La Prima Dona

This series of posts started out by my desire to respond to a post of one of my fellow bloggers. It prompted me to contemplate why musicians cite their teachers and the schools at which they studied before they offer opinions about things. Here are some random thoughts that don't really answer the question, but that may make sense of some actions of classical musicians:

1. There is an unspoken socialization that occurs in the music world. A regular person must learn how to carry oneself as a musician. Someone with bad posture and a hesitant bearing can't slink up onto the stage and "sell" themselves and their music to an audience. We are taught, either explicitly or by watching other performers, to walk tall and carry ourselves with confidence. One of my voice teachers told me to walk as though I was suspended by my sternum. Quite a spectacle, but when singing opera it does open up the chest to produce freedom of vocal production and movement. It also creates a sense of bearing and presence.
After I defended my dissertation proposal and took a verbal beating from one committee member, my chair took me aside and commented that he was amazed that I had appeared to be unmoved and positive during the entire onslaught. Of course! We are taught to do this when we sing, because people talk aloud in concerts, make faces, and once someone even passed out and emergency workers rushed in to carry him out--all while I was singing.

2. Another interesting phenomenon is that of learning how to establish a pecking order without beating anyone up. This is called "upstaging" and can take a variety of forms. Once during a Messiah sing-along, I was seated on the stage with the three other soloists--all old enough to be my parents. The soprano, who was wearing an off-white chiffon number with a long train, leaned over to me in my plain emerald green silk dress and sniffed, "I'm very thirsty. Would you please pour me a cup of water?" The organizers of the event had placed a small table with a pitcher of water and four paper cups on it. It was right between the two of us. Why this woman couldn't get the water herself answered the simple question: Can I upstage you before you upstage me? It is truly a dog-eat-dog world in some musical circles. I was appalled because I would no sooner have asked anyone else to pour my water than I would have stood up and barked like a dog.

3. A singer has nothing to hide behind. If people don't like our voices, we feel rejected in a different way that a flautist would. You don't like how they play a song, or don't like the fingering they use. They can say, I didn't practice enough, or my lip was shot, or any number of things. But singers feel attacked when someone doesn't like their voice. We can't hide our twitching eye or quivering chin behind a trombone or lean into a violin. People are looking at our faces, our bodies. Our voices are part of us and can't be separated from who we are. Our soul is in our throat, near to our heart. So singers often develop some other sort of notoriety to define them. Some wear Bible dresses (low and behold). Others have wild outfits, or pitch a fit about one thing or another. Some have an obnoxious, gutteral, whooping laugh, almost as though they are vocalizing when they find something to be funny. I think this is what leads to people acting like divas. It's almost as though some think that since you can't see a voice and know a person is a singer, there must be some external behavior to notify the observer that one is a personage of note (no pun intended).

4. Musicians are at the mercy of the conductor. A soloist may sit with a conductor and explain how they interpret a piece: tempo, rubato, mood, and what-have-you. But the conductor can trump you because he or she can do whatever they want once you are on stage with them. If they decide that your interpretation isn't consistent with theirs, or your ideas outrage their sense of musicianship, say goodbye to your fantasy of performing a piece how you'd like to.
This happened more than once to me. The last time it happened, I was singing against a men's chorus and a full orchestra in a small hall. I could barely be heard, as I am a mezzo soprano and sing in a range that doesn't offer contrast with the accompaniament. The conductor discouraged me from using a microphone, stating that he would tone down the orchestra and chorus for the performance. Of course, at performances, nervous energy makes people play and sing too enthusiastically, and I was drowned out for a good third of the performance. I had also asked for the tempo to be a bit faster because the lyrics supported a more cheerful speed. The conductor made a lot of non-committal comments after about five requests to speed up the piece. He liked so-and-so's interpretation of it and played me a portion of it to show me (that sounded like a dirge). I politely requested that we find a tempo somewhere between his and mine and he agreed. At the performance we slogged along slower than his original tempo! And since I was oversinging due to lack of amplification, I was running out of breath. This made me look really bad, I thought. People in the third and fourth rows back couldn't hear me over the din. I was furious.
After the performance, the conductor saw me backstage and glibly commented, "I only heard one mistake!" That was all he said. No thanks!, no collegial comment, nothing. I had thanked him and complimented him on how the chorus had sung, etc. The experience was deflating, to say the least.
Perhaps then, it makes sense to the reader, why a performer may seem demanding sometimes. If we aren't, and conditions for performing are unsuitable as it was with me, we look bad. If performing is the medium for making a living, this is a serious problem, because a person can lose opportunities for future performances after one bad concert.
Negotiation skills are critical for performers. An agent works out the logistics of where and what to sing, but the singer has to deal with conductors who can ruin them. Singers are known for having screaming matches with conductors, calling them all sorts of unsavory names in front of the orchestra (and vice versa). The worst is, "dumb singer." A number of people think of singers as very dumb people unless they hold some sort of advanced degree. Even then, because their whole life is about singing and nothing else, they can appear to be very narrow people. To be called a smart singer who is easy to get along with is a compliment, indeed.

