Returning to singing lessons after the summer break, I'm keen to see some quick progress. During January I attended a short course on the voice - not a singing course, but how to use and care for the voice. I learned some interesting stuff about breathing, some physical warm-up exercises, and some ways to loosen the jaw - something I really need to work on, as my jaw is very tight when I sing.
But when I start back at lessons, my voice will not behave. I haven't been practising. There haven't been any opportunities to perform since the Christmas concert. It's been more than a month since I sang properly. In the first couple of lessons I sing like a crook chook.
I am appalled at the way I sound. I beat myself up. Three years of lessons, and I still can't sing. Why am I even doing this? What was I thinking?
I am on the brink of giving up.
But at home, I am exploring my CD collection. I'm listening more closely to songs I've previously played as background music, and matching them up with the songs in my various song books.
In particular I find I have quite a few recordings of Jobim songs. Some of these songs are so sly, they have two names - one in Portuguese, one in English. Some are instrumental versions without the lyrics. Conversely, there are lyrics for songs I thought were purely instrumental. Some jazz interpretations are are heavily disguised; barely recognizable, until a phrase "winks" at me. Then the false moustache drops away and suddenly the song snaps into focus. It's like taking ten steps back from an impressionist painting and seeing it glow. Or staring into a "Magic Eye" picture until a 3D image appears.
I discover that I have several versions of some songs. Each time I "crack" one, I feel triumphant.
Bossa Nova has a ruined reputation as "elevator music" - innocuous background sound. But as I listen carefully and often, I pick up on subtleties; an intriguing chromatic progression; an inventive chord change; an agonzing little blue note. It's like entering a new dimension.
I persevere with the singing, because I can't seem to stop.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
A merry little Christmas
The year is over. Almost.
After the Christmas concert, there is one more singing lesson.
I discover that Rohan has a sneaky plan in store for me.
Because I am guilty of a "choir girl" crime. I sing the music exactly as it is written.
In a choir, everyone must read and sing the music accurately. You can't have someone holding a note longer than the person next to them. Everyone has to enter at exactly the same place and everyone has to finish together. There is no room for individuality; everyone is part of a whole.
But now that I am singing solo, I am supposed to interpret the song. The trouble is, I don't really know how to do that. I am stuck in the idea that you should sing what is written, and I don't know how to do otherwise. All year he has been encouraging me to break free from the dots, to "push and pull"; "bend the phrases". Coded messages again; I don't know how to comply with these instructions
Being able to read music is a very useful skill, but in this respect it is a curse. I don't know what it feels like to interpret, and deep down I feel I have no right to do it. Someone wrote the piece of music; who am I to undo it and create my own version?
So I turn up to my final lesson for the year and Rohan produces a "cheesy" Christmas carol - "Have Your self a Merry Little Christmas". I've never liked this song; in fact, most Christmas songs leave me cold. But OK, it's an exercise. I will suspend my scepticism.
I sing the song once through; he accompanies me on guitar. I've got the melody; I've got the lyrics; ho hum, yawn.
He takes away the sheet music and says "Now we're going to swing it". He changes the rhythm; it means I have to adapt the way I sing the song, or it's going to sound terrible. I can do whatever I like with it. The first time through I'm tentative. I don't know what to do. But I can see that there's no right or wrong. Second time, it's fun!
It is a real an eye-opener. Finally I know what it feels like to break away from the "dots". This is the start of something new.
And I've even started to like the song.
After the Christmas concert, there is one more singing lesson.
I discover that Rohan has a sneaky plan in store for me.
Because I am guilty of a "choir girl" crime. I sing the music exactly as it is written.
In a choir, everyone must read and sing the music accurately. You can't have someone holding a note longer than the person next to them. Everyone has to enter at exactly the same place and everyone has to finish together. There is no room for individuality; everyone is part of a whole.
But now that I am singing solo, I am supposed to interpret the song. The trouble is, I don't really know how to do that. I am stuck in the idea that you should sing what is written, and I don't know how to do otherwise. All year he has been encouraging me to break free from the dots, to "push and pull"; "bend the phrases". Coded messages again; I don't know how to comply with these instructions
Being able to read music is a very useful skill, but in this respect it is a curse. I don't know what it feels like to interpret, and deep down I feel I have no right to do it. Someone wrote the piece of music; who am I to undo it and create my own version?
So I turn up to my final lesson for the year and Rohan produces a "cheesy" Christmas carol - "Have Your self a Merry Little Christmas". I've never liked this song; in fact, most Christmas songs leave me cold. But OK, it's an exercise. I will suspend my scepticism.
I sing the song once through; he accompanies me on guitar. I've got the melody; I've got the lyrics; ho hum, yawn.
He takes away the sheet music and says "Now we're going to swing it". He changes the rhythm; it means I have to adapt the way I sing the song, or it's going to sound terrible. I can do whatever I like with it. The first time through I'm tentative. I don't know what to do. But I can see that there's no right or wrong. Second time, it's fun!
It is a real an eye-opener. Finally I know what it feels like to break away from the "dots". This is the start of something new.
And I've even started to like the song.
Saturday, 30 March 2013
A shift in direction
In the third year, I start to make some progress with my singing.
But it is slow. A pattern emerges - a small breakthrough followed by a lengthy plateau. At a lesson I think I'm getting somewhere, but then the next week I sing so badly that I feel embarrassed and question why I'm keep going.
However, discovering the song book with backing track CD has encouraged me to search for more. Having a musical backing to practise with at home made a big difference when I was practising for the Christmas concert. I don't play piano or guitar, so cannot self-accompany, and this has been a big disadvantage.
A backing track is actually better than self-accompaniment; it is unforgiving and uncompromising. No cheating allowed. While you are singing, you cannot pause to remember the next line of lyrics. The music keeps going, whether you are ready or not; just like a backing band. You have to keep time. It also helped me memorize the "form" of the song (verse, chorus, repeats). Anything you can automate and embed in your brain builds confidence and frees you up to focus on the way you are singing.
I begin to visit music shops, regularly perusing the "vocal" section of their songbook shelves. I find books of audition songs, pop songs and jazz songs. Before long I possess a small collection and start to learn the songs, using the backing tracks in my singing lessons.
One day a book catches my eye - "Jobim". I recognize "The Girl from Ipanema" and one or two other titles. I buy it and start identifying the songs with reference to some jazz CDs that my husband bought me years earlier. These discs have kept me company, and I start paying more attention to the names of the composers and artists.
Suddenly I have lots of new songs to try.What I discover is that every song has something different to teach me. It may be taking a breath in a certain place, modifying a vowel or preparing for a high note at the beginning of a phrase. Instead of working on one piece for weeks (as I used to have to when I learned clarinet at school), I try a different song every week or two. New challenges build different skills.
I'm slightly bothered by the fact that I'm not practising much at home during the week. Apart from being a busy working mum, I don't want to embed wrong singing habits; I'm worried that I'm still not doing it right.
However, I have been practising my public speaking, giving many free talks around town. And I have been invited to speak at an international law conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I should add that this is at my own expense, as the association does not pay speaker fees or travelling expenses, but it's such a good opportunity that I accept and book flights. South America had never been on my radar but now I'm going there, on my own.
So I'm trying to teach myself Spanish, using programs on CDs and my i-pod. On my morning walks around the local streets I listen and repeat, not caring what the neighbours think. The October trip is exciting. My presentation is well-received, I meet lots of interesting people, and I'm invited to present again the following year in Madrid - a chance to use the Spanish again.
I'm back just in time to start rehearsals for the AIMMS Christmas concert. I sing the Linda Ronstadt song "You're No Good" - one from my Warriors song list. I'm happy to have this song ready, as I'm finding it hard to think of other rock songs that I want to sing. My repertoire is moving in another direction altogether.
But it is slow. A pattern emerges - a small breakthrough followed by a lengthy plateau. At a lesson I think I'm getting somewhere, but then the next week I sing so badly that I feel embarrassed and question why I'm keep going.
However, discovering the song book with backing track CD has encouraged me to search for more. Having a musical backing to practise with at home made a big difference when I was practising for the Christmas concert. I don't play piano or guitar, so cannot self-accompany, and this has been a big disadvantage.
A backing track is actually better than self-accompaniment; it is unforgiving and uncompromising. No cheating allowed. While you are singing, you cannot pause to remember the next line of lyrics. The music keeps going, whether you are ready or not; just like a backing band. You have to keep time. It also helped me memorize the "form" of the song (verse, chorus, repeats). Anything you can automate and embed in your brain builds confidence and frees you up to focus on the way you are singing.
