Why I Sing - Page 43 of 53 - Mezzoid Voice Studio, LLC™

Vulnerability and pretending not to care

From the twitter feed of Xstrology (online astrologer):

Gemini will pretend that they don’t care at the times they are most vulnerable.

I’m a Gemini. I’m the quintessential Gemini – I talk a lot, I’m constantly doing 6 million and 12 things at once, I love change, I’m versatile – and on the downside, I find it difficult to stick to one thing at a time, I’m often indecisive, and sometimes I give the impression of being somewhat shallow.

And I often – too often – pretend that I don’t care at the times I am most vulnerable.

In my personal life, this can result in my making jokes at inopportune times – I recall going to an emergency room for unexplained abdominal pain and making stupid jokes so that I wouldn’t show that I was terrified. Consequently, the doctor didn’t take me very seriously and thought I was wasting her time.

When my feelings are hurt or if I’m angry or frustrated, it’s very easy for me to cry. But if I cry, then people might be uncomfortable or think I’m overreacting – so I make jokes or laugh. My husband says that he can always tell when I’m about to cry, because I start smiling really broadly. My speech becomes choppy and my movements a bit more abrupt.

And if I’m in a relationship that is coming to an end – whether it be romantic or a friendship – my defense is to become flippant, to become somewhat distant, and sometimes, I’m afraid, to be a little mean. As though I were saying, “Yeah, well, you didn’t mean anything to me either, so go already. I won’t miss you.”

And in performing, specifically auditioning – for, after all, this blog is supposed to be about singing – I have found that I have occasionally done the same thing, especially with companies for whom I’ve auditioned in the past but who have not hired me, for whatever misguided reason. I don’t get mean, per se, but I give off the attitude of, “Whatever. I don’t really care. It’s not like you’re going to hire me anyway.”

Consequently, my audition is unengaged and unengaging. And just like driving away someone I cared about because I was afraid of being rejected and thereby bringing the relationship to the end I expected, I fulfill the expectation that, in fact, they’re not going to hire me.

What I need to do – and what all of us, as performers, need to do – is to stop making the audition about myself and about getting the gig. I need to make it about giving a performance that is genuine and authentic. It may or may not get me hired, but I have no control over that. I can control my performance, I can control how I relate to people, I can control my preparation.

As I mentioned in my blogpost on vulnerability and oversharing, vulnerability is “the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it’s also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, [and] of love.” (Dr. Brené Brown)

Yes, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and then not hired (or dumped) can bring about the feelings of shame and fear and unworthiness, but being open to the possibilities and presenting yourself as open and genuine and accepting might just allow you to find that joy, that creativity, possibly belonging, and hopefully love. However you define love.

Which is a whole ‘nother topic altogether.

Vulnerability vs. Oversharing – Part 1

NOTE: This was originally published in July 2013. In reviewing it, it’s ridiculously long, so I’m re-doing it in two parts…

*****

Recently, I’ve been watching videos by psychologist Brené Brown on the topic of vulnerability. She has done extensive research on the advantages and disadvantages of making yourself vulnerable and allowing yourself to be authentic as a person.

What I love that Dr. Brown says about vulnerability is that it is “the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it’s also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, [and] of love.” And also thinking about how people “surrender and walk into it.”

Most of the times when we think about not being vulnerable in a performance, we think of being stiff and unexpressive. But there’s another way that’s even more egregious (in my opinion). And that is oversharing in performance.

I’ve been accused of oversharing – in my Facebook posts, in my personal interactions with people – and sometimes, my accusers are right. I have given out too much information (hereafter TMI), thinking that I had nothing to hide (but in retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have told the world a few things).

And sometimes, I’m just being honest and it’s their problem that they can’t handle my honesty. I hope.

So what’s the difference? When do you cross the line from opening up to others and being vulnerable into oversharing? I’ve been thinking about this as far as how it relates to performing. I strive to be an authentic performer, and to teach my students to find authenticity in their performances.

I think the difference is intent. Vulnerability is a real expression of your feelings, telling a story, telling the truth. It is an attempt to connect with your listener or your viewer and evoke a response that is also genuine. It is not an attempt to impress but to express. It is an attempt to resonate with your listener or viewer.

