Author: Alexandria Strother

Freshmen year there was a senior in my voice studio who was a double major Vocal Performance and Microbiology. When I asked her what was the hardest part of being a double major her response was immediate: sleep. The need for and lack of sleep has become a defining trait in modern society as high expectations and numerous time commitments reduce the number of hours which a person is able to sleep each night. According to the Center for Disease Control, sleep deprivation has reached the point of an epidemic with over 30% of adult Americans sleep deprived.

So how does this relate to music? For a vocalist, their physical body must be their most prized procession because their body is their instrument. While a violinist could purchase a new violin if disaster should strike, a vocalist is given one body and one voice to last them a lifetime. The immediate and long term effects (increased risk of hypertension, diabetes, depression, obesity and cancer) of sleep deprivation are common knowledge but to a vocalist the immediate repercussions are evident in the quality of sound which they produce.

As a vocalist, I need my 8 hours a sleep a night in order to produce a good sound the next day. As an engineer, 8 hours of sleep is as elusive as a perfect score on an exam. Here in lies the difficulty of being a double major, it is never a question of whether the tasks can be accomplish but a question of if they can before I have to go to bed. The decision between sleeping now so that I can sing tomorrow or finishing the EECS 463 homework is one which offers little room for compromise.

This week, sleep deprivation won. Next week, with a midterm to sing and an EECS exam worth 30% of my grade on the same day, it’s anyone guess. Here’s hoping that I (and the rest of my classmates) find the time to study and sleep.

My parents are the definition of over protective. Ever since I can remember I have been under their cautious eye and even in college I cannot escape the reach of their paranoia when it comes to my physical well being. And I get it, I really do. All that they want is for me to be happy and successful which makes them fearful of anything that may endanger me or my chance at that future. Yet, it is stifling to live inside the box of what they have decreed to be “safe” when I can so clearly see the opportunities which lie outside their comfort zone.

People are the same way about music. Clinging the past, new interpretations of classics scare devoted patrons away immediately, simply because it is different. Regardless of my love of the classics lately I have found myself suffocated by the need to maintain tradition, simply for traditions sake.

UMGASS will be presenting The Gondoliers this April as an update. Rather than setting the operetta in 20th century Vienna as is tradition, it will be presented in modern time during a Venetian Carnival. Couple the concept with a student director (historically directors are community members) and the UMGASS Board has been preparing for damage control since the decision to do an update was made.

After Renee Fleming’s rendition of the National Anthem my Facebook newsfeed painted a similar picture. Music majors (specifically Vocal Performance and Collaborative Pianists) seemed split into two distinct sects: those who loved her performance and those who disapproved of the change of meter, scooping and colors which she used in her lower register. In all of the disapproving posts, no one challenged her evident mastery of technique, rather, criticized her for becoming less “operary” in order to appeal to the masses.

At the end of the day, music and art is about moving the audience. It is about being the mouthpiece for thoughts and feelings which they dare not express because they are at a loss for words, are frightened by the ramifications or have repressed so strongly that they have forgotten they exist. To do this, music must communicate. If this can be accomplished through tradition without it becoming trite and robotic than I am all for honoring the foundation upon which classical music has been built. Yet I fear the blind obligation to tradition which seems ingrained in society. I fear that by clinging to the past we are endangering the possibility of a future for classical music.

So like my parents, I think it is time we a little less protective of what we hold so close. Mistakes will be made but without change there is no opportunity for growth, and without growth there is no life. Without life in classical music, society will move on. Other means of expression will fill the role which classical music once held firmly. It will be in the death of classical music to modern society that those who spurn change will be satisfied. For in death, there is neither change nor growth, allowing the tradition of classical music to be remembered for what it was without fearing that it might have a future.

