A Skiers Guide to Opera Singing 4. Insanity.

If you are on social media, you may see this meme around:



First off, it is very likely that Einstein did not say it.  Let's put that aside for now.

As a new skiier, I would say that repetition has been my greatest friend.  I started out barely creeping down the green slopes and with more and more runs under my belt, I found that making the leap to more challenging slopes was not nearly as scary.

And besides, the first time I looked down from the top of the mountain I was petrified.  I thought I could see for far too many miles than was humanely safe and the bottom was completely out of sight.  That first run was a blur and it was only with repeating the runs down that I could take in more of the scenery.

Does this sound at all like singing to you?  There is a reason that I spent a month in NYC for rehearsals of my last show.  We were performing a new work that had never been staged and, in addition to giving the music the attention it deserved, my colleagues and I had to spend time figuring out how our characters would interact and what our stories were when we were not on stage.  By the end of rehearsals we were running the show twice per night.

Repetition leads to strength.  Repetition leads to the ability to recover from mistakes.  Repetition leads to confidence.  Repetition gives you the opportunity to look with a wider field of vision and appreciate different nuances.

And soon I began to realize that with repetition, the adventure was in the journey and not the destination.

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

A Skiers Guide to Opera Singing 3. Share the Lift Nicely.

Skiers are stupid.  Take for example the risks of riding the Chair Lift:

• You get on a chair that floats through the air 50 feet above the ground
• You share that chair with a friend or a total stranger
• If you don't drop the bar, you could fall out
• If you drop the bar and your chair mate isn't noticing it, you could hit their head and make them fall out
• You have to disembark without killing the person sitting next to you
• You have to load and unload smoothly so that everyone on the chair lift can get up the mountain as efficiently as possible

Opera Singers are stupid.  Take for example the risks of being on stage in an opera:

• You stand on a stage in front of hundreds (or thousands) of people who are looking to be entertained
• You share that stage with a friend or total stranger
• If you don't act safely, you could fall off the set 
• If you act safely and professionally and your colleague is not aware, you could still end up injuring them or negatively affecting the performance
• You have to enter and exit the stage without ruining your colleagues work
• You have to enter and exit the stage to smoothly maintain the efficiency of telling the story

Do you see some similarities?  As I was sitting on the chair lift, I tried to think of the rules that we could apply that would mitigate the challenges for both a skier and a singer:

• Practice- the first time you get on the chair lift or rehearse a scene, it's likely going to be a mess.  Keep working at both and soon you will know how to share the chair lift or stage nicely with your friend.
• Be considerate to strangers.  Sometimes you board a chairlift or share the stage with a new person.  When you do, watch and listen to them and try to communicate as much as possible to make sure that you are both on the same page.  Find compromise and you can find success, even on your first trip on the stage or up the chair lift.
• Lower the bar according to plan.  Once you are sure that you are ready to go out on stage or are safely seated on the lift, lower the bar in coordination with your partner.  It makes for a smoother experience and no hurt feelings.
• Mind your boarding and disembarking.  Both Chairlifts and Stages require that you carefully walk off stage.  For chairlifts, you are throwing yourself down a 10 foot slide.  You have to clear the way for the people behind you.  On stage, you are walking from a brightly lit proscenium to a dark backstage.  There may be people behind you who need to get off the stage quickly.  Don't dilly dally.  You aren't the star of the show (even if you are the star of the show), you are just a piece of the puzzle and other people have to do their jobs.

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

A Skiers guide to Opera Singing 2. Give up the Poles

It all began when we arrived at the mountain and Kev-lar said, "Why don't you leave your poles?  Helmet Jim has quit using his poles and so have a lot of the rest of the gang."

Keep in mind, the few times that I've skied, I used poles and almost every skier who I watched go by had poles except for the little kids who were snowplowing down the mountain.  My heart went right to my throat.  It seemed impossible to imagine going down such a steep hill without something to aid with balance.

Of course, I remember my poles getting tangled in my skis as I got off the chairlift as a kid.  And then I fell and they had to stop everything.  I also remember falling and getting all tangled up with my poles knocking into my skis and having to trudge around the slope collecting all my gear before I could continue on.

When Kitty went with it, I joined in as well and left the poles leaning against the lodge.

After a few runs down the little bunny area, I started to get the feel of skiing back into my body.  Kev-lar stayed with the Spud and patiently watched her come down the hill and sometimes carried her up the little hill so she would not have to side-step up.

Kitty and I left them behind and crossed a steep intermediate.  From then on we were going down a curvy, relaxed hill.  Yes, I snowplowed like a kid.  But I did not fall.  When I came close, I could just drop my hand, push off and reset myself.

It got me to thinking, what are the poles that I carry in my singing career?  What are the artificial tools that I use to support me?   What are the steps in my learning and studying and performing that I think are completely necessary, but, if I gave them up, would make me a better singer?

What are the poles that I need to leave back in the lodge when I walk out on stage and sing?

Non-Profit Startup 1.3 When the world throws the spaghetti at you

I've been spending the month in NYC doing a show and I'm trying to get my feet under me for our DASP conversion to a non-profit.

Do you know how sometimes the world puts signs at you?  I was connected up to a fellow Rochester native who is our fabulous conductor for Astronaut's Tale.  He has experience running a non-profit in Chicago.  For the low price of taking him out for dinner (feed your local artist), I get to pick his brain on how to approach this particular challenge.

A good friend in NYC connected me up to the founder of an early music group.  I had a very focused conversation with her to get more details about how she started her group and what were some of the challenges.

Finally, I've been chatting with my director and producer to get hints as well.

So what are my big concerns?

• What is it like to get direction from a board?
• What do you do to get your board to help you get funding?
• What kind of mission has the possibility of becoming sustainable?
• How can I help lift up as many Colorado artists as I can with this project?

I'm still collating all of the information I have received so far and continue to get.

For now, they all left me with some key tasks:

• Get a lawyer to help get started (hat tip to a Young Families friend from Mass)
• Make sure someone on your board is an accountant and can help with the financial statements and bookkeeping
• Make a mission statement that is clear and sums up our goals in an elevator talk to potential board members

Future blog posts will document the journey started by these tasks.  It looks like I have some work to do when I get back home to Colorado.

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