About 2 years ago a friend of mine gave me a new potted plant, a nematanthus (they also call it "goldfish" flowers). I've already had an African violet since 2011, so I thought another potted plant couldn't be a problem.
You have to know, that before I had the African violet (which I will call Max, from now on, because that's his name, actually), plants just didn't want to survive around me. I've bought Max the day after I broke up with my boyfriend in 2011, and back then I was thinking that if this plant is going to survive, and it even going to bloom, I'm not that hopeless as a human being after all. My mother taught me that if you would like to buy a potted flower, you should buy the one that haven't yet open its flowerbuds, so I followed the instruction. I had done some research on how to take care of an African violet, also asked my mother (she's an expert in my eyes, when it comes to potted plants) and my grandmother (she has a lots of them at home) as well, gave him the name Max, and I was waiting what will happen after the flowerbuds open, and the flowers wither. I was expecting Max to die and was hoping for his survival at the same time, but he surpassed my expectations: instead of dying, not only he survived, he blooms like crazy whenever the time comes for blooming (mostly in spring, or whenever he's in the mood). Max brought me many nice memories with his flowers and made me proud (because of his flowers and my success, and it made me think "finally! I can keep at least a potted plant alive!"). He's still standing on my table enjoying scattered light, and next to Max there is the nematanthus.
In a way, it was completely different with the nematanthus. This little one almost prove my success with Max wrong, because in the first few days she spent in my room right next to Max, she dropped her buds. I did my research, like I had done when I bought Max (though neither my mother or my grandmother could help me, because they have never had a nematanthus before). I was looking at her dark green leafes and I didn't know what to do. It was clear she wasn't feeling comfortable in my room, though she didn't die right away, she just refused to bloom.
I had to realize that the nematanthus is more sensitive and more demanding than Max is. It was easy with Max: I just smiled at him proudly and he was happy, he felt at ease, and both of us were satisfied. So at a certain point, I literally told the nematanthus: I don't let you die. Made another vow as well, which brought a tiny vision along, but that's not something to share with the public (I have my secrets as well). The nematanthus arrived in November 2013, and around the first weeks of February 2014 a discovered she's growing a new sprout. Before that I was sure she would stay the way she were after dropping her flowerbuds (still hoping for some progress and growth, though I couldn't be 100% sure about the success), but more and more new sprouts appeared, and grew into new branches, aiming towards the window. I didn't do more than this during the whole time (ever since I made that vow): I was speaking to her, I was encouraging her and asked her not to give up, and I made her sure that I love her. She got the same treatment as Max always had, and kept talking to both of them. And then, in the end of August, last year, a flowerbud appeared on her, and though after blooming she didn't bring more flowers for a while, when I got back from Hungary in January two new flowerbuds apperared... and then again two more... and by now I discover every week a few new buds on the nematanthus.
The potted plant I was sure (regardless my bold vow, I don't let you die) I will only be able to keep in a vegetative state (without flowers) for a while, is now blooming, and I am grateful for every single little bud. This plant-experience reminds me to my grandfather (from my mother's side): the real plant and tree expert is him. He just smiles at his plants, flowers (especially his roses) and fruit trees in his garden and they are blooming, and the fruit trees are bringing delicious fruits, though the soil conditions in my hometown, Dévaványa is not a kind that a plant or a tree would wish for. And my grandfather also speaks to them, sometimes without speaking.
OK, why am I telling you about this gardening success of mine? In my opinion working together in an ensemble, working on your own development or your singing pupil's development is very much like gardening. And I am not talking about the botanical side of gardening, but taking care of a garden. I have never seen a good gardener whose garden would have been messy or filled with sick and dying plants, while taking care of others' gardens perfectly fine.
I obviously wanted to get better when I bought Max, and I wished for recovering when I saw the nematanthus dropping her flowers. I had to realize that not every potted plant needs the same treatment, just like not every individual is able to handle the same treatment when you teach them or work with them. It is essential that you stay calm and flexible at handling their problems, but above these you have to love them. Talent - doesn't matter if we are talking about a colleague's, a pupil's or your own - should be treated with love, and nothing more can inspire someone than knowing that he/she is being loved. Listen to them, look at them, pay attention to them, but never ever try to change them to be in a certain way on purpose, or force your way to the bottom of their heart. Be gentle, remain open and curious about the results they come up with: you never know what kind of and how many flowerbuds they'll show you. Just let them sing, guide them (based on what they need as an individual), comfort them when they are down, and never leave their side in crucial moments, just be their safety net. That's all they need.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Living in the world of extremes
It doesn't matter how I look at it I still think we are living in a world of extremes. What makes me say this? Well, take a look at the artworks and peformances of nowadays. Art has always served as a mirror to reflect what's happening and also exaggerate it a little so it would bat an eye (at least a little).
