may save someone you love from a nasty bout of pneumonia.

Please, practice safe coughing. Thank you.

Still My Guitar Gently Weeps

Today's post began life as a look at love songs. But, as I write, it has changed. Today, my older brother, Hal, would have been 61. I still miss him. He was 9 when I was born, and was instrumental in shaping my musical tastes. Dad liked Elvis, Hank Williams, The Beatles, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and opera. (An odd mix, that.) Mom liked Broadway musicals, opera and John Davidson. Hal saw to it that I was exposed to a wider variety of styles. A teenager in the late '60s, of course he played guitar and was in several bands. I remember sitting on the floor while he practiced his guitar. It was probably 1966, (I was 5, he was 14) and he started slowly playing a new, for him, riff. I was entranced. I had to have a guitar and learn how to play that gorgeous piece. I didn't know at the time that he was practicing the song at a much slower tempo than it should be taken. 

Not long after, I was having a huge fight with my mother about the state of my room: I thought that since all of my toys were out of sight that was clean enough; my mother unreasonably felt that under my bed was not the proper place to store toys. Hal got tired of listening to me sobbing, and came into my room with a deal. If I could clean up my room, with the toys where they actually belonged, by dinnertime, then he would give me his old guitar, a 3/4 size instrument. Not a complete idiot, I jumped on this, and quickly cleaned my room like it had never been done before. By that evening, I was the proud owner of my first guitar, and insisted that Hal teach me to play that song. 

I quickly discovered that proficiency was a long way off. But, I stuck with it and eventually learned how to play my beloved song. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there were lyrics to go with that wonderful riff. And, it was supposed to go a good bit faster than I'd thought.

I was introduced to the pre-fab four - the Monkees; Hal and I used to watch their show together. I thought that was so cool. With our age difference, there wasn't a lot that we did together.

Even as a kid, I noticed things on this video. I noticed that there was no way that what Mike was playing on the guitar could be what we were hearing. And how well could he be playing with that tie constantly flapping into the strings? I began to understand what lip-syncing was.

Hal was constantly in one band or another. At one point, there was a drum kit in the family room. But I was not allowed to touch it, seeing as how it belonged to one of his friends. They weren't allowed to practice at the friend's house, so the drums came to ours. 

The acoustic guitars began to give way to the electrics. His first amp was about one foot squared, but they grew. I learned that amplifiers were different from speakers. He topped out with a 6-foot concert speaker in his bedroom. (Fortunately, it was a very large room.) Even then he could only play it while our neighbors were at work or school. 

We had a wicker swag lamp hanging over the dining table instead of a chandelier. It looked a lot like this one to the right (I guess it went with the Dutch modern style that Mom preferred). When Hal would practice, I'd see the lamp swaying to the beat: I thought that was kind of cool; I don't think Mom agreed. Then Hal took up the bass: That not only made the lamp sway, it cracked the plaster in the dining room. I think Hal's room was directly over that part of the house.

Then came Woodstock. My favorite from that album set was Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit. I'd always like Grace Slick, anyway. 

But, for Hal, Woodstock was all about Jimi Hendrix. Hal worked on that version of the Star-Spangled Banner over and over and over. The swag lamp in the dining room went nuts on that one.

Such concepts as wah, fuzz and feedback were added to the more classical music terms my piano teacher gave me.

Gradually, I began to find my own tastes. This led to my one and only foray into the world of teenyboppers: Bobby Sherman. 

Hal was horrified and ashamed of his little sister for this. He took it as his personal mission to teach me the error of my ways. (Watching this video can still make me smile.) I was 9 when this came out, so I think I can be forgiven for any lapse in judgment. But, Hal, 18 at that point, was determined. He would take me to his room, an otherwise forbidden zone, and play music for me, trying to get me admit that something, anything, was better than Bobby. Crosby, Stills, Nash and occasionally Young, were played for me. I liked them, thought they were really good, but not better. Led Zeppelin - good, but not better. Alice Cooper (Mom would have had a fit!) - fun, but not better.

Part of it was sheer perversity on my part. I knew he was annoyed by my love of Bobby Sherman's music, so I stuck to it.

Then, finally, he played Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. I was entranced. This was amazing. It opened a world of music to me. This was art. Plus, it was just three people! Guitar, keyboards and drums. I could play piano and guitar. Perhaps something like this was possible! (Yeah, in my dreams!) 

My vocabulary expanded to include such words as Moog and synthesizer. 

We lived in a small college town, where Dad taught. I grew up on that campus. Dad's office was just at the end of our street. Hal was a student there. I thought I was grown up and cool. I also knew that I was going to be an opera singer. I'm sure that was a new brand of irritation to a teenager. I began to practice (in excerable Italian) arias that no 9-year old should be singing. Hal, who had practiced so loudly that it annoyed the neighbors, would leave the house when I sang in order to avoid listening. He said that I "sucked."

Not long after, he graduated and got married. But he still managed to influence my musical tastes by introducing me to Elton John, Heart, and Jethro Tull among many others. I'm sure that my love for ABBA, the Carpenters, and Barry Manilow would have been considered blots on my escutcheon. 

Years went by, as they tend to do. We discovered that we both had all of Weird Al's CDs. Hal was shocked that we were both fans. I wasn't: Hal had been important in guiding my formative years. When my kids were surprised to find out the the Billy Idol CD was mine and not their dad's, I knew that was a part of the musical heritage that Hal helped to extablish. 

I played the guitar that Hal gave me until I was 11. He helped to select the guitar that I got for that birthday. We all went to Clarksburg (the closest music store was abut 45 minutes away), and Hal led me to the ones that he thought I was ready for. The clerk came over, and began to talk to him. Hal told him that the guitar was going to be for me. The clerk then became condescending, and started to show me how to hold the instrument. I confidently took it and began to play House of the Rising Sun. I still play that guitar. I have Dad's guitar now, and one of Hal's. 

This is my favorite Beatles' song. George Harrison was a fantastic guitarist, but on the While Album version, the lead guitar was played by Eric Clapton. In keeping with everyone else, Hal thought that Clapton was the guitar god. This version, from 1987, has Harrison, Clapton, Ringo Starr and Phil Collins on drums, and Elton John on piano. All rock stars that Hal introduced to me. It seems a fitting tribute.