"Just Let Go."

It's only been a few days since I posted, but I've been on a bit of a musician's high since then and thought I would share my soul-stirring insights (HA) with my (small but loyal) group of readers.  Last weekend, I performed a Valentine's Day show with comocabaret (that's all lowercase, people).

www.comocabaret.com

Comocabaret (capitalized ONLY to start the sentence) is an adult performing group for which I auditioned last fall.  The original vision was to present musical theatre vignettes.  I wish I could say I was a part of the original few shows, back before they auditioned for a regular cast.  I wasn't, but I had heard such good things about the group's artistic directors and their vision for the group that I couldn't help but be intrigued.  One of the ensemble's main artistic directors, Adam McCall, had actually been cast as Chip in Putnam County Spelling Bee, for which I directed the vocal music last summer.  Inevitably, we ran with the same crowds, the Columbia musical theatre "underground," if there exists such a thing.  I figured my chances of getting in might be *slightly* tipped in my favor, but I wouldn't dare allow myself to think those thoughts for fear of rejection.  After all, I was just a teacher.

I auditioned with "'Til There Was You."  I was nervous, and it showed.  Those that know me know I've done a moderate amount of research in music performance anxiety.  Until recently, I didn't realize this was a) a real thing and b) a thing that afflicted me.  So to have completed a public performance with anything less than a severe post-audition mental lashing was an accomplishment in and of itself.  But that's another blog entry for a rainy day.

I got in, met and bonded with the cast, and was assigned my first piece, "No One Knows Who I Am" from Jekyll and Hyde.  I learned it (transposed up about 80 keys to the soprano realm), memorized it, and performed it.

It was...eh.

Everyone tells me I'm my own worst critic.  Thanks, Freud.  Like I didn't know that by the fact that I obsessed over the details, which I'll save you all from reading.  Just know that I did, in fact write them all out in this very blog and then subsequently delete them because no one really cares about the mistakes.  A realization in and of itself.  They should have called the song "No One Cares How I Mess Up." But I did realize something pivotal in that first performance:

...worrying about the mistakes was actually keeping me from doing what I really wanted to do...which was present a musical, technically finessed song in the best way possible....

This is where I'm going to get a little D-2 Mighty Ducks (inspirational) on you.  Setting impossible standards (a HUGE factor in the field of MPA / Music Performance Anxiety) results in exactly what you think it would: a seemingly god-awful performance devoid of any musicality and riddled with mistakes and unrealized potential.  It's one thing to have high standards and strive to reach them, and quite another to aim for the impossible.  We're only human, after all.

A month later, I performed the duet "Old Devil Moon" with another cast member.  Logistically, we get one rehearsal with the group's other artistic director and pianist Tony Hernandez.  Then we have one dress rehearsal, which occurs directly before the show itself.  Welcome to the real world.  As I was rehearsing with my scene partner, something that Adam told me really stuck in my mind.  He told me to just control a little less and let go.  This seems trivial, commonsense, even.  But it was the way he said it to me, under his breath and as if he were my own miniature angel-conscious decked in white robes and crowned with a halo, sitting on my shoulder and telling me just to let go.  So much of what I do is about control: vocal control over myself, classroom control over my students, financial control over my life.  It felt liberating to just let go little.

I was 95 percent more satisfied with my duet than I was with my first solo.  If I could have changed anything, I would agreed to Adam's proposed stage kiss.

...Which I did at this last weekend's Valentine's weekend performance! The program was about all kinds of love, and I just so happened to be assigned the gushiest, ooey-gooiest love duet in the history of man: Say it Somehow from "A Light in the Piazza."

I felt more satisfied with this than I have with almost any other performance I've given, except for maybe when I sang Glitter and be Gay at my undergrad senior recital (and lord knows if I could turn back time, I would do a lot of things differently with that piece...like let go...a la Kristin Chenowith). It helped to sing with a patient, understanding scene partner, Trent, inches in front of an equally as wonderful cast.

These developments are monumental...earth-shattering for me, even, because performing has never necessarily come naturally to me.  Many who know me as a person but not a musician might laugh at this.  To them, I sing and even teach people how to sing.  But performing is rough, rough stuff.  I'm in no way capped out, and I know I can still do a lot more technically and vocally, but I do feel like I've improved a lot.  It was community theatre that prompted that, not two conservatory-type college degrees and years of voice lessons.  This tells me a lot about education and the way people learn: you never know how you're going to affect someone or be affected.  I only feel like I can teach young performers because I've experienced some of the limitations and capabilities of the human psyche. You put yourself out there to be judged, and you must, must, MUST take rejection, in all its ugly forms, with a grain of salt.  The teensy bit of self-satisfaction I feel now is something I've developed from years of overly harsh self-criticism, and only recently have I felt even remotely worthy of the music.