But now this mirror-effect is even stronger. I mean, if I take a look at how different music genre's (classical, ligh music and early music) vocal music sounds like, the difference in vibrato preference is almost abstract, if not extreme and insane. Once a guy said in the end of 19th-century that using a lot of vibrato is considered as bad taste, and now everyone (especially authenticity freaks among early musicians) thinks that music should lack vibrato (if you ask me, this is simply a misinterpretation of a source reading, but that only my humble opinion, or in other words: don't take everything you read literally). As for me, I don't mind vibrato on the voice at all (and I am a non-authenticity freak, and a graduated singer specialized on early music repertory), if it's elegant and natural. Those who prefer this laser-voice thingie (I'm sorry, but I don't have a better word for this) don't know anything about the physics behind producing a sound: when the air is vibrating, it becomes something audible (it depends on the vibratory if we are able to hear it or not), and if the vibration has a regular pattern, it's called a sound, but if this pattern is irregular it's called a noise.
On muscular level and if you don't know how to produce this non-vibrato laser thingie you just grab your own larynx and don't let it move on it's natural way. Ehm... I think I've written something earlier about manipulating the muscles and how damaging it can be if you do it longer than you should (in this context "longer than you should" means "any length", so just try not to do it), but here you go: if you don' let your body work for you, although your body knows much better than your brain how to produce a sound, you'll get problems. The larynx is supposed to move freely without any manipulation during singing. That's one of the edges of the extremes; the other one when you try to move your larynx in a certain way in order to create the vibration - I don't think I have to repeat myself, so just shortly put: since it's manipulated, controlled, therefore it's bad for your voice. In both cases, also the breathing is being controlled and is by no means free, so there's a huge possibility that there's other muscular tensions in the body while you're trying to either create one of them: the vibration or the non-vibration - instead of letting it happen.
But my point is... It is extreme how classical singers' vocal interpration is full of vibration, while early music is almost weirdly and unnaturally non-vibrato, and then you have the light music singers who mix the two a little, and they sound still more natural than any singer who uses bel canto. And it is weird, because bel canto is all about following the natural muscle movements of the body (especially the larynx), while for example belting (as far as I experienced) is doing the opposite but still in a good way so you wouldn't harm your larynx and the vocalchords.
Another extreme shows in how musicians treat improvisation nowadays. A few weeks ago a friend of mine shared and interesting article which says (already in the title) we are playing classical music all wrong, because composers wanted us to improvise. I remember how afraid I was from improvising simply because I've never done it before, but the moment I began to experiment with my voice and explore my limits, this fear turned into curiousity towards the unknown. Last year in November I had the luck to participate in a project based on vocal improvisation (for those whom are interested: check out the Klankconcerten or if you don't speak Dutch, just watch this video to get an idea). When I was preparing for the rehearsals (we've got a few instructions on the improvised pieces) a part of me, which was still afraid of making mistakes, was also afraid of improvisation. What if I do something wrong? But then I thought: there's no way I can make a mistake if I listen carefully to the other singers - and I was right.
Why don't classical musicians improvise? They are not used to it, and most of the teachers at the conservatories don't push them towards improvisation (except for those who actually teach improvisation). Early musicians are a bit better on this, because the earlier the repertory, the more improvisation is required (in those good old times in the 10th-14th-centuries the scribes just didn't write everything down). Yet again, we have the other edge of extreme: jazz, which is (comparing to classical music performances) full of improvisations.
So yes, we are living in a world of extremes. I'm just wondering could this Planet and the Humanity be saved, if every artist would try to balance the sharp and wounding difference between the edges of the extremes? Maybe even wars and terrorism could be stopped, but that's just an idea...
But now this mirror-effect is even stronger. I mean, if I take a look at how different music genre's (classical, ligh music and early music) vocal music sounds like, the difference in vibrato preference is almost abstract, if not extreme and insane. Once a guy said in the end of 19th-century that using a lot of vibrato is considered as bad taste, and now everyone (especially authenticity freaks among early musicians) thinks that music should lack vibrato (if you ask me, this is simply a misinterpretation of a source reading, but that only my humble opinion, or in other words: don't take everything you read literally). As for me, I don't mind vibrato on the voice at all (and I am a non-authenticity freak, and a graduated singer specialized on early music repertory), if it's elegant and natural. Those who prefer this laser-voice thingie (I'm sorry, but I don't have a better word for this) don't know anything about the physics behind producing a sound: when the air is vibrating, it becomes something audible (it depends on the vibratory if we are able to hear it or not), and if the vibration has a regular pattern, it's called a sound, but if this pattern is irregular it's called a noise.
