"So You're Boisterous. Now What?"

I keep having these unexpected, vocal breakthroughs. I keep getting these moments of clarity where once-obscured talent jumps out from behind a dark corner and pinches my ass. It’s like that scene in a movie where a normal, Joe Schmo citizen who has never had anything special happen in his life suddenly sees a specter in an old Victorian house somewhere. It makes me do that proverbial double take just like the guy in the movie, unable to believe that the boogie man does actually exist after all of this non-believing. These “breakthroughs” are also thrilling, though. I am just so understated these days that I can’t muster up anything besides a quick nod to myself and maybe a “neat” said under my breath.

But the uncanniness at the timing of these breakthroughs over the past couple of months is starting to direct my career at an accelerating speed towards an obvious place, one of un-anticipated success. The momentum is finally starting to pick up as I had always hoped it would...and I am starting to get very excited....and very scared. After my début in the Requiem last week, I woke up the next morning, unable to believe that I had actually had the nerve to get up in front of all of my colleagues, etc. and, against the odds, to do well. “I can’t believe I did that!”, I kept saying.

Well, to make what could, with me, a long, excruciating story short, I had a lesson on Wednesday of this week. I learned some breathing techniques that allowed me to still sing with the power that my voice needs, while remaining flexible, a difficult balance to muster. We also found some techniques that allowed me, finally, to get the notes in the upper part of my voice out of my throat. To describe what this sounds like, it would be like rapping on a big bell with your knuckles “klink klink klink” and then taking out a big, wooden mallet and giving it a good smack. “Gong!” This “peel” is how my voice can ring when unencumbered and out of my throat. Neat.

Anyway, this great lesson was on Wednesday, two days before the second performance of the Requiem. Convinced by my teacher, namely that it was nice that I sang the piece last time, with this small, choirboy voice to please the other people around me. “Now, sing it with your REAL voice.”, she said. She was right and I knew it. Even if I am no Mozart specialist and the thought of some Heldentenor singing the Requiem would not appeal to my listening tastes, either, I knew that she was right: I have to sing with my own voice even when the circumstances are not ideal. I am not a choirboy and even if I were hit by a Max Factor truck in some freak accident, I will never be one. And I certainly will never sound like one. I just gots to be me...

Last night I was standing there on stage waiting for what always seems an eternity for my first phrase. I was about 10 times more scared than I had been last week. This time it was “I can’t believe that I’m going to do this. I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” I felt I was plummeting down some icy slalom with no bobsled, just me and my ass careening towards some hard landing, which, logically, must come with its most-decisive eventuality. (I would normally put out my nails and try to scratch myself to a stop like that tiger does in Ice Age after the baby gets away from them and they find themselves in an ice chute labyrinth sliding in and out of ice pathways. Scraaaaaaaaatch. You can imagine how hopelessly frustrating it was that I had been a good boy and trimmed them that very morning.) I was practically mumbling to myself at this point “I can’t believe that I’m going to do this. I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” But then, somehow, the light started to break through. “I HAVE to do this. I HAVE to do this.” The bass is almost finished with his melody, and then I’m up at bat. “I am going to do this. I AM GOING TO DO THIS!!!!” Light. I see light! BREATHE! ‘Mors stupebit et natura.’ “It’s working...” Breath. ‘Cum resurget creatura.’ “Holy shit this is loud. I think I see the audiences hair blowing back.”

After singing a bit, the soloists leave the stage while the ballet performs with some of the chorus numbers. Waiting on the side, I realized that, because of pure nerves and adrenalin I could not actually recall most of the memories from these moments. What is it about the brain that conveniently erases trauma? Let’s just say I was scared shitless in spite of the absence of poo, but just sang through that fear and kept going.

I know it is in bad taste to compliment yourself, and I don’t want you to think that my head has gotten even bigger than you all know it already is, but I am proud of myself. It took some pretty big balls to do what I did yesterday and I’m sitting here, again on a Saturday morning, unable to believe that I actually did it.

I did it!