And that feels good.

The take-away:

1. I feel more prepared to inspire young generations to a level of (deserved) musical confidence

2. We are always our own worst critics...sometimes this helps us be better, and sometimes this keeps us from being who we really are.

3. ...so just let go.

Book Review: The Savvy Musician....

It's been a busy few weeks.  Since I last wrote, my graduate studies have gained momentum, I performed in two concerts and had three new student requests.  I got asked to direct the music for three upcoming musicals (whether or not this is actually possible is irrelevant; at least my name is out there).  I have spent the last two years turning away new students and, I discovered, have quite possibly been de-moting myself by not keeping my website current.   The last two weeks have been revitalizing for me; moving forward with life decisions is exhilarating.  I have actively been promoting myself and my studio, revising my biography, editing my resume, and fine-tuning that pesky thing that all studio owners should have called a business plan.  I feel like I have a new lens in life, and am growing more confident with my decisions.

I started reading this book that is changing my life.  That sounds cliche, but it's true.  It's called The Savvy Musician: Building a Career, Earning a Living, and Making a Difference by David Cutler.

Click for the amazon listing...

I spent a hundred dollars last month on studio development texts: The PracticeSpot to Promoting Your Teaching Studio, The Independent Piano Teacher's Studio Handbook, The Private Music Instruction Manual: a Guide for the Independent Music Educator, and none other than The Complete Idiot's Guide to Teaching Music On Your Own, which I figured was worth the investment of $0.01 (it is surprisingly thorough...even current teachers can garner some good ideas from this resource).

The Savvy Musician kept popping up on the list of recommended materials, but I was more interested in studio business models and pricing strategies, so I put this on my wishlist and decided to wait until February to buy it.

It showed up on my doorstep and I read the whole thing (all 368 pages) within 24 hours.  Now, most people who know me would gather two things from this: 

     1. Most days, I barely have time to remember to put on pants.  So you can guess what I was wearing when I read this.

     2. Graduate school has taught me to be a critical jerk, for lack of better word.  For me to finish something cover-to-cover and barely come up for air, let alone some type of written content analysis, is just blasphemous.

Every musician should read The Savvy Musician.  Are you a musician? Then go read it.  I'm serious.  I wish I had read it after my undergraduate degree, though I'm not confident I would have had the tools, skills, and motivation to follow through on a lot of ideas the author advocates.  This book is about musicians making their own opportunities, finding their niche, marketing themselves, and also contains some invaluable grant and networking resources.  Besides this, the author proposes a lot of difficult questions that musicians often refuse to face.  Reading this book has forced me to look at my own vision: what do I really want to do as a singer and an educator, and why?  The first obstacle to conquer, not unlike writing any well-crafted essay, research paper, or book, is knowing what will realistically work. In a sense, this means choosing the right balance between making music or paying the bills, creating music or living from commission to commission, and performing music you want to perform or doing it because you have to.

Realistically, there aren't a lot of resources out there like this, at least not any that aren't riddled with dry, "intellectual" research.  It's readable, but not watered down, and has lots of project ideas.  Anyone who "diversifies" in the music world needs to invest 15 bucks to read this, and here's why...

In a nutshell, musicians would be better respected if all of them knew how to not be musicians for a bit.  That is, make rational, left-brained decisions about their art.  That's not to say there aren't some awesome performers out there who know how to make a living because they said "no" to doing unpaid gigs (or even that doing this will guarantee your prosperity), but there are plenty of wonderful artists who never feel successful.  Perhaps that's because they are undercharging for lessons, agreeing to take on too many "free" gigs, or don't know how to aggressively pursue and follow up with auditions, interviews, publishers, venues, etc.  It's that consumer mentality: if something costs more than the competition, it must be better.  After all, you get what you pay for.  Musical services are no different.

My disclaimer: I'm no authority on this subject.  I'm by no means a famous teacher or grammy artist,  but I do have eyes and a brain and I know how to observe, and I see a lot of people who undercut themselves for ridiculous excuses. Why can't musicians have a lucrative, successful career? Because they get stuck thinking they need or have to do one thing in life, and usually that involves a coveted orchestra or opera company gig.  When they don't get that one thing, they give up, and that's why so many wonderful singers and actors end up selling insurance or waiting tables.  A true musician will make their own opportunities, come hell or high water, and that's exactly what this book addresses.

The author includes lots of "blurbs": real-life musicians, composers, performers, and their successes and failures.  Imagine my surprise when I ran across a professor's name from my very own school, Dr. Stephen Freund, and the new music ensemble Alarm Will Sound.  It's a small world.