On muscular level and if you don't know how to produce this non-vibrato laser thingie you just grab your own larynx and don't let it move on it's natural way. Ehm... I think I've written something earlier about manipulating the muscles and how damaging it can be if you do it longer than you should (in this context "longer than you should" means "any length", so just try not to do it), but here you go: if you don' let your body work for you, although your body knows much better than your brain how to produce a sound, you'll get problems. The larynx is supposed to move freely without any manipulation during singing. That's one of the edges of the extremes; the other one when you try to move your larynx in a certain way in order to create the vibration - I don't think I have to repeat myself, so just shortly put: since it's manipulated, controlled, therefore it's bad for your voice. In both cases, also the breathing is being controlled and is by no means free, so there's a huge possibility that there's other muscular tensions in the body while you're trying to either create one of them: the vibration or the non-vibration - instead of letting it happen.
But my point is... It is extreme how classical singers' vocal interpration is full of vibration, while early music is almost weirdly and unnaturally non-vibrato, and then you have the light music singers who mix the two a little, and they sound still more natural than any singer who uses bel canto. And it is weird, because bel canto is all about following the natural muscle movements of the body (especially the larynx), while for example belting (as far as I experienced) is doing the opposite but still in a good way so you wouldn't harm your larynx and the vocalchords.
Another extreme shows in how musicians treat improvisation nowadays. A few weeks ago a friend of mine shared and interesting article which says (already in the title) we are playing classical music all wrong, because composers wanted us to improvise. I remember how afraid I was from improvising simply because I've never done it before, but the moment I began to experiment with my voice and explore my limits, this fear turned into curiousity towards the unknown. Last year in November I had the luck to participate in a project based on vocal improvisation (for those whom are interested: check out the Klankconcerten or if you don't speak Dutch, just watch this video to get an idea). When I was preparing for the rehearsals (we've got a few instructions on the improvised pieces) a part of me, which was still afraid of making mistakes, was also afraid of improvisation. What if I do something wrong? But then I thought: there's no way I can make a mistake if I listen carefully to the other singers - and I was right.
Why don't classical musicians improvise? They are not used to it, and most of the teachers at the conservatories don't push them towards improvisation (except for those who actually teach improvisation). Early musicians are a bit better on this, because the earlier the repertory, the more improvisation is required (in those good old times in the 10th-14th-centuries the scribes just didn't write everything down). Yet again, we have the other edge of extreme: jazz, which is (comparing to classical music performances) full of improvisations.
So yes, we are living in a world of extremes. I'm just wondering could this Planet and the Humanity be saved, if every artist would try to balance the sharp and wounding difference between the edges of the extremes? Maybe even wars and terrorism could be stopped, but that's just an idea...
Friday, February 6, 2015
Everything is possible (part 2)
I don't know why's that, but I am fond of paradoxons, just like this motto of mine: Everything is possible.
And now let me explain to you, what this sentence means to me: I believe that everything is possible, that I am able to sing literally anything regardless genre, style, range (obviously within the ambitus of my voice), because from an anatomic point of view, it is possible. Every fear, and limit we draw is actually between our ears, and by that I mean, that if you are open minded enough, there is no such thing as "too low" or "too high", or even "too middle" (some singers are afraid of their middle register - someone has to explain this to me what is the reason behind that).
If you think about it, singing is just muscle work and like every muscle, you can train these muscles, and if it is muscle work, you can think about singing also as a vocal work-out. The more muscle mass you have, the stronger your voice get. On the other hand, by remaining open-minded in every situation results a better access to the resonance, and also the "hidden reserves" of your instrument.
This kind of mindset also requires daring to take risks. Take the risk of failure, because if everything is possible, it is possible that it is impossible.
It is a little bit like Schrödinger's cat, which is just as alive as it is dead in that box, but you will never find out the truth unless you open the box. After all, what can you possibly loose? Will you die or will it do any harm to you if you fail at something in singing? I have never seen a singer making a mistake while making music and got hit by lightning (yes, I am exaggerating it, and I am doing it on purpose).
Of course we would like to choose for the safest and easiest solutions (except for me: there's nothing exciting and challenging about safe and easy...), because we are aftraid of getting hurt in any way, and we were taught to be careful in any circumstances (when we cross the road, ride the bike, etc.). But don't tell me, you have never enjoyed the divine mix of excitement and fear, which causes an adrenalin-rush in your body... It is just fun... So why not taking the risk and saying: everything is possible?
Interestingly enough, all those phrases that leaves a singer's lips regarding range, style and genre, those phrases are rather reflecting on their own fears. When they say - for example - "I'm a soprano, and singing below C' is too low for me", that is not showing something that this particular singer capable of, but her decision that she doesn't want to sing below C' (sad, but true, and truth can be pretty ugly sometimes). Therefore I am not really fond of putting a stamp on my forehead which shouts which voicetype I am. It is true, that I don't like to peep too high, but if I have to, I can do it, because I know my organs and muscles are able to get those high notes. Also it depends on my mood sometimes: sometimes I enjoy going all the way to my chest voice and enjoy the vibration behind my collarbone and eyes, but there are days when I am in the mood of discovering the upper limits of my voice.
