I hide my feelings, just like everyone else. I also hide them from myself, again like many people. Unlike most people, I am uncomfortable hiding them from myself. I need them for my work. Hiding the negatives also prevents me from accessing the positives. So although I wish I could comfortably ignore my negative feelings, I actively unearth them.
I found two of my hiding spots.
Now I can work on releasing those muscles and emotions, thereby freeing my singing (technically and emotionally) and my acting. I bet I hide my anger in my trapezius, so that will be my next investigation. Olly olly oxen free!
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In any situation where a professional performer fields questions from an audience, the much-dreaded question "How much do you practice?" inevitably makes an appearance. Either that or its more specific twin: "How many hours do you practice every day?" This question makes all musicians writhe in their concert dress, but none more so than singers. The orchestra at my university invited the audience to text the maestro a question at intermission; any time there was a featured soloist, especially a singer, the dreaded question would be directed their way. It's something non-musical people are very curious about, since they only have the opportunity to see the finished product, not the invisible work. Even musicians are curious about other musicians; we want to know how we measure up.
I fielded this question several times in college, mostly from children who wanted to know how little practice they could get away with. Twice in college I was the recipient of a small scholarship whose one very easy stipulation was that you had to participate in an outreach at a local elementary school. The scholarship was awarded to four students and included instrumentalists and singers. My first year the scholarship was awarded to a pianist, a flautist, a bass-baritone, and me (a mezzo-soprano). My second year it was awarded to a pianist, a violinist, a fellow mezzo, and me. We each performed one or two pieces and then had an open question-and-answer with the students. The first kids called on, both years, asked the specific twin version of the dreaded question. My first year, the pianist and flautist both said "four to six hours a day" with no hesitation. The second year, the pianist said "two to three" and the violinist said "four," again with very little hesitation. Both years, my fellow opera singers and I looked at each other with "oh no; I hate this question" faces and then proceeded to equivocate before agreeing that we each practiced "about an hour a day," internally wincing at how much we look like slackers to these kids. The second year I was anticipating the question and answered it with more conviction and more concise equivocation (paradoxical, I know), but I still winced at how it must sound to an outsider. When singers have to answer this question, we often begin with explanations such as, "well, singers do a lot of work outside the practice room" and "we use our instruments all day long to speak so we don't have the stamina of other instruments." We then go on to touch on things like translating and learning our words and the amount of rehearsal we have per day before ending with the lame-sounding, "I practice about an hour a day." "An hour a day." That answer is bullshit. Singers work on their craft far more than an hour a day, but that is all anyone remembers from a sparknotes-style explanation. Spending time in a practice room and vocalizing in a deliberate, problem-solving way is only part of what "practicing" means to a singer. Or any performer, for that matter. Asking a performer how much they practice is like asking a soccer player how much they exercise. If you define exercise as "time spent in a gym" or "deliberately and specifically honing your body" the answer is very different than if you include scrimmages and drills with the team in your definition. Spending that specific time sharpening your metaphorical tools is very important, but that time spent on the field is a huge part of what makes you good at the game. The same goes for the arts. Time spent in the practice room is far outstripped by time spent in rehearsals, score study, listening to other performers, masterclasses, lessons, coachings, and research. However, that time spent outside is crucial to making the time inside productive. Performing and working in front of and with other people helps you figure out where you are solid in your craft and what you personally need to work on. That way you can enter the practice room with a sense of purpose and direction. Instead of thinking, "I need to practice my breath support because my teacher told me to," you think, "I need to practice my breath support so I can nail that really long phrase in the Mozart." What you do in your warm-ups and practice time is easier to translate to reality and makes it feel more worthwhile. Singers have concerns that instrumentalists do not. For example, singers' instruments are part of them. We think of everything we do in life in terms of whether it is good or bad for our voices. We curtail drinking and yelling when we have auditions or performances coming up. We have a whole different way of maintaining our instruments from other musicians. If ours are broken, the only fix is rest and healthy practices. The stereotype of the hypochondriac, scarf-sporting, tea-toting opera diva did not come from thin air. Also, we have words. No other instrument deals with them. Singers have this whole other layer of what it means to make music. Not only do we have to say the (often foreign) words perfectly; we have to understand what they mean and try to communicate that with the audience. Translations and supertitles help a lot, but the singer still has to know what each word means. We research translations, looking at what has been done by others and referring to dictionaries on our own for specific words. In reality, we often memorize two sets of words: the original language and our language. We agonize over pronunciation, debating things like open and closed vowels and nuances of syllabification. A lot of our lyrics are poetry, so we also have to be able to analyze that and delve into poetic meanings and subtext. I probably spend a cumulative half an hour a day learning or memorizing words. Walking down the street, I often look like a crazy person because I use that time to practice the words of whatever piece I am memorizing at the moment. Like I said, a lot of learning happens outside the practice room. Singers have an extra layer of complexity on top of being stellar musicians and strong linguists; we have to be compelling actors. Acting is not easy. It is not something you can work on for four hours a day and leave in the practice room. To act is to wholly embrace your humanity. Acting is an exchange of energy. Acting is paying attention. Acting is an awareness of others. Acting is empathy. Acting is affecting others and being affected by them in turn. Acting is sending energy out into the world with all your might. Acting requires an enormous amount of vulnerability. It takes a willingness to expose yourself; to expose your innermost emotions; to rip open your chest cavity, pull out your bloody, beating heart, hold it out to the audience, and say, "look." Acting is scary. Acting is something you practice every moment of your life. As opera singers, we have a head start on affecting those around us; the music is our ally. So sometimes we phone in the acting. Sometimes we let the music do the work for us. And it's fairly effective. But we know that in order to be the best performers we can be, we need to put in the work as actors, not just as singers. So on top of learning our music, words, and staging, we develop our characters. We research the period in which our production is set. We write back-stories for our character. We discover relationships with every other person onstage with our character. We mine and we pay attention until we, radiating through the gauze of our character, are affected by what is happening around us. And we integrate all of that with our music. The time we spend in the practice room is crucial because while we are sending and receiving all of that energy, we need to sing. We need to sing beautifully, with flawless technique and perfect diction. That hour in the practice room is fully utilized because we understand the importance of laying that foundation. The next time someone asks me how much I practice, I am tempted to say, "every waking moment." I encourage all musicians to do the same. Because that is truly the answer. |
AuthorMaayan is a Manhattan-based opera singer. Archives
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