"Stop dreaming and do it, because so many people have died before their time." --Natasha Richardson
From the age of eight, singing in front of people has struck indescribable terror in my heart. For years I have stuck it out in the chorus, where no one can hear me, in various musicals. When it comes to acting: no fear, great successes and even access to musical roles wherein my directors have figured out a way to keep me from having to sing solo.
Thus far, it's been a little aggravating. Now it's getting embarrassing and, ultimately, restricting. The days have come to a close when I knew directors who knew my abilities, willing to work with a fledgling singer. The pond is getting bigger.
I had a choice. Plenty of great actors stick to the straight path of non-musical theatre. I could pursue music on the side hoping for a breakthrough one of these days. A reasonable person would take that choice, but to quote Big Fish, I have never been a reasonable person.
I gave up food to pay for voice lessons in college and the succeeding stage of unemployment. Battling it out with a piano and my ears, which have a terrible immunity to pitches, I forced myself into unpleasant situations. Asked to sing on the spot at an audition which was not supposed to be musical, I fearlessly belted Happy Birthday. No idea if it was in one key or two, but it was better than that last musical audition oh so many years ago.
Then auditions for Oliver! came up and I had to try for Nancy. It's a part I've wanted since I did the show as a teenager (when I played Charlotte- the only non-singing woman in the show). Not that I was anywhere close to Nancy caliber singing, but the point was to look fear in the face and punch it as hard as I could.
(Which isn't that hard, but it's using what you've got not waiting till you have more.)
And so I sang in front of three stone faced judges who knew nothing of my plight. I flew off pitch, butchered the song and walked out head held high and triumphant because, for the first time in my life, I had sung an entire song before the director of a show.
Spurred by a small success, I pressed on and poured myself into a piece from Cinderella, vowing to be ready the next time a local company did Oliver! I would have the part of Nancy. So I waited, and practiced undisciplined, in my spare time (this is not how to achieve a goal, dream, or even breakfast). Oliver! once again appeared on the call board and I responded with shaking fingers. I had two weeks.
In those two weeks, the work load picked up and practice time was scarce. Then my car died, again, so getting to the audition became an issue. The night of auditions, I was in a car from work and ended up at the wrong address. Panic stricken on top of my vomit-level nerves, I left a message at the only number I had, then drove away, head down but a little less shaky.
I was almost relieved to not have to audition that night, after a harrowing day of work and no time to warm up, but the director got back to me and invited me to call backs. This time, a friend shaved off her Sunday night to take me half an hour away and stick around for hours and hours.
I sang in the car for her, and that got easy about the fifth time through, which was inspirational. Up until that point, every friend who's asked me to sing has been put off by an excuse or flat refusal.
The butterflies were well under way as we pulled up to the building, but a certain thrill was rushing through my veins, the same kind of rush that comes with anticipating jumping out of an airplane or off a bridge. That's a great energy source, and it carried me into the audition room, where they asked "music or monologue first?"
"MUSIC!"
The director was energetic and open while the music director silently played my intro on the piano. As usual, I felt all my support expire and die in my lungs while I started shaking so badly I was about to go mute. Tensing every muscle in my body (which is the key to bad singing) I opened my mouth and completely botched the first note.
Having done this plenty of times before, I kept going and managed to correct myself, hopped on pitch and forced my voice to relax.
The director listened to half the song and cued me to stop. He turned to the expressionless music director, who said, "you had a rough start, but then you got it."
The director laughed. "I once walked into an audition and said 'To be...' and forgot my next line, so I'm okay with rough starts."
The monologue was a new kind of fearless-- I guess if I could sing in front of these people I could do anything, so the brashness of a victor entered my acting and the music director literally jumped in his seat. I finished, waiting as the director assessed my performance. He made his notes, looked hard at me, and finally said, "stick around."
It still hasn't fully set in, the magnitude of that moment. For the first time in her life, this bold actress with the terrified little voice, passed through an audition on a song.
