Author: Alexandria Strother

As I sang the Silver Aria in yesterday’s studio class my voice teacher had me make direct eye contact with my peers hoping to make the acting in the song more realistic and relatable to the audience. As I sang she would shout out names and for the following phrase I would plead and flirt with the person of her choice. Then, instead of a name, she told me to look at the man who I was in love with and sing to him. On instinct I quickly envisioned his face and build as if he was standing a mere 15’ feet from me in the corner of the room and sang to him. For the first few instants I was Baby Doe singing to Horace Tabor, but then Alexandria recognized the face and build of the man which had materialized. No longer was the man Horace Tabor, rather, the phantasmal version of an old flame with whom I had ended things with what feels like a lifetime ago.

Startled, I tried to change the visage of the man in the corner to someone – anyone – else. Yet, the music reinforced his appearance and I was thankful when I heard “Melissa” shouted allowing my gaze to leave the corner and sing to my friend sitting in a desk right in front of me.

In that instant where the music conjured his image I was taken back to the moment where I became a cliché and fell for him. Yet, as I returned to my seat and the experience replayed in my mind reality burst in, flooding my thoughts with the reasons that things were over reminding my heart that there were no more feelings there for him.

So why him? Why not some other face from some other body or someone else from my past?

Art is nostalgic – hiding old relationships marred with impossibilities behind memories of perfection. Art is epic – heightening the butterflies of a high school crush to a love of Romeo and Juliet proportions. Art is retrospect – created in the past and given new life in the present, it requires the reexamination of its present and our past. Art is counterfeit – masquerading as truth while purging itself of inconvenient details which reality forces upon us.

When I sing the Silver Aria this weekend in the opera auditions, it is likely I will see his face again. When I go from singing to the banker, to the politician and finally to the man that Baby Doe is most in love with his figure will match the man I saw in the corner during studio class. So does this mean anything? Does it mean my life should follow the plot of a romantic comedy as I drop everything and run to him, ending up in front of his door waiting in the pouring rain to tell him that I was wrong and miss him, want him and need him in my life? Not by a long shot. Why? Art isn’t real. As Picasso said “Art is a lie that tells the truth”. Here the lie is his manifestation while the truth is that love which fulfills every nauseating cliché is surprisingly real.

As part of the Upstart Festival Basement Arts put together the Wall to Wall Theatre Festival which took place in the Walgreen Drama Center March 29 and 30. The concept for the Wall to Wall Theatre Festival was to create a museum of theater, running 9 unrelated 30 minute shows on a continuous loop for 3 hours and allowing the audience to pick an chose which shows they would attend and in what order.

Of the 9 pieces Speak to Me (the piece I was in) was one of the more avant garde works relying completely on improvisation within the a simple structure of inner and outer exploration leading to communication hindered by the lack of a common medium. My medium consisted of the text from a German art song by Strauss and an excerpt from a Bach Cantata as well as physical movement.

Initially, I signed up for the project because I knew it was a low time commitment and I liked the concept of the festival. I did not know which piece I would be a part of and was initially concerned by the improvisatory nature of Speak to Me. I had never improvised on such a large scale and never while having to interact and work with other performers, especially ones who were simultaneously improvising.

Regardless of all my concerns at the beginning of the process I could not be more please that I took part. By forcing myself to improvise using existing text and pieces of music I discovered what people mean by saying one must live in the music. As I performed I forgot the little voice in my head that is perpetually concerned with using proper technique and ignored the part of my brain that never enjoys the moment but is looking forward to the next note. As I lived in the music and in the moment I lost all track of time, making 30 minutes of improvisation fly past.

For the audience, the Wall to Wall Theatre Festival was a chance to get tastes of different types of performance art without overwhelming themselves. For me, it was a chance to explore the music within songs that I have sung hundreds of times and rediscover the music beyond the notes written on the page.

As part of a Bachelors in Music each Voice Major is required to take diction classes in French, German and Italian. For the first half of the semester the class functions like a normal university course: the rules are presented to the class by the professor, examples are shown, exceptions are noted, with quizzes and a midterm to follow. Following the midterm the class becomes performance based where each student presents two songs or arias in the language which has been studied and is critiqued by their peers and professor.

After I sang in diction yesterday I couldn’t help but think and brood over all the reasons I absolutely hate singing in diction. Being in a snarky mood, this list expanded to a list of reasons I hate singing. Since for the past 7 months I have blogged about all the reasons I love music I felt it was appropriate to share this list.

Reasons I hate singing:

1. Singing before 10 am is nearly impossible. Diction classes starts at 9:30 and somehow I always end up going first.

2. Performing requires so much multitasking. When I focus on my technique I forget to act. When I remember to use my RLC (rapid, late, and clear) consonants I think more about the sounds of the words and less about their meaning. When I think about my breath support I forget about my jaw tension. The list goes on.