I begin to visit music shops, regularly perusing the "vocal" section of their songbook shelves. I find books of audition songs, pop songs and jazz songs. Before long I possess a small collection and start to learn the songs, using the backing tracks in my singing lessons.
One day a book catches my eye - "Jobim". I recognize "The Girl from Ipanema" and one or two other titles. I buy it and start identifying the songs with reference to some jazz CDs that my husband bought me years earlier. These discs have kept me company, and I start paying more attention to the names of the composers and artists.
Suddenly I have lots of new songs to try.What I discover is that every song has something different to teach me. It may be taking a breath in a certain place, modifying a vowel or preparing for a high note at the beginning of a phrase. Instead of working on one piece for weeks (as I used to have to when I learned clarinet at school), I try a different song every week or two. New challenges build different skills.
I'm slightly bothered by the fact that I'm not practising much at home during the week. Apart from being a busy working mum, I don't want to embed wrong singing habits; I'm worried that I'm still not doing it right.
However, I have been practising my public speaking, giving many free talks around town. And I have been invited to speak at an international law conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I should add that this is at my own expense, as the association does not pay speaker fees or travelling expenses, but it's such a good opportunity that I accept and book flights. South America had never been on my radar but now I'm going there, on my own.
So I'm trying to teach myself Spanish, using programs on CDs and my i-pod. On my morning walks around the local streets I listen and repeat, not caring what the neighbours think. The October trip is exciting. My presentation is well-received, I meet lots of interesting people, and I'm invited to present again the following year in Madrid - a chance to use the Spanish again.
I'm back just in time to start rehearsals for the AIMMS Christmas concert. I sing the Linda Ronstadt song "You're No Good" - one from my Warriors song list. I'm happy to have this song ready, as I'm finding it hard to think of other rock songs that I want to sing. My repertoire is moving in another direction altogether.
Thursday, 28 March 2013
Learn to sing, with the help of coded messages
In the second year I am able to attend my singing lessons more regularly.
A thirty-minute lesson goes quickly. I decide that learning a melody is a poor use of this time; I should memorize the melody at home, and use the lesson time for "technique".
There is a lot of technique to acquire, and its acquisition is gradual and mysterious.
It's not just a case of "watch, listen and copy". You have to feel the technique before you can execute it.
Learning to sing is a good metaphor for learning to do anything new; for the challenge of transferring skill between expert and novice.
My teacher attempts to describe to me a process that for him is automatic because of his lifetime of performing. He reflects on what he does to produce a good sound. He describes the sensations he feels and the images he finds helpful as he sings. If my sound is not improving, he casts around for a different way to explain it.
“Keep your larynx in a speaking position”. “Think of a yawn”. “The sound is coming
out of my forehead, not out of my mouth”. “My eye sockets vibrate.” “Send your sound
through a coin-sized hole in the wall over here.” “Imagine a set of steps connected by a
pipe”.
At first, these instructions make no sense to me at all. They are coded messages. I don't understand what he means until I can do it. I can only focus on one instruction at a time. Only when I internalize one can I start to work on the next one. It's what I imagine it's like to juggle three balls and then have someone toss you a fourth one.
Gradually the pieces of the puzzle come together. Some of them become automatic. One by one, the various metaphors embed themselves in my subconscious, allowing me to concentrate less on producing the sound and more on how I perform the song.
I begin to share this new vocabulary. I develop a mental checklist; the ingredients of good singing. Wen I don’t sound good, I consult this checklist and ask myself “What am I not doing? I self-diagnose and begin to coin my own metaphors, for example “When I sing well, I feel like there is a big balloon inside me”.
I switch from rock standards to pop songs which are more challenging. I'm used to singing loudly. Singing softly isn't easy; it requires more control.
At the end of the year I summon the courage to enter myself in the AIMMS School of Rock Christmas Concert. I need a song to sing. There's one that I've been hearing over the past year; it's "History Repeating" by Shirley Bassey and the Propellerheads. I almost don't dare to suggest it (is it extremely audacious for me to attempt a Shirley Bassey song?), but when I do, Rohan says "Sure, give it a go".
I manage to buy a song book which contains "History Repeating" and includes a CD of backing tracks. Suddenly my task is made easier - I've got something to help me practise the song.
In the lead-up to the show, there is a schedule of rehearsals with the band, which consists of young teenage musicians from AIMMS. It feels quite weird being the lead singer of a Lilliput band, but I figure it is good practice for these kids to accompany a singer, and it's a good outing for me too. I decide to get over the awkwardness and get on with it.
The show is at the Governor Hindmarsh Hotel, where a lot of high-profile acts perform. It's kind of cool to be able to say you're "playing at the Gov". It's a large function room, and it's filled with family and friends of the performers. Standards vary widely and it's very non-threatening.
As I wait to go on stage, the kids see me in my sparkly, Shirley Bassey-style dress and start pointing excitedly. The song goes very well, and another year is over.
A thirty-minute lesson goes quickly. I decide that learning a melody is a poor use of this time; I should memorize the melody at home, and use the lesson time for "technique".
There is a lot of technique to acquire, and its acquisition is gradual and mysterious.
It's not just a case of "watch, listen and copy". You have to feel the technique before you can execute it.
Learning to sing is a good metaphor for learning to do anything new; for the challenge of transferring skill between expert and novice.
My teacher attempts to describe to me a process that for him is automatic because of his lifetime of performing. He reflects on what he does to produce a good sound. He describes the sensations he feels and the images he finds helpful as he sings. If my sound is not improving, he casts around for a different way to explain it.
“Keep your larynx in a speaking position”. “Think of a yawn”. “The sound is coming
out of my forehead, not out of my mouth”. “My eye sockets vibrate.” “Send your sound
through a coin-sized hole in the wall over here.” “Imagine a set of steps connected by a
pipe”.
At first, these instructions make no sense to me at all. They are coded messages. I don't understand what he means until I can do it. I can only focus on one instruction at a time. Only when I internalize one can I start to work on the next one. It's what I imagine it's like to juggle three balls and then have someone toss you a fourth one.
Gradually the pieces of the puzzle come together. Some of them become automatic. One by one, the various metaphors embed themselves in my subconscious, allowing me to concentrate less on producing the sound and more on how I perform the song.
I begin to share this new vocabulary. I develop a mental checklist; the ingredients of good singing. Wen I don’t sound good, I consult this checklist and ask myself “What am I not doing? I self-diagnose and begin to coin my own metaphors, for example “When I sing well, I feel like there is a big balloon inside me”.
I switch from rock standards to pop songs which are more challenging. I'm used to singing loudly. Singing softly isn't easy; it requires more control.
At the end of the year I summon the courage to enter myself in the AIMMS School of Rock Christmas Concert. I need a song to sing. There's one that I've been hearing over the past year; it's "History Repeating" by Shirley Bassey and the Propellerheads. I almost don't dare to suggest it (is it extremely audacious for me to attempt a Shirley Bassey song?), but when I do, Rohan says "Sure, give it a go".
I manage to buy a song book which contains "History Repeating" and includes a CD of backing tracks. Suddenly my task is made easier - I've got something to help me practise the song.
In the lead-up to the show, there is a schedule of rehearsals with the band, which consists of young teenage musicians from AIMMS. It feels quite weird being the lead singer of a Lilliput band, but I figure it is good practice for these kids to accompany a singer, and it's a good outing for me too. I decide to get over the awkwardness and get on with it.
The show is at the Governor Hindmarsh Hotel, where a lot of high-profile acts perform. It's kind of cool to be able to say you're "playing at the Gov". It's a large function room, and it's filled with family and friends of the performers. Standards vary widely and it's very non-threatening.
As I wait to go on stage, the kids see me in my sparkly, Shirley Bassey-style dress and start pointing excitedly. The song goes very well, and another year is over.
Tuesday, 26 March 2013
Six degrees of separation
March 2013. I've found a guitarist to play for me in Rio. From my desk in Adelaide.
"Six degrees of separation" is the theory that everyone and everything is a few steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world, so that a chain of "a friend of a friend" statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps (Wikipedia)
In 1967, American sociologist Stanley Milgram randomly selected people in the mid-West to send packages to a stranger located in Massachusetts. The senders knew the recipient's name, occupation, and general location. They were instructed to send the package to a person they knew on a first-name basis who they thought was most likely, out of all their friends, to know the target personally. That person would do the same, and so on, until the package was personally delivered to its target recipient. Although the participants expected the chain to include at least a hundred intermediaries, it only took (on average) between five and seven intermediaries to get each package delivered. Milgram's findings were published in Psychology Today and inspired the phrase "six degrees of separation." (www.WhatIs.com)
Social media (LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter) are based on this theory.
