May 25, 2008
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Shit. I fussed with this and changed enough that I reposted it but forgot about losing your wonderful comments. My hugest apologies, though it’s more my loss. Especially yours, Brenda.
The Recital
The dog is quivering at my feet, and the cat just shot in through the dog door after lightening struck. There are two big skylights in this main room which really amplify the sound of rain, and it’s pounding down hard. Good thing I mowed the neighbor’s strip this afternoon. We share it and they are fussy. I even got the scissors out and edged their side.
I just got back from a concert. My voice teacher held a recital for 12 of her students. Plus, she taught an all-day workshop which she asked me to attend. I was able to come to the morning portion, and I’m so glad I did because it gave me a chance to get to know these people and what they were singing. Half the songs were either in German or Italian and she asked each student to explain why their piece resonated with them.
The thrust of the morning workshop was about opening your heart to your audience, giving them the gift of your song. She had each person practice standing up to tell the audience what their song was about and once they started singing, if they could, looking us in the eye. She urged them to express emotion so we knew what the song felt like. Some of these singers moved me to tears. A very sad man who sang bass in German just left me raw. A 13-year-old sang in German about being jilted, and you could tell her tender, young heart had been broken recently.
The teacher talked about getting into character. The singers were supposed to collect themselves and breathe, looking down for a few seconds while they settled into the mood of the song. Slowly raising their eyes to meet ours, they would then turn to nod for the piano to start. And they were supposed to stay in character until that last note was played and the audience began to clap. I found this interesting because when you are performing as a bellydancer it is a MUST that you be in character. It is why everyone has stage names.
I also found it interesting about opening your heart. The reason my bellydance teacher won all the contests was because audiences loved her. In real life she was not that emotionally available but you put her on stage in a costume and her smile reached the back of the room.
We began the workshop having to do this silly exercise which I knew was orchestrated in order that we learn each other’s name and what we were like. The sad man and the young girl were the two most emotionally exposed people in the room and I’m inclined to avoid that type of person. But it was that very thing which allowed the music to shine. Their voices were the most compelling.
I was surprised to find that several of the singers had worse voices than I. One man with a good strong voice could not keep the rhythm straight (it was a trio) and was reluctant to open his mouth (he’s a psychiatrist) in a way that would afford the best sound. His wife had a very mediocre voice which was weak like mine but she was able to hold her lips out and her mouth open so the quality of sound was pleasing. Even though his voice was good he clenched up his throat so the sound grated on you.
The voice teacher was smart to have everyone there all day, getting comfortable with each other and the place. It was in our church so I felt right at home. Had I agreed to sing this time I would have been fine. I’m used to being in front of an audience so it wouldn’t have been such a big deal after all. Maybe next year.
Comments (5)
ryc: An aria is a short part of an opera, a solo, lasting usually 2 – 5 minutes, where all the attention is turned onto the star. Almost every opera has several arias, 1 or more for the soprano, tenor, and usually the mezzo and baritone as well. ‘Ombra mai fu’ is indeed an aria, from Handel’s opera Serse. Perhaps because it was written for a castrato, it is unusual in that it is often sung by both men and women. It is typical that, if the soloist did a good job, the audience applauds immediately after every aria, while the action of the opera stops. My favorite singer, Leontyne Price, debuted at the Met in 1961. After she sang the aria D’amor sull’ali rosee, the audience applauded 41 minutes, a Met record. If you’d like to hear it, go to my Xanga, click on “Audio” in the top left corner and that will take you to my audio page. D’amor sull’ali rosee is at or near the bottom of the page and you can click on it to listen.
OK. E-props this time only:)
If you sing next year, I will try to attend. No promises because of gas and who know what my schedule will be, but I will try.
The workshop sounds interesting. I guess because my voice lessons (many years ago) were in a class, we didn’t need that, but I can certainly see how it is a good thing when you don’t know the others in the program.
The process you describe here is terrifying to me. Don’t know why. I can do it in a classroom and if I am being silly for laughs, but not if I am trying to sing well. That there is sheer bravery to me.
Yeah, your experience with dancing has got to give you an edge there. I think the only thing I would be comfortable doing in front of a group is teaching something.
What I love about this is the description of the bellydancer. There is something so beautiful about the way you channel her inaccesibility, her character, into this seemingly passionate form. Terrific!
Love the process, love the post!