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All Opera Singers Should Be Committed!
By Lisa Houston
Originally published by Singer’s Spirit, Winter 2013
There’s a video making the rounds of an eight-year-old girl singing “Der Hölle Rache,” the famously virtuosic aria from Mozart’s the Magic Flute. It is hard not to suffer a twinge of worry for the girl’s future given the wayward paths of other “classical” vocal prodigies in recent years. One wonders into whose hands the girl’s enormous talent will fall, and if she will she be stewarded in a way that sustains her obvious passion for opera. Worries aside, the video is irresistible. An eight-year-old singing the Queen of the Night is like a dancing bear. It doesn’t matter if she does it well, it’s a wonder she does it at all. But this girl is not a dancing bear. She does sing it well. Remarkably on pitch, in time, even musical. And what’s more, Her facial expressions are intense, passionate, rivaling Callas, Dessay, name your favorite singing actor. She is chockfull of the one ingredient that perfects the balance of a delicious operatic meal: commitment.
Whether we think an eight-year-old should be singing “Der Hölle Rache” or not, opera singers have much to learn from this girl’s performance.
There are many reasons that commitment wanes during the life of an artist. Here are a couple of my un-favorites, followed by some thoughts on how to keep your commitment strong.
Un-favorite number one: Fear.
For example, fear of failure. I’m afraid I’ll fail so I won’t try too hard. I’ll hedge my bets. In this scenario, energy that could go into singing, or creating a happy life around singing, is drained by fear. Alternately, fear of success can also lessen commitment. Fear of success is similar to fear of change. What will happen if I succeed? Maybe my friends or family will think I’ve gotten too big for my britches. Maybe I’ll be offered a job away from my spouse. Maybe I’ll have to let go of my nice, familiarly comfy compensation package of beliefs that I’m not good enough.
Un-favorite number two: Resentment.
There are lots of easier things to do in the world than being an opera singer. There are things that pay better, that offer a more stable lifestyle, that do no involve being yelled at because you sang an eighth note instead of a sixteenth note, that do not involve wearing a forty pound costume in a heat wave, that do not require parading yourself like a contestant in a vocal beauty pageant at audition after audition after audition. These downsides begin to make themselves known after the initial glory of discovering you have a voice may have worn off a bit.
“Congratulations, you’re an opera singer. Welcome to a life of hard work, mean conductors, crazy colleagues and low pay.”
Oh my gosh, how can she write such a horrible, ungrateful sentence? Doesn’t she know it’s a blessing to be an opera singer?
Yes, I do. But like all singers I need to find a balance of how much and what to sacrifice for this wonderful gift of being a singer. That balance is different for each singer. If I deny there’s any downside, or I’m out of balance and giving too much, then subconscious resentment can drain my commitment, especially in times when rewards are low and the cost is high. I believe that’s true in any relationship, and it’s not a bad idea to look at your relationship to singing as you would any other relationship.
It’s a long road, the life of an artist. Imagine the energy source needed to fuel a life like that. Then imagine that Fear and Resentment are greedy robbers, sneaking up to funnel away that source when we’re not looking.
Just as fears and resentments can eat away at one’s commitment, there are things that replenish commitment. Here are three of my favorites.
Favorite number one: Education.
Fear and resentment have to do with the past and the future, not the present. Putting your attention on the task of the present moment, learning something right now, essentially sidelines fear and resentment. Sorry, I don’t have time for you, Fear and Resentment, I need to study Italian. For singers, education is constant. Learning new repertoire, refining languages, improving technique. And that’s great, because I think that curiosity about learning is very close to the joy of singing. It is something new, exciting. It vibrates inside of you. Education keeps it buzzing and keeps the evil gremlins/self-doubt/inner critic voices at bay.
Favorite number two: Positive influences. Gather your team of angels. Make sure you have the right friends, teachers, coaches, and relatives. If you’re unsure if someone is a positive influence or not, pay attention to how you feel when you finish an interaction with them. Don’t judge a voice lesson just by how much you learn. Take note of how you feel as you walk away from the studio. The greatest teacher in the world isn’t the greatest teacher for you if you leave feeling demoralized. I have certain friends who, whenever I finish talking with them, I feel like practicing. I like to move those folks higher up on the speed dial.
