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.
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