So I'm in the midst of a three-month push to cram a metric ton of Italian recit into my head. It's my first Handel opera, it's a leading lady role, and this means she never seems to shut her yap about how unhappy she is. Eight arias, three ariettas, a fat duet, and SO MUCH RECIT. And no cuts.
Complaining over.
I've never felt confident about my Italian, which means I sway like a pendulum between two extremes:
1. coach me coach me coach me coach me pick every detail apart until it's absolutely perfect again again again!
2. leave me aloooooooooooooooooooooone!
It takes a long time for me to get past 1 and on to phase 2, especially with works in Italian, but I suspect that my insecurity and my desire to achieve fluidity in my recits is ultimately a good thing. Hammering and tinkering and pulling and pushing at it until it feels like it's mine is just part of the way we get there. This isn't the case with German. Since I first started singing in German - later than I started singing in Italian, mind you - it's a language that has always made sense to me. Fighting with the grammar made me realize that I didn't know shit about grammar in English, but once I understood the constructs, life was beautiful. German is beautiful. I enjoy speaking it, and I actually like the way it feels in my mouth. One of the big thrills of singing the Queen is tasting the progression of consonants and vowels as you say, "Siehst du hier diesen Stahl? Er ist für Sarastro geschliffen." The length of the [a] vowel in Stahl lets the threat hang in the air just long enough to scare the ever-loving poop out of any Pamina, and when her eyes get big, I know I'm doing my job. Thanks, German! The downside of feeling like this language is a part of me - when someone wants to tweak something, I can get defensive. Really defensive. Almost 'take my ball and go home' defensive. But before I get my hackles up, I have to remind myself that, whether I speak this language or not, it's not my mother tongue. And even if it were, there's always room for improvement. Always. I remember a few years ago something a conductor said - if they're still giving notes, that means they're still wanting you to improve. If they stop giving notes, it's because they think you're cooked (read: no longer open for improvement).
I don't want to be cooked. I want to slow roast as long as I can. I'd like to be surprised by something new in my work, enjoy something I've not yet experienced, be frightened by a challenge [see the above Italian recit slog - I WILL conquer this!] and then delighted when I overcome said challenge. Last week, talking about how I wasn't really known for my legato, my coach said, "We will change that this year!" and while working on legato isn't ever finished, it's really nice to know that he's invested in this with me. Pushing me to be better. More honest. Letting go of preciousness and embracing passion, even in high holy pieces of Museumkunstmusik (my made-up word - thanks, German!) - in fact, especially in those kinds of pieces. Because who gives a shit about perfection? I want to be moved, and I want to move people.
Sidebar - I really love original records, where you can hear people shifting in their chairs or the rustle of the pages turning or the intake of breath by a singer. There's this wonderful recording of Phyllis Curtin singing the Copland Emily Dickinson songs, with Copland at the piano. I love Phyllis' singing, and especially on this album. I first heard it on LP in the listening library at Exeter, sitting in this dark little corner, reading the liner notes while I listened. Phyllis is a take-no-prisoners no-pretense straight-shooter kind of singer. There's nothing fussy about her delivery, and the singing is just wonderful. This is what I aspire to. I want to get past the pretense and get to the art. And this also means setting aside my ego and opening up my ears to what other people have to say. Take it all in. Use what I can. Try on and try out ideas, see what they're good for. But the moment we allow pride to stand in place of learning, you can bet your sweet bippy the countdown has started for a cosmic kick in the tuchus. And we all have it coming.
And with that, I'm going to mutter to myself in Italian until dinner is ready. I'm not cooked yet.
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