Okay, you're on
Adventures in and thoughts on performing in public. You're either on the stage or off it, and the world is divided into singers and non-singers (not equally, though).
As I look back on my life up to this point, I suppose I’ve always liked the idea of stepping out of my comfort zone and trying something new, acting on the idea of what’s possible for me to do within the parameters of my situation (Exhibit A: moving to Slovenia by myself when I was 37; Exhibit B, occasionally writing some weird things in magazines just to see what I could get away with). Now that I’ve gotten to be I Don’t Give A Damn Anymore years old, I’ve become more comfortable with crossing over the lines of my assigned role in society, whatever that might be.
So last weekend I briefly brought some Broadway musical vibes to a song circle at a friend's birthday party in South Austin, in the midst of a number of accomplished folk musicians with acoustic guitars in hand. During my high school years on Long Island, I performed in plays and musicals to preserve my sanity; the song I chose to present that day was Where Am I Going, one of the lesser-known tunes from Sweet Charity, which I was in during senior year. I didn’t play Charity, I was in the chorus, but for some reason this particular song has stuck with me all these years later.
I know: knocking out a number a cappella at a private party in front of 20 or 25 people isn’t the same thing as taking the stage at the Paramount, nor did I have a band backing me up, but I wanted to experience even a fraction, one one-hundredth maybe of what professional singers go through. Aside from my kitchen, I hadn’t sung in public since high school and a turn at a karaoke bar years ago. It’s Rose’s turn, boys!
I wasn’t nervous, just wanted to do a decent job of it. I rehearsed in private beforehand (well, of course) and even shot a couple of videos on my iPad, but in truth I didn’t really know how my performance came off to others — who really does? since from your perspective it’s just contoured breath escaping out of your mouth and you’re not in the crowd watching — or whether it could be considered good. The others at the party seemed to like it. It helped that I knew the song cold; all I needed to do was get the first four words out and I’d be locked in to the end, gestures and all. (Singing and acting are joined at the hip.) Also I didn’t write the thing myself, it had been road tested for decades after all, so that probably helped. And it meant something, at least to me.
I know what you might be thinking: I sound like some sort of Velveteen Musician, a writer longing to run with the real bands. Such a cliche. But I don’t think it’s that. I just want to understand the mindset, get inside of it as much as I can, to be able to better empathize with what a performer might be going through as they approach the work of public presentation. In the end, it’s just another tool in the toolbox.
Venturing outside of your comfort zone is a good thing. To some of us that could mean bungee jumping off a cliff; to others, belting out a song with other people around. I think everyone who wants to criticize artists or even makes a living out of it should perform in public once in a while (see how it feels, now?). Most people don’t even like speaking in public, let alone singing. You have to be willing to be vulnerable, to put yourself out there for all to see — but in doing so, you may just find yourself and your tribe (welcome to the performing clan!). Sing it out, fearlessly, like you mean it, because you do. It won’t be the end of the world, but it just might be the beginning of a new one.
And then you just might be dealing with the reactions of the People in the Audience, which if all goes well will run something like this: “Oooh, look up there! That person is singing for me — speaking for me! Expressing things that I cannot or dare not do myself! How extraordinary! I should pay attention to this, and maybe buy a T-shirt with the singer’s face on it!”
Thanks a lot, South Austin, you guys have been great. I’ll be here all week, tell your friends. See you back at the merch table. Did you find what you were looking for?
Let’s hear it for the “I Don’t Give A Damn Anymore years old” generation and crossing all boundaries, both real and imagined. I mean at this point, what have we got to lose?
Before I lost my voice (around 2014, to spasmodic dysphonia) I sang blues and rock with our basement band most Thursday nights. Some of us were very good. My husband, on guitar, and I were just good enough to add something to the mix now and then. I was lucky the guys were so kind and supportive. I had to learn to relax and really sing out. Once I did, singing was one of the most fun things I've ever done. Partly it felt good emotionally, a kind of release. But mostly it was the chance to make music with others, which involved a kind of listening, responsiveness, and spontaneity I've only otherwise experienced acting in plays. And making music requires you to be present. You can phone in a role on stage, but if you phone in your music, you miss everything. The thrill of those moments when the band cooks and you hit a groove together!
I got a new perspective on karaoke when my daughter took me to Vietnam last January. In the US, it's a chance for people to show off their chops. There, it's a chance for everybody to sing, no matter whether or not they can hold a tune. When people sing badly, the audience loves it and laughs their asses off, joining in to create complete cacophony. When cafes closed at night, we often heard the staff doing this wild sort of karaoke as they cleaned up, being hilarious and tolerant of some of the worst singing I've ever heard. We loved it. Wish everybody could experience such joy.