5. If you perform for a living, you have probably given up a lot just to follow your passion. For classical singers, it is not possible to pick and choose which performances one would like to participate in. You have to do all or most of the engagements because that is how you build a referral base and become in demand. That is how you meet people who can invite you to perform elsewhere. There is a huge amount of networking and politics that go into a successful performance career. One must greet members of the audience afterward--something that I have always disliked doing because I don't know what to say. It seems ostentatious (to me) to be in a reception line where the expectation is that people will compliment you. I remember saying to my parents once that I just wish I could perform in a balcony or behind a curtain so no one would accost me afterward. I never knew what to say. If you try to act humble and minimize how well you sang, you sound dismissive of the good will of the person who compliments you. If you accept the compliment and try to carry it further as a way to support what they are saying, you can look conceited. It's hard for some of us to simply thank people for their kind comments, particularly if the performance was a spiritual experience for you. It is much easier to fall into an easy conversation about who they are, what they do, and focus on them, before thanking them for coming out to hear you.
Ah yes, where was I? --giving up my all to follow performing. It is not as easy as it looks.

6. There is an interesting underbelly of the musical world that is all about hearsay and politicing. We get the real scoop from the musical grapevine about various musical personalities and whether they are truly as hard to work with as is reported. Or the conductor who is really a pedophile. Or the bass soloist who slept with the concert mistress. And always, when in the presence of the people with power--the ones who determine where you perform and what you perform--you have to conduct yourself in such a manner that they will invite you to perform so you can have your livelihood. The powerful person who wants you to sleep with him, the sexual harassment that goes on backstage--all of this is rarely visible to most people. It does however, have a huge impact on performers and our sense of personal integrity.

So when people give up this type of life for reasons of religious conviction--to teach music in a conservative religious institution, for example--they would love to hear words of appreciation that they prefer dealing with the uninitiated, unsophisticated musical wannabees, instead of being "out there" performing. Many feel that they have given up all possibilities of ever becoming famous. It can feel like an enormous sacrifice. It is not uncommon for such musicians to talk together, discussing who has given up what opportunity and what they almost did. To be around people who do not recognize the inner struggle associated with the choices and lifestyle in performance, can make musicians feel like they are living amongst aliens. The entire mindset is different, the socialization so very different. It is like living without having your legs under you.

Or they may just get disgusted with the scripted role they must live in the performance world (I think role expectation is much more common in classical singers than other performers). Two weeks ago I had a long chat with my neice, Amy. She questions her career choice in voice performance. To hear her sing is to hear an angel. But she is sick of the politics, the "kissing up" to conductors who "are so insecure that unless they feel that people like them, they write you off and don't invite you to sing anything." The upstaging of her voice teacher, the critical comments meant to keep her within a pecking order--all of this is wearing.
"There is nothing on earth like singing--really singing," she tells me. "But I can't stand what I have to be in order to do it."
Food for thought.