3. Everyone expects you to perform for free, or worse, pay a membership fee. Experience and exposure seem to be buzz words in this area. Do my computer engineering friends get asked to design and code websites for experience and exposure? No. They get offered at least $10/hr.

4. Application fees. Any summer program, competition, or school that you want to apply for requires an application fee of at least $35. Once you pay that you have to pay for an accompanist (typically $50 for a total of 20 minutes of their time), transportation to the audition and lodging depending on when and where the audition is being held.

5. Continuous danger of public failure. Get a C on your EECS 280 project? That’s between you and the autograder. Forget your words, sing a wrong note or crack on a high note? Everyone knows and silently judges.

6. There are so many sopranos. For every part I will ever audition for there will be at least 20 other sopranos waiting in line behind me trying for the same part. If there was a class where out of 20 students only one person could get an A and everyone else failed I would avoid that class like the plague, yet I subject myself to the same thing at audition after audition after audition.

7. If I get less than 8 hours of sleep my voice teacher can tell immediately. However, consistent sleep schedules and college do not work well together resulting in a difficult balancing act of sleep and homework.

8. On-stage romance. Playing the romantic lead is no fun when your on-stage love interest has B.O., bad breath or is just someone you don’t get along with. Sometimes it is really hard to suppress the desire to hit them as they go in for the kiss.

9. I spend about 1.5 hours a day locked in a 5′ x 5′ stark white box which passes for a practice room. During that time frustration reigns as perfection is constantly sought but never achieved.

10. As a vocalist my body is my instrument. This means that indulging in vices from yelling to drinking, sleep deprivation to acidic foods directly affects how I sing, limiting and eliminating their presence in my life.

11. Like many performers, I cannot stand the sound of my own voice. This negatively skews my perception of my vocal ability and career potential, resulting in additional unnecessary stress.

12. I want a career in music so badly that I often finding myself giving up other things so that I can work toward that goal. I have lost friendships and ended relationships for music because I couldn’t find the time to do both.

For every reason I hate music and singing there are 10 reasons I could never give it up. Music has become my vice; it is the itch I must scratch and such an integral part of my life that without it, I wouldn’t know who I was or what I was doing with my life. Still, sometimes it feels good to complain.

Last week I missed my blog post. It was opening night for one of the shows that I am in this semester and all my engineering homework was due, so I used one of my allotted skips for the semester and neglected to post the blog I had begun to write. As I prepared to write this week’s blog I thought that I should acknowledge the fact that I had missed last weeks but couldn’t help but wonder: Did anyone notice? And does anyone care?

Our culture is that of continuous performance. As we sit staring at our screens, we perform for each other debating if a conversational quip is clever enough to merit a Facebook status or a picture is sufficiently filtered to hide imperfection before posting. Breaking 20 “likes” results in repeated behavior while less than five results in hiding the miscalculated post from your timeline. The immediate show of approval or disapproval from a removed audience via technology such as Facebook has brought new meaning to the saying “All the world is a stage”. Previously, only actors could stand up in front of a large group, separated only by the 4th wall, and perform receiving immediate feedback through boisterous applause or deafening silence. Now the internet allows us to present ourselves to the world and receive our applause in the forms of comments, shares and likes.

Being an artist within the performing arts I live for the applause. There is nothing more disheartening than performing to a dead house which never laughs, cries, coughs or claps because you begin to wonder if there is anyone out there who understands what you are trying to say or if you are alone amongst the masses.

Working as a blogger has been like performing to a dead house. There is little to no response to what I write and at first it was depressing because I spend a lot of time and energy attempting to craft meaningful posts. Yet, as I have continued to write I have come to appreciate the difference between performance and physical art. Performance art is about saying something to someone and developing a relationship with them while physical art is about putting something into the world simply because you have something to say. So even if no one is reading my blog the fact that I’m doing it – putting my thoughts out there for the world to see – is enough for me and I can learn to live without the applause.

Last weekend I attended a Vocal Performance major’s senior recital, and shared a knowing look with fellow music majors when within minutes novice classical concert goers clearly revealed themselves by clapping at the inappropriate time. The etiquette of classical concerts can be peculiar and intimidating for those who do not frequent such events. In the hopes that by shedding light on some of these peculiarities more novices will attend concerts, I have created a list of The Top 5 Ways I Can Tell You Aren’t a Music Major.

