Letters to my Mentors 5. Oh, oh, oh... it's Magic.

Dear Mentor,

When I met you, I did not yet have any children.  I was working as your executive assistant in a large non-profit and your background as a titan of the financial world had preceded you.  Imagine my surprise when you called me into your office.

"Find out Tannen's Magic Shop's hours today.  I need to get some shopping done," you said.

My usual office demeanor cracked with this surprising request and the questions started rolling out.  "Are you a magician?" "When did you start doing magic?"  "Why would you be doing magic?"

You began doing magic tricks at your children's birthdays when they were very small.  There was a hiatus during their teenage and young adult years, but when the grandchildren arrived, you picked up where you left off, buying one to two magic tricks a year to add to your repertoire.

As for me?  I can now do a rope trick, cut a card into pieces and reassemble it and I am starting out with card tricks now.  I have some linking rings that absolutely blew the mind of the kids who were attending The Spud's and LHB's birthdays this year.

For at least a couple more years I will be happily performing these tricks, learning more and, hopefully, making memories for my children.

Sincerely,
Eapen

Letters to my Mentors 4. When you screw up, Improvise.

Dear Mentors,

Back when I was a senior in undergrad, I was having a pretty bad year.  My young voice was still pretty unstable.  I pegged my heart on a couple of roles that I did not get because my voice was a mess.  I turned down opportunities because I had my heart set on roles that I did not get because my voice was really in a bad place.  It was a snowball of challenges that I made for myself.

About a quarter into the year, I realized that I had to make some sort of opportunity for myself.  Outside of my senior recital and required courses, I had absolutely no performing opportunities.  For a music performance major, that is a death knell.

I ended up collaborating with a young conductor to organize a production of Mozart's Requiem.  The vision was to have a student run, conducted and performed full production that would be performed on a weekend when high school seniors would be visiting.

And that is where you all came in.  When I conceived this project, I was feeling pretty bad about myself.  I didn't know what I was going to do with my voice and career and I had watched myself destroy my performance opportunities both by circumstance and action.
You all completely believed in this idea of making this performance.  You agreed to conduct the show.  You joined the chorus.  You played in the orchestra.  You agreed to be the organization sponsors.  You were my fraternity brothers who showed up to set up the room and listened to my fears and concerns in our weekly meetings.  And in the end, all of you combined your efforts to make this the highest attended concert at our school that year.  There were people sitting in the aisles.  The president of the college was in attendance, front and center.

I think that our group made an impact on those future college freshman and it was your generosity of time and talent that helped me turn around my attitude and think that maybe I could make a career in music.

Thank you for being there for me at one of the darkest moments of my career and helping give me the push to keep going.

And so, I am sharing this recording of the full performance.  It is far from perfect and the tenor soloist sounds like he is a very young tenor (pro-tip: it's me).  Besides that?  It is one of my proudest moments of my career, even all these days later.

Sincerely,
Eapen

Letters to My Mentors, Part 3. Generosity and Hospitality.

Dear Mentor,

We met when I was a young artist.  You needed a driver to get you around town and I needed a job to help keep me fed.  It is funny how age did not make much of a distance because we ended up spending a great deal of time together.

We would have lunch at your place and then go on trips to multiple grocery stores to shop the sales.  You were buying way too much if you were only buying for yourself.  This is where I learned one of the many lessons you quietly demonstrated: Feeding artists.

Opera singers, when starting out, generally have a whole lot of similarities with each other. We are all generally broke and hungry.  This is where you came in.  For every single rehearsal and performance, you would provide a buffet of crackers and cheese, cookies, apples and pears sliced up and whatever else might have been on sale.  It was hugely generous and it was a way that you gave back to those who performed out our little opera company.  I would bring the buffet over every day and set it up and then tear it down to bring it back for you to refill.  Your generosity was a gift that is missed to this very day back at that company.

In spending all that time driving you around, I also helped you out with entertaining friends and guests.  You had a huge supply of beautiful china and silver and could invite friends over for an evening of dinner.   I would help set up and, thanks to you, I think I set a pretty mean table.

