There's a rather good article written by "Dr. Opera" from the Virginia Opera blog, addressing the issue of wunderkind America's Got Talent belters under the age of 10. In short: let children sing like children, and leave opera to the big kids. It's irresponsible for a little league coach to get his young pitchers to throw a slider, just as it's irresponsible for voice teachers to allow their young students to holler their way through 'I dreamed a dream.' Most successful adult singers I know are the product of children's choir, high school choir, piano lessons, marching band, and a high school theatre program. Their voices were allowed to mature at a pace that matched their bodies. I should also qualify that statement and say that most of the successful adult singers I know grew up in an age without American Idol, X Factor, America's Got Talent, or any other such heinous crapola. This is me, stepping off my soapbox.
Today, I'm gonna talk about doing my job. Anyone who's watched a baseball game with me knows that I am the lunatic putting 3 fingers in the air and yelling, "Do your job!" I feel the same way about doing my own job, but without the yelling and the fingers. Most of the time.
One of the hardest lessons to learn as a young singer is identifying what your job IS and what your job IS NOT. It is NOT your job to ask the conductor leading questions about whether or not your colleague sang a wrong note. (Um, maestro, I was just wondering if the soprano is supposed to resolve to the octave, or to the 9th? Are we singing this as printed?) It is not your job to ask the director if he really wants you to sing upstage/into the curtain/from inside a crazy set piece.* (Um, excuse me, am I really supposed to be singing into the curtain for the last 5 bars of my aria?) It is your job to make it work. Tim Gunn was never more correct. It is your job to shut your mouth when your colleagues sing wrong notes/wrong rhythms/wrong words/wrong languages. You are not their teacher. It is your job to figure out how to sing over your shoulder, artfully, while executing what the director has told you to do, or to wait until the director has left town and then make for your exit just a little bit early so you can turn around and nail those last high notes to the wall. Exit right, chased by a bear.
*Unless you are in danger, and I mean serious bodily peril. Then, it is your job to speak up, respectfully, and work with the director to find a solution.*
More than these things, which are all about courtesy and respect, it's also important to get comfortable with that job on an emotional level. I'm covering a role I've sung since I was 23. I know this role like the back of my hand, eyes closed, hopping on one foot, in two different languages. Is my job to know the role? You betcha. Is my job to sing it well? Absolutely. Is my job to go to staging rehearsals and watch what's being staged? For sure. Is my job to show up to cover rehearsals and give everything I would give in a performance? ALL DAY LONG that's my job. But I'm the insurance policy. I'm the "if she gets sick/takes a blow to the head/falls off the rock/comes down with scurvy, then they call me" person. And I am okay with this. Because I get paid every two weeks to do what I'm trained to do: show up, know my stuff, and be a professional. That's the contract I signed. Do I have the occasional twinge of jealousy when I see that they're using a dazzling star drape for the first aria? Hello, I'm human. That said - this is part of that 'separating my singing from myself' exercise. If I get to go on, wonderful. I go through my same daily practice (warm up, double-check the triplets, remind myself how to sing in a lyrical but forward-moving 3, go through the long run in the 1st aria, sing through a few art songs, done!), whether I'm performing or not. I can't live in the world of 'what if.' I can't live in the world of 'if I get to go on, then that would be such a big break and then someone might hear me and hire me for blahblahblah noisenoisenoise.' I can't live in that world, because it takes me away from the world I'm living in right now. RIGHT NOW. Same for auditions. When I walk in, I have to be 120% present and ready to do what I'm trained to do. I can't think about what fantastic connections this could foster, or whether or not they like my dress, or whether or not the girl who just came out of the room seemed to know the general director on a first-name basis. I have to focus on doing my job, right then, in that moment. And when that moment is over, I go for a run, meet a friend for tea and scones, finish re-reading another chapter of Stieg Larsson, do my laundry, prepare my supper, knit another few inches of a sock, watch some BBC period dramas, snuggle with my dog, laugh with my hilarious husband, and count myself a pretty lucky girl.
For this reason, I have to tell myself (and many well-meaning friends and family) that we only allow good juju. No wishful thinking about anyone getting the plague, or falling down a flight of stairs (how very Showgirls), or catching the flu. On any given night, I'm the person in the role, with another person covering me. And I'd rather not get anthrax, so let's not wish it on anyone else. This job I'm doing right now is my job. Next month, I go to another city and sing the role. That is also my job.
Lesson for the day: live in the present, not the potential. You'll be an informed participant in your own life!
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