Wednesday, December 5, 2012
This was a rough week. I was on a gig in New York, auditioning for the Big House, and coaching up the Messiah I was about to sing. New York is a city that gives me hives every time I go, simply because there are so many people in close proximity and even though the subway trains are three times as long as the ones in Boston, there are still too many people for each train car. The tracks squeal and shriek each time the train approaches, and the smell of body odor and old urine makes walking through the tunnels with all that body heat distinctly unpleasant. Not a city where I see myself living. Ever.
But I'm killing time here at the Frankfurt airport before I head off to another city (on the train). A city that, if all goes well, could end up being my home for a little while. Our home.
I don't know when it first entered my head, but the idea that an opera singer could make a life at an opera house started to take root a few years back. When I was at Middlebury for German, getting in touch with all of my German-ness, becoming more comfortable with those awkward parts of me that were distinctly German and distinctly NOT American, learning how to express myself in this other language, it started to grow from just the germ of an idea into a full-blown notion. I could have a life in a foreign country. I could have a career in a country that appreciated the brainiac in me. I could get a job and be valued for my musicianship, not just whether or not I fit the height and weight requirement for the costume/machine/flying trapeze. I put this idea aside for a while - it seemed ridiculous to uproot my new marriage to a country that was foreign to my spouse. I got some good work in the UK and the States, all places where it would be perfectly fine to speak English. And then there was the big hope - Deutsche Oper. I flew to Berlin and camped out in a hotel with one of my German school roommates - the best houseguest and roommate a girl could ask for, truly - and wound myself up into a tizzy. The audition was NOT my best, and nothing came of it. The end. Sort of.
Sidebar - I do this thing where I build up an idea in my head. The idea of being a singer. Not just a singer. A successful, well-paid and respected singer. Not just respected, but also admired. Not just admired, but so admired that my loved ones would finally see that being an opera singer was more noble than being on American Idol. Whoops. I was just gonna be a singer, and then it made a hard left. Same thing with Deutsche. I wasn't just going to audition. I was going to nail the audition and move to Berlin and have bilingual kids and my German relatives would rally around me and the rest of my American relatives would come visit - ignoring the part where they don't visit me in the US, really - and it would be so amazing, I'd then get hired by prominent companies in the US and be so successful, we could live in a beautiful house in New Orleans. Oy. Just detailing the buildup and the letdown gives me whiplash.
So that was Berlin. I got 2 migraines in 4 days, one actually DURING an audition. Who overstresses, me? Please.
And then, slowly, I got a little work in Europe. First at a really good house in Frankfurt. Then an offer in Cologne. Then a jump-in at a house in France. Then another flute in Karlsruhe. And a jump-in in Saarbrücken. And suddenly, we're there again. Talking about a Fest and repertoire and commitment. And I so don't want to do that thing I do, where I over-invest in the outcome and completely blow the process. The optimist in me, who really and truly believes in luck and fate and destiny, really does a bang-up job of SCREWING up auditions. She's so busy looking forward, she trips over her own feet. And that is not allowed. Not now, not this time, not ever.
How do you maintain perspective and keep yourself grounded, while staying positive in a career that makes a regular practice of beating the crap out of your ego?
Case-in-point: a really dear friend was, for all intents and purposes, on the fast-track to super-stardom. Big houses. Big roles. Big notice. And then, poof, the rug got pulled out from under her just the other day. And she's still strong, she's still a great singer, but it's a body blow to have a huge gig yanked out of your life, at the whim of someone else and their personal agenda. And that's what this job is - someone's whim, made manifest. Someone takes a liking to you, there's an opportunity. They don't, the door shuts. I got feedback from a gig I did almost four years ago. My agent inquired as to why I wasn't under consideration to return for the same role. FOUR YEARS AGO. And the feedback was that I wasn't prepared, musically. Now anyone who's ever met me - you may not like my voice, you might hate my acting, you might just loathe the color of my eyes or the shape of my nose or whatever - anyone who's known me for ten seconds would know that I do not show up unprepared. But someone made a call. They didn't like my art. And they really don't have to justify past that. The end.
I want to be an optimist and tell myself that everything will work out how it's meant to. But the labrador inside of me also says that 'how it's meant to' really means 'how I want it to oh please please please.' Later today, when I'm in the middle of my P90X yoga, I'm going to remind myself to do what Tony Horton asks. I'm going to remind myself to be present. Right now. Because right now is where life is happening. Right now, I'm eating the foods that shape my body and my health. Right now, I'm thinking the thoughts that shape my day, my hour, my life. And right now, I can only be thankful for where I am, what I'm about to do, and the opportunity to do it to the best of my ability.
With that, I'm going to schlep my crap down to the train level, print out my train tickets, and prepare. Today is just the beginning. I have a lot of hard work, a lot of hard travel, and what I'm sure will end up being a lot of life to live between now and the next time I get home for more than 10 days. In April.
Today's photos: Snuggling with Sam-dog, just before leaving for the airport
The cafe in the Frankfurt airport, where I ate some extremely mediocre scrambled eggs.
