Messiaen, and a couple of rambling thoughts on why I do what I do

I attended my friend Jonathan Dimmock's organ recital of the Messiaen piece "La Nativite du Seigneur" last night, in the magnificent space of St. Ignatius' Catholic church (really, for architecture I prefer the neo-Gothic gorgeousness of St. Dominic's, but for sheer grandeur....wow. Just wow. And for the musically inclined among us, the acoustic in St. Ignatius can't be beat. But, as usual, I digress).

If you had asked me before I left why, exactly, I wanted to hear this concert, I couldn't give you a compelling answer. I'm not a Messiaen fanatic (I've sung "St. Francois D'Assise", and five hours of Messiaen is about as much as anyone should ever have to endure in one go, thankyouverymuch), although I like his creative energy. It's not that I was sick with a sinus infection and had a bit of cabin fever (although I did). It's not even a piece I'd go out of my way to hear again. The movements were performed perfectly, in a supremely suitable environment, but I've had many an opportunity to hear similar musical offerings in similar environments.

I realized, about two-thirds of the way through the hour (despite its being nine discrete movements, it only takes about 55-60 minutes to perform the entire piece), why, in fact, I wanted to hear Jonathan play it--because I had read an interview with him in SF Classical Voice in which he described the experience of playing the Messiaen, in almost ecstatic terms:

"By the time I get to the end, to those last chords, I am moving out of my body, my skin can't hold the dimensions of the music, it's as if my fingers are exploding. It's then that I feel like a channel rather than a performer. I realize it's not about me."

The real reason I was there was to see WHY Jonathan was so passionate about it. I wanted to see what it felt like--to have that almost out-of-body experience while performing--since I so rarely felt that moved by my own performing; and never, to my recollection, as a soloist--I've always felt my 'peak' moments came within the context of a group. I've never felt that sense of transcendence as a solo artist--I think it's because my performance anxiety precludes that.

The times I've felt most lifted, most alive, were when a group with whom I was singing did everything 'right': moved, breathed, thought as one entity. The most magical moments for me came out of the symbiosis, where one is part of a larger whole, integral but not individual.

It's the same thrill I get when watching the Blue Angels perform their aerial acrobatics, or a synchronized swimming team at the Olympics--the ability to put one's individuality aside for the good of the whole, and the generosity inherent in that precision of agreed-upon mutual movement. One plane alone, one swimmer alone, just isn't as exciting or interesting to watch, no matter how beautifully executed the routine may be. It's seeing two or more people, doing the exact same thing, in perfect sync--in perfect harmony, really--with each other, that makes us gasp.

It occurred to me then that that's why I've never really been a 'solo' artist--at least, not a very successful one....in that sense. I feel too naked, too unsupported. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy singing solos when I get them--but performing solos in front of an audience isn't the point for me: I honestly don't care much for that. For me, the validation comes from being Alpha dog for those few measures--first among equals. That's when my ego fluffs with pride. And that's enough for me--I can meld in with the rest of the pack, after that.

So, when I look at my 'career' from THAT angle--that of being respected among my peers (if the generous feedback from them, all of whom are soloist-worthy in their own rights, are any indication!)--I can consider myself pretty successful, after all.

RM

'Tis the season....

....when the To-Do list grows longer as the Ta-Da! list grows shorter....

*sigh*

RM

Grump of the day*

Note to local arts organizations: Please update your artists' rosters once in a while....it's kind of insulting when I've sung with one group in particular for over three years, and have, in addition, donated my time to their fundraising events on several occasions...and I'm STILL not listed on their website. Grf.

RM

*why yes, I'm stuck at home with a head cold feeling like crap and wasting time online....why do you ask?

One door opens, another shuts behind...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8lK5lzyd37A

My mantra for the day: this song.

Over the past couple of years, I've been working on making scarves, arm warmers, and other accessories from upcycled felted cashmere sweaters, as well as getting into canning and making jams after being taught the basics by my neighbor across the street. I gave away much of what I made last year as Christmas presents and it helped my meager gift budget go a long way. People also loved getting homemade goodies, and I got a lot of positive strokes for my work (which is not often the case in performing arts, as we well know....). Too, it was a creative outlet for me in a way that singing hasn't been for a long time: I could make whatever I wanted (fig jam with port? blackberry jam with chocolate? WHY NOT?), without being told what to do or how to do it.

As it turns out, that same neighbor called last night and asked if I wanted to go with her to bring a bunch of our jams and jellies to a market in North Beach...they don't care that we don't have a license, or a commercial kitchen; they just know that we make homemade jams, and that's what they want.

A couple of months ago, a friend talked me into bringing some jams, as well as some of my work in felted cashmere, up to her place in Petaluma for a trunk show. She invited a bunch of people she knew...and only five people showed up.

BUT.

All five of them (plus my friend) bought cashmere AND jam....I walked out of there with $350.

.....and a renewed sense of what was possible.

I don't know whether this is going to turn into anything major for me, but I DO know that this is a potential income stream...right when I'm looking for ways to get out of having to sing full-time.

Maybe the universe really is looking out for me, after all....

RM

PS....thank you, Richard Thompson. I love this song.

