Owning the Stage

Owning The Stage

11/24/11

Preamble

Last weekend was the closing weekend of the community theater show here in my little burg north of Chicago.  I know that for most of us, Community Theater conjures images of Waiting For Guffman – it’s something to be tolerated rather than enjoyed - probably because you know someone in the cast and are obligated to go.  

In this community, however, Community Theater isn’t (generally) what you’d think.  The town and its neighbors are big art supporters who are sitting on highly taxed properties.  Meaning that the park districts, which are by-and-large the producers of said community theater, can afford to put on a pretty good show.  They also have a lot of talent to work with.  Overwhelmingly college educated, there are many residents who have professional-level jobs but have degrees and/or experience in the performing arts.  So, while it ain’t the Guthrie, Community Theater around here is usually a pretty enjoyable experience.

The question

K.  So there I am at the closing performance of our park districts spring musical.  I have some students in the cast, and so of course we’ll be talking about it in their lessons this week.  And, being the teacher, I’d better have something smart to say about it.

This particular show got me thinking about what makes one actor riveting, the next compelling, the next merely pleasant, and the last, well, pitiful.

For the sake of this reflection, I’ll be staying away from “riveting” and “pitiful.”  But I did have a thought about the difference between “compelling” and “pleasant”.  From this day forward I’ll be calling this pearl of wisdom the Home Ownership Theory of Performance.

The Home Ownership Theory of Performance

Scenario #1: You in the House which is Not Yours

In this scenario, you are comfortable.  You’re comfortable because the house belongs to someone you love and trust.  You don’t have to notify anyone when you use the bathroom.  You help yourself to a glass of water or coffee it you want it.  You know which kitchen drawer is for silverware.  You’re clear on whether this is a “shoes” or “no shoes” home and you follow the rules with familiarity.

Though this house is familiar and comfortable and welcoming, though you feel quite at home to move about and help yourself and speak your mind, you’re nonetheless aware that you’ll be leaving sooner or later.  You can’t really help the resident child find her lost little-bitty-thingy, nor would you know where the Christmas lights are stored, or be able to cook a meal without a lot of cupboard exploration.

You In This House is the actor who is “just fine” on stage.  The actor who “did a good job” and who had fun in the doing.  That actor enjoyed the show and contributed to it.  The director appreciated that actor and the role he or she filled.  That actor was familiar with the stage, but didn’t own it.

Scenario #2: You in the House which IS Yours

In this scenario, you’re the one paying the mortgage/rent.  This is where you sleep.  If you want to throw your stuff on the floor or over the chair you can.  And you probably do.  You know where the medium-sized Philips head screwdriver is and which is the squeaky step and how cold it has to be for the back door to stick.  You own this space.

I know you’re with me, here.  You In This House is the actor who is compelling to watch.  He or she owns that stage.  That actor is the one that would be cast in the role that requires transparency or intimacy, because that actor could make those feelings or actions believable to the audience.  This is the actor who later tells us that he or she “got lost in the role”.  They barely knew we – the audience – were there.

No surprise that this also applies to any other performing artist.  The singer that you stop talking to listen to is the one who doesn’t even need to consider the fact that she’s the one leading the band – she just does it.  She owns that music.  Or the dancer you can’t peel your eyes from even though there are six other dancers on stage with her.  It’s all the same.

Of course this begs the question, “How do they do it”?

I don’t know the answer, but I think it’s fair to say that unless it comes completely naturally to you, the first step is awareness.

Groove on,

Meredith
www.BestNorthShoreVoiceLessons.com

Paul Simon in Milwaukee, 11/7/11

If Mamma Ain't Happy...

Marla called me last night.  I had given her daughter and husband some coaching sessions before they auditioned for the community theater production this year.  Darling Daughter is a natural performer – charisma for days.  Hubby, on the other hand, is a bit shy.  He also happens to have this tenor voice that a lot of guys would trade their fantasy football team for and hasn’t really used it since college.  Happy in his practice and with his family.  He did notice, though, that his daughter was at the age where she might soon be embarrassed to be seen with him, so he decided to audition for the play with her.  If they both got cast it would be a Shared Experience (we parents look for those) and might be fun.

Marla, being one of the more considerate people I’ll ever meet, called to tell me that both daughter and hubby were cast in the show.  She also shared that she has volunteered to do make-up and that her son will be working the concession stand.  So this show, anyway, will be quite the family affair.

 Boy-oh-boy.  The things you learn when you’re a parent.  

