I was going to call this series, “Musings of a Mad Music
Marm”. However, once I started scribbling, I felt it might be too difficult for
me in my scattered but true-to-form state to develop a cohesive story on a
unique theme from start to finish each time. So I added the “Random” and,
voila, problem solved.
One of my voice students recently interviewed me for a
literature composition assignment. She was to write about someone working in a
profession that interested her. Among the diverse questions posed, she asked
me, “What’s the best thing about your job?” I answered without hesitation, “The
people.” Then she asked, “What’s the worst thing about your job?” Again,
without blinking an eye, I said, “The people.” Yes, love them or loathe them,
people, including myself, are my teachers.
A case in point: A few weeks ago, I was setting up a sound
system for a recreational evening of a slide show, live music performances and
dancing. A little red-headed girl of eight years old came up to me holding a
songbook and a CD in her hands and, looking gravely up at me, asked, “Are you
the person in charge of the microphone?” I responded in the affirmative. She
said, “I have to sing.” So we discussed the approximate time that would she
would be on and she handed me her backing tracks on CD.
Pondering over things late that night, I realized that it
was pertinent that she didn’t say, “Would it be all right if I sang this evening?”Or,
“I’d like to sing a couple of songs if that’s okay with you.” Or even, “I’ve
been asked to sing tonight.” No, she said, “I have to sing.” And sing she did –
like the “Next Star” – loud, sweet and
clear, with perfect pitch, confidence and an original style all her own.
Don’t ask me how an
eight year old can have an original style all her own but she did. Some people
are just born with it, to the eternal frustration of those of us who slave for
decades uncovering our own individual sound, not to mention, perfecting our pitch, grappling with insecurity and toiling
for power . But, her chosen words, “I have to sing”, indicated that she was
made to do just that. It isn’t optional for her, but a necessity – the sign of
a true vocal artist.
That conclusion led me to think back to when I was young and
to question whether there were any indications then that I would become what I
am today, that is, a mad music marm. And, well, yes, maybe there were! There were the times
when, as a tot, I serenaded my doting parents from a songbook held upside-down
because I couldn’t yet read. For that matter, I could barely talk but was
reportedly singing something that resembled, “I love you” to an original melody
composed on the spot. Then there were those adults who, bending down to inquire
of me what I wanted to be when I grew up, to whom I unequivocally stated, “ A singer.” And there were the performances
I delivered to my audiences, the ocean and mountains of Howe Sound, from our
back porch in Britannia Beach, B.C. At
least, I hope my audiences on those occasions were limited to inanimate things.
Otherwise, some poor unsuspecting soul would have been subjected to soaring but
serious renditions of “Both Sides Now”, complete with stage moves and an
imaginary microphone.
In all honesty, I admit that I belong to the division of
humanity driven to sing. Why are we driven to sing? Who can say for sure? I do know that singing is a spiritual
experience for me and my class. The human voice is the first and purest melodic
instrument – the most representative of the human being as it is part of it
rather than connected to it. All other melodic instruments were invented after
the human voice and imitate it. (Check out the definition of biomimetics
online.) During certain periods of my life, I have tried to ignore my destiny
by working as a receptionist, secretary, janitor, etc. But music relentlessly
pursued and enticed me and I always returned and succumbed to it.
And I have been privileged to teach as voice students a few
natural-born singers who, like their instructor, are driven to sing. They’ll
find out, as I have, that you can go off to college to study business
administration or some such unrelated field (which really isn’t a bad idea as
you should always have a “real job” backup plan reserved for tough economic
times) but you will always be drawn back to doing what you were meant to do,
even if it’s just as a most pleasurable hobby.
So thank you to the little, red-haired, natural-born diva
who taught me to accept and more fully appreciate that I am of the fortunate
few who have become what they were meant and always wanted to be, even though
I’ve had to work harder and longer at it than she ever will.
Hmm, this ended up being a bit more lengthy and cohesive
than I anticipated. Okay, just so as not to disappoint you on the random front,
here’s an original tidbit.
Ours is a musical family. As a child in Holland, my mother
received classical voice training, compliments of the government. My father did
his utmost best to educate us kids about country and western music and
bagpipes. My partner is a guitarist, songwriter and singer. My daughter, Aria,
plays piano and guitar, writes songs, sings and dances. Why, even my dog,
Archie, is musical.
One day, while folding laundry in the back bedroom, I heard
piano keys in the second octave above treble C being randomly tinkled and found
it strange because no one else was home. Well, upon entering the living room to
investigate, I saw Archie reaching up with both paws to get at the slipper that
had been expressly placed on the piano keyboard out of his reach. Thus, the
mischievous critter had another nickname added to his repertoire:
“Liberarchie”.