So I've been shopping for a guitarist on Facebook.
About two years ago, I joined a Facebook group called Bossa Nova Fans. Soon after, I received a "Friend" invitation from the group founder. Bogdan's profile indicated he was a guitarist in Rio de Janeiro. I accepted his friend request.
Since then, I've listened to his YouTube videos and looked and commented on at his photos of Brazil. I've messaged him asking if he has sheet music for a song I can't find. He replied, sending me the link I needed.
Bogdan is the modern equivalent of a pen pal. And although I'm only one of 5000 Facebook friends, I message him to tell him of my plans for a concert in Rio, and asking if he would be interested in playing for me. Within the day he has replied. He says the music I want to sing is not really his thing, but he can recommend another guitarist, Eneais, who is very good.
He suggests I watch Eneais' videos on YouTube. I do, and I like what I see and hear. Eneais plays very well, and also sings well. He appears to have a sense of humour. The only potential issue is that he does not actually live in Rio. I need to look at a map to see how far away he is.
I send Eneais a friend request, explaining that Bogdan has recommended him. He immediately accepts, and says he is delighted to hear of my plan. I send him two of my YouTube videos; the closing piece of my recent Cabaret Summer School performance, and a piece from last year. Instead of choosing the piece with the best singing, I send him the clip that reveals a bit of my personality - the one with the "wardrobe malfunction", where my earring falls out, I declare that I am not taking anything else off, and I fling the earring into the audience. There is laughter from the audience on both videos.
Eneais writes to say he plays a lot of music by Jobim, and asks me to send my repertoire for him to consider.
I've found a guitarist. Could it really be as easy as that?
"Six degrees of separation" is the theory that everyone and everything is a few steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world, so that a chain of "a friend of a friend" statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps (Wikipedia)
In 1967, American sociologist Stanley Milgram randomly selected people in the mid-West to send packages to a stranger located in Massachusetts. The senders knew the recipient's name, occupation, and general location. They were instructed to send the package to a person they knew on a first-name basis who they thought was most likely, out of all their friends, to know the target personally. That person would do the same, and so on, until the package was personally delivered to its target recipient. Although the participants expected the chain to include at least a hundred intermediaries, it only took (on average) between five and seven intermediaries to get each package delivered. Milgram's findings were published in Psychology Today and inspired the phrase "six degrees of separation." (www.WhatIs.com)
Social media (LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter) are based on this theory.
So I've been shopping for a guitarist on Facebook.
About two years ago, I joined a Facebook group called Bossa Nova Fans. Soon after, I received a "Friend" invitation from the group founder. Bogdan's profile indicated he was a guitarist in Rio de Janeiro. I accepted his friend request.
Since then, I've listened to his YouTube videos and looked and commented on at his photos of Brazil. I've messaged him asking if he has sheet music for a song I can't find. He replied, sending me the link I needed.
Bogdan is the modern equivalent of a pen pal. And although I'm only one of 5000 Facebook friends, I message him to tell him of my plans for a concert in Rio, and asking if he would be interested in playing for me. Within the day he has replied. He says the music I want to sing is not really his thing, but he can recommend another guitarist, Eneais, who is very good.
He suggests I watch Eneais' videos on YouTube. I do, and I like what I see and hear. Eneais plays very well, and also sings well. He appears to have a sense of humour. The only potential issue is that he does not actually live in Rio. I need to look at a map to see how far away he is.
I send Eneais a friend request, explaining that Bogdan has recommended him. He immediately accepts, and says he is delighted to hear of my plan. I send him two of my YouTube videos; the closing piece of my recent Cabaret Summer School performance, and a piece from last year. Instead of choosing the piece with the best singing, I send him the clip that reveals a bit of my personality - the one with the "wardrobe malfunction", where my earring falls out, I declare that I am not taking anything else off, and I fling the earring into the audience. There is laughter from the audience on both videos.
Eneais writes to say he plays a lot of music by Jobim, and asks me to send my repertoire for him to consider.
I've found a guitarist. Could it really be as easy as that?
Monday, 25 March 2013
Getting nowhere fast
In that first year, I miss quite a few singing lessons. Apart from the bout of pneumonia, I am travelling to Sydney once or twice each month to participate in a business development program with a group called Thought Leaders. It is about how to create a business as an information expert; how to capture, package and sell your knowledge for commercial success.
Most of these visits are mid-week, so I miss my Wednesday night singing lesson.
I'm not sure what or how to practise. The rock songs I'm preparing for Weekend Warriors are not really the sort of songs you need to practise. Learn the melody and the words; then sing loudly, so the musicians don't drown you out!
The year draws to an end. I notice that AIIMS School of Rock is having an end of year concert. There are notices advising of the deadline for singers to register. I don't have the confidence to nominate myself. My teacher has not suggested that I perform. I'm not good enough, and I allow the deadline to pass without entering myself into the show.
But the year has brought development of another kind. I've been immersed in the Thought Leaders program; unsurprisingly this course is called The Immersion Program. It's exposed me to new ways of thinking. It represents a new world for me; a completely different way of working. I am dazzled by the options; keynote speaking, training, mentoring, facilitation, coaching and writing. It is very different from legal practice, where you simply do the work that comes in the door; your work chooses you, not the other way around.
Keynote speaking would be great - if I was any good at speaking. For most of my life I had avoided public speaking. I've forced myself to do it professionally. As a lawyer I gave talks to groups of accountants. I worked as a University lecturer for 7 or 8 years, so it became part of my job. I can give a reasonably good lecture. But although I've come a long way during this year, I'm not up to the standard of the "big city" speakers I've been watching. I cannot engage and entertain in the way they do.
But when the new year dawns, my friend Darren offers me a solution to fix this problem - Toastmasters. I visit his club, and by the end of the meeting it is clear to me that this is exactly what I need to build my confidence. I feel drawn to this supportive group of people who are working hard to improve their public speaking skills. I join that evening, and six years later, I am still a member. I can't imagine ever leaving.
The Toastmasters method works brilliantly. You start with a book of ten speech projects; each one designed to develop a particular skill. After that there are advanced project books (including one on Keynote Speaking). At each meeting there is a segment of Impromptu Speaking where you are given a topic and must immediately get to your feet and speak to it for one minute. It makes the adrenaline surge. Being able to give an impromptu speech means that you do not have to be scripted - a skill that has proved invaluable ever since. And, intoxicatingly, there are competitions. In my first year I am shoved into all four contests, including the Humorous Speech Competition. I protest that I am not funny. But no one accepts this - they want me to compete. In the first year my speech is not very funny. But I get a few chuckles, and this provides encouragement to continue. The competition gives you permission to try. Even if it doesn't work, the group will applaud your effort.
I begin to learn that I can be funny, and this is a revelation to me.
All these skills become very useful as I start to perform more often.
Most of these visits are mid-week, so I miss my Wednesday night singing lesson.
I'm not sure what or how to practise. The rock songs I'm preparing for Weekend Warriors are not really the sort of songs you need to practise. Learn the melody and the words; then sing loudly, so the musicians don't drown you out!
The year draws to an end. I notice that AIIMS School of Rock is having an end of year concert. There are notices advising of the deadline for singers to register. I don't have the confidence to nominate myself. My teacher has not suggested that I perform. I'm not good enough, and I allow the deadline to pass without entering myself into the show.
But the year has brought development of another kind. I've been immersed in the Thought Leaders program; unsurprisingly this course is called The Immersion Program. It's exposed me to new ways of thinking. It represents a new world for me; a completely different way of working. I am dazzled by the options; keynote speaking, training, mentoring, facilitation, coaching and writing. It is very different from legal practice, where you simply do the work that comes in the door; your work chooses you, not the other way around.
Keynote speaking would be great - if I was any good at speaking. For most of my life I had avoided public speaking. I've forced myself to do it professionally. As a lawyer I gave talks to groups of accountants. I worked as a University lecturer for 7 or 8 years, so it became part of my job. I can give a reasonably good lecture. But although I've come a long way during this year, I'm not up to the standard of the "big city" speakers I've been watching. I cannot engage and entertain in the way they do.
But when the new year dawns, my friend Darren offers me a solution to fix this problem - Toastmasters. I visit his club, and by the end of the meeting it is clear to me that this is exactly what I need to build my confidence. I feel drawn to this supportive group of people who are working hard to improve their public speaking skills. I join that evening, and six years later, I am still a member. I can't imagine ever leaving.