Oversharing is selfish. It is an attempt to evoke a response – of admiration, of pity, of concern, of outrage. You are putting something out there that is one-sided, not really looking for a dialogue or gaining an understanding, but just spewing it out to the world and damn the consequences. It may be truthful, but it’s not authentic. It is projecting rather than resonating. And as singers, we want to think about resonating, both in terms of tone quality and in terms of our performances.

Perhaps oversharing is the other side of the coin of being afraid to be vulnerable. It’s a way of overcompensating.

In Part 2 of this blog, I’ll give examples of how this applies in performances that I have seen.

Only the names have been changed …

“The story you’re about to watch is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent….”

That line used to open the old TV show, Dragnet. It’s been running through my head lately as I’ve contemplated how to start myself anew in Baltimore, after 17 years (!!!) in Milwaukee.

When I left Milwaukee the first time, I was married to my first husband, and went by the name of Christine Thomas. I loved that name. If I’m honest with myself, marrying Whatshisname Thomas had a lot to do with the fact that I hated my birth name, Christine Bojic. It was a name that was said with a sneer when I was a fat, awkward child and preteen, and was associated with a very painful part of my childhood. I dreamt of being a writer and taking on a pen name, something French sounding like Michelle Monteau. (I also liked alliteration.) There was no question that when I married, I would take my husband’s name – at least as long as it wasn’t worse than “Bojic.” (There are a few names that are – Anthony Weiner, for one.)

I was Christine Thomas for a long time and when we divorced, there was no question of my taking back my birth name. I had 1000 headshots that said, “Christine Thomas, Mezzo-Soprano” across the bottom of them. What was I supposed to do???? Besides, I had already done roles in Milwaukee and Washington as Christine Thomas. That’s how people knew me. And it was a great professional name. It was strong and confident sounding, and not more than a little WASP-y sounding, which for this Estonian/Slovenian First Generation American was extremely appealing.

And besides, a lot of people kept their first husband’s names when they made their careers. Susan Sarandon was married to Chris Sarandon briefly in the 70s. Demi Moore, married to musician Freddy Moore. And since I never intended to remarry, it was okay.

But I did remarry, much to my surprise. And I wasn’t sure if it was okay to keep using my first husband’s name if I was married to someone else. Bill said he didn’t mind, but I didn’t know. Then I ran into my ex-sister-in-law’s best friend, who informed me that Whosis was back living in Wisconsin with his parents. And that he wasn’t doing very well.

At that point, the decision was made for me. If I’d kept his name, he would probably see it as a sign that I wanted him back. And with him in the same metropolitan area? No thank you.

Most of you know that my performing career pretty much dried up in 2004, after doing the second production of A Cudahy Caroler’s Christmas. Those two seasons, playing Wanda Kazlakowski, mark the only stage work I did as Christine O’Meally. I did some concert work, but not a lot. All my major credits were as Christine Thomas. And that is how people know me.

A couple of years after my remarriage, I ran into someone who said, “Chris – you’re still here? I thought you’d moved!” And I always wondered – did my name change work against me? Did people stop seeing Christine Thomas in print and wrote me off as having left the area?

So after talking it over with my husband, I’ve decided to reclaim Christine Thomas as my professional name – as a performer. As a teacher, I’m probably better known as Christine O’Meally, and a lot of people know me by that name because of my membership in NATS, as a Somatic Voicework™ teacher, and as an active contributor to national and international vocal discussion groups. So I’m going to hyphenate for teaching purposes – at least for now – and be Christine Thomas-O’Meally.

This does not mean a change in my marital status. I am still legally Christine O’Meally and will probably stay that way unless I find it causes financial confusion.

I’m really excited about reclaiming the identity that I had during the time that I identified myself as primarily a performing artist. I feel like I’m taking back my power (if not my innocence.)

What’s in a name? Everything.

Christine Thomas

I’m gonna like the way that looks.

I’ve started again….

It’s been awhile since I wrote – since February, in fact. And since then, I’ve put my house on the market, closed my voice studio and moved to Baltimore.

Oh, and I started running again. .

I decided it was time. And weirdly enough, I’m enjoying it much more than the first time through C25K.

Today was W5 D3 – which is a huge deal. W5D2 calls for a 5 minute warm-up walk, followed by 8 minutes of running, 3 minutes of walking, and 8 minutes of running.