This doesn't mean I don't use certain registers from time to time when I practise. I always explore my whole range, it is just how I feel about it at that very moment, and that can change from morning to afternoon.
So just like Mark Twain said: Explore. Dream. Discover. You never know what is waiting for you beyond the limits you drew for yourself. If you keep your mind open and flexible, this mindset will keep your body open and flexible.
And now let me explain to you, what this sentence means to me: I believe that everything is possible, that I am able to sing literally anything regardless genre, style, range (obviously within the ambitus of my voice), because from an anatomic point of view, it is possible. Every fear, and limit we draw is actually between our ears, and by that I mean, that if you are open minded enough, there is no such thing as "too low" or "too high", or even "too middle" (some singers are afraid of their middle register - someone has to explain this to me what is the reason behind that).
If you think about it, singing is just muscle work and like every muscle, you can train these muscles, and if it is muscle work, you can think about singing also as a vocal work-out. The more muscle mass you have, the stronger your voice get. On the other hand, by remaining open-minded in every situation results a better access to the resonance, and also the "hidden reserves" of your instrument.
This kind of mindset also requires daring to take risks. Take the risk of failure, because if everything is possible, it is possible that it is impossible.
Of course we would like to choose for the safest and easiest solutions (except for me: there's nothing exciting and challenging about safe and easy...), because we are aftraid of getting hurt in any way, and we were taught to be careful in any circumstances (when we cross the road, ride the bike, etc.). But don't tell me, you have never enjoyed the divine mix of excitement and fear, which causes an adrenalin-rush in your body... It is just fun... So why not taking the risk and saying: everything is possible?
Interestingly enough, all those phrases that leaves a singer's lips regarding range, style and genre, those phrases are rather reflecting on their own fears. When they say - for example - "I'm a soprano, and singing below C' is too low for me", that is not showing something that this particular singer capable of, but her decision that she doesn't want to sing below C' (sad, but true, and truth can be pretty ugly sometimes). Therefore I am not really fond of putting a stamp on my forehead which shouts which voicetype I am. It is true, that I don't like to peep too high, but if I have to, I can do it, because I know my organs and muscles are able to get those high notes. Also it depends on my mood sometimes: sometimes I enjoy going all the way to my chest voice and enjoy the vibration behind my collarbone and eyes, but there are days when I am in the mood of discovering the upper limits of my voice.
This doesn't mean I don't use certain registers from time to time when I practise. I always explore my whole range, it is just how I feel about it at that very moment, and that can change from morning to afternoon.
So just like Mark Twain said: Explore. Dream. Discover. You never know what is waiting for you beyond the limits you drew for yourself. If you keep your mind open and flexible, this mindset will keep your body open and flexible.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Never judge a book by its cover
When I was a kid I was convinced that the things on this world are either black or white, good or bad, and nothing in between. I think I might have thought that way, because my parents were raising me and my brother in consequent way, and I am really grateful to them for doing so. They drew a very clear and firm line between what I am allowed to do and what not, and if I asked them why I am not allowed to do a particular thing, they cared to explain me in a sober way.
Time passed and finally I had to leave home to bend into the society which said to be important, but I've enjoyed being alone more and more as I got to know this society. Nope, I'm not anti-social, I just cannot stand stupidity and pointless insults - that's all... That's why I may seem to isolate myself sometimes from people, but to tell the truth I enjoy to be in the company of people, but I prefer to listen to them and observe them. It is almost like reading a book, so that's how I learned that if you would like to get to know someone really good, you shouldn't just listen to them, but also observe them, and even if you listen to them do it in such way that you don't get lost in their words, but you try to understand their motivation. You would be suprised what simple things can serve as a motivation behind our deeds and how our bodylanguage can tell more about ourselves than the words that are leaving our lips.
For me getting to know people is really like reading a book, and I learned quite early not to judge any book by its cover. And as a matter of fact, when you give a singing lesson, you do the same thing: you are reading your pupil(s) body language, movements, breathing, etc. The more you read them and the more you know about them, the more you can help them solve their vocal problems - and the more they can help you solve your own vocal problems and help you deepen your knowledge and understanding about how your instrument works. They are singing books; some of them loud and proud, some of them shy and timid, but they all have one thing in common: all of them are valuable, precious and vulnerable work, something to appreciate and to take a good care of.
Time passed and finally I had to leave home to bend into the society which said to be important, but I've enjoyed being alone more and more as I got to know this society. Nope, I'm not anti-social, I just cannot stand stupidity and pointless insults - that's all... That's why I may seem to isolate myself sometimes from people, but to tell the truth I enjoy to be in the company of people, but I prefer to listen to them and observe them. It is almost like reading a book, so that's how I learned that if you would like to get to know someone really good, you shouldn't just listen to them, but also observe them, and even if you listen to them do it in such way that you don't get lost in their words, but you try to understand their motivation. You would be suprised what simple things can serve as a motivation behind our deeds and how our bodylanguage can tell more about ourselves than the words that are leaving our lips.