The Toastmasters method works brilliantly. You start with a book of ten speech projects; each one designed to develop a particular skill. After that there are advanced project books (including one on Keynote Speaking). At each meeting there is a segment of Impromptu Speaking where you are given a topic and must immediately get to your feet and speak to it for one minute. It makes the adrenaline surge. Being able to give an impromptu speech means that you do not have to be scripted - a skill that has proved invaluable ever since. And, intoxicatingly, there are competitions. In my first year I am shoved into all four contests, including the Humorous Speech Competition. I protest that I am not funny. But no one accepts this - they want me to compete. In the first year my speech is not very funny. But I get a few chuckles, and this provides encouragement to continue. The competition gives you permission to try. Even if it doesn't work, the group will applaud your effort.
I begin to learn that I can be funny, and this is a revelation to me.
All these skills become very useful as I start to perform more often.
Sunday, 24 March 2013
A bug in the system
At Easter, Bill and I take our teenage children to America. We're away for 2-3 weeks, visiting New York, Los Angeles and Disneyland.
On the way home in the plane, I feel a cold coming on. It's very common to get sick in planes, so I count it as a small cost of a great holiday.
Arriving home, I hit the ground running. I'm busy in my consultancy business and I'm also freelancing as a litigation lawyer, helping small law firms to handle large court cases. Also I'm involved in a business development program which requires travel to Sydney. And I'm a school Mum.
The cold gets worse. It descends into my chest. I develop a cough. Nothing unusual - and, coming from a medical family, I know that colds get better and it's bad to take antibiotics too often, as they will lose their effectiveness for when you really need them.
I continue with my business commitments, and with my singing lessons, although I am finding it harder to breathe. I pass up an opportunity to sing at a Weekend Warriors event because I'm not singing very well. One morning I drag myself out of bed to fly to Sydney for a one-hour meeting with my mentor, Matt. He thinks I look unwell. I assure him I'll be fine. I'm used to "soldiering on". In a law firm it's hard to take sick leave, as no one else will do your work while you're away, unless you specifically ask them to. So it's easier to keep turning up to work, no matter how sick you are. This is what I'm used to.
But I'm not getting better. I'm running a fever and don't feel like eating. I'm coughing uncontrollably, especially in the middle of the night, when the air is colder. I get up and go to the back of the house so my coughing doesn't wake everyone up. My lungs are congested and I can't clear them, even though I cough to the point of gagging.
As I breathe in and out, I hear my lungs crackling. I don't just feel my lungs, I hear them. It's intriguing and strangely entertaining. When I do my regular upper-back exercises, with a soft rubber ball under my shoulder-blades, they make music. I roll from side to side, playing with the rhythms.
After a few weeks, I finally accept that I'm not well enough to go to my office. I divide my time between couch and bed. One afternoon I crawl under the covers and lie inert. It occurs to me that I could die there and it wouldn't bother me.
My husband comes home from work and declares that I look sick. He organizes for me to have antibiotics and a chest X-ray. It's pneumonia. I need to stay in bed and rest.
The antibiotics work like magic. The crackling subsides. Gradually the fever goes away. My appetite returns, although I've lost a lot of weight and manage to keep it off for quite a while.
A second chest X-ray indicates that everything is fine. But I've acquired a coughing habit. For months and even years, I need to clear my throat frequently. I train myself to do less of it.
I'm wondering how much damage I've done to my throat - how scratched and scarred is it?
I don't really want to know. I don't want to have injury as an excuse. I just want to be able to sing.
On the way home in the plane, I feel a cold coming on. It's very common to get sick in planes, so I count it as a small cost of a great holiday.
Arriving home, I hit the ground running. I'm busy in my consultancy business and I'm also freelancing as a litigation lawyer, helping small law firms to handle large court cases. Also I'm involved in a business development program which requires travel to Sydney. And I'm a school Mum.
The cold gets worse. It descends into my chest. I develop a cough. Nothing unusual - and, coming from a medical family, I know that colds get better and it's bad to take antibiotics too often, as they will lose their effectiveness for when you really need them.
I continue with my business commitments, and with my singing lessons, although I am finding it harder to breathe. I pass up an opportunity to sing at a Weekend Warriors event because I'm not singing very well. One morning I drag myself out of bed to fly to Sydney for a one-hour meeting with my mentor, Matt. He thinks I look unwell. I assure him I'll be fine. I'm used to "soldiering on". In a law firm it's hard to take sick leave, as no one else will do your work while you're away, unless you specifically ask them to. So it's easier to keep turning up to work, no matter how sick you are. This is what I'm used to.
But I'm not getting better. I'm running a fever and don't feel like eating. I'm coughing uncontrollably, especially in the middle of the night, when the air is colder. I get up and go to the back of the house so my coughing doesn't wake everyone up. My lungs are congested and I can't clear them, even though I cough to the point of gagging.
As I breathe in and out, I hear my lungs crackling. I don't just feel my lungs, I hear them. It's intriguing and strangely entertaining. When I do my regular upper-back exercises, with a soft rubber ball under my shoulder-blades, they make music. I roll from side to side, playing with the rhythms.
After a few weeks, I finally accept that I'm not well enough to go to my office. I divide my time between couch and bed. One afternoon I crawl under the covers and lie inert. It occurs to me that I could die there and it wouldn't bother me.
My husband comes home from work and declares that I look sick. He organizes for me to have antibiotics and a chest X-ray. It's pneumonia. I need to stay in bed and rest.
The antibiotics work like magic. The crackling subsides. Gradually the fever goes away. My appetite returns, although I've lost a lot of weight and manage to keep it off for quite a while.
A second chest X-ray indicates that everything is fine. But I've acquired a coughing habit. For months and even years, I need to clear my throat frequently. I train myself to do less of it.
I'm wondering how much damage I've done to my throat - how scratched and scarred is it?
I don't really want to know. I don't want to have injury as an excuse. I just want to be able to sing.
Saturday, 23 March 2013
"It's not just me"
I manage to get Rohan as my regular singing teacher. Although he now sings with a rock band, his background was in classical music. He's sung with the State Opera and studied with a tenor (Thomas Edmunds) who (coincidentally) sometimes sang as a guest with my school choir.
This means that we have some shared terminology, which helps a lot, because I've got a lot to learn.
And he's only a few years younger than me.
Rohan gets me to sing upward scales. I struggle with the higher notes. I can belt out the low notes but my high notes are thin and reticent. There's a "crack" in my voice between the low and high registers. I have always regarded this as my own personal failing, but Rohan tells me that most people have this problem and vocal technique will fix it. I need to work on bridging the gap; with practice I can learn to meld the two voices and smooth over the bumps.
This is a complete surprise to me. It's not just me - it's a problem that can be fixed.
It's like when I discovered that fear of public speaking is a trait of human nature; most people struggle with it but it can be overcome with practice. Realizing that "it's not just me"was liberating. No more excuses - get up there in front of the Toastmasters group and make a speech. Everyone in the room is there for the same reason. They all feel nervous about speaking in public. We all share the same anxiety and it binds us together in our quest to improve.
After several weeks, Rohan asks "Did we test your lower range?" No, we didn't. He gets me to sing lower scales. When we reach G below Middle C, he starts to laugh. He says "You could keep going, couldn't you?" Yes, what's hard about that? I can easily sing a low C.
Then he says "So, why are you trying to sing high?"
I explain that there are no songs written in my range. I've struggled to find songs that I can sing.
He says "You've got two octaves - just change the key of the song."
He picks out a song and lowers the key - a lot. I sing the song - it's comfortable and I can sing it freely.
He tells me it sounded good and I should never feel ashamed to change the key.
This is the turning point; I start looking at songs I'd love to sing, that I've always thought I couldn't.
This means that we have some shared terminology, which helps a lot, because I've got a lot to learn.
And he's only a few years younger than me.
Rohan gets me to sing upward scales. I struggle with the higher notes. I can belt out the low notes but my high notes are thin and reticent. There's a "crack" in my voice between the low and high registers. I have always regarded this as my own personal failing, but Rohan tells me that most people have this problem and vocal technique will fix it. I need to work on bridging the gap; with practice I can learn to meld the two voices and smooth over the bumps.
This is a complete surprise to me. It's not just me - it's a problem that can be fixed.