Hey! I'm not the only one!

I came across this on my Facebook page (what addiction? I can quit ANY. TIME. I want. Really.) today and it so perfectly describes what it can feel like to be depressed--but with more humor and wit than I could possibly muster up, so instead of whining about how deep in the hole I am and how much I hate my miserable life, check this out and have a laugh instead:

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html

RM

Meditation on the Possible

(WARNING: Navel-gazing alert. You may wish to skip this entry and move on to something more entertaining....like another blog, for instance.)

I was reminded this evening of a documentary I had watched a few years ago on Henry Darger, a reclusive, eccentric man who worked a menial job, never married, lived in the same small apartment for forty years....and spent his time creating a fantastic alternative universe, in words and paintings, that were only discovered near the end of his life. I won't say more exccept that the documentary, "In The Realms Of The Unreal" (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0390123/), is pretty powerful stuff (in fact, I think I need to watch it again myself).

Around the same time, I saw another documentary, also about an artist, but this time a living artist who is not only recognized but celebrated--Andy Goldsworthy (Rivers and Tides-- http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0307385/).

What blew me away at the time (and still impresses me now) was that both of these men were following their creative impulse against the tide of culture and society--one secretly, one openly. They weren't worried about what anyone thought of them--they simply did what they were compelled to do, which was to create. These films expanded my sense of what was possible in the world--that one didn't have to follow the same straight lines, or even stay within them, to be able to survive--and thrive. The little boxes one would check when asked, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" in school probably didn't include "Oh, I wanna write a fifteen-THOUSAND page epic complete with watercolor and ink illustrations about seven little girls who lead a civil war against their abusers, even though I was an orphan, never went to art school, had no formal training, had no family and no support for my work" or "I think I'll go out in the woods somewhere and build works of art out of whatever I find there--ice, clay, straw, branches, leaves..."

(I mean, I remember being JEALOUS of Andy Goldsworthy while watching this, thinking, "You mean, the type of shit I used to do as a kid just screwing around, he gets to do every day? --and gets PAID for it?!? OODLES OF MONEY???!? GAAAHHHHHH!!!")

It's funny that I'm reminded of these films tonight, when I'm circling back around to trying to figure out what it is that I want to do with myself, and more importantly, getting over my fears of actually DOING it.

A better question to ask, I should think, instead of "What do you want to be when you grow up?" (who wants to grow up, after all?) is, "What did you love to do when you were ten or twelve?" ...back when you didn't give a shit about what anybody else thought about what you did, when everything was done in a spirit of play, and creativity was as natural, as fearless, as unintimidating, as breathing?

I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that when I was twelve, I wanted to be one of two things: either a writer for Isaac Asimov's science fiction magazine (a friend had loaned me several back issues and I was hooked) or a Not Ready For Prime Time Player. Still, it's interesting that expressing myself in words and fantasies, and being funny, have been a through-line in my life, even though I'm not currently working for Mr. Asimov OR Mr. Michaels. Neither of these through-lines have generated income....yet.

I'm not sure yet what, exactly, all this means, or where it will lead. That's why the title reads "meditations on-" as opposed to "things I know for sure about-". But I think that it's the meditation--and the exploration--that will eventually show me the next step.

RM

Consciousness shift

I was sitting in the terrace at Davies Symphony Hall last night at two minutes to seven, with the rest of the chorus, score in hand, waiting for the rehearsal to begin. All of a sudden, very clearly in my head I heard a voice (my voice):

"I don't want to do this anymore."

Huh? Wha-? Really? I thought.

It's the Verdi Requiem, I told myself. One of my all-time favorite pieces! It's got a dream team KILLER quartet of soloists (Sondra Radvanovsky, Dolora Zajick, Frank Lopardo, Ain Anger)! It's with one of the best orchestras in the world! It'll be awesome!

--and my mental response was

......'shrug'. 'So?'

I know I've vented my frustrations many times here with my choice of career, but this was the first time I'd really gotten such a clear message from my Self telling me it was long past time I considered moving on. I've joked about accounting, but (laugh if you like) there's something about a regular day job with a regular paycheck that's awfully attractive when you've done freelance all your life. Too, I know too well that singers, like any other person who relies on their body to do their job, have a finite shelf life, and that, now that I'm over 40, I should begin to at least consider what I want to be when I grow up, what I want to do with this one wild and precious life before my voice starts to veer into Florence Foster Jenkins territory....

So, the question in front of me now is the big cosmic, the one everyone asks, the one everyone MUST ask, whether in small scale or writ large in their lives, and more than once:

OK...Now what?

I don't have an answer to that yet. I have an idea of what I'd LIKE my life to look like, but the pesky issue of sustainable income casts a pall over my rosy domestic picture.

I am pretty sure of one thing: I no longer will be a full time singer. I feel better, not worse, when I say that, like a little popcorn jolt of YES! in my solar plexus.

I don't think I'll quit completely, either, especially without another source of income ready to go (anybody know a good sugar daddy?, she asked, only half-joking....

'sound of crickets'

OK, never mind....).

What is obvious is that I need to give this some serious thought. I'll keep ya posted.

And no, I won't be changing the blog title anytime soon. :-)

RM