W5D3 calls for the same warm-up, but then 20 solid minutes of running.

I was not anticipating being able to do that. I fully expected to walk part of it. But maybe it was the relatively flat path I chose, or the time of day, or determination – but I did it! Not only did I do it, but I finished before I’d made it home, so I wound up walking 2 minutes and then running the last 3.

All before 7:30am. Who the hell am I, anyway?

But it feels different this time. I’m not swearing, for one. I’m not listening to music as I run. I tend to count. To about 100 and then I start over.

Maybe it’s because I’m in better shape (Body by Zumba!), or maybe it’s because I’ve lost 14# (hello, Wheat Belly!), or maybe it’s just that I’m ready for it now.

In any event, I’m looking forward to week 6. Don’t know if I’ll run another 5K any time soon. Don’t know if I want to run in a pack of people or if I need to do a run at all.

Trying to figure out what this all means. There are a lot of changes.

I’ll try to write more on here. 2013 is turning out to beanother Year I Ran – and if 2010 was because of the death of my parents, what is 2013 about?

Finding my Audition Mindset

Today I went to audition for Opera AACC (Anne Arundel Community College). They are doing two shows for which I would be perfect – Carmen (as the title character or as Mercedes – except they weren’t casting that role) and Amahl & the Night Visitors (as Mother).

It went okay. I sang “Seguidilla” from Carmen. I would’ve liked to have sung “All that gold” from Amahl, but I just got my music books delivered on Thursday, didn’t find the music till my nephew Nick unpacked it for me on Sunday, and I just didn’t feel like it was perfect. “Seguidilla” wasn’t perfect – my first run was a little sloppy, for some reason. And I tripped over some French.

But I sang well, and I sang expressively, I think.

The hardest thing for me is getting into the same level of intensity and engagement in my auditioning that I have in my teaching and in my performing. And part of it is armor that I’ve put on over the past few years. It’s the “Well, you’re not going to hire me anyway, so why should I put myself out there for you?” armor that I’ve developed after numerous auditions for Milwaukee companies over the last ten years. Which then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m not giving it my all and therefore, I’m not getting hired. And then I wound up not even auditioning because I didn’t want to give a mediocre audition and not get hired, and I didn’t want to give a terrific audition – and still not get hired.

What I have to remember is that I have no control over getting hired. I only can control the quality of my audition.

In this blog article, the author identifies two specific kinds of mindsets:

1. The worry-induced mindset, which “creates a condition in which the auditioners will actually begin to worry about them.”

and

2. The self-possessed mindset: “The self-possessed mindset is a fiercely independent spirit that creates the metaphorical space for an actor to do their audition the way they want to do it, without needing anything from the auditioner.”

I don’t know if my negative mindset exactly met the definition of #1. I think it was more of a “I don’t care if you like me or not and in fact I know you’re not going to, so I’m not going to do anything to change your mind.” I know I’ve sat through worry-induced mindsets as an adjudicator, and I know I’ve given some worry-inducing auditions when I was a very young singer.

But I need to find the self-possessed mindset and I need to do it now. There is no reason why I cannot give that audition. I am a fiercely independent spirit. I don’t need anything from the auditioner. I don’t need permission.

Chrissie has left the building….

After 15 years, last week I closed the Milwaukee version of my private studio, packed everything up and loaded an incredibly long moving van full of my stuff (as well as one very full Subaru wagon) and moved to Baltimore. That’s where I’m sitting right now, in my Baltimore living room writing this while my husband plays Supertramp on his brand new upright. My furniture isn’t here yet – the movers won’t arrive till next Tuesday or Wednesday, so I’m kind of in limbo.

My new in-house studio space is also empty – not only of furniture, but of students as well. I will need to start marketing myself sometime this summer. I’ve joined Maryland NATS, I might have a job lined up at a local community college, and I’ll be putting out the word at my alma mater, Peabody, that I’ll be ready to go after Labor Day. My summer project will be writing an article about the process of uprooting a successful studio and starting all over for the Journal of Singing (my due date is 10/2013, so keep me honest – ask me how it’s going!).