It's like when I discovered that fear of public speaking is a trait of human nature; most people struggle with it but it can be overcome with practice. Realizing that "it's not just me"was liberating. No more excuses - get up there in front of the Toastmasters group and make a speech. Everyone in the room is there for the same reason. They all feel nervous about speaking in public. We all share the same anxiety and it binds us together in our quest to improve.
After several weeks, Rohan asks "Did we test your lower range?" No, we didn't. He gets me to sing lower scales. When we reach G below Middle C, he starts to laugh. He says "You could keep going, couldn't you?" Yes, what's hard about that? I can easily sing a low C.
Then he says "So, why are you trying to sing high?"
I explain that there are no songs written in my range. I've struggled to find songs that I can sing.
He says "You've got two octaves - just change the key of the song."
He picks out a song and lowers the key - a lot. I sing the song - it's comfortable and I can sing it freely.
He tells me it sounded good and I should never feel ashamed to change the key.
This is the turning point; I start looking at songs I'd love to sing, that I've always thought I couldn't.
Thursday, 21 March 2013
"Fix me!" - in three easy lessons
July 2005. The dimly lit staircase leads to a foyer where people with guitars hang around chatting, and parents wait patiently for their offspring. The muffled sounds of singing and instrumental lessons seep through doors along the hallway. A band is practising in another part of the building; the floor vibrates from energetic drumming.
I've chosen the AIMMS School of Rock for my singing lessons because they sponsor the Weekend Warriors, and therefore they would not be puzzled why I am wanting to sing in a rock band at my age. It saved me a lot of embarrassment not having to explain myself.
I am assigned to Rohan for my lessons. When I explain that I only have time for three lessons before embarking on the Warriors program, he does a good job of keeping a straight face and preventing his jaw from hitting the ground. He is probably thinking "How can I possibly fix this woman's bad singing habits in three half-hour sessions?"
I explain that I don't want to sound like a choir girl when I sing at the jam. Rohan empathizes with my concern about this. He helps me find suitable keys for the songs I want to sing, so the songs will sit within my power range and I won't have to reach too high. He advises me not to look upwards when singing the higher notes, as this stretches my neck and blocks the sound; if anything, I should look down.
Rohan encourages me to channel the sound through the bridge of my nose. This seems counter-intuitive to me, as I have always believed that it's bad to sing through your nose. However, when I try it, I notice that my voice sounds much more focused and hard-edged my voice sounds. We do some work on breathing.
He also gives me tips about how to use a microphone and how to cope if I can't hear myself. He explains that the "foldback" (a speaker angled towards the singer) does not always work as well as you would like it to be. He advises me not to sing harder but to pay attention to how my voice sounds and feels inside my head.
All of this turns out to be good advice. I feel a lot more confident about singing at the jam session, and about joining a rock band.
And six months later, I once again ascend the stairs to the AIMMS School of Rock, to begin my first year of singing lessons.
I've chosen the AIMMS School of Rock for my singing lessons because they sponsor the Weekend Warriors, and therefore they would not be puzzled why I am wanting to sing in a rock band at my age. It saved me a lot of embarrassment not having to explain myself.
I am assigned to Rohan for my lessons. When I explain that I only have time for three lessons before embarking on the Warriors program, he does a good job of keeping a straight face and preventing his jaw from hitting the ground. He is probably thinking "How can I possibly fix this woman's bad singing habits in three half-hour sessions?"
I explain that I don't want to sound like a choir girl when I sing at the jam. Rohan empathizes with my concern about this. He helps me find suitable keys for the songs I want to sing, so the songs will sit within my power range and I won't have to reach too high. He advises me not to look upwards when singing the higher notes, as this stretches my neck and blocks the sound; if anything, I should look down.
Rohan encourages me to channel the sound through the bridge of my nose. This seems counter-intuitive to me, as I have always believed that it's bad to sing through your nose. However, when I try it, I notice that my voice sounds much more focused and hard-edged my voice sounds. We do some work on breathing.
He also gives me tips about how to use a microphone and how to cope if I can't hear myself. He explains that the "foldback" (a speaker angled towards the singer) does not always work as well as you would like it to be. He advises me not to sing harder but to pay attention to how my voice sounds and feels inside my head.
All of this turns out to be good advice. I feel a lot more confident about singing at the jam session, and about joining a rock band.
And six months later, I once again ascend the stairs to the AIMMS School of Rock, to begin my first year of singing lessons.
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Stage time, stage time
March 2013. In the past month I've performed eight times:
This is exactly what I need, and it's so much better than in the early years, when I had 3 or 4 opportunities each year to perform, and more recently, when it's been once a month.
Singers need stage time to gain confidence, develop their vocal skills and learn to connect with an audience. No matter how well you sing in the lounge room, when you get up on stage it feels completely different.
I've found the same thing with public speaking. Joining a Toastmasters club has led to rapid improvement. At every meeting (held twice each month) I am on my feet, whether giving a prepared speech, taking part in an impromptu speaking exercise or facilitating the meeting proceedings as the Toastmaster for the night.
In this way, speaking in front of a group has come to feel normal and natural, instead of an occasional thing that provokes anxiety. It's like anything - the more you do it, the easier it becomes.
As a singer I have found it a challenge to accumulate stage time. I don't play guitar or piano, so I can't go to a regular open-mic event or go busking (which I think I would find very confronting, anyway). Musical theatre productions require many hours of attendance at rehearsal, and I can't fit that into my schedule. I know it sounds like I'm making excuses. The truth is, I have an aversion to acting, having had a bad experience with it when I was 14. Now this is really sounding like a bad excuse! Suffice it to say, it doesn't appeal and I'm not willing to do it.
But now I have found these other avenues to perform, and the extra stage time is paying dividends. My voice feels more dependable. I'm being more courageous with my singing rather than "playing it safe". I feel more at ease in front of the audience.
In fact, I'm about to enter my own cabaret show into the Adelaide Cabaret Fringe Festival in June of this year.
It's "Adventures with a Brazilian".
- 3 times for "Cabaret Review" - in the Out of the Square program, which tours suburban and regional theatres in South Australia. I've been to Port Noarlunga, Murray Bridge and Gawler.
- 4 times for "Cabaret Live" - an "open mic" night which is part of the Adelaide Fringe Festival.
- Once at the Treasury Bar courtyard in King William Adelaide. This was an entirely impromptu offering; I was at a cocktail party for the French-Australian Chamber of Commerce, and the entertainment was provided by a guitarist friend of mine, Fred. After Fred had sung his entire repertoire of French songs he called me over and we sang four Brazilian ones.
This is exactly what I need, and it's so much better than in the early years, when I had 3 or 4 opportunities each year to perform, and more recently, when it's been once a month.
Singers need stage time to gain confidence, develop their vocal skills and learn to connect with an audience. No matter how well you sing in the lounge room, when you get up on stage it feels completely different.
I've found the same thing with public speaking. Joining a Toastmasters club has led to rapid improvement. At every meeting (held twice each month) I am on my feet, whether giving a prepared speech, taking part in an impromptu speaking exercise or facilitating the meeting proceedings as the Toastmaster for the night.
In this way, speaking in front of a group has come to feel normal and natural, instead of an occasional thing that provokes anxiety. It's like anything - the more you do it, the easier it becomes.
As a singer I have found it a challenge to accumulate stage time. I don't play guitar or piano, so I can't go to a regular open-mic event or go busking (which I think I would find very confronting, anyway). Musical theatre productions require many hours of attendance at rehearsal, and I can't fit that into my schedule. I know it sounds like I'm making excuses. The truth is, I have an aversion to acting, having had a bad experience with it when I was 14. Now this is really sounding like a bad excuse! Suffice it to say, it doesn't appeal and I'm not willing to do it.
But now I have found these other avenues to perform, and the extra stage time is paying dividends. My voice feels more dependable. I'm being more courageous with my singing rather than "playing it safe". I feel more at ease in front of the audience.
In fact, I'm about to enter my own cabaret show into the Adelaide Cabaret Fringe Festival in June of this year.
It's "Adventures with a Brazilian".
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
It's over, but it's not over
A week after the show, our band participates in a "wind down" event held at a city pub. It's a completely different setting from Fowler's. There's no stage. We perform in broad daylight. The people are sitting at tables drinking beer. We're on the same level, in a corner of the room. We try our hardest, but the energy just isn't there. It's like - everyone is "winding down".
A couple of months later, there's a Christmas show, and we perform in what turns out to be our last outing as "Shelley and the Pacemakers". We don't have a future as a group. We were thrown together for the show, have nothing much in common and all have different goals. It's fine - we had the experience and now it's time to "dis-band". Over the next couple of years I see some of them from time to time, and they're still playing music, but no one suggests a "comeback tour".