When I was childless I knew a lot about parenting.  Really.  Drop of a hat, I had an opinion on the things parents do wrong.

Now, of course, having a child my own self, I do all the wrong things. All the time. I’m always open to advice and I know I’ve Grown As A Person. Still trying to learn, though, and I know there’s a big one I still struggle with. This principle is neatly summed up by a magnet we happen to have on our refrigerator. It says:

If Mamma ain’t happy, nobody happy!

As hard as that is to choke down, I know in my bones it’s the truth.  So I’m working on making myself happy, and trying to figure out what that looks like.  I know it doesn’t look like being a Mom Slave – driving my kid to a million events and classes, letting her treat her home like a hotel, and always putting her needs before mine.

So I’m loving Marla for waving this example in my face.  Susie, a wise and gifted student of mine, demonstrated the same principle (for the first time) years ago.  She was in a play with her daughter.  She’s been in plays with her children since then and recently had a public art show with her dad and daughter.  

How cool is that? 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the many reasons we love the arts.  The arts are blind to enjoyment based on age (unlike, say, skateboarding).  You can feed your own soul while sharing a terrific experience with your offspring.  Or, your dad or friend or whomever.  The arts let us connect through doing together, and in that process of doing there will be laughter and struggles and freak-outs and elation.  You’ll screw up and move on.  (Which, by the way, is the way human beings learn.)  But mostly you’ll be together doing something really fun – something that is expansive and forces you to reach beyond yourself.   You’ll do that and your kids will see you do that.   There may be gifts as valuable that you can give them, but there is no gift more valuable.

Yup.  Mamma can be happy, family can be happy, everybody wins.

 www.BestNorthShoreVoiceLessons.com

This Is a Spoon

Most of the people I’ve taught consider themselves, to a greater or lesser degree, singers.  

Most of the people I’ve taught do not consider themselves musicians.

How can this be?  If you are making music with an instrument or your voice, aren’t you by definition a musician? 

Many people would answer “yes”.  But most of my students don’t feel they’re musicians because they can’t read music.  They can’t speak the language of music.  So they’re not, by their own standards as it applies to them (important point) musicians.

This is a spoon.

When you were a baby someone put this in your hand and put the bowl of Baby Gruel in front of you and you made it work.  You weren’t graceful, but you got the thing to bring the food to your mouth (more or less). 

It was not, at that time, a spoon.  At that time is was shiny, smooth, cool, hard, loud when you banged it, exciting when you threw it, something to push things with, something that other things would fit in, something you could eat the stuff that slipped out of your hands with.  It didn’t have a name.  Somebody taught you the name of the thing while you were in the process of using it.  You didn’t remember the first time they told you.  You had to hear the word and see what it was applied to a number of times before it stuck.

It’s easy to color outside the lines if you don’t see them in the first place.

What my students are trying to say when they say they are not musicians is that they’re aware of their inability to speak Music in the vernacular of the language shared by musicians.  

Music, to them, is the spoon to the baby.  Is the spoon any less a spoon, or the baby any less a Spoon User because he can’t give the spoon a name?  Of course not.  And likewise, some of the best musicians in history have been uneducated, or “ear” musicians.  Some of your favorite songs have been written by musicians who would not call themselves musicians because they couldn’t speak the language of music.

Not being confined to the rules of the language can give a musician room to be innovative.  Irving Berlin, Ella Fitzgerald, Willie Nelson, and Kurt Cobain were all untrained musicians.  John Coltrane, arguably the most influential musician of the 20^th century, had only limited exposure to academic music training.  The thing about not knowing what a spoon is supposed to be is that you’re more likely to find amazing things it’s not supposed to be, but is. 

Back to our baby…

It’s easy to imagine that baby going right along using his spoon and nobody teaching him what it was called, or, when they tried to tell him he said, “I’m using it!  I don’t need to know what it’s called”!  As he continued to eat with other people, it would become increasingly embarrassing to have to ask for “the silver, shiny, smooth thing that can shovel food”.  In fact, a person like that might be inclined to avoid eating with other people who did know the names of all the dishware.  

And that’s sometimes what happens to musicians who don’t speak the language of music.  Not being able to speak the language of music to can limit them both in terms of how far they can go, or are interested in going, into music. It can also limit what music experience they’ll expose themselves to because, well, what if everyone else speaks the language and I look dumb?  What if they find out I’m not “real?”

Music or anything else.