Saturday evening I sang as a part of the University of Michigan choirs in the annual Collage Concert. For those of you who do not know what the Collage Concert is, it is a concert which contains performances from all programs within the School of Music, Theatre and Dance which moves seamlessly from one performance to the next without the interruption of applause. As a member of the 200 person choir I was stuck on the risers at the back of the stage for the entire act, and having heard all the performers at the dress rehearsal I allowed my mind to wander and the music to accompany my thoughts.

Standing there, I remembered reading an American Girl article when I was in middle school (yes, I will admit I religiously read those magazines) which said that luck did not exist; rather that luck is being ready when an opportunity presents itself. I remembered making a bucket list when I was in elementary school of all the places I wanted to sing in my life, a list which included Hill Auditorium. I remembered the devastation of being waitlisted for the music school at Michigan and the joy of the phone call which changed everything. I remembered a Friday afternoon in December 2010, where my peers discussed being accepted into the University of Michigan via Early Action but paying special attention to the fact that it was “just Michigan”.

I have never considered myself lucky because I have never considered anything which I have done or accomplished that extraordinary. Getting into Michigan seemed normal because all my friends before me had, landing a good internship as a sophomore seemed common because many of my friends did it as freshmen, singing at Hill felt standard because I had done it multiple times before. Yet, Saturday I felt lucky as I realized how extraordinary the opportunities I have had truly are.

For a type A who never slows down long enough to take a breath, this revelation only occurred because I was physically forced to stand still, not talk, and be “unproductive” for an hour. So my request to you is to do the same. Unplug. Ditch the phone, laptop, tablet, whatever it is that keeps you connected and take a moment to smell the roses, hear the music and realize how incredibly lucky you are to be living your life.

There are many things about me which could easily be used to define or explain who I am to a complete stranger. I am a 5’7” social liberal, fiscal conservative ginger studying electrical engineering and vocal performance. I am a townie turned student who never even considered a college other than Michigan, or that it might be a bad idea to pursue two unrelated majors. I am President of UMGASS and member of Eta Kappa Nu (HKN) who works 2 jobs in order to afford tuition, my accompanist and tickets to shows which I desperately wish to see. But more generally, I am undeniably a Type A.

Don’t believe me? Every moment of my day from 8:30 am – 10 pm is scheduled on my Google Calendar, including my 30 minute lunch break which doubles with memorization work. I carry a 5” notebook which I call “my little book of stress” everywhere in which I have a running to do list of everything that I need to get done. Unread emails (even in friends’ inboxes) stress me out and I am so afraid of being 5 minutes late to a meeting that often I will show up 20 – 30 minutes early.

The best part about being a Type A is that I know how to get things done. If given a deadline I will meet that deadline and will fulfill all the requirements of the task. The worst part is constantly fearing that I am not doing enough to secure a future for myself in my chosen career paths. This fear results in a “fire in my belly” that drives me to fight for what I most desperately want. In both music and engineering I believe I have found past success because of this drive.

When I first entered the music school, I asked my voice teacher what were the worst qualities about Alexandria as a performer. Without giving a blunt and demoralizing answer, she hinted that there were three issues which I and many members of my class needed to resolve in order to have a chance at a career in music:

1. Vocal Technique (get some).
2. Diction (learn them).
3. Resume (land some roles!)

Over the past 5 semesters I have worked tirelessly to fix the above issues in true Type A fashion. Vocally, I have practiced at least 1 hour daily, recording issues in a practice log and rewatching my voice lessons (I record them all for later viewing), noting what worked and what didn’t. I have taught myself IPA, taken the offered diction classes and spend at least 15 minutes a day on Duolingo refreshing my German and teaching myself Italian. Additionally, I have performed in 7 operas & operettas, 5 musicals & straight plays, 3 short films and numerous opera scenes & concerts.

So when I yet again questioned my voice teacher about what I need to fix about Alexandria the performer, I was surprised and confused by her answer. Rather than spouting a list of tasks to accomplish, I was informed that what has propelled me to success is now my biggest weakness. That the little voice in my head which has pushed me to success out of fear of failure, can be seen on my face when I perform. That my internal critique can be sensed by those in the audience and that my fear of failure insinuates to them that failure is imminent.

