not easy, but easier.
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
as ballet class, chord progression, Don, God, leotard, nice surprise, Option, Peace, piano, something, time, whole lot of nothing
There is a trick to dancing; it is called relax and the movement will come easier.
There is a trick to singing; it is called relax and the sound will come easier.
Not that it will come easy, mind you. I don’t really believe that anything of value comes very easy, but there’s something about letting your body be at peace. Breathing nice and deep. Letting go of the tension. And then something else happens–it just starts to work.
I remember one time I was thinking about that verse in the Bible–the one about how Option A is to be all anxious and Option B is to be all let’s give this to God when things weigh heavy and how choosing Option B floods your mind with peace, even if not much changes around you.
And I decided I wanted to write a song about it. So I sat there at the piano and worked for a very long time. And a whole lot of nothing felt like it transpired in the next hour. Sure, I found one chord progression that I liked and so proceeded to wear it out, but that didn’t exactly feel like something to write home about. Especially since I was already home and my parents would be all, Why didn’t you just save yourself the thirty-nine cents and tell us about that chord progression over cereal in the morning?
So I gave up and left for whatever was next on my agenda. And as I was walking out of my house, a set of lyrics and a melody just popped right into my head–acted like it owned the place cause it didn’t even knock or anything. So I ran back to my piano and, sure enough, it fit with that chord progression I had been playing over and over again. Fit like a glove. And that was that. The song came so easy when I stopped trying so hard. Not that you shouldn’t try–you should never not try–but sometimes there’s a time to walk away, I guess. To relax. To let it happen.
And it’s such a nice surprise when it does just that.
Like yesterday, when I decided to get myself into a ballet class. I even got myself into a leotard and tights, which was a nice kind of nostalgic for me. And the correction I got from my teacher was to not be so hard on myself; to relax and maybe even get rid of that determined expression that was arranged on my face. The one I had, up till that point, had no idea about. And then I remembered that I was dancing and it was like, Oh! right. This is my body dancing–moving to the music, even if it is a little piano tune and not exactly something with a fat beat–it’s still me dancing, so why not show that I love it?
Not to mention relax, too.
Which is when I started to land some pirrouettes. But not learn how to actually spell that word. Don’t be crazy.
And the thing is, sometimes it can feel like we are up against the clock all the time. The way life is arranged in increments we call minutes that fill up till they are hours that fill up till they are days. Days of our lives. Haha that’s a soap opera, which wasn’t my point. Just kidding, that’s totally my point. We should all watch more soap operas and then life will come easy.
Oh, I kid again.
I didn’t actually want to comment on soap operas at all, except to say that they give actors jobs so YEAH!
But what I am saying is that there isn’t a lot of time to give yourself to worry, especially when that makes whatever it is you are trying to do a little less likely. And a lot less fun.
And I’m not saying this because I’ve done it and done it well. I’m saying it because I am learning about this; I’m trying to relax and breathe while working hard. To remember that, though I am turning out and pointing my feet like crazy or singing something that feels real, REAL high right about now–or even going to the grocery store because my momma asked me to and let’s be honest, she’s done more for me than could ever be paid back, should I go to every grocery store in every province, it is my life. All of it. So why not remember that I love it? And then once I remember, why not show it? Just like in ballet class. And why not give myself to the work of peace, starting right here. In that part of me that you cannot see or take, that part of me that I should not forget or neglect…
the time I had my first audition of the new year
in Funny Stuff, Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
as accompanist, audition room, book, director, I. Do, Michael Jackson, New York, something, song, televangelist, time, whole lot of nothing, whole slew
Today I went to New York and back.
It was time.
And for the occasion, I even got a new shirt complete with a big face on it that I first thought was Michael Jackson but then came to the conclusion that it was just some lady’s face. And then I sort of wore the shirt as a dress. You can do that when you wear leggings; it’s like magic, the way they transform a longish shirt into a very shortish dress.