I’m not advocating for musical illiteracy, don’t get me wrong.  

If you’re aware of feeling hampered by the lack of a particular body of knowledge, if you know deep down that you’d feel more confident in your abilities if you were to learn a thing or two about a particular discipline or language, if you’re defending your right to be ignorant at the expense of feeling “real,” then I think you should be honest with yourself.  

I’m advocating for you climbing your mountains, one at a time. 

I want you to begin to walk the path.  Because carrying around a feeling of being “less than” because of something that’s easy to fix just ain’t worth it.  Things you’re afraid of are never as scary once you really look at them.  Avoidance only compounds the fear. It’s just a spoon, in the end.  And if you’re able to embrace your own experience, and your experience is outside the prescribed path, then good for you.  Play them spoons with feeling!

Cheering Yourself On

Maia, my niece, is 10.  She’s a tall, beautiful, smart girl sees herself as a Tween.  Recently she added to this self-image with a very grown-up accomplishment.  She earned her Jr. Lifeguard Certificate.  When I say “earned it”, I mean it.   She and her classmates had to run 4K every day, swim for hours, and practice their just-learned lifesaving maneuvers.  Did I mention she’s 10?

A few days ago, fresh on the heels of this accomplishment, Maia and her family came to visit.  In the interest of recognizing her and having a reason to eat cake, I bought a cake and had “Congratulations Maia” written on the top.  Without much fanfare the two families decimated the cake like termites on a rotten log.  Before Maia went outside to play with the other kids she asked why the cake had the inscription it did.  When I told her it was in honor her Jr. Lifeguard accomplishment, she rolled her eyes, did the “aw shucks” hand gesture, and told me “it wasn’t anything” as she walked out the door.

This small thing has made a quietly simmering thought start to steam.

Often one of my voice students will have a breakthrough.  Their dedication will pay off and they will achieve a significant level of freedom with their voice.   Or they’ll master a skill.  Or they’ll just find that next step.  Sometimes these milestones unfold slowly over a number of weeks.  But sometimes they happen in a few minutes.  When that happens it’s very exciting to me, Meredith T. Voice Teacher. 

So here I am in the lesson.  Student has just achieved Milestone.  Teacher is jumping up and down about how great this event is.  Student smiles.  Student acknowledges being aware of the change.  But Student does not join Teacher in enthusiastic tail-wagging.  In fact, Student often tries to give all credit to Teacher.

Just as my niece did, this student has worked for and invested in this accomplishment, and then when the threshold that signifies that accomplishment is crossed, the student won’t claim this thing she’s earned.

Reflected in their experience, I see that I do the same thing, and have done my entire life.

I don’t know when or why I learned not to measure or claim my accomplishments.  I don’t know why it’s such a pervasive thing.  As a teacher I’ve long been aware of it in my students, and I’ve been troubled over my students’ frequent inability to claim their successes.  But in order to get a handle on the damage caused by this hole in the psyche I had to own it in myself.

I’ve lived my life with the guiding assumption that at some point I would Arrive at a measurable point and Be A Success.  Because this has been an assumption, it has controlled me without lending itself to being questioned or examined.  It has kept me in a place of discounting all the little milestones that have made up my life.  

I imagine that there are people who don’t have this problem, people who can experience their achievements as measures of success in the broad scope of their life.  But I know there are an awful lot of people like my students and my niece and me who need to give up the idea that the daily successes don’t count.   We need to count the fact that we finished the program, our singing has improved, we handled an issue at work diplomatically, our garden is healthy, we’ve stayed committed to someone who’s ill, we finished making the quilt or painting the room, the interview went well, we’ve mastered pronouncing the “th” sound, or we met a self-imposed goal.  

We also need to join the celebration of those successes that are right out there in plain sight for everyone to see.  The promotion, getting a part in the show, the diploma, the ribbon cutting, the new condo, or the Jr. Lifeguard Certificate.  We need to stop saying, “aw, shucks,” and instead say, “thank you”.  We need to receive the gift of recognition.  Then we need to give that gift to ourselves.

The bottom line is that these successes are the stuff of life.  To discount them is to discount your own journey.  Counting them is feeling your own life and your own power.  Experiencing them is learning humility and joy.  My love for others has brought this hidden and controlling assumption into the light to be questioned.  And if I believe it for those I care for, I must live it for myself.  It may take me a while to get the hang of it, but it’ll have a fun payoff.  When I have a success it will count twice – once for the accomplishment itself and again for having noticed it!