For me getting to know people is really like reading a book, and I learned quite early not to judge any book by its cover. And as a matter of fact, when you give a singing lesson, you do the same thing: you are reading your pupil(s) body language, movements, breathing, etc. The more you read them and the more you know about them, the more you can help them solve their vocal problems - and the more they can help you solve your own vocal problems and help you deepen your knowledge and understanding about how your instrument works. They are singing books; some of them loud and proud, some of them shy and timid, but they all have one thing in common: all of them are valuable, precious and vulnerable work, something to appreciate and to take a good care of.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Everything is possible (part 1)
It really wouldn't be me, if a sentence as the title says "Everything is possible" wouldn't serve as a motto of my life as a professional musician. As much as a paradox it is, as much as it inspired me in past few years.
Back then when I began my studies at the conservatory I had pretty primitive ideas about singing and music in general. Based on the repertory building beforehand I was convinced, just like everyone else nowadays that there's no free passing between voice types, in other words your preferred register defines the repertory you are able to sing. But the years I spent as an early vocal ensemble music student and also Ildikó Hajnal, my singing teacher's methods and approach pushed me towards new boundaries, and that reminded me to the very essential idea why I've actually decided to be a singer. And that idea was actually that I wanted to see how far I could get with it, to figure out where my limits are as a musician and as a singer.
To be honest, and without being all the way stuck up, I am a multitalented, intelligent and smart woman (which is quite something if you take a look at my beuatiful blond hair...), and as being one I could be anything I wanted to be. I figured this out at some quite early age, so thanks to that I always knew what I wanted to be and that was always something else: architect, lawyer, captain of a ship (sometimes even a space ship), astronaut, teacher, pirate, physician, journalist, writer, historian, restaurator, painter, mob boss, detective, pathologist, secret agent or mad scientist - but hell, never a musician! In grammar school, I was such a bookworm that while my classmates were living their normal puberty lives, I spent my long afternoons and evenings in libraries (no misunderstanding: there was one at school, another one at the dormitory where I was living in those times and the of the central library of the region - this one was actually behind my school). In the year of graduation I had enough, and I was aso allowed to get some extra time for my singing lessons at the music school. This meant a 90 minutes long singing lesson every week, from which 60 minutes was the actual lesson and the remaining 30 minutes rehearsing with a pianist under the supervision of my singing teacher at that time, Erzsébet Feichter). I had to play the piano and though I should have attended music theory lessons, I chose to sing in the choir of the music school instead.
Before I realized I've got more involved in music and with singing than I made up my mind to become a singer. When I told the people around me (my family, my classmates, my friends and my teachers) that I am planning to give the auditions of the conservatory in Miskolc a go, many of them laughed at me or just looked at me as if I were out of my mind. My chosen faculties in grammar school were history, and Hungarian literature and grammar; in the end it turned out I haven't dawdled away my time with those countless hours spent with my faculty subjects, because if you are getting involved with early music, some extra knowledge in history, literature and grammar pays off pretty well.
Well, as you can see I did not become a lawyer, neither a pirate, but I've become a singer which is a way better than all the other professions I've ever imagined to myself. Why? Because music and singing requires a fresh and fit mind all the time, pushing you to learn something new everyday, and also pushing you to extend or even exceed your limits.
Everything is possible... Yes, believe it or not, everything is possible, even for a bookworm to become a singer. For many years I've listened to the discrimination of my kind ("my kind" here stands for people with intelligence, high intellect and strong thirst for knowledge) considering them as people who have barely the ability or they are just simply unable to sense the little nuances of their body, and that thinking and their intelligence is actually in the way of artistic expression. But you know what? That's not true. It is true, that if you keep telling someone, who's happen to be smarter and has a bigger theoretical knowledge than you, that these merits are bad and they are preventing him/her from musical development, he/she will believe you after a while and will curse himself/herself for the gift he/she was given. I wouldn't classify people like thinkers and emotionals. I believe that each of us has the equal ability to feel, sense and understand the world that surrounds us, it is just the matter of personal choice which approach we would like to choose and where do our priorities lie.
After I figured that my intelligence and intellect used in an effective and proper way will help me to develop as a singer and as a muscian, a whole new world opened up for me, and slowly the thought of "everything is possible" took over my mind and I've begun to experiment more and more...
Back then when I began my studies at the conservatory I had pretty primitive ideas about singing and music in general. Based on the repertory building beforehand I was convinced, just like everyone else nowadays that there's no free passing between voice types, in other words your preferred register defines the repertory you are able to sing. But the years I spent as an early vocal ensemble music student and also Ildikó Hajnal, my singing teacher's methods and approach pushed me towards new boundaries, and that reminded me to the very essential idea why I've actually decided to be a singer. And that idea was actually that I wanted to see how far I could get with it, to figure out where my limits are as a musician and as a singer.
