Seeing, Believing, and Singing a Little Song

Whenever I'm using my sick time I always feel like it should be a special gift, some paid time to just do my thing. Too bad needing time off from work generally means, well...I'm not well enough to work.

As it turns out, recovering from surgery takes a lot out of you.  Noted.  But I've had this entry brewing in Evernote for a week now and I feel like it's time to get back into the swing of things just a little.

While vacationing in Disney World with friends and husband, I decided to audition for the American Idol Experience attraction.  This was one of those spur of the moment decisions that left me too little time for adequate preparation, but I knew deep down I'd be disappointed if I didn't go for it.

The rundown: with no prep time I had to make a safe choice, so the song didn't show off much besides my ability to pick a song I could sing.  Oh well.  More importantly, it was the first legitimate audition room I'd set foot in in at least seven or eight years.  Secretly, I don't think I audition well.  I do well at acting nonchalant all the way until the first note.  Then I have trouble seeing it as just another performance and get a little (or a lot) nervous.

Anyhow, that 30 second spot in front of the casting agent was way important for me.  Sure, she gave me good feedback after -- that my instrumental music background gives me great breath control and a decent ear, but I don't have quite the depth and breadth of vocal experience they're looking for -- but I'd already proven all I needed to.  In that moment, I made myself believe.  I proved I could do it.


Since then I've felt different, better, more inspired to keep at it.  More comfortable with the idea of singing with my friends, making mistakes, starting one of those ridiculous YouTube-based bands that seem to be all the rage.


This is something I've been watching very closely on the real American Idol, too.  I think it could decide who wins the competition.  Conviction and a genuine belief in oneself is perhaps the most important ingredient when you're talking about being an artist -- and probably a successful person, too.  Once you know, accept, and like who you are, once you feel good about putting that out there and being bold, others can't help but believe right along with you.

YouTube Artist: Approaching Respectable Job Title?

Sometimes I think I have an addictive personality. While it's true that I can't live without caffeine in my life I've learned over the past few days that a narcotics addiction is just not my speed. I've spent three days hovering in oxycodone dreams, thinking I should write a press release for work or return an e-mail or two or maybe get some writing done.  It's not until I try to do these things that I realize all the sharp edges of my mind have been dulled. I'm not even taking a high dose, but then again I do have a reputation for being a lightweight. 


Today I decided it was time to step it down and start getting back to my normal old self. I still haven't had the inclination to write a word or sing a note or even really read a whole lot of books since my operation on Wednesday, but I did find something really exciting this afternoon.  It's called Musicians Wanted on YouTube and it looks like a program created for people just like me in terms of their career aspirations. Seriously. Check out a couple of their promotional videos.  This looks like it could be really, really cool.  Just another example of how huge and how open the playing field has become in an online media world that encourages us to do and be what ever we want.




On a seemingly unrelated note, thanks to Dragon Dictation for giving my left hand a break from doing all the typing. This post was born 100% spoken word.

A Few of My Favorite Things...

In a little over eight hours, I'll be in surgery.  I started to write a blog entry about that, but what a downer, right?  I've had an awful day on account of being preoccupied by my fear of anesthesia and medical procedures.

So guess what, I'll write about the finer points of my day, like writing myself notes so I remember to try to figure out Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod by the Mountain Goats on the piano.  In an attempt to make my evening somewhat enjoyable, I sang along with everything, including the continuous procession of songs playing in my head.  Hell, once my arm is in that sling tomorrow singing will be one of the only things I can do largely unhindered (though the sore shoulder might make it a little hard to breathe).

This evening reminded me of my previous post on music as a coping mechanism, and this is one of those times when it was great to come home from work, sit down at the piano, and figure some stuff out.  Focusing on telling stories through song took the weight of my stress away, and I think I really relaxed for the first time since this week started.

Writing about my experiences and making music have been my standby coping mechanisms since the first moment I had anything real to cope with.  Not surprisingly, they're the only two things I chose to do tonight (in addition to watching American Idol, that is).

The Death of Print Media?

This is something I would usually share on Twitter, but I thought it was so cute and clever that I'd actually make a post about it.  You have to stick with it to the end -- enjoy!

Review, Reflect...Reject?

Over the past few weeks I've written a bit less and read a lot.  I tend to operate in phases with my creative work, listening to music nonstop for a couple weeks and then rededicating myself to playing or singing every day, devouring novels one after another before taking out a writing project again, mulling over photography exhibits and waiting for an idea to surface.