The concept of shutting down the voice inside my head was something so foreign to me that I had no idea how to begin this process, yet alone complete something which seemed so complex. Yet, my Professor (as always) had the answer: Don’t think, just sing.

While I will always be a Type A, I am now learning how to moderate when to let my drive for success into my head and when to forget my technique and lose myself in the music. It is in those times, singing for the love of music alone, that I know I cannot fail.

For as many shows as I have been in, I have auditioned for at least double that amount. While the nerves have never faded completely, they have become manageable as the fundamentals of every audition have become predictable:

1. Get to the audition location early to fill out the audition form detailing your experience, physical appearance and schedule for the next 3 months.
2. Inevitably wait for the directors to see you, typically at least 15 minutes after your scheduled audition slot. (During this time I desperately try not to sit and compare myself to the other auditionies but it always end up happening)
3. Walk into the audition room, try to say something memorable to the directors and then sing your cut or recite your monologue while they stare at their computer screens or notepads glancing up at you 1 – 2 times during your audition.
4. Receive a brief “Thank you, we’ll be in touch” as you walk to the door.

Auditions have become less traumatic because they are so common and predictable. However, as I prepare tonight’s callbacks I am far less calm.

Callbacks are an entirely different beast than auditions. Instead of a massive “cattle call”, at callbacks you come face to face with the one or two other people who stand between you and the role. In a theater community as small as Ann Arbor’s, often these people are friends and colleagues who you have performed with or at least seen perform, leaving no doubt in your mind of their many castable merits.

Tonight, I will have to bring in a piece of music which I heard for the first time hours ago when I Youtubed the cut which the directors sent along with the callbacks list. I will sing and be directly compared with one of my good friends who I have been fortunate enough to have shared the stage with numerous times. For the next 48 hours I will frantically check my email, hoping and praying that my name appears on the cast list, stomach lurching each time I reload my email. Then, excitement or disappointment. Whatever happens, I am better for it and perhaps one day callbacks will be just as mundane for me as a cattle call audition.

My very first class of college was Musicology 139: World Music. It was 9:30 am and I stumbled into class, found a seat in the lecture hall and waited for wisdom to be imparted. Professor Castro opened the class by telling us to look around at each and every one of the 115 other music performance majors in our grade, because around us were 115 of the finest musicians our age who all had the potential to be the next Pavarotti or Yo-Yo Ma. She then had us look again, as she reminded us that while we all were talented musicians, it is unlikely that even 3 of us will make a living on music alone.

As a rational person, those odds make me want to run as fast as possible away from a career in music. Run to engineering and white picket fences where things are comfortable, safe and all but guaranteed. 3 in 115? What if it is 2? What if it is 1? What if none of us make it?

Last semester, music almost defeated me. I auditioned for numerous shows and could not seem to get the roles which I desperately wanted, hurting my pride and causing me to wonder if I was one of the 112 who stood no chance at a career. Additionally, I excelled as an engineer finishing an internship with a return offer, joining the EECS Honor Society, and maintaining a strong GPA, making the choice between music and engineering seem all but obvious.

Yet, on December 18th as I sang in Hill Auditorium for the School of Music’s Concerto Competition I remembered why I sing in the first place. Even though my entire body was shaking from nerves and I felt as if I could barely remember how to breathe let alone 10 pages of French marred with coloratura, I was happy. Finding freedom in the intense focus, I survived and rekindled the passion which has driven me to music.

Only time will tell if I’m one of 3 or of 112. However, I am currently one a few thousand who have sung a solo at the acoustically perfect Hill Auditorium. And for the little girl who wrote a bucket list in crayon detailing all the places she wanted to sing one day, it is enough to be able to cross Hill Auditorium off the list.