To be honest, and without being all the way stuck up, I am a multitalented, intelligent and smart woman (which is quite something if you take a look at my beuatiful blond hair...), and as being one I could be anything I wanted to be. I figured this out at some quite early age, so thanks to that I always knew what I wanted to be and that was always something else: architect, lawyer, captain of a ship (sometimes even a space ship), astronaut, teacher, pirate, physician, journalist, writer, historian, restaurator, painter, mob boss, detective, pathologist, secret agent or mad scientist - but hell, never a musician! In grammar school, I was such a bookworm that while my classmates were living their normal puberty lives, I spent my long afternoons and evenings in libraries (no misunderstanding: there was one at school, another one at the dormitory where I was living in those times and the of the central library of the region - this one was actually behind my school). In the year of graduation I had enough, and I was aso allowed to get some extra time for my singing lessons at the music school. This meant a 90 minutes long singing lesson every week, from which 60 minutes was the actual lesson and the remaining 30 minutes rehearsing with a pianist under the supervision of my singing teacher at that time, Erzsébet Feichter). I had to play the piano and though I should have attended music theory lessons, I chose to sing in the choir of the music school instead.
Before I realized I've got more involved in music and with singing than I made up my mind to become a singer. When I told the people around me (my family, my classmates, my friends and my teachers) that I am planning to give the auditions of the conservatory in Miskolc a go, many of them laughed at me or just looked at me as if I were out of my mind. My chosen faculties in grammar school were history, and Hungarian literature and grammar; in the end it turned out I haven't dawdled away my time with those countless hours spent with my faculty subjects, because if you are getting involved with early music, some extra knowledge in history, literature and grammar pays off pretty well.
Well, as you can see I did not become a lawyer, neither a pirate, but I've become a singer which is a way better than all the other professions I've ever imagined to myself. Why? Because music and singing requires a fresh and fit mind all the time, pushing you to learn something new everyday, and also pushing you to extend or even exceed your limits.
Everything is possible... Yes, believe it or not, everything is possible, even for a bookworm to become a singer. For many years I've listened to the discrimination of my kind ("my kind" here stands for people with intelligence, high intellect and strong thirst for knowledge) considering them as people who have barely the ability or they are just simply unable to sense the little nuances of their body, and that thinking and their intelligence is actually in the way of artistic expression. But you know what? That's not true. It is true, that if you keep telling someone, who's happen to be smarter and has a bigger theoretical knowledge than you, that these merits are bad and they are preventing him/her from musical development, he/she will believe you after a while and will curse himself/herself for the gift he/she was given. I wouldn't classify people like thinkers and emotionals. I believe that each of us has the equal ability to feel, sense and understand the world that surrounds us, it is just the matter of personal choice which approach we would like to choose and where do our priorities lie.
After I figured that my intelligence and intellect used in an effective and proper way will help me to develop as a singer and as a muscian, a whole new world opened up for me, and slowly the thought of "everything is possible" took over my mind and I've begun to experiment more and more...
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Letting go
Maybe it's the rain we've been having recently
Something about the rain keeps reminding me
But these days I'm sure you would be surprised
I'm a different person you'd hardly recognise
And there's the reasons why I know
But nobody tells you but the letting go.
Something about the rain keeps reminding me
But these days I'm sure you would be surprised
I'm a different person you'd hardly recognise
And there's the reasons why I know
But nobody tells you but the letting go.
(Joe Cocker: The letting go)
It is raining now for a while here in the Netherlands. Well, if you live here, sometimes you have the very feeling it is raining all the time, but I'm not complaining, the weather was quite nice in the past year, it was warm spiced up with a lot of sunshine. But to tell the truth, I actually like rain very much. Not the part where I am getting all the way wet to my bones while riding my bike in the rain to the restaurant where I work, or on the way back, but the rain itself. I like to take an umbrella and some waterproof footware and just walk in the rain and enjoy the scent of it. I like the way how it washes away everything and when it stops raining, and the sky clears up you value the sunshine even more.
No, there's no misunderstanding, I am writing about letting go. There are many things I would like to let go recently: old habits, fears, doubts, painful memories (because during the great and fun time I had in the past years, I had collected some painful ones as well), etc. In a way, I agree with Carrie Fisher saying in the beginning of her HBO stage show Wishful drinking (which I recommend everyone to watch, because it's hilarious): "I have to start by telling you that my entire lifecould be summed up in one phrase, and that is: if my life wasn't funny, it would just be true, and that is completely
unacceptable. Now... what that means is (other than what it sounds like): let's say something
happens and from a certain slant, maybe it's tragic and even a little
bit shocking. And then time passes and you go to the funny slant and now
that very same thing can no longer do you any harm. So, what we're really talking about then is location, location, location"
True. Sometimes I am indulging myself in the past, though I know very well that the past is a nice place to visit but never a pleasant place to stay. Recently I am finding myself wondering about things I could have done better in the past and what I could do in the future in a different way, but the only conclusion I get to is that I need change and I need to let go everything: the past, the fears, the doubts, the pain, and everything else that holds me back.