Upon coming back from a week-long vacation, the first thing I wanted to do was get my current manuscript out and read over the last half of it with fresh eyes and a good cup of coffee.  This I did, and I discovered exactly what point of the creative process I had entered.


I found myself experiencing considerable distaste for every paragraph.  Had I really created this haphazard story, these preachy chapters full of flat characters?


I always seem to encounter this hump when working on a big project: the no man's land between finishing the foundation work and beginning to see a well-developed product can be brutal.  After spending too much time on something to reasonably turn back, I realize I've brought something utterly mediocre into the world.

This likely happens to every artist, with perfectionists like me experiencing an intensified version thanks to our desire to make everything top-notch material fit to win an award on the first draft.  I know I've felt it looking at half-completed paintings, first batches of photographs, and most recently this manuscript that's taken up weeks (months) of my life.  Suddenly, I'm struck by the question: was this even worth my time?

I suppose what defines the experience -- and the artist -- is the decision to say yeah, it was, and keep moving.  Take the awful last half of that manuscript and make it something to be proud of.  Figure out how to make my characters dynamic and believable people the reader feels invested in.  Plenty of people stop at this point and let that self-doubt get the best of them, let it convince them that they'll never create something amazing.  But some of us don't, and no matter what I think we've got a great accomplishment to look forward to.  Nothing great comes out of an easy task -- otherwise there'd be no reason to feel we'd done anything.

Quelling my self-criticism and deciding to keep developing a project past the tough halfway-point is, to me, one of the most important pieces of the artistic process.  Overcoming frustration and/or disappointment, refusing to feel embarrassed at the quality of a work in progress, and stubbornly coming out with something I'm excited to put on display gives me perhaps the biggest sense of achievement.  It's what -- in my mind -- sets me apart as a professional artist.

Singing With Your Headphones On

Despite having heard some advice to the contrary, I enjoy singing with headphones on.  More accurately, I tend to sing with one earbud in, one earbud out.  I think it's pretty effective as an accompaniment, especially for songs I have no hope of ever being able to play on the piano.

During Hollywood Week on this season of American Idol I caught a glimpse of Mary Powers doing the same thing in rehearsal -- complete with holding the iPod like a microphone -- and I thought, hey, it's catching on!  So naturally I was pretty impressed when I watched a video about the audition process for Disney's American Idol Experience (I'll be in Disney World next week and have half a mind to check it out) and saw they'd done us one better.  They rigged iPods to display the lyrics while the song is playing, kind of like your own personal karaoke.  This is what they give you for rehearsal if you make it through to the performance rounds.

Maybe it follows naturally, maybe it doesn't, but my next question was, I wonder what this looks like when I do it?  Also knowing recording yourself is an effective practice tool, I whipped out my video camera, pressed the YouTube button, and ran through an entire song.

It was...awful.  I watched the entire thing to see if it got better toward the middle (or end), but it just stayed dreadful.  I felt like I was watching one of the American Idol auditions where the judges ask, "has anyone actually ever heard you sing before today?"

Ouch.  So that left me wondering, is it the headphones thing?  I feel like I can hear myself sing.  Or is it that at a certain age, you just can't just decide you want to start singing?  Well, really?  20 is too old?  What if I should have listened to my fellow instrumental musicians when they said "there's a reason we play instruments and don't sing?"  What about the people who have complimented me in the past, the juries who have given me passing grades?  Does this really need to be an existential crisis, or can I just note the flaws and work them out?

The thing is, this is something find really, really fun.  So fun that if I had my druthers I'd put on my carefree and fun-loving face and audition for the Idol Experience while we're in Disney.  And who knows, that might end up being the moral of the story: just because you have a discouraging experience doesn't mean you need to give up entirely.  And I probably will keep on going like I've been forever, though not without a lot of harumphing along the way.  After all, I eventually got over what was arguably my most frustrating performance moment ever: blowing an audition by messing up a scale.  I missed the cut by one slot, but still scored at the top of every other category (sightreading and a prepared piece, as I remember).  Ugh.

The thing is, no matter what the circumstances I expect all this to come naturally.  If it doesn't, I'm just "bad at it."  But of course, I'm sure my manuscript has shaky passages I'll need to rework.  I play bad notes on the piano all the time.  I sat through some brutal critiques on the path to my BFA in Studio Art.  It all requires work, even when that work involves watching a torturous video that's nothing like what I saw from my own point of view.

Maybe I just need to spend more time walking around the house with one earbud in my ear.

