This weekend I showed you around the place where I sit my pancake-like heiny down to write and work every day.
But that isn’t the only thing I do, ya know.
For years and years, instead of doing things that you are familiar with me doing, like speaking at blogging conferences like this:
I did things like this:
And heck, sometimes I marry the two and do things like this:
(I don’t really recommend it, though. You get a whole lot of weird stares from your family.)
ANYWAY.
I can carry a tune.
I can carry it pretty darn well.
I’ve done a lot of singing in choirs, musical theater and opera over the years.
To quote part of my bio:
“Loralee is also a classically trained opera singer that is well versed in tromping around on stage in corsets and playing men, alcoholics, witches, nuns, evil stepmothers and woman of ill repute. “
It’s brought me the most insane joy. You can’t know what it’s like to be able to REALLY sing or play music well unless, well, you can. I have been able to experience music so beautiful I have cried onstage.
It’s how I met my husband (Who was a cello (AND PHYSICS) major in college and who is a very good bass singer in his own right.) (And with only 6-weeks of formal lessons. Bastard.).
It’s how I knew that Butterlump’s name would be Aaron. (I stood onstage, performing while hugely pregnant, and decided that there could not be a finer man to name my child after than the man that had such a gift that this incredible piece of music could come from his soul.)
For most of my life, I thought that singing and performing would BE my life. My bread and butter. My life-long ambition.
I was wrong about that. The life is hard and really, while I love it, I just do NOT have the kind of intense passion it takes to live it day in and day out. I knew I couldn’t have the kind of family I wanted if I was constantly on the road for months at a time. Besides, being a music major in college (full ride scholarship, thank you very much) just about destroyed my love of music, actually.
Fortunately, the love returned, and I have continued to perform as much as possible over the years.
When people talk about going to see a classical concert, opera, or musical theater performance, they usually see something like this (I am in the front row of oratorio soloists, third speck from the right or left):
When I talk about going to a concert or performance, this is what I see:
My hours and number of performances I’ve seen onstage far, far, FAR outweight the hours and performances I’ve seen as an audience member.
I love the view from onstage.
I love looking up to the cat walks in the fly space. (The fly space is FREAKING TALL so that they can have the scenery drops rise and be stored there. The catwalks are metal bridges that give access to flys and lights and such and span the width of the stage waaaaay up high.) (It’s a pretty hot make out spot. Just so you know.)
The theater is like home to me.
Would you like to see a brief tour of what one is like?
I’m in an amazing choir (American Festival Chorus). (If you click on that link, I’m on the top row, 9th speck over from the right.) If you are anywhere in Northern Utah? I HIGHLY suggest catching one of our concerts. 300-amazing voices and as fine an orchestra as I have ever worked with. And I have worked with some pretty fine orchestras.
We’ll use some of the photos I snapped during this year’s Christmas concert at one of the most INCREDIBLE GEMS of a theater I have ever been in. It’s in my town, can you believe it?The Ellen Eccles theater is insanely gorgeous, people. I cannot even begin to calculate the number of hours I have spent rehearsing and performing in this space.
Our choir loves performing there. I prefer small chamber or solo work but this choir is incredible. Little wonder why–it’s conducted by an AMAZING director. (Former director of The Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Seriously, click the link and read about him. And then envy that I get to work with someone like that.) Weirdly, right after this concert we were both in New York for different things and I ran into Dr. Jessop and his lovely wife at JFK with my boss. It was awesome. :)
That is him in the middle of the PACKED Annex where we all cram in like sheep to warm up before a concert. (The people I get to sing with is a cherry on top of the music sundae.)
What is an Annex? Well, it is a HUGE room with cement floors right off of the stage wings. It’s where large cast meetings are held if the chorus rooms downstairs are not big enough, and all the props and surplus instruments are kept for the evening. I’ve been to cast parties here, constructed sets here and spent many an hour waiting around before heading to the wings to go on.
There are MASSIVE metal door that you can close and there is a huge ‘garage” door where the humungo sets are delivered and big instruments like Timpani are transported through. It gets really cold in there in the winter. Which is why in one of these photos you’ll see me sitting under a heat lamp getting warm so that my fingers can turn the pages before I go on.