At this time last year, there was nothing more I wanted than to return to the east coast, to a place where I was appreciated as a performer. I didn’t start teaching until I’d been back in Milwaukee for about a year. Teaching voice was just supposed to be something I did so I didn’t have to work in an office between gigs. I didn’t know I’d be good at it. I didn’t know I would be passionate about it. I didn’t know that I would actually pass up gigs because I’d rather teach. (Not good gigs, mind you – but there was a time when I’d take any gig just to have a gig.)

Now I want to have it all. I want to perform, and I want to teach. This is a good move for me, I know that. But at the same time, I look at the picture of this empty room where so many people made beautiful music – and the room is not all that’s empty. I may fill the empty place in my heart with new students, but the ones I leave behind are the ones who made my heart sing. Not only aloud, but inside.

Thank you all.

Feeling like me

Sometimes people come into your life who make you feel more like yourself than you have for a long time. Maybe they don’t stay around for very long, but long enough for you to remember who you are and what you want for yourself. And what you are no longer willing to accept.

I’ve had six months of being on my own sans husband and dogs. At first, I was terribly lonely and awake much of the night, troubled by the quiet house and my own monkey mind (which is a Buddhist term meaning “unsettled; restless; capricious; whimsical; fanciful; inconstant; confused; indecisive; uncontrollable;” I visualize my mind as possessing a small Capuchin monkey running around and wildly flinging feces). But as time has gone on, I’ve welcomed solitude, probably for the first time ever. And I have to say, I’m more than a little apprehensive of losing it. What is it going to be like to live with someone again?

My students have been my primary focus in the past few months, especially as we worked together on this past Sunday’s studio recital. I’ve gotten to know a few people particularly well, and I’ve found a new level of creative stimulation that I haven’t had as part of my life for a very long time. Ideas coming and going, from myself and others, thoughts on where a scene should go, where a career should go, and where life should go. It’s been exhilarating.

It makes me feel like – me. It’s not a last desperate grasping for youth; it’s a feeling of being vibrant, alive, full of possibilities. Maybe that is a feeling associated with youth, but I don’t believe it’s limited to a particular age group, and I want to hold on to it and keep building on it. It’s the way I felt when I left Baltimore, and it’s the way I feel now as I return.

Who am I? I am a singer. I am a voice teacher. I am damn good at both. I want to do both for as long as I can.

What do I want? I want a thriving studio like I had here in Milwaukee with students who absorb information like a sponge. I want to perform again. I want to have the opportunity to take these programming skills I have developed to another level and maybe do some more directing. I’d love to take the scenes showcase and turn it into a separate entity that has its own set of regularly scheduled rehearsals instead of just one frenetic weekend. (Although we’ve accomplished a lot with one frenetic weekend, if I do say so myself.)

What I’m not willing to accept? Feeling less than vibrant, less than creative, feeling limited. Walking on eggshells. Not being respected. I won’t take that from anyone, not in any situation.

I feel like me again and me is pretty awesome. (Correction: Me am pretty awesome.)

There’s been a change of heart

This morning, I sang for an Easter service for the first time since I left St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in 2008. I’m used to singing at Episcopal and Christian Science churches, where the repertoire tends to be very traditional. And even though I’m not currently subscribing to any particular faith (does our Lady Queen of Brunch count? what about Zumbafarian?), I am a traditionalist in terms of worship music. I love to sing and listen to plainchant, Renaissance motets, Bach Cantatas, Mozart Masses, bombastic late Romantic Anglican anthems, and the like.

So when I was asked to sing at a Unity Church in Elm Grove, and to sing contemporary Christian music, I had second thoughts. And then I was told the fee was $100 and those went out the window.

When I received the music, I groaned. And then I sang it, and I shrieked. As a snobbish liberal elitist and conservatory trained opera singer, singing New Age-y rep like “Was it a morning like this?” and the over-the-top, constantly modulating and mawkish “They could not” set my teeth on edge. And “The Prayer” (sung by Josh Groban and Celine Dion) could not be cheesier and more “popera”-ish.

Two things happened to change my mind.

