Most of my blog posts are actually really lengthy extensions of my already really lengthy facebook status updates, and this one is no exception. Today's really lengthy status update was as follows (you know you're self-absorbed when you quote yourself...did I mention the word "self"?):
"Lana bla bla bla (fake facebook name) just resigned from a brief and highly disconcerting church gig, and it feels SO liberating! No more critiques of my sloppy attire and my diction and repertoire choices. I'm sorry Mary Baker Eddy, but I'm pretty sure Jesus doesn't give a rat's ARSE how long my sleeves are, and enough with all the the talk about 'Error'. Did you somehow skip the section about forgiveness and Grace in the Bible?"
What followed was the usual silly string of comments about shirt sleeves and prostitution. But then a good friend whom I've known for many years sent me a message that said "We've talked about grace in the past. I like it when you talk about grace". My knee jerk reaction was to respond with some witty pun ("who is Grace? Why are you so obsessed with her?") but then I thought that perhaps this would be a good chance to partake in my annual "hey, I'm actually kinda spiritual n' stuff" religion-themed post.
I've had many singing gigs in churches. Most of them have been an odd but lovely concoction of interpersonal relations, desperate soprano section pitch matching efforts, and last but never least (much as I try to make it so), God. I once sang at a church in Tucson which had a, hem hem, "cowboy service". I will never forget the visual image of the round elderly folk scattered through the pews, their cowboy hats bobbing diligently atop their heads as they nodded along to the sermon. Nor will I forget the time the stoned organist at another gig dropped a large Bach cantata score onto the organ in the middle of silent prayer, causing an obscenely loud and flatulent organ tone to resonate through the sanctuary. Needless to say, I did not succeed at maintaining a professional demeanor, and am still not sure how I recovered from the fit of gut-wrenching giggles that ensued.
So I was unpleasantly surprised when I began this latest gig and found myself missing all of the quirks I had come to love in my previous positions. The interpersonal relationships consisted of passive aggressive phone calls about the dress code and may failure to meet it. There was no pitch matching, because I sang antiquated and joyless solos to a small frowning congregation. Who knew I would miss those screechy untrained soprano section voices so much? And finally, there was no God. At least not the God I have come to believe in...who is, in my humble opinion, full of Grace.
But what the hell IS Grace (note: currently resisting more puns about the name)? I think it's different for everyone. For me, it's easier to identify what it isn't. It's NOT the idea that God is sitting at a judgement table above, ready to pound the gavel (is that even a word?) whenever we screw up. It's NOT the idea that you will be punished for all of your mistakes. And it's NOT the idea that if you take a wrong turn in your life, all will be lost.
I found grace in the second chances life gives you, and trust me, I've needed every second chance I could get. I found grace in the fact that the people who love me are far more understanding of me than I ever am of myself. I found grace by meeting my husband at a wedding in Montana, despite the fact that he worked two blocks away from me in Seattle. And I found grace by getting pregnant unexpectedly while trying to recover emotionally from a miscarriage, and later giving birth to the greatest joy of my life.
So when it comes down to it, I left this gig not because of the passive aggressive wardrobe suggestions. I left it because the liturgy was full of language about "Error"; How to fix it, how to control it, and how to rid it from your life via studious devotion to the cryptic writing of a 19th century woman named Mary. I just couldn't take it anymore. I've wasted too much of my life in toxic churches that heap more guilt onto my counterproductive tendency to punish myself for the slightest screw up. Maybe if we earnest Christians (or recovering Christians) could all just get the frick over ourselves and our guilt about being human, there would be more room in our spirits for grace and God to find a humble home.
Last, since any discussion of God would be incomplete without music, I'll conclude this post on a happy note (chortle chortle) with one of my favorite grace-themed songs by the great Stevie Wonder (click here).
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Monday, August 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Nursing homes are the new opera house.
Recently I was asked whether I've done any singing since I became a mom. My knee jerk (or should I say voice jerk) reaction was to say "oh no, I don't have time right now...I just sing to Elliot sometimes". As I offered this pretentious response with an aire (singing pun intended) of humility, a nightlight-voltage light bulb turned on in my head. I thought "wait, doesn't singing to my son count????".
I spent what some would call the most formative adult years of my life (age 16 to 22ish) toiling away in practice rooms, desperately yearning to reach the pinnacle of success for a classical singer: a career as an opera performer. Starting in high school, I worked my opera-singer sized booty off to become the best soprano I could be. I took weekly voice lessons. I spent my evenings (OK every other evening if I'm honest - I never did practice enough) vocalizing on every vowel sound in the romantic languages, at every tempo and on every pitch I could physically produce. Ambitious as this may sound, I probably worked 10% as hard as most professional singers do. Because classical singing is nothing short of a sport; a complex, demanding, and mysterious sport that requires an intricate dance of fine-tuned yet invisible muscles.