Speaking of turning pages, outside of costumes and things, singers don’t have a lot of “stuff” that they use while singing.
Tangent: I wear the oddest footwear when I perform. It’s kind of become a ‘thing’ with me that started when my college boyfriend told me it would be totally sexy if I wore his tall Doc Martin military boots when I sang a solo he was coming to watch. Since my dress was black and floor length (and let’s face, I really wanted to turn him on) I totally did. And since then, I have worn flip flops, crocs, slippers and even bare feet when I perform.
As long as there is ZERO chance my feet will be seen I am TOTALLY OK WITH THIS, SO PFFFTTTTH!
Why?
Being onstage is often really hot with all the lights and really uncomfortable. You have wigs on, makeup CAKED on, mics taped to your face (see the photo at the top. that is a mic taped to my cheekbone). Most costumes are REALLY uncomfortable. (The performance where I was in a corset and hoopskirt jumping on a trampoline comes to mind.) And you have NO idea how hard performing is on your body. It’s enough without your your feet hurting so much they threaten to bitchslap you in protest and mutiny.) On this particular evening, this was my tame, but fugly (and comfy) choice:
Anyway, we’re not like instrumentalists that have cases and bows and rosin and blah, blah, blah. BUT, if you are a choir or oratorio performer you LIVE AND DIE by “The Black Folder”. It is essential. It has a place for your pencil (the shortest pencil is better than the longest memory. Musicians COVER their scores with markings and notes), hand strap so that you keep your folder stable, it has dividers with elastics to secure your music so that it doesn’t flutter to the floor (Which has never happened to me. I’ve passed out on stage and had a lizard leap on my music during a solo performance with the Honolulu Symphony BUT I HAVE NEVER ONCE DROPPED MY MUSIC, Y’ALL!).
It’s also handy to use as a pillow in your dressing room when you are sick with a 104+ degree fever and exhausted and fall asleep on the floor before you have to get all gussied up to sing. (THE SHOW MUST GO ON, PEOPLE!)
Which takes us to “The dressing room”. I’ve been in quite a few in my time and they are all the same for the most part. There are three types of dressing rooms in theater and opera–Chorus, supporting roles and lead roles. I’ve been in all three many times, and I have two examples to show you here.
The first is the big choral dressing room. You have your stations and YOU WILL PAY if you try to take someone’s space over. Especially during a long run. It’s a fun place. There is lots of gabbing, laughing, running around in various states of dress and for the most part, you have a great time with a big group of friends.
The small room is where you live if you any kind of role in the show besides a chorus (well, depending on the number of rooms. I did summer stock (above) and you had to get there early to get a spot at the mirror. If you were late, you were on the floor with a hand mirror. That’s the life, yo.). Every room has a sink, costume racks for your ditty bags and changes and lit mirrors. It also has an intercom so that you can hear announcements and get called to the stage. (Will I EVER get sick of hearing, “15 minutes to curtain, Ms. Choate”? NO, I WILL NOT.) The last two spaces are the green room (right). *NOTE: If you are a visiting artist and/or choir performing with a symphony, NEVER USE THEIR GREEN ROOM WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION. They will CUT YOU. These are nice because it is your own space but honestly…it can get a bit lonely sometimes. (Unless your friends from the chorus come and hang out with you!)
Last is the entrance to the orchestra pit. I have sung many a piece crowded in right there. It’s where you can see the conductor and be heard by the audience when you are supposed to be singing off stage. The lead dressing rooms are usually LOVELY, with their own bathroom, shower, furniture, carpet, huge full-length mirrors and flowers n’ stuff. (I have not spent NEARLY as much time in those rooms as I would like! Heh.)
So, yeah.
That’s pretty much what I do and where.
It’s brought me the most unbelievable joy. For so long I thought it was the only thing I could do. It defined me. Now, when I write or speak at or attend conference and someone raises their eyebrows in surprise that I am a classically trained singer I inwardly beam.
Singing isn’t all I am capable of.
But without it, I wouldn’t have learned that in life you have to have a WHOLE FREAKING HECK OF A LOT OF THIS:
Before you get to go out and experience the incredible glory that is this:
And that, like the rest of my life, has been one valuable lesson.