The first was that I had a rehearsal on Thursday with the keyboard player, bassist and the tenor soloist. The keyboard player was George Busateri, who has been a force in Milwaukee music for decades. The bass player was Duane Stuermer, who has played with Sweetbottom and other well-known bands in the area (and is Genesis guitarist Daryl Stuermer’s brother). The tenor I knew – Stuart Mitchell, with whom I’ve sung several times and who got me the gig in the first place. He’s a great singer and he knows the style so well, despite the fact that he is also an elitist opera singer. 🙂

They were fantastic. The rehearsal was a joy. I had a great time singing bad music. Who’da thunk it?

The second thing happened this morning, in the service itself. I saw how much this music meant to the congregation. It moved them, it touched them, it spoke to them. So I went with it. Even though it’s not my preferred choice of worship expression, I decided to play the role of a contemporary Christian performer and give them what they needed. Their response was so positive that it made me give more. And it wasn’t artificial or contrived. I was truly in the moment, expressing the meaning behind the text. It was a rush. I got a standing ovation after “They could not” (a song described by both Matt Bender and Kelsee York in their lessons as “the worst song I’ve ever heard”). People wept. I’ve never had the experience in a church setting before. At least not to that extent.

I don’t tell this to say, “Look how great I am – I made people cry – I got a standing ovation!” I haven’t changed my mind about contemporary Christian music. I’m not going to go join a praise band (shudder). But it was a huge discovery for me – and one that I think I can take to my future sacred and secular performances.

When you give, you get. And then you give more. And then you get more. And it’s a joy. And that’s why we do what we do. And I hope I get to do more of it!

The Benefits of Exercising Outdoors – NYTimes.com

The Benefits of Exercising Outdoors – NYTimes.com.

During the year I ran, I ran outdoors. That’s one of the reasons I got out of the habit, once winter came. I don’t like running on a treadmill – it feels artificial, like I’m exercising. (I have the same reaction to step aerobics – up tap down tap, up up down down, bla bla bla.) I did it from time to time, but it was easy

But the other reason is that I swear when I run. Because I don’t really enjoy it – I enjoy how I feel afterwards, but running is hard for me. And swearing under my breath while I’m running down the street is one thing – I pass people and maybe they hear me, maybe they don’t (“Did she just say what I think she said?”). But swearing under my breath while I’m running on a treadmill (which I almost typed as a dreadmill – Freudian slip?): people are going to hear me. And they’re going to complain. “That woman has a mouth like a sailor!” And then I’ll be asked to leave.

I’m wondering if I will run again. I’m looking at the snow falling outside and spring just seems so far off.

Maybe 2013 will be the Year I Walk – with the goal of doing either the Susan G. Komen or Avon long distance walks.

Although I think that while running is a more solitary pursuit – and possibly why I was kind of overwhelmed at running in a pack at the Irish Fest 5K – a long distance walk is going to require training partners for it to be something I stick with. And since I have come to the conclusion that I really don’t have any friends in Milwaukee, just acquaintances, it might be something that I can do once I get back to Baltimore (and rebuild my network out there).

It’s not all about the breath…

Breathing is important. There’s no question about that.

But not every vocal issue is resolved by “getting the breath under it,” “singing on the breath,” or “just support more.”

Some things are resonance based, registration based, a question of constriction.

No, you can’t be resonant if your breath support is inconsistent, whether you are breathy or pressed.

And registration can depend on that also.

But maybe your breath support is just fine but your tongue is pulled back. Or you’re nasal. Or your articulation is not as efficient as it could be. Or maybe you’re carrying up too much weight and not allowing your voice to transition as needed.

So it could be alignment. Or articulation. Or registration.

And you’re trying so hard to “support support support” that all the other factors are going out the window.

When I was a very young teacher, that’s all I knew. “Support! That will fix everything.”

Maybe it is support – but maybe you can’t fix it until you fix your alignment, your articulation, your registration issues. Or maybe the key to fixing it is fixing one of those things.

You fix your physical alignment and your breath can flow more easily
You fix your retracted tongue and your vocal folds can respond more effectively to your breath energy
You find a lighter mechanism and your breath doesn’t have to work as hard.

What I’m saying is that there are many roads to the same destination. The destination is efficient and functional singing. How do we get there? We can’t all take the same road. Maybe you need to take the scenic route. Maybe the shortest path between two points, if that works for you.

Jeanie LoVetri says sometimes we have to wait for the bus. Maybe it’s a direct route, maybe non-stop.

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