From the age of eight, singing in front of people has struck indescribable terror in my heart. For years I have stuck it out in the chorus, where no one can hear me, in various musicals. When it comes to acting: no fear, great successes and even access to musical roles wherein my directors have figured out a way to keep me from having to sing solo.
Thus far, it's been a little aggravating. Now it's getting embarrassing and, ultimately, restricting. The days have come to a close when I knew directors who knew my abilities, willing to work with a fledgling singer. The pond is getting bigger.
I had a choice. Plenty of great actors stick to the straight path of non-musical theatre. I could pursue music on the side hoping for a breakthrough one of these days. A reasonable person would take that choice, but to quote Big Fish, I have never been a reasonable person.
I gave up food to pay for voice lessons in college and the succeeding stage of unemployment. Battling it out with a piano and my ears, which have a terrible immunity to pitches, I forced myself into unpleasant situations. Asked to sing on the spot at an audition which was not supposed to be musical, I fearlessly belted Happy Birthday. No idea if it was in one key or two, but it was better than that last musical audition oh so many years ago.
Then auditions for Oliver! came up and I had to try for Nancy. It's a part I've wanted since I did the show as a teenager (when I played Charlotte- the only non-singing woman in the show). Not that I was anywhere close to Nancy caliber singing, but the point was to look fear in the face and punch it as hard as I could.
(Which isn't that hard, but it's using what you've got not waiting till you have more.)
And so I sang in front of three stone faced judges who knew nothing of my plight. I flew off pitch, butchered the song and walked out head held high and triumphant because, for the first time in my life, I had sung an entire song before the director of a show.
Spurred by a small success, I pressed on and poured myself into a piece from Cinderella, vowing to be ready the next time a local company did Oliver! I would have the part of Nancy. So I waited, and practiced undisciplined, in my spare time (this is not how to achieve a goal, dream, or even breakfast). Oliver! once again appeared on the call board and I responded with shaking fingers. I had two weeks.
In those two weeks, the work load picked up and practice time was scarce. Then my car died, again, so getting to the audition became an issue. The night of auditions, I was in a car from work and ended up at the wrong address. Panic stricken on top of my vomit-level nerves, I left a message at the only number I had, then drove away, head down but a little less shaky.
I was almost relieved to not have to audition that night, after a harrowing day of work and no time to warm up, but the director got back to me and invited me to call backs. This time, a friend shaved off her Sunday night to take me half an hour away and stick around for hours and hours.
I sang in the car for her, and that got easy about the fifth time through, which was inspirational. Up until that point, every friend who's asked me to sing has been put off by an excuse or flat refusal.
The butterflies were well under way as we pulled up to the building, but a certain thrill was rushing through my veins, the same kind of rush that comes with anticipating jumping out of an airplane or off a bridge. That's a great energy source, and it carried me into the audition room, where they asked "music or monologue first?"
"MUSIC!"
The director was energetic and open while the music director silently played my intro on the piano. As usual, I felt all my support expire and die in my lungs while I started shaking so badly I was about to go mute. Tensing every muscle in my body (which is the key to bad singing) I opened my mouth and completely botched the first note.
Having done this plenty of times before, I kept going and managed to correct myself, hopped on pitch and forced my voice to relax.
The director listened to half the song and cued me to stop. He turned to the expressionless music director, who said, "you had a rough start, but then you got it."
The director laughed. "I once walked into an audition and said 'To be...' and forgot my next line, so I'm okay with rough starts."
The monologue was a new kind of fearless-- I guess if I could sing in front of these people I could do anything, so the brashness of a victor entered my acting and the music director literally jumped in his seat. I finished, waiting as the director assessed my performance. He made his notes, looked hard at me, and finally said, "stick around."
It still hasn't fully set in, the magnitude of that moment. For the first time in her life, this bold actress with the terrified little voice, passed through an audition on a song.