I remember the last time I had enough of being inable to move anywhere. I felt I was stuck and I had the feeling I cannot breath anymore, and these feelings were painfully familiar. At that time I had no idea how to move out from that hesitating state, being afraid of anything that came into my way. That was the time when I had my ever first portfolio shoot and there I could let go (well, I was half naked), and I could do it for three reasons:
- I wanted to show my instrument in a way that nobody would expect me to do so. After all, you don't put clothes on a piano, or on a violin or on a cello - that would look sooo silly...
- By the end of the training I've got during the 6 years of Conservatory I felt myself denuded from many of my old habits.
- I had soooo much fun :)))
Letting go is the hardest thing I've ever encountered, because it holds the possibility of radical change and loosing something that we think it is useful for us. Letting go chases us out into the wilderness of the soul where God knows what awaits for us (for some reason the first that would pop one's mind is something dangerous, or even lethal - isn't it interesting?). I am still learning the art of letting go. So far the most succesfull "letting go"-events were when I could forget about the possible consequences in a way that not even the term would have popped up in my mind. Of course there were a whole series of events that put me into that state of mind.
I am looking for that state of mind now: in the rain, hoping it would wash away everything while waiting for the vital ray of sunshine on my skin and on the path I am following. So I let it rain, I let it go...
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Catering industry vs. Classical musicians
OK, not Classical Musicians... Classical Musicians and Early Musicians alike...
I have a part-time job at a restaurant in the outskirts of Tilburg. No, I am not a perky waitress, neither helping out in the kitchen. I am on the bottom of the hierarchy: I am one of the dishwashers. Heavy physical work, but if you do it right it can bring your body some benefit (it is like a complete work out). I work here since Easter last year, and though doing the dishes doesn't match with my profession, it is good to keep my financial basis firm and on the other hand the schedule is flexible. There's not such a high salary that would pay enough to give up such flexibility. As a musician you need this flexibility, because the amount of commissions and concerts are not frequent enough to provide you enough money to make a living.
I have a part-time job at a restaurant in the outskirts of Tilburg. No, I am not a perky waitress, neither helping out in the kitchen. I am on the bottom of the hierarchy: I am one of the dishwashers. Heavy physical work, but if you do it right it can bring your body some benefit (it is like a complete work out). I work here since Easter last year, and though doing the dishes doesn't match with my profession, it is good to keep my financial basis firm and on the other hand the schedule is flexible. There's not such a high salary that would pay enough to give up such flexibility. As a musician you need this flexibility, because the amount of commissions and concerts are not frequent enough to provide you enough money to make a living.
I am sure
many of you have done this kind of job before, but comparing to other
restaurants, this one is different in many ways. First of all you cannot order
a meal a la carte, because they don't have a menu card. They are specialized on
parties, events, catering, feasts, birthdays, weddings, receptions, etc. Three halls,
a bar, and two smaller independent buildings give place to these events, and
there are days when all of these are full of people and they even have more
than one team going on providing catering service somewhere else. Yes, it is
extreme, but I love it. It tears my body apart, because my task is not only
doing the dishes, but also cleaning everything up, and put the clean stuff
where they belong to (in the kitchen, or on the backroom, or wherever they have
to be put). So it is not only physical job, but also requires some smart
planning of logistics, fitnesse and effective quickness.
I have spent
several months there until now, and I have to say that we, musicians
(especially classical and early musicians) have what to learn from these
people. Here's a list with some explanation to each point:
1. The
customer's No.1 priority
It doesn't
matter how much time and energy the chef invested in that particular dish, if it
tastes awful, the customer won't pay for it. It is interesting how our audience
works, and in many sense we, musicians, can be really grateful for their
patience. I mean, nobody would ever let anyone to push some awful tasting food
down his/her throat at a restaurant, but our public will clap no matter what we
do. But no matter how much time the chef spent with that disgusting stuff, you
won't eat it. Isn't this a little upside down? There's one thing in common
though with restaurants with horrible food and musicians giving terrible
concerts: after a short time they will loose their customers (and not only
because nothing lasts forever).
2. Effective
teamwork is more important than anything
During
parties, dinner events and many more, waiters, waitresses, chefs and everyone
in this restaurant are working in such an effective and cooperative way that
the result works as a well-oiled machine and all the guests have a great time
there. But when the guests are going home, this team continue to work on
preparing the other day’s event, and they are helping eachother in
order to finish as soon as possible. This is definitly something I am always
amazed about, whenever I see it. They either learned or they behave by nature
in this certain way, because they know that being an obstacle cause them
nothing but trouble and misfortune (not immediate, but long-term trouble and
misfortune). There is this joke about the waitress and her friend are having a
conversation about a night out in town:
- Sooo... Can you make it tonight to go out in town?