But the reason I went to the city was to go sing for some people that have the power to cast me in a Broadway show. I’ve found that to be the key to getting jobs. Singing for those people, I mean. I enjoy singing for everybody, don’t get me wrong, but singing in my bedroom isn’t going to get me a show. Not unless those aforementioned people are in my bedroom too, but that just raises a whole slew of other questions I am not going to get into now.
So I go into the audition room and it’s just how it always is. A few people behind a table. An accompanist at the piano. A whole lot of nothing else. Except me, of course. Me and my book and my smile that says it’d be a really good idea to hire me, you know.
And for some reason I decide not to sing my whole song. I cut it down to 24 bars or so and those 24 bars go well. My only problem is that I am never quite sure where to look when I am singing about 4 feet away from the casting people. I mean, if I stare right at them, it’s creepy; if I look above and just past them, it’s reminiscent of some kind of televangelist who is conjuring up their future or something. Might as well just roll my eyes into the back of my head while I’m at it.
I compromise: I look at the tops of their heads.
And when I stop, they ask, Is that all? Can you sing more? Something else maybe?
Now this is a good thing and I know this is a good thing. Nobody ever wants more of something they don’t like. Especially not a casting director who has already sat through tons of hopefuls and let’s be real, it’s only 11:30 am.
The problem is I’ve committed the classic rookie mistake. Everybody knows you should only put music in your audition book that you know and can sing at the drop of a hat. But still, I have music in my book that I don’t know. That I don’t even remember putting in my book, actually.
I can sing Natural Woman for you, I suggest, hoping they’ll take this since it’s something I have and something I know.
Nope, he says. Needs to be broadway. Legit. A standard, he emphasizes.
Which is when the accompanist lands on something in my book, She has The Man I Love.
I do? I think, wracking my brain for that song, realizing that I don’t know it.
Uh-oh…Because I. Don’t. Know. It.
Great, the casting director says, Sing that.
I start walking towards the piano and as I do, I apologize. I’ve been on the road with A Chorus Line for a long time, I explain. I haven’t looked at my book in a while and I don’t really know that song.
That’s fine, the director says kindly, You can sight sing for us.
Great, I think. Sight singing. Just what I want to be doing in front of the casting director. Ugh.
But he starts playing and luckily the melody isn’t so tricky. It’s actually a little bit bluesy, this song, and I appreciate that. I’m having a good time, singing it pretty well. The verse gives way to a chorus and I try to pretend like I know it. It actually goes smoothly. Kind of. It ends low, on a D, and I’ve always gotten along well with a D and I’m also happy it’s over.
The director says I have a beautiful voice and I am going to be honest, compliments make me happy. He asks me how my dancing is and we talk a bit about being on the road. Then he tells me, I am going to ask you one more thing.
Um, anything! I think.
Seriously, directors can ask anything of auditionees and by goodness, we will do it or die trying. I once saw a guy do a tumbling pass to impress a director who had asked for anyone who can tumble to demonstrate. He might have overcompensated though, because this guy’s last back handspring landed on the production team’s table, knocking over some coffee and almost sending him right out the open window.
And can you believe that the poor guy didn’t get the job?
But the director asks me to sing the end of All that Jazz. It’s a big brassy belt. It’s hot and I’m excited to do it. I practice once and my voice forgets how to belt. The pianist looks at me and says, This is pie for your voice, you’ve got this. So I do it for real this time and it feels great. Like singing in the shower great. They all nod like I am the horse they were betting on and I have just won and didn’t they tell everyone I would win? It feels good.
As I leave I tell them that I like that song, The Man I Love, that I think I am going to learn it.
We all laugh and they say, You should; it sounds really good on your voice.
I walk out having no idea what, if anything, will come of this audition. But it sure does feel absolutely worth it to feel like you’ve at least made a good impression.
And I wasn’t kidding about The Man I Love, either.
I am going to learn it, since it’s already in my book and all.