1. To clap or not to clap?

Easily the biggest give away, clapping at the wrong time can be embarrassing (especially if you are the only one) and disruptive to other audience members. A foolproof method to ensure that you are not the only person clapping is to never clap first, rather join in once the applause has begun.
So why isn’t there applause following every piece? Think about the applause scheme for the presentation of a paper. There is often applause as the presenter walks on stage, when an extremely powerful point is made and following the conclusion of the paper. A symphony is much like a basic paper where each movement resembles a paragraph of that paper. While a movement of a symphony (or a paragraph) represents a coherent thought it is part of a much larger musical idea. Since the symphonic idea is not yet complete applause between the movements is considered disruptive.

2. You don’t know your way around the theater

Most theaters consist of the same basic layout from the box office location to the layout of the auditorium. In any given area there are only so many theaters, allowing frequent theater goers to know exactly where their seats are without the aid of an usher.

3. Jeans or evening gown?

In talking to my non music major friends I have discovered that one of the most intimidating aspects of attending a music event is knowing what to wear. Contrary to popular belief, the easiest way to spot a novice is not because they are underdressed but because they are overdressed. Many theaters do not have dress codes (including the Metropolitan Opera in New York) and so often I will attend shows wearing whatever I wore to my morning lectures. Check with the theater about the dress code and when in doubt you can’t go wrong with khakis.

4. [bize] or [bizÉ›]?

Another easy way to tell who is familiar with the repertoire comes from the ability or inability to pronounce the name of a piece in a foreign language. This is not full proof as rumor has it that a music school professor referred to La Boheme [la bɔɛm] as [la bəhimə] at a recent graduation ceremony.

5. I don’t recognize you – or any of your friends

The music school is small with approximately 115 students per grade. Since all of our classes are in one building I can very easily recognize a fellow music major (even if I don’t know them) simply because I have seen them walking the hallways of the Moore building numerous times before. Music students often go to concerts in pacts so if I have never seen you or any of your friends before, odds are you aren’t a music major.

As I walked this morning from the Engineering Campus to the Music School, the snow was falling so thickly that I could barely see the people slipping and sliding five feet in front of me. One hour later, the thundersnow had subsided, but was replaced with sleet wetting the pathways preparing to freeze overnight. Yesterday, the sun was shining, it was a heavenly 40 degrees and I didn’t feel compelled to zip up my coat as I walked to my car.

Anyone who has lived in Michigan longer than a few years has become accustomed to the volatile weather, and immune to the emotional whiplash which it can bring upon out-of-staters whose previous winters consisted of lows of 58 degrees. In the turbulence of this weather, I have found a sense of calm and normalcy.

On January 23 I wrote a blog post titled: Undeniably a Type A. After I had posted the blog I received a message asking me two questions which up until this point I have neglected to answer because I wanted to write a thoughtful response. The questions were as follows:

“1) When is it appropriate to draw the line: Not in the sense of when to call off the maneuver when handed an exceptionally challenging task (I think that one is obvious), but rather when does one accept ‘I am truly successful.’ I don’t think it is a trivial thing to simply be proud of your accomplishments without desire for more.

2) Are type A personalities born or grown?”

I will not pretend to have the answers to either question but will do my best to answer them in regard to my personal experience as best as I am able.

On the wall above my bed I have posters of famous opera singers, old ticket stubs and a few quotes which I have collected over the years. One of these quotes is from Martha Graham, an American modern dancer and choreographer who defined the genre. She said “No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others”. In a rather serious conversation which I had in December, I was told by a friend that he feared that I will never be happy because the intense drive to success which I harbor will never allow me to be content. I partially agree with his concern, I agree that I will never be content instead I will to strive to accomplish more success than realistically is possible. This is primarily because I derive pleasure and happiness from the fight for success, and have found with contentment comes complacency. So to answer the first question, I personally will never accept “I am truly successful” because for me, the level of success which I seek is not humanly possible and I enjoy working toward this impossible goal.

I am a firm believer in nurture over nature, and so believe that Type As are grown rather than born. I believe that the Type A-ness which my siblings and I display comes from not the genes which we all share but the fact that in our household a new normal was set.

Just as I have become accustomed to Michigan weather changing every 10 minutes, I became accustomed to a standard of “normal” which is different from society’s collective normal. My brother played piano so naturally I played piano. My brother got good grades while playing football so I got good grades while playing softball. In high school I danced professionally, sang in the school musical, and played in the band so my sister did as well. In order to get everything done, we became type As because it was normal to be incredibly busy and expected that we succeed in all activities which we pursued.

In no way am I arguing that by being a Type A I will be happier or more successful than anyone else. For me, it is and always will be my normal. Just as 40 degree temperature swings are Michigan’s normal. Perhaps one day I will find a new normal, but until then I will continue in my Type A ways.