I assume that for me, it's over.
But then Warriors SA turns up. It's a local group of people who've "done the program" and want more. As it happens, a lawyer friend of mine, is President, and Ron persuades me to join.
In addition to the regular bands (the ones that stayed together after the program), they have a plan for "session performers". Their idea is brilliant. Set up an event, put together a backing band; call for singers; hold a couple of rehearsals in the lead-up; perform. Then "repeat as required". It works a treat. Each singer gets to sing 2-3 songs, but there's no ongoing commitment.
I can hardly believe my luck. I'm a session performer. All I have to do is diarize a few dates; I don't have to set aside regular rehearsal times.
I get to sing, but I don't have to go on the road.
We perform several times a year, at various pubs and outdoor events. We are invited to perform at a special '50's rock & roll event; I sing "Sweet Little Sixteen"; "Rock Around the Clock"; "See Ya Later Alligator" and Ray Charles' "What'd I Say". It feels like I've graduated to the next stage; we no longer have a coach, so we have to work out the music for ourselves Our performances are open to the public, not just family and friends.
I expand my repertoire to about 15 songs. I scour my CD collection for other songs I could sing. But it's getting harder to find new songs that suit both my voice and the musicians.
I'm looking for faster progress and possibly "something else".
A couple of months later, there's a Christmas show, and we perform in what turns out to be our last outing as "Shelley and the Pacemakers". We don't have a future as a group. We were thrown together for the show, have nothing much in common and all have different goals. It's fine - we had the experience and now it's time to "dis-band". Over the next couple of years I see some of them from time to time, and they're still playing music, but no one suggests a "comeback tour".
I assume that for me, it's over.
But then Warriors SA turns up. It's a local group of people who've "done the program" and want more. As it happens, a lawyer friend of mine, is President, and Ron persuades me to join.
In addition to the regular bands (the ones that stayed together after the program), they have a plan for "session performers". Their idea is brilliant. Set up an event, put together a backing band; call for singers; hold a couple of rehearsals in the lead-up; perform. Then "repeat as required". It works a treat. Each singer gets to sing 2-3 songs, but there's no ongoing commitment.
I can hardly believe my luck. I'm a session performer. All I have to do is diarize a few dates; I don't have to set aside regular rehearsal times.
I get to sing, but I don't have to go on the road.
We perform several times a year, at various pubs and outdoor events. We are invited to perform at a special '50's rock & roll event; I sing "Sweet Little Sixteen"; "Rock Around the Clock"; "See Ya Later Alligator" and Ray Charles' "What'd I Say". It feels like I've graduated to the next stage; we no longer have a coach, so we have to work out the music for ourselves Our performances are open to the public, not just family and friends.
I expand my repertoire to about 15 songs. I scour my CD collection for other songs I could sing. But it's getting harder to find new songs that suit both my voice and the musicians.
I'm looking for faster progress and possibly "something else".
Monday, 18 March 2013
Choir girl to rock chick
The three singing lessons I took before joining Weekend Warriors have made me feel more confident in singing, but have not transformed me into a rock chick.
I'm still very much a choir girl. Our conductor gave us cues as to when to start and stop singing; when to sing softly and when to crescendo. Our choir learned to stand and sit in unison. We were not to fiddle; hands had to be at our sides. We filed on and off stage in an orderly way. We were like little robots.
And so during our early rehearsals I look to Coach Tony to "conduct" our group. He finds this bizarre. He explains that when I am singing the lead, I am the leader; the musicians watch me for cues, so I had better give them some.
Also, when you sing in a choir, no one must hear your voice. Your voice must blend in with the group. But in a rock band, you must be heard, and you must dominate the group. I have to learn how to do this, and to develop the "attitude" expected of a lead singer. I'm getting an education.
Our band needs a name. We all offer lists of possibilities, but we are not getting anywhere. Then someone suggests "Shelley and the Pacemakers". It's a play on "Gerry and the Pacemakers", plus one of the guys has actually had a heart operation. I protest that I really don't need to have the band named after me. But the name sticks and that's what we become.
I need a costume for the show. I can't appear on stage in my lawyer's suit or my eastern suburbs casual wear. I need something with "attitude". I'm singing two Blondie songs, so I adopt Debbie Harry as my muse. I find a black sequinned mini-skirt, and a graffiti-print singlet top with rips in it. I go home and put them on. My 14-year-old daughter tells me I need fish-net stockings, and I think she's right. Long black boots complete my ensemble
Our show is at Fowler's Live. It's a student bar and club with black walls and a grungy atmosphere. I arrive in the Green Room and it's not green but an indeterminate shade of grey. I muss up my hair and apply a lot of dark make-up.
We hear the audience of family and friends arriving. The first band goes on (there are five groups performing on this night). The MC is winding up the audience, reminding them that each band has had only four weeks to prepare. He keeps asking the crowd "How long?" and they have to shout "Four weeks!"
We're on second. We arrive on stage and it is all dark except for the blinding lights right in our eyes. I can't see anyone out there but I can hear them. The moment of truth comes when I sing my first song. I feel a bit shaky at first but once I've finished the first song I start to settle down. I'm aware of Rob's backing harmonies in the Dragon song "April Sun in Cuba" and feel the sense of team. Allison and I back him in his song "Route 66". The most challenging song for me is the Blondie song "Call Me". Even though the key is lower, the highest note is high for me and it needs to be strong. I relish the laid-back beat of Linda Ronstadt's "Your're No Good" and can hardly believe that I get to sing it. The final song is Blink 182's "All the Small Things" and several band members join in the chorus. It's a good, up-beat song to finish on.
At the end the crowd roars and applauds wildly. I grab Allison's hand and we punch the air. We did it!
We're now able to relax and watch the remaining performances. I find my husband and my two very bemused teenage children. It's very hard to sleep that night. I could happily go "on the road".
I'm still very much a choir girl. Our conductor gave us cues as to when to start and stop singing; when to sing softly and when to crescendo. Our choir learned to stand and sit in unison. We were not to fiddle; hands had to be at our sides. We filed on and off stage in an orderly way. We were like little robots.
And so during our early rehearsals I look to Coach Tony to "conduct" our group. He finds this bizarre. He explains that when I am singing the lead, I am the leader; the musicians watch me for cues, so I had better give them some.
Also, when you sing in a choir, no one must hear your voice. Your voice must blend in with the group. But in a rock band, you must be heard, and you must dominate the group. I have to learn how to do this, and to develop the "attitude" expected of a lead singer. I'm getting an education.
Our band needs a name. We all offer lists of possibilities, but we are not getting anywhere. Then someone suggests "Shelley and the Pacemakers". It's a play on "Gerry and the Pacemakers", plus one of the guys has actually had a heart operation. I protest that I really don't need to have the band named after me. But the name sticks and that's what we become.
I need a costume for the show. I can't appear on stage in my lawyer's suit or my eastern suburbs casual wear. I need something with "attitude". I'm singing two Blondie songs, so I adopt Debbie Harry as my muse. I find a black sequinned mini-skirt, and a graffiti-print singlet top with rips in it. I go home and put them on. My 14-year-old daughter tells me I need fish-net stockings, and I think she's right. Long black boots complete my ensemble
Our show is at Fowler's Live. It's a student bar and club with black walls and a grungy atmosphere. I arrive in the Green Room and it's not green but an indeterminate shade of grey. I muss up my hair and apply a lot of dark make-up.
We hear the audience of family and friends arriving. The first band goes on (there are five groups performing on this night). The MC is winding up the audience, reminding them that each band has had only four weeks to prepare. He keeps asking the crowd "How long?" and they have to shout "Four weeks!"
We're on second. We arrive on stage and it is all dark except for the blinding lights right in our eyes. I can't see anyone out there but I can hear them. The moment of truth comes when I sing my first song. I feel a bit shaky at first but once I've finished the first song I start to settle down. I'm aware of Rob's backing harmonies in the Dragon song "April Sun in Cuba" and feel the sense of team. Allison and I back him in his song "Route 66". The most challenging song for me is the Blondie song "Call Me". Even though the key is lower, the highest note is high for me and it needs to be strong. I relish the laid-back beat of Linda Ronstadt's "Your're No Good" and can hardly believe that I get to sing it. The final song is Blink 182's "All the Small Things" and several band members join in the chorus. It's a good, up-beat song to finish on.
At the end the crowd roars and applauds wildly. I grab Allison's hand and we punch the air. We did it!