Lastly, my favorite-favorite commitment replenisher: Responsibility. Singers can be a very dependent lot. We need teachers. We need coaches. We need conductors and directors to like us, to choose us, to trust us with their productions. These relationships are very important to our development and survival as singers. But they shouldn’t cause us to lose sight of our individual responsibility for our happiness and achievement as artists. To use an overused phrase, we have to “own it” when we sing. To say without a doubt, I’m singing because I want to. And I’m singing it this way and not that way because I choose to. I’ve done my homework, I have my support team, I’ve made my best guess at this, and here it is, my version of it. If it’s lousy, it’s my fault, if it’s great, it’s my achievement. In fact, that’s why a conductor or director hires you and not someone else. They want to see what you have to say about it. I’ve heard coaches at major houses complain to me that singers are becoming more passive, walking in expecting that someone is going to tell them exactly what to do. It’s great to learn from your colleagues and to be open to their ideas, but it’s your role and it’s your voice. It’s your responsibility.
My seven-year-old nephew is learning to play baseball. I can say to you, with no objectivity whatsoever, he’s got a great arm. But he’s seven. Sometimes he gets distracted. By a kite flying overhead, or by his sister doing a handstand nearby. And then he just sort of throws the ball without thinking. If it’s only a little ways off, his Dad will go retrieve the ball. But if my nephew throws it way off, his Dad tells him, “no, you’ve gotta go get that ball yourself.” This teaches him to take more care before his throws, and it’s increasing his commitment to his game. If he gets distracted and doesn’t take care, he’s going to have to run after more balls.
Even at the age of the eight, like our queen of the night, or seven, like my nephew, these kids are willing to give it a try. To give it everything they’ve got and see what happens, because kids are used to learning and trying new things. And frankly, they’re used to failing, because kids fail at most things, only because they don’t know how to do it yet, ‘cause they’re kids. But that’s OK. Even though my nephew rolls his eyes when he jogs after the ball, he’s smiling as he does it. You can see that it makes sense to him, the cause and effect.
And that’s basically how life is, except that instead of colorful kites and sisters doing handstands, grown ups get distracted by things like financial worries, health issues, relationship problems. Singers get distracted by all kinds of crazy, opera-world kites flying by. After a while, it can feel like we’re upside down in our own precarious handstand. But whatever the distractions are, if the throw is off, we’re going to have to go and get that ball.
By Lisa Houston
Originally published by Singer’s Spirit, Winter 2013
There’s a video making the rounds of an eight-year-old girl singing “Der Hölle Rache,” the famously virtuosic aria from Mozart’s the Magic Flute. It is hard not to suffer a twinge of worry for the girl’s future given the wayward paths of other “classical” vocal prodigies in recent years. One wonders into whose hands the girl’s enormous talent will fall, and if she will she be stewarded in a way that sustains her obvious passion for opera. Worries aside, the video is irresistible. An eight-year-old singing the Queen of the Night is like a dancing bear. It doesn’t matter if she does it well, it’s a wonder she does it at all. But this girl is not a dancing bear. She does sing it well. Remarkably on pitch, in time, even musical. And what’s more, Her facial expressions are intense, passionate, rivaling Callas, Dessay, name your favorite singing actor. She is chockfull of the one ingredient that perfects the balance of a delicious operatic meal: commitment.
Whether we think an eight-year-old should be singing “Der Hölle Rache” or not, opera singers have much to learn from this girl’s performance.
There are many reasons that commitment wanes during the life of an artist. Here are a couple of my un-favorites, followed by some thoughts on how to keep your commitment strong.
Un-favorite number one: Fear.
For example, fear of failure. I’m afraid I’ll fail so I won’t try too hard. I’ll hedge my bets. In this scenario, energy that could go into singing, or creating a happy life around singing, is drained by fear. Alternately, fear of success can also lessen commitment. Fear of success is similar to fear of change. What will happen if I succeed? Maybe my friends or family will think I’ve gotten too big for my britches. Maybe I’ll be offered a job away from my spouse. Maybe I’ll have to let go of my nice, familiarly comfy compensation package of beliefs that I’m not good enough.
Un-favorite number two: Resentment.
There are lots of easier things to do in the world than being an opera singer. There are things that pay better, that offer a more stable lifestyle, that do no involve being yelled at because you sang an eighth note instead of a sixteenth note, that do not involve wearing a forty pound costume in a heat wave, that do not require parading yourself like a contestant in a vocal beauty pageant at audition after audition after audition. These downsides begin to make themselves known after the initial glory of discovering you have a voice may have worn off a bit.