The story of my decision to leave the opera path behind would fill a novel-length (and very tediously self-absorbed) blog entry. So instead I will sum it up in 1 short list. I left the opera path for these reasons:
1) while I do have a good voice, I don't have the vocal stamina or emotional drive to sing for a living. In short, I just don't have the chops.
2) I wanted to settle down in one place and have a family.
3) Although performing is fulfilling, and sometimes even enthralling, it just stresses me out too much. I knew I wasn't cut out for a performance career when I landed a lead role in Steven Sondheim's "Passion" at the Eastman Opera Theater (with a steamy sex scene to boot) and my primary reactions were panic and anxiety.
Since I left that world behind, it's been difficult to find the right place for music in my life. I'm sure many of my trained singer friends would agree. I've oscillated between extremes: from supporting myself entirely through music-related jobs (church gigs and teaching) to avoiding musical activities altogether. While I don't think there's a perfect answer, one thing I'm learning is that I shouldn't stew in a sulky soprano silence while waiting for the perfect solo opportunity to present itself.
The most fulfilling musical moments I've had in the past year or so have sprung up in the most humble and intimate circumstances; when my mother-in-law and I sang "Amazing Grace" at my Grandma-in-law's bedside moments before she let go of this world, or in the sparsely populated dining room of my Grandmother's nursing home, where I sang "Smoke gets in Your Eyes" with the resident physical therapist/pianist and my gleefully growling son. And last but not least, singing to my son in a variety of goofy and absurd contexts: when he's screaming in the backseat of the car, or when he won't drink his bottle because of his feeding issues and the only thing that will keep him sucking contentedly is a coloratura aria.
In short, when I get over myself and get the hell out of the way, my voice can actually do a bit of good in this world. And I know there are other voices out there that have stayed silent for too long (ahem, cough, you know who you are). In many cultures, people sing their way through the day to commemorate both the subtle nuances of daily life and the monumental emotions experienced at weddings and funerals. So why should we singers (trained OR untrained) deprive ourselves of such joy and comfort?
I spent what some would call the most formative adult years of my life (age 16 to 22ish) toiling away in practice rooms, desperately yearning to reach the pinnacle of success for a classical singer: a career as an opera performer. Starting in high school, I worked my opera-singer sized booty off to become the best soprano I could be. I took weekly voice lessons. I spent my evenings (OK every other evening if I'm honest - I never did practice enough) vocalizing on every vowel sound in the romantic languages, at every tempo and on every pitch I could physically produce. Ambitious as this may sound, I probably worked 10% as hard as most professional singers do. Because classical singing is nothing short of a sport; a complex, demanding, and mysterious sport that requires an intricate dance of fine-tuned yet invisible muscles.
The story of my decision to leave the opera path behind would fill a novel-length (and very tediously self-absorbed) blog entry. So instead I will sum it up in 1 short list. I left the opera path for these reasons:
1) while I do have a good voice, I don't have the vocal stamina or emotional drive to sing for a living. In short, I just don't have the chops.
2) I wanted to settle down in one place and have a family.
3) Although performing is fulfilling, and sometimes even enthralling, it just stresses me out too much. I knew I wasn't cut out for a performance career when I landed a lead role in Steven Sondheim's "Passion" at the Eastman Opera Theater (with a steamy sex scene to boot) and my primary reactions were panic and anxiety.
Since I left that world behind, it's been difficult to find the right place for music in my life. I'm sure many of my trained singer friends would agree. I've oscillated between extremes: from supporting myself entirely through music-related jobs (church gigs and teaching) to avoiding musical activities altogether. While I don't think there's a perfect answer, one thing I'm learning is that I shouldn't stew in a sulky soprano silence while waiting for the perfect solo opportunity to present itself.
The most fulfilling musical moments I've had in the past year or so have sprung up in the most humble and intimate circumstances; when my mother-in-law and I sang "Amazing Grace" at my Grandma-in-law's bedside moments before she let go of this world, or in the sparsely populated dining room of my Grandmother's nursing home, where I sang "Smoke gets in Your Eyes" with the resident physical therapist/pianist and my gleefully growling son. And last but not least, singing to my son in a variety of goofy and absurd contexts: when he's screaming in the backseat of the car, or when he won't drink his bottle because of his feeding issues and the only thing that will keep him sucking contentedly is a coloratura aria.
In short, when I get over myself and get the hell out of the way, my voice can actually do a bit of good in this world. And I know there are other voices out there that have stayed silent for too long (ahem, cough, you know who you are). In many cultures, people sing their way through the day to commemorate both the subtle nuances of daily life and the monumental emotions experienced at weddings and funerals. So why should we singers (trained OR untrained) deprive ourselves of such joy and comfort?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)