Time: 7:25am. Let's get this party started.
Update: saying please and thank you in a foreign language, or,
I've always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Twelve hours later, I'm awake and sitting in the theatre. The Fernbahnhof at the Frankfurt Airport is farther away than I anticipated - note to self, do not leave it to the last minute to get tickets printed out - and the train to Karlsruhe was slammed with people and their suitcases. I grabbed from the train station, easy peasy, and was greeted by the friendliest gentleman at the front desk of the hotel. He was super apologetic that my room wasn't yet ready - keeping in mind, it was just after 9am. He offered me coffee, tea, and so very many compliments on my German, especially my pronunciation. Realizing that I really was hungry - and I mean seriously hungry - I helped myself to the best breakfast in the universe, the traditional German breakfast. Smoked salmon, boiled eggs, many different kinds of bread and jams (revelation: plum jam with Lebkuchen root. No clue what that root is, but it was delicious), at least twelve kinds of tea, coffee of all varieties. When I'd finished reading German Cosmo and my many cups of tea, I schlepped my suitcases up to the top floor....where I found....the most wonderful hotel apartment I have ever in my life laid eyes upon. Two full bedrooms. Huge televisions. A little kitchen with a stove and fridge and microwave and all kinds of cooking things. A big beautiful bathroom. And plenty of space for me to get my sweat on. So I unpacked, got all my cases put away, and laid myself down for a luxurious nap. Two and a half hours is not enough to make up for an overnight flight, but it will do in a pinch. Then 90 minutes of yoga with Tony Horton.
Interjection - my husband convinced me that doing P90X was a good idea. I was terrified that it would be so hard, I'd puke my guts up. I was self-conscious about my upper-body strength, or lack thereof. I couldn't do a single chataranga (sp?) nor a pull-up. And now, in the fourth week of this program, I feel good. Strong. And hopeful. And even though I still curse at him from time to time, I really appreciate everything Tony Horton has to say - especially when he tells me to think about being in this moment and nothing else, and then, even better and harder, to stop thinking altogether. So with all the jetlag and exhaustion and strange hunger pangs, I felt really refreshed after 90 minutes of yoga with his crazy ass. I took a quick shower, and nipped over to the opera house to meet my friend Steve. He was in the makeup chair for the Hauptprobe - he's singing the lead tenor in an operetta I've never heard of, but I'm at intermission, so I assume the second half will become clear shortly - so I went down to the Kantine to get some dinner. This is the beauty of the German theatre system. They serve hot food at incredibly low prices so you can eat a hot, home-cooked meal, and then hop up to rehearsal. They have snacks and bottled water and tea and coffee and it's not starbucks prices, it's the prices you would want to pay as a working artist. The Germans seem to have a handle on this part where artists actually work better when they're NOT starving.
So here I sit, at the end of intermission. I've met some colleagues, chatted with the operndirektor, politely told him I would NOT be up to auditioning tomorrow - as I'm certain my voice is still in EST, and made a practice time. All around, a productive evening. Now if I can stay awake through the rest of this operetta, that will be a minor miracle, and I can go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Curtain going up....
It's about 8:40pm, and I'm still conscious. Part of me just wants to go back to the hotel and zonk, but the part of me that needs to get on my feet knows I must stay awake till at least 10, maybe even 11pm. Otherwise, I haven't the faintest hope of doing any normal eating or sleeping, let alone singing, tomorrow. The nice woman in the KBB told me where the grocery stores are, including the Alnatura (natural foods store), so I can start getting my own food tomorrow. Tonight's wurst and rotkohl dinner in the Kantine was delicious, but it shouldn't become the regular :)
What would it be like to work for a house more than once, twice? What would it be like to come to the opera house every day, work with the same colleagues, get to know my dressers and makeup artists? To know an administration and, if they liked me, get to do repertoire that was suited to my strengths?
More than that - what would it be like to spend birthdays and holidays with my husband, regardless of what show was playing? When visiting with my goddaughter's father last week in NYC, he was waxing lyrical/hopeful about apprenticeship programs - hopeful he'll get a few bites, but also hoping he'll get bites from shorter programs so he doesn't have to be away from his wife and girls for too long. I told him it's not about how good the program is, or even how good the money is. It's what you're willing to give up to do that gig, that program, that role. It's giving up Christmas Eve at my grandmother's home for the last seven years. It's never spending birthdays with your spouse. It's maintaining friendships all over the world, because the people you used to be friends with where you call your 'permanent address' stop returning calls, don't ever know when you're home, and unless they're really strong, just drift away. It's no one's fault, but there it is. It's hard to be friends with a moving target, unless that friendship was long established.
Which brings me back to the end of this evening. They're practicing the bows. My tenor friend, whom I met back in Tanglewood in 2008, is totally wiped, but he still might have to get up early to sing a Generalprobe for a sick colleague. Because this is a job. However, the person whom he's replacing is sick, and that person isn't coming into the theatre and showering his colleagues with germs. I have to learn more about this system, before I make any further commitments to it....