“Congratulations, you’re an opera singer. Welcome to a life of hard work, mean conductors, crazy colleagues and low pay.”
Oh my gosh, how can she write such a horrible, ungrateful sentence? Doesn’t she know it’s a blessing to be an opera singer?
Yes, I do. But like all singers I need to find a balance of how much and what to sacrifice for this wonderful gift of being a singer. That balance is different for each singer. If I deny there’s any downside, or I’m out of balance and giving too much, then subconscious resentment can drain my commitment, especially in times when rewards are low and the cost is high. I believe that’s true in any relationship, and it’s not a bad idea to look at your relationship to singing as you would any other relationship.
It’s a long road, the life of an artist. Imagine the energy source needed to fuel a life like that. Then imagine that Fear and Resentment are greedy robbers, sneaking up to funnel away that source when we’re not looking.
Just as fears and resentments can eat away at one’s commitment, there are things that replenish commitment. Here are three of my favorites.
Favorite number one: Education.
Fear and resentment have to do with the past and the future, not the present. Putting your attention on the task of the present moment, learning something right now, essentially sidelines fear and resentment. Sorry, I don’t have time for you, Fear and Resentment, I need to study Italian. For singers, education is constant. Learning new repertoire, refining languages, improving technique. And that’s great, because I think that curiosity about learning is very close to the joy of singing. It is something new, exciting. It vibrates inside of you. Education keeps it buzzing and keeps the evil gremlins/self-doubt/inner critic voices at bay.
Favorite number two: Positive influences. Gather your team of angels. Make sure you have the right friends, teachers, coaches, and relatives. If you’re unsure if someone is a positive influence or not, pay attention to how you feel when you finish an interaction with them. Don’t judge a voice lesson just by how much you learn. Take note of how you feel as you walk away from the studio. The greatest teacher in the world isn’t the greatest teacher for you if you leave feeling demoralized. I have certain friends who, whenever I finish talking with them, I feel like practicing. I like to move those folks higher up on the speed dial.
Lastly, my favorite-favorite commitment replenisher: Responsibility. Singers can be a very dependent lot. We need teachers. We need coaches. We need conductors and directors to like us, to choose us, to trust us with their productions. These relationships are very important to our development and survival as singers. But they shouldn’t cause us to lose sight of our individual responsibility for our happiness and achievement as artists. To use an overused phrase, we have to “own it” when we sing. To say without a doubt, I’m singing because I want to. And I’m singing it this way and not that way because I choose to. I’ve done my homework, I have my support team, I’ve made my best guess at this, and here it is, my version of it. If it’s lousy, it’s my fault, if it’s great, it’s my achievement. In fact, that’s why a conductor or director hires you and not someone else. They want to see what you have to say about it. I’ve heard coaches at major houses complain to me that singers are becoming more passive, walking in expecting that someone is going to tell them exactly what to do. It’s great to learn from your colleagues and to be open to their ideas, but it’s your role and it’s your voice. It’s your responsibility.
My seven-year-old nephew is learning to play baseball. I can say to you, with no objectivity whatsoever, he’s got a great arm. But he’s seven. Sometimes he gets distracted. By a kite flying overhead, or by his sister doing a handstand nearby. And then he just sort of throws the ball without thinking. If it’s only a little ways off, his Dad will go retrieve the ball. But if my nephew throws it way off, his Dad tells him, “no, you’ve gotta go get that ball yourself.” This teaches him to take more care before his throws, and it’s increasing his commitment to his game. If he gets distracted and doesn’t take care, he’s going to have to run after more balls.
Even at the age of the eight, like our queen of the night, or seven, like my nephew, these kids are willing to give it a try. To give it everything they’ve got and see what happens, because kids are used to learning and trying new things. And frankly, they’re used to failing, because kids fail at most things, only because they don’t know how to do it yet, ‘cause they’re kids. But that’s OK. Even though my nephew rolls his eyes when he jogs after the ball, he’s smiling as he does it. You can see that it makes sense to him, the cause and effect.
And that’s basically how life is, except that instead of colorful kites and sisters doing handstands, grown ups get distracted by things like financial worries, health issues, relationship problems. Singers get distracted by all kinds of crazy, opera-world kites flying by. After a while, it can feel like we’re upside down in our own precarious handstand. But whatever the distractions are, if the throw is off, we’re going to have to go and get that ball.
©Lisa Houston 2022