- I don’t know, I have to work from 16:00 o’clock.
- And when will your shift finish?
- Finish? My shift doesn’t have an end-time...
There is no
definite end-time of the shift: it finishes when the job is done.
On the level
of musicians teamwork (in best cases) works until the final cadence of the
concert, and then they are just looking for their own benefit. I may be wrong
(I've already said that I'm not right, neither I possess the truth – nobody
does actually) but musicians can be really an obstacle in eachothers
development and success (more often on purpose than unintended, unfortunately).
They call it competition, which is OK, if two ensembles are competing with
eachother on the market, but this occurs too often among the members of an
ensemble and in my point of view, that's just simply pointless and stupid. Being
an obstacle in your fellow musician’s way is the same thing when a waitress’
priority is not being part of the team, but seeking her own good. Musicians and
singers don’t do this because they are bad or evil people, they are doing so,
because they are so busy with being an artist and with the music they are
performing (especially with the interpretation they imagined behind the notes)
that they are just completely clueless when it comes to behave like a human
being. People (and this applies on everyone in general, this is just human
nature) don’t think about long-term solutions. For some reason they are also
happy with temporarly pleasures and their selfishness only brings them misery,
bitterness and loneliness. They are choosing for the short-term pleasures,
because long-term solutions require sacrifices, and because these sacrifices
don’t pay-off immediately, and because people are impatient in general, they
won’t take the risk of giving away something small for something bigger (which
pays off at an unexpected and unpredictable time).
NB: Dear Singers, I have really bad news for ya... Being a singer means to take these risks and make these lesser (sometimes even seemingly bigger) sacrifices if you would like to do your thing right. Good news: it always pays off quite nicely and your reward will also stay for a life-time (if you are smart enough).
NB: Dear Singers, I have really bad news for ya... Being a singer means to take these risks and make these lesser (sometimes even seemingly bigger) sacrifices if you would like to do your thing right. Good news: it always pays off quite nicely and your reward will also stay for a life-time (if you are smart enough).
3. If the customer is happy, we are happy
This seems
to be the same thing as the first one, but this actually rather points out that
if you make your customer happy, it will make you (as the provider of this
happines) also feel good about it. Positive feedback and positive emotions are
just as important for someone who works in the catering industry as it is for
you, dear performing musicians. I hear many people complaining about how they
cannot make a living as a musician or as a singer (nevertheless, comparing to
the Middle Ages, when musicians were the outcast of society, you can be happy
about being considered as an equal human being, protected by the law as anyone
else). Well, it is because you know what would make your audience happy, but
you are just refusing to satisfy their needs. Of course they won’t want to
listen to your mindf*cked ideas, if you don’t serve it in such way that it
would get them in the mood of eating it. It’s like having sex with someone
without any foreplay: a quickie can be exciting and pleasuresome from time to
time, but invade your partner with only quickies and having only
one-night-stands will only fuck-up your emotional life. The opposite also
applies: if you serve your a little-bit of perverted ideas in an „edable”-way,
even a mindf*ck will spice up your relationship with your audience. You just
need to put these ideas in context and be really clear about communicating
them.
Among this list, and to refer to someone else’s words proving we need to change our mindset about concert and/or music concepts, there you go: a really interesting, recently published article. Those, who follow my posts on Facebook, might have already seen me sharing this article, saying: I firmly believe that if one begins to think differently and voices his/her opinion, things may change things for good. (Partly that’s the reason why I am writing this blog, and also because I’m a hopeless exhibitionist craving for your attention – like every performing artist is). I had the luck to meet Brendan Walsh (the author of this article), and I was also attending his lectures Cultural entrepreneurship at the Fontys Conservatory in Tilburg. To be honest I didn’t want to go to his lectures, and I had one simple reason: in my experience, though Fontys Conservatory is an innovative institution willing to improve education with great lecture ideas, their business-related lessons during my Bachelor years were simply a disaster (guest speakers without any clue about music industry or the manners of the classical musician world). So I thought he will be just the same as his predecessors, but I was wrong. Maybe the most remarkable memory from his lectures regarding the subject of this entry when he stated something I had never imagined a performing musician would ever admit: the new generation of musicians is a threat for the generation before them. When I’ve heard him saying that I was silently applausing and rejoicing in myself, and with this statement he became (in my eyes, at least) from an entertaining teacher and presenter to someone worths pay attention to. So there it goes, a shout-out for his article: Classical Music is dead... Long live Classical Music!
NB: He mentiones a few recent attempts to make classical music a product which sells better, by putting classical music performances in new context (regarding location, dancing to classical music and such), which is (in my opinion, again) a good way to point out we need change, but until our attitude won't change, none of the results (good or bad) will hold - nevertheless, we need these pointing fingers.
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