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Gettin’ Into It

July 31, 2007

I wouldn’t have guessed six months ago or so, when I walked into the The School looking to figure out this whole singing thing that I’d end up in the World of Opera. But I am finding myself there and liking it. My newest heroine is Montserrat Caballé who you can see creating magic on stage here. Even if you hate opera, and think she looks like a fat hooty pig, please hang out at least until 1:33 until you make your final judgement. The woman is GOLD and the wind blowing across the ensemble’s costumes is everything that opera and theater should be. Especially if you know the story, and this one, NORMA by Bellini, is opera at it’s best: jilted lovers, infanticide, people throwing themselves on fires… oh, the DRAMA. It’s delicious!

I’ve learned to enjoy my drama in places like books and movies and music, rather than in my own personal life. And now I have opera to work it all out as well. It’s too much of a cliché to say that I would like to sing in an opera so that I can work out whatever issues I still have leftover from various traumas. And I honestly have no desire to do that. However, what my personal life has given me is the ability to relate to these characters, to understand — completely — what tragedy is and what it does to your life, what it takes away from your life, and what it brings to it. And I think I could bring some of that to a stage in a way that would make you feel something. And that’s what it’s all about, to some degree.

What I think is truly wonderful in Opera these days, is that it’s no longer okay to look like a fat hooty pig. Bitches, you have not only got to have the pipes, but it will really help you if you look friggin’ hawt in your 19th century ballroom-skirted getup. It’s an interesting turn of the tide, but there are numerous young and promising singers who are looking not too shabby at all on stage. And I think it’s right and good. Why should someone have to be fat and ugly to sing well? There is absolutely no physical necessity for it. I don’t know where the tradition started, but if we don’t want the art of Opera to die out, the eye candy factor isn’t going to anybody any harm. Unless we’re talking this chickita. Ugh. I mean, looking attractive is one thing, but silicone implants on a diva? That’s where I draw the line, personally. And someone get her to the French Academy and quick. And some more vocal training… yeesh!

I must be loving opera, I’m starting to get all bitchy and critical about it, just like all the True Fans.

In other news… I had a particular wonderful lesson with La Dolce on Sunday. I’m in the period where you have to make really [and I mean REALLY] weird faces in the mirror to learn how to use your facial muscles to sing correctly. It better be temporary, that’s all I can say, cuz ain’t no way in Hedes am I going on stage looking like that. La Dolce is assuring me it’s only a learning thing. I’m trusting her on that for now. But actually, when I started doing the weird face… it suddenly got a shitload easier to sing and sounded better too, go figure. I have a good instrument to start with and all my life, I’ve been trying to MAKE it, FORCE it to be better. Which is exactly what you should not be doing. I am very curious to see how this new technique will begin to affect my voice, but I tried it out a bit on Sunday after my lesson and le husband agreed that it was a better sound. It’s exciting.

And finally, what would a post be these days without an update on Blackbeard? He emailed me out of the blued on Friday. Wanted to know if we could get together on Saturday, which was not only my birthday but the night of my choir concert. I said no can do, cowboy, and suggested other days/times. He replied ‘That may work… I’ll be in touch.”

How very lukewarm of him.

I wanted something more. I wanted him to care that I worked my tail off for him for 3 months. I don’t know if I’m ever going to get that from him. I have a letter I’ve written to him that says almost everything I need to say to him. I waiver between actually meeting him, or just sending it. Part of me wants to see him and say everything to his face… then I think about politics and the not so unlikely possibility of crossing paths with him again one day, especially if this Diva thing takes off. It could happen. I don’t tell him off in the letter, in fact, I’m quite kind… but I just don’t know if he can handle the honesty.

I cannot lie and say I don’t want to see his handsome face one last time. I want to say goodbye to it. It think I might want to kiss him on the cheek. Part of me wants to feel that the ‘deep connection’ feeling was something real, I cannot begin to explain why that is important to me… but it is. I keep thinking that if I have one last chance to look in his eyes, I’ll know. But maybe I don’t. Maybe with someone like that, you never really know, because they’re just too slippery.

Thank GOD I am not single, the man would have Fucked. Me. Up. Badly.

Other than that, I officially ended my Choir Career this weekend. And I turned 43. This has positively got to be my year, because all the dates of my birthday [which my internet paranoia prevents me from revealing entirely here] add up to 7 or something divisible by 7, etc. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all just a sign that the singing thing is meant to be, was always meant to be, and here I go and all that jazz.

43 and starting a singing career. I have grown an effing GIGANTESQUE pair and I intend to use ’em. Wish me luck! Cuz I think I’m gonna’ need it……………..

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One comment

  1. How are you doing??



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