For Christmas one year you gave me an olive spoon 
and I still have it today after so many moves across the country chasing my dreams.

You never had children and were only briefly married.  I wonder if I, and some of the other guys who drove you around, became the sons you never had.  I wonder what kind of father you might have been.

I still think of you often and the endless hours of volunteering that you did for so many organizations in the town where we met.

Thank you for sharing your gifts and time and talent with me.
Sincerely,
Eapen

Letters to my Mentors 2. Swing.

Dear Mentor,

 I could extoll the experimental aspects of your choral direction that incorporated movement or your patience with me as I went through the personal toils and petty tribulations of the very early stages of my music education.  Recently, I was reminded of one lesson that pervaded our entire time together: golf.

Golf seemed to be your obsession.  During the countless hours that our choir worked with you, there were comparisons to swings, slices and the joys of being out on a beautiful day.  There were explanations about being in "the zone" and hitting ball after ball down the fairway only, the next day, to be out of the zone and butcher the game on the same course.  We heard about the nuances of stance and preparation and how, once you swung the ball, that preparation

I remember being amazed at your capacity to apply your love of golf to the art of making music and, despite my lack of knowledge on the sport, make it relevant and meaningful to me.

My background did not include much sport.  There was a soccer team briefly as a child.  Swim Team happened.  I did long-distance running in early high school. I think the gap was that I never had a physical activity that was wholly a part of my life and that I looked forward to.  Everything was a function of getting exercise and rarely did it happen with a whole lot of joy in my heart.

This winter season, everything changed and I was reminded of your obsession with golf.  With my recent relocation to Denver, I bought season passes for my family at a mountain very close to the city.  It is very small (only about 5 slopes), but it is a great place for kids to learn to ski.

As for me, I went skiing for the first time since, well.. after a choir tour that you led.  It was exhilarating and it was my very first activity that I had where I could relate.  Each run was practically the same and yet totally different.  Skiing out west was a revelation compared to my east coast skiing.

For now, thanks for sharing your love of a sport and for teaching me that you can apply an experience like that to music.  I had to hold on to that lesson for a number of years, but the lesson was learned.... eventually.

Sincerely,
Eapen

Golf Swing... Obsession with Sport. Only now Many years later, am I getting it.  (Skiing to follow)

Letters to my Mentors, Part 1. Starting Out.

Dear Mentor,

When I was still a boy, and a child soprano, I was featured on the radio singing Silent Night with my choir.  This solo, and what happened subsequently, planted the seed in my mind that perhaps my calling was music.  I followed this path to where I am today and I am grateful for the journey that started as you offered me my first paid, professional position.

As it turned out, you studied and performed American Parlor Songs, and enjoyed the novelty songs from the turn of the century.  You had many Victrola and shared with me crackly music on wax tubes.  I had never heard anything quite like that before and I still enjoy old recordings and dream of owning my own Victrola or record player.

After contacting me via my choir director, my mom took me over to your place where the three of us looked at your song, "Sandy the Christmas Cat."  I learned it quickly and after the session you asked me if I would like to record the song to help you get published.  You offered me my first paycheck, a hundred dollars.  At the time, it was a shocking amount of money.

During the next year, I had my first studio recording session with professional musicians from the Eastman School of Music.  We recorded the song a bunch of times and then you edited it and sent me a cassette tape (now lost).

Later that year, you gave me the opportunity to record "The Sandy Cat Walk."  I was in 5th grade and very shortly after, my voice changed.  I am profoundly grateful that I have these records of my childhood voice.  If I can find the tape, I'll add it here.

It was during 6th grade that you died of a heart attack.  You had already had several heart attacks but the last one was too much for you to recover from.

Your wife welcomed us one last time to your home and I was able to see those Victrolas one last time.  She gave me a small paper weight that I still keep in my office. 

The pennies suspended in it are a reminder of my time with you and my first opportunity to earn money as a professional singer.

Sincerely,
Eapen