Good Things Today:

Every morning begins with Zeke's coffee for me.



One way you and your partner can be mutually inspiring is for one of you to be productive (and joyful about it).  My daily piano playing has begun to rub off on Doug, who has a whole repertoire of songs he's learned by ear and memorized.  He can't read music, but he can play Ben Folds Five's Brick now just from watching me practice.  Anyone want to play Name That Song for this video?



Got this in the mail on Friday.  After reviewing my favorite songs and seeing that they're all more or less right in my range, I'm way excited to try singing them.



A CLEAN DESK has made me so much more productive at the office, and I'm ready to start feeling those effects at home, too.  My desk hasn't looked like this in a long, long, time -- I feel like I've opened up a whole new world for myself!

Catharsis

A few years ago, I knew someone who was Chinese and played the violin.  She was really passionate about music – playing, sharing with others, everything – and I knew this because it was so clear in her eyes every time I saw her.  When someone close to her died, she stopped playing for a little while.  This she explained, was because her culture dictates that one shouldn’t engage in anything cathartic during a period of grieving.

I remembered this at an odd time, just sitting on the bus on the way to work today.  It gave me pause because throughout my life, I’ve used music as a cathartic vehicle that way: an escape from grief and struggle.  I always thought it was a good thing, a way to stay grounded, and I think it’s fascinating to consider a cultural viewpoint completely opposite.

If anyone else out there has used art – be it performance, visual, craft, or anything else – as a sort of cathartic outlet during a difficult time, I’d like to know your thoughts on this.  Does it allow us to escape, experience a lesser magnitude of grief?  Is this a bad thing?  Cultural traditions surrounding grief and loss are really interesting to me – for example, the Jewish tradition of covering all the mirrors in a house where someone has died so mourners needn’t be self-conscious about showing their feelings.  Again, this seems to encourage a sentiment of embracing emotion, letting it carry you for a time, and letting it go.

For me, I’ve often said music is the one thing that carried me safely through some really rough (read: angsty) patches in my life.  I don’t want to think about how I would have felt without it.  I don’t view that as escapism, I view it as self-medication in the best way, like exercising to increase your endorphins.  I view it as taking care of myself.  But I can also see how someone might argue it’s an act of running away from the full impact of my emotions.

Thoughts?

Perfectionism -- and Letting Go of It

As artists (and I use the term generally here), we often want to create something great.  Even from a young age, when our lives are filled with praise for our talents, expectation tends to accompany it: "you're such a good actor, let me know when your first big movie is coming out," "invite me to all your gallery openings in New York," "you'll autograph a copy of your first CD for me, right?"

These fantasies are a lot of fun as a kid, imagining our great successes later in life.  And indeed, it's this aspiration to greatness that keeps us going through good times and bad.  I attribute a lot of my successes to being born and bred a perfectionist, and a stubborn one at that.

At the same time, when we get to art school we spend a lot of time debating whether there's anything new under the sun.  Are we constrained or liberated by the fact that "new ideas" really don't exist anymore?

And when I find myself feeling no more than average, when I start mourning the fact that I'm not a good friend, that I'm bad at my job, that I'll never be a great writer, and/or I haven't ever done anything truly commendable (none of which are true), I start to wonder: when should I start focusing my energy on tempering this craziness rather than praising it?  I'm always wondering, will letting some of my self-criticism and perfectionism go make me complacent?  Will it lower my aptitude?  Will it hold me back from doing great things?

The truth is, I don't think so.  As someone who often thinks if the bar isn't out of reach it's not set high enough, I've been wondering lately if asking too much of oneself can be constraining in its own right.  For example, musicians are trained to relax our bodies completely.  This is the only way for our fingers to conquer the fastest notes, the only way for our voices to acquire a pleasing tone.  How often have we seen a great performance and heard someone say "she makes it look so easy?"  In fact, musicians can suffer a whole range of serious injuries as a result of poor technique, keeping tension in wrists and vocal cords.

More and more, I feel like this training can be applied to everything we do in life: only when we are entirely at ease and sure of ourselves, only when we release our tension and stop anticipating difficult passages with trepidation in our hearts, can we sail right on through the rough patches and come out on the other side unscathed and wickedly impressed with ourselves.  In this model, worry and perfectionism don't have a place.  Sure, sometimes we have to concentrate a little harder to make sure things turn out the way we want them, but unrealistic expectations don't really get us anywhere.  It's all just work, and eventually it all comes together into something great anyway -- isn't that why we do it in the first place?