Solstice Post...ice.

Well hello, there, friends. Thursday was the summer solstice, one of my favorite days.  I sat in the park and read, swung on the swings, and walked around until nightfall. The color of the sunlight in the evening, the absence of time brought about by the absence of darkness, and the lazy heat combined to pull humanity out of its singular, isolated self. At least, that's what they did to me. I felt, with all the cheesy glory that sentences like this encompass, connected to a deep river of life. It helped that I was sitting at a picnic table, reading "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," which is about a girl named Francie, growing up poor and Irish in Williamsburg. My grandmother, Frances, grew up poor and Irish in Sunset Park. When the book came out in 1943, her brother sent her a copy from the army, saying "I think you'll recognize this story." It also helped that I heard a lecture by Cornel West on the radio today, and when you listen to Cornel West for an hour, the whole "river of life" thing seems less like a cliché and more like a revolutionary statement.

I'm not going to preach about community, because Dr. West is approximately one million times better at it than I am. Also, this is an opera blog for the love of Izagi ed Izanami! I want to talk about theater, and what happens to an audience when theater is at its witchcrafty, alchemical best. What does this have to do with midsummer's night? What on earth does it have to do with Cornel West? Read on, brave river of humans, and find out.

Overcoached and Underpracticed.

Hello, fair Stinkers. It's been a long time. As usual, I became a useless entity in all aspects other than being at rehearsal (even when I was not, in fact, in rehearsal myself, but was rather sitting at home, waiting for hubby to come home from rehearsal) during production. This time, it was Mozart's Magic Flute, which really gives me no excuse. I was in 4 scenes. I did look pretty friggin' badass while I was in them, though:

and this badassedness permeated the rest of my life, and made me unable to do anything so civilized as write.

Ergo, I have written a short novel to make up for temps perdu.

I Married an Opera Singer! (Part .5)

And he married one, too! And it's awesome. And our dining room table looks like this:

I take deep breaths. I think calm, happy thoughts. "Chaos is a part of life; tackle one problem at a time; pants totally go on tables. They certainly go on the same tables as scores, deodorant, bits of ribbon, and a spoon." It sort of works. I am not a neat freak by any means (as any of my old roommates will tell you!) but married life has brought my tendency towards organizational sprawl to a new level. And yet...there is a method to this apparent madness.

Quadrant 1: Upper left-hand-corner
Music. Sheet music, scores, anthologies. Accordion folder of loose music organized by language; each language subdivided into songs, arias, and duets. I include this detail to prove to you (and myself) that I am not a total heathen.

Quadrant 2: Upper right-hand-corner
Hubbyland. Pants + coffee + music + tie = the man I love!

Quadrant 3: Lower right-hand-corner
Wifeyland. Scanner + dictionaries + music + random bit of ribbon = moi!

Quadrant 4: Lower left-hand-corner
Euuuhhhh....Stuffland? I am going to take heart from the fact that both the hand sanitizer and the deodorant are in this quadrant, but lose a little of my confidence when trying to incorporate the spoon, seltzer can, and Wesley Balk book.

But for reals. I am not trying to justify this mess. Our table no longer looks this way and my brain is much, much, much happier. I am more relaxed, and I work better, when I feel good about myself as a functioning, organized person. In combining two creative lives, however, there needs to be room - a huge, huge amount of room - for chaos. I don't think it should be constant (I would lose my brains) and I am not one of those people who says creative = messy and neat = not creative, but I am someone who needs to actively choose to work when an easier way to feel accomplished would be to organize something. I'm looking for balance. Maybe I'll find it! Until then, as Tom Chapin says: "IIIII'm livin' in a...neat mess!"

Happy brains!

Losses

This past week I attended the wake and funeral of Pam Walker, the lovely, funny, kind woman who ran the music department office at my graduate school. I also learned of the passing of maestro Mark Flint, a wonderful, funny, kind conductor I feel lucky to have known.

I wish I had something cool to say, to tie these two events together in a big, philosophical commentary about music and work and how everyone involved in the creation of art is a part of the worldwide artistic community. All I can think of, though, is each of them saying characteristically funny, smart things. Funny, smart, and kind; wonderful and lovely. Qualities to strive for in music and in life.

B-b-baby it's cold outside.

Exercise, as so many incredibly insightful articles in super-useful trade magazines will tell you, is very important for an opera singer. Not only is it important to be in shape for superficial reasons, it's important for your singing and acting, too. Should I talk about this for another three pages? Wouldn't that be, like, the most fascinating, informative thing in the whole world? *ahem* Please forgive the sarcasm. I just finished reading Bossypants. But for reals, it is important to exercise, and it is also important to save money. When you spend most of your indoor time ensconced in an attractive snuggie/hoodie/cuddleduds ensemble, in can be difficult to convince yourself to trade it in for a hoodie/gloves/spandex ensemble and hit the pavement. There is one brilliant invention that has helped me make the transition, even on the chilliest of afternoons. It changed my life and I hope it changes yours. It is snuggie-like in it's combined simplicity and genius. It is...

Reach out and touch someone! (Part I)

Oh, outreach!  You fickle, fickle friend.  For whatever reason, outreach has become one of the only ways for opera companies to get money from, well, anyone.  And thusly, it has also become one of the principal ways for young opera singers to make money from singing opera.  Now don't get me wrong!  I have had some very, very positive outreach experiences.  But some shows are better than others, and some kids are just not going to be entertained by you and your colleagues prancing around, acting like goats/pigs/wolves/dolls.  But never fear!  Classical Stinker is here to help.

Useless but entertaining. Happy Friday from Baby Mozart!

The 75% - Health Insurance!

H'okay so we are going to start with the useful, or at least semi-useful, part of Classical Stinker.  Health insurance is on my mind these days because I just got married (yay!) to a tenor (am I nuts?!) who is wonderful (love o' mah life!) and who doesn't have health insurance (crap!).  Being the paranoid lady that I am, I have always had health insurance, even when it meant wrangling complex state bureaucracies for months in order to get it.  My man, however, is...a dude.  Not worried.  So, we have waded back into the health insurance fray, and I'm here to report to all you stinkers.  Singers.  All you singers.

Gettin' Stinky

The idea for this blog started last year, when Classical Singer magazine released their "Health" issue.  I opened it, expecting to find articles about how to get affordable health care in various states, or tips on how to build up vocal (and mental!) stamina before you go into rehearsals for a show; I thought there might be a discussion of marking, with advice from seasoned pros about this elusive and necessary tool.

Alas, there was nothing of the kind.  The ten awesomest yoga poses for super-extra-awesome auditions was about it.  So, here I am!  I hope to make the information on here 75% useful and 25% useless but entertaining.