We're now able to relax and watch the remaining performances. I find my husband and my two very bemused teenage children. It's very hard to sleep that night. I could happily go "on the road".
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Forming, Storming, Norming...
The Weekend Warriors program would make a good reality TV show. I'm quite glad, though, that there are no cameras following us about.
I've been placed in a group with six people I've never met. In the next few weeks we have to get to know each other, agree on a song list and work out how to work together as a rock band.
The drummer asks me "So, what's your band experience?" I don't try to lie; I tell him "None" and see his eyes roll.
Choosing songs is not as easy as you might think. Everyone has their own tastes and preferences for different styles of music, and the level of difficulty has to be taken into account. For me, the range of the song presents a challenge. In the school choir, I had always been a "Second Alto" - we bellowed and growled along the bass line of every song. I have about one octave of range available to me, and there are not many songs that sit within that octave.
Luckily, our coach Tony helps us choose suitable songs and advises on the best keys for me and Allison, the other vocalist in the group. The idea that you could select the key that suits you is a revelation to me. But at the same time it feels a bit like a "cop-out" - that if I was any sort of singer I would be able to sing the song in its original key. It takes a long while to change this mind-set and prevent my self-esteem from being eroded when I need a different key.
I'm very lucky to have been placed with good musicians. We have three guitarists, a bass player and drummer, plus another singer. A couple of the guys played semi-professionally in the UK before moving to Australia, starting a family and packing the guitar away in the shed. When people like this get into Weekend Warriors, the guitar never goes back into storage.
The progress of our band follows Tuckman's classic stages of group dynamics: (quotes are from Wikipedia)
Forming - "The individual's behavior is driven by a desire to be accepted by the others, and avoid controversy or conflict. Serious issues and feelings are avoided, and people focus on being busy with routines, such as team organization, who does what, when to meet, etc. Individuals are also gathering information and impressions - about each other, and about the scope of the task and how to approach it. This is a comfortable stage to be in, but the avoidance of conflict and threat means that not much actually gets done."
Storming - "Every group will next enter the storming stage in which different ideas compete for consideration. The team addresses issues such as what problems they are really supposed to solve, how they will function independently and together and what leadership model they will accept. Team members open up to each other and confront each other's ideas and perspectives. In some cases storming can be resolved quickly. In others, the team never leaves this stage. The maturity of some team members usually determines whether the team will ever move out of this stage. Some team members will focus on minutiae to evade real issues.
I've been placed in a group with six people I've never met. In the next few weeks we have to get to know each other, agree on a song list and work out how to work together as a rock band.
The drummer asks me "So, what's your band experience?" I don't try to lie; I tell him "None" and see his eyes roll.
Choosing songs is not as easy as you might think. Everyone has their own tastes and preferences for different styles of music, and the level of difficulty has to be taken into account. For me, the range of the song presents a challenge. In the school choir, I had always been a "Second Alto" - we bellowed and growled along the bass line of every song. I have about one octave of range available to me, and there are not many songs that sit within that octave.
Luckily, our coach Tony helps us choose suitable songs and advises on the best keys for me and Allison, the other vocalist in the group. The idea that you could select the key that suits you is a revelation to me. But at the same time it feels a bit like a "cop-out" - that if I was any sort of singer I would be able to sing the song in its original key. It takes a long while to change this mind-set and prevent my self-esteem from being eroded when I need a different key.
I'm very lucky to have been placed with good musicians. We have three guitarists, a bass player and drummer, plus another singer. A couple of the guys played semi-professionally in the UK before moving to Australia, starting a family and packing the guitar away in the shed. When people like this get into Weekend Warriors, the guitar never goes back into storage.
The progress of our band follows Tuckman's classic stages of group dynamics: (quotes are from Wikipedia)
Forming - "The individual's behavior is driven by a desire to be accepted by the others, and avoid controversy or conflict. Serious issues and feelings are avoided, and people focus on being busy with routines, such as team organization, who does what, when to meet, etc. Individuals are also gathering information and impressions - about each other, and about the scope of the task and how to approach it. This is a comfortable stage to be in, but the avoidance of conflict and threat means that not much actually gets done."
Storming - "Every group will next enter the storming stage in which different ideas compete for consideration. The team addresses issues such as what problems they are really supposed to solve, how they will function independently and together and what leadership model they will accept. Team members open up to each other and confront each other's ideas and perspectives. In some cases storming can be resolved quickly. In others, the team never leaves this stage. The maturity of some team members usually determines whether the team will ever move out of this stage. Some team members will focus on minutiae to evade real issues.
The storming stage is necessary to the growth of the team. It can be contentious, unpleasant and even painful to members of the team who are averse to conflict. Tolerance of each team member and their differences should be emphasized. Without tolerance and patience the team will fail. This phase can become destructive to the team and will lower motivation if allowed to get out of control. Some teams will never develop past this stage."
Indeed, it does appear at times that the group is on shaky ground. At one rehearsal, we do nothing but argue with each other. The drummer tells me "You should sing that song at my funeral". It's not a compliment. Later he does a dummy spit just like the scene in Spinal Tap.
Norming - "The team manages to have one goal and come to a mutual plan for the team at this stage. Some may have to give up their own ideas and agree with others in order to make the team function. In this stage, all team members take the responsibility and have the ambition to work for the success of the team's goals."
We aim for a high standard. We not only rehearse with coach Tony once a week, but also schedule an extra practice session each week at guitarist Rob's spacious music studio. I find that my basic musical knowledge is very useful - some of the rhythms are a bit tricky, and it's helpful to be able to theorize about how the piece is put together, even though I don't have the sheet music that I'm used to - just guitar tab.
And finally we are ready for:
Perfoming - "It is possible for some teams to reach the performing stage. These high-performing teams are able to function as a unit as they find ways to get the job done smoothly and effectively without inappropriate conflict or the need for external supervision. By this time, they are motivated and knowledgeable. The team members are now competent, autonomous and able to handle the decision-making process without supervision. Dissent is expected and allowed as long as it is channeled through means acceptable to the team."
The month is up, and it's almost show time.
"Join a Band for Fun"
My friend Victoria and I enter a large rehearsal room. About 60 people are already there, unpacking guitars and other instruments, talking amongst themselves. I ask myself "What am I doing here?" before spotting my friend Richard, and finding a seat at the back of the room.
Richard is a barrister whom I met during my first year in legal practice. He had his own practice in the same corridor as the firm where I worked. He helped me when I most needed it; when I had little experience and was burdened with work beyond my capabilities. He became a mentor and a friend.
Over the years Richard had talked about his love of music and how he played keyboard in various bands. I had mentioned that I enjoyed singing. One day Richard told me about the "Weekend Warriors" program he had participated in. It's an association that gets middle-aged people into bands. He suggested I should do this program also. My reaction was "Richard, don't be ridiculous; I'm not doing that."
Then one day Richard said "Why don't you come along this Sunday afternoon? We're having a bit of a jam. Just come along and watch."
For some reason I decided to turn up and see what it was all about.
Which is how I come to be in this place (amusingly, the Deaf Society Hall), wearing a sticky label announcing me as "Shelley - VOX". I feel a fraud.
I settle into my seat to observe the action.
After a few preliminaries, they start to assemble the first band. As if in a dream, I hear "And can we have Shelley and Victoria to do backing vocals." I glare at Richard and give him a good whack on the shoulder before heading to the front of the room. Victoria and I take our place alongside some guitarists, and are given a microphone on a stand to share.
We've got lyrics to read from. We know these songs. The drums start up. The electric guitars get going. The music is pounding. I feel the vibrations through my body. We're "knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door..."
Where has this been all my life? How can I have survived until now, without knowing this wild, crazy feeling? It's like the first sip of alcohol, the first puff of a cigarette. I've entered a new world I never knew about before.
At the end of the jam, we're asked to indicate if we'd like to "do the program". I realize that this will require more time than I've got. With the work schedule ahead of me, I can't see my way clear to focus on music for the next month and a bit. "Maybe next time", I tell the organizers.
I do however sign up to receive notification of the next jam session, as they are held every few months.
At the next event, I feel a bit more confident. I write "Shelley - VOX" on my own name tag. I put my hand up to sing lead vocals. It feels great. Still, I have too much on my plate to "do the program".
A few months on, I clear my calendar. I arrange to have precisely three singing lessons and ask my teacher for advice on songs and key. I turn up at the jam, and specify the songs I wish to sing. At the end of the afternoon, I put my hand up. I'm "doing the program".
Two days later, I receive a phone call to say I've been placed in a band, and that I need to attend a meeting to find out what we need to know about the program.
During the next month, we'll be working with a coach who'll be assigned to us. We'll select songs and prepare a 30-minute set which we'll perform at a charity concert.
At this stage there's only one thing I'm sure of. It has to be a once-off experience. I'm a lawyer, wife and mother - I can't be in a band. Well, just this once.
Richard is a barrister whom I met during my first year in legal practice. He had his own practice in the same corridor as the firm where I worked. He helped me when I most needed it; when I had little experience and was burdened with work beyond my capabilities. He became a mentor and a friend.
Over the years Richard had talked about his love of music and how he played keyboard in various bands. I had mentioned that I enjoyed singing. One day Richard told me about the "Weekend Warriors" program he had participated in. It's an association that gets middle-aged people into bands. He suggested I should do this program also. My reaction was "Richard, don't be ridiculous; I'm not doing that."
Then one day Richard said "Why don't you come along this Sunday afternoon? We're having a bit of a jam. Just come along and watch."
For some reason I decided to turn up and see what it was all about.
Which is how I come to be in this place (amusingly, the Deaf Society Hall), wearing a sticky label announcing me as "Shelley - VOX". I feel a fraud.
I settle into my seat to observe the action.
After a few preliminaries, they start to assemble the first band. As if in a dream, I hear "And can we have Shelley and Victoria to do backing vocals." I glare at Richard and give him a good whack on the shoulder before heading to the front of the room. Victoria and I take our place alongside some guitarists, and are given a microphone on a stand to share.
We've got lyrics to read from. We know these songs. The drums start up. The electric guitars get going. The music is pounding. I feel the vibrations through my body. We're "knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door..."
Where has this been all my life? How can I have survived until now, without knowing this wild, crazy feeling? It's like the first sip of alcohol, the first puff of a cigarette. I've entered a new world I never knew about before.
At the end of the jam, we're asked to indicate if we'd like to "do the program". I realize that this will require more time than I've got. With the work schedule ahead of me, I can't see my way clear to focus on music for the next month and a bit. "Maybe next time", I tell the organizers.
I do however sign up to receive notification of the next jam session, as they are held every few months.
At the next event, I feel a bit more confident. I write "Shelley - VOX" on my own name tag. I put my hand up to sing lead vocals. It feels great. Still, I have too much on my plate to "do the program".
A few months on, I clear my calendar. I arrange to have precisely three singing lessons and ask my teacher for advice on songs and key. I turn up at the jam, and specify the songs I wish to sing. At the end of the afternoon, I put my hand up. I'm "doing the program".
Two days later, I receive a phone call to say I've been placed in a band, and that I need to attend a meeting to find out what we need to know about the program.
During the next month, we'll be working with a coach who'll be assigned to us. We'll select songs and prepare a 30-minute set which we'll perform at a charity concert.
At this stage there's only one thing I'm sure of. It has to be a once-off experience. I'm a lawyer, wife and mother - I can't be in a band. Well, just this once.
Friday, 15 March 2013
Did you always want to sing?
People keep asking me "So did you always want to be a singer, right from a young age?"
The answer's no, not really. It's quite a recent obsession.
At school I was in the choir. I went in at age 11 (one of the youngest founding members) and came out at 17 when I finished school. I did Choir, the same way other people found themselves in the Chess Club or on the hockey team. It wasn't really something I chose to do; it found me rather than the other way around.
Choir practice was Tuesday lunchtime and Friday after school, every week, no excuses. It was more often in the lead-up to a performance. We started Christmas carols in October, and performances often continued into the school holidays. At the time, I don't think any of us thought it was anything very special. We were just ordinary schoolgirls being trained to sing as a group.
The choir had great success. We competed in Eisteddfod competitions each year, and several times we won national awards. With the choir I travelled to Hobart, Sydney and Canberra. We sang on stage at the Sydney Opera House - twice. The first time was in the Eisteddfod contest; the second time was in a Royal Command Performance for Prince Charles.
After leaving school I was offered the chance to go to Singapore with the choir. But by that time I was at Law School. I'd finished with school uniforms, and with the Tuesday/Friday/Saturday/Sunday know-your-words-or-else discipline. I turned the offer down.
In second year Uni I joined the University choir. It was less demanding, but the standard was correspondingly lower. It just wasn't as enjoyable because we didn't sound good. I started seeing a man I'd met at choir practice and we both quit, in favour of more entertaining activities.
For many years I barely sang at all; the occasional Christmas carol and church hymn - that was all. Then I happened to join a lawyers' choir for a Christmas event. It was quite low-key, but taking part in this choir made me remember how good it feels to sing. It's like going for a run - it oxygenates the system, releases endorphins and gets the adrenaline pumping.
In 2005 I got into singing in rock bands. And started having singing lessons. Then in 2010 I discovered cabaret. This is the thing that got me hooked. In Adelaide its' a whole sub-culture; quite a network of singers and musicians plying this art form. I found it totally fascinating.
It was as if a tiny door had opened and I had wandered into a fantasy world.
The answer's no, not really. It's quite a recent obsession.
At school I was in the choir. I went in at age 11 (one of the youngest founding members) and came out at 17 when I finished school. I did Choir, the same way other people found themselves in the Chess Club or on the hockey team. It wasn't really something I chose to do; it found me rather than the other way around.
Choir practice was Tuesday lunchtime and Friday after school, every week, no excuses. It was more often in the lead-up to a performance. We started Christmas carols in October, and performances often continued into the school holidays. At the time, I don't think any of us thought it was anything very special. We were just ordinary schoolgirls being trained to sing as a group.
The choir had great success. We competed in Eisteddfod competitions each year, and several times we won national awards. With the choir I travelled to Hobart, Sydney and Canberra. We sang on stage at the Sydney Opera House - twice. The first time was in the Eisteddfod contest; the second time was in a Royal Command Performance for Prince Charles.
After leaving school I was offered the chance to go to Singapore with the choir. But by that time I was at Law School. I'd finished with school uniforms, and with the Tuesday/Friday/Saturday/Sunday know-your-words-or-else discipline. I turned the offer down.
In second year Uni I joined the University choir. It was less demanding, but the standard was correspondingly lower. It just wasn't as enjoyable because we didn't sound good. I started seeing a man I'd met at choir practice and we both quit, in favour of more entertaining activities.
For many years I barely sang at all; the occasional Christmas carol and church hymn - that was all. Then I happened to join a lawyers' choir for a Christmas event. It was quite low-key, but taking part in this choir made me remember how good it feels to sing. It's like going for a run - it oxygenates the system, releases endorphins and gets the adrenaline pumping.
In 2005 I got into singing in rock bands. And started having singing lessons. Then in 2010 I discovered cabaret. This is the thing that got me hooked. In Adelaide its' a whole sub-culture; quite a network of singers and musicians plying this art form. I found it totally fascinating.
It was as if a tiny door had opened and I had wandered into a fantasy world.
Thursday, 14 March 2013
The great unexplored terrain
I've never been to Rio, or to Brazil.
My only visit to South America has been to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I went there in 2008 to present at the International Bar Association (IBA) conference. I loved it, and promised myself that I would return, and would also visit other countries in South America. It's a big continent with lots of countries, all with their own exotic culture - it's a bit like another Europe waiting to be explored.
Maybe it's possible to tie in my visit with a conference? The IBA holds a dozen or so conferences around the world each year - maybe they will hold one in Brazil or a neighbouring country. Also my husband goes to medical conferences. There is a possibility that one will be held in Recife, Brazil, in early 2015.
Another possibility is to link my visit with the World Cup in 2014. A Brazilian lawyer I've met at the IBA is keen for me to come to his city (Cuiaba) which is hosting some of the games.
It's been suggested to me that I need to make a reconnoiter visit there in order to find musician(s), select and book venue etc. I'm not sure I will do this - what I'm hoping is that I can arrange my event through people in my network who have contacts in Rio. I'm trusting in the "6 degrees of separation" theory.
For the moment, I'm trying to learn as much as I can about Brazil and Rio. I've watched Michael Palin's TV series on Brazil, and I'm reading his book.
Michael Palin talks about Rio beach etiquette
One thing I've learned - Brazilian people love the (late) Bossa Nova composer Tom Jobim. Whenever I've mentioned his name to Brazilians, they have spontaneously burst into song. Jobim is a national hero, and the Rio airport is named after him. I'm hoping that the fact I'll be singing Jobim will generate some enthusiasm for my show.
My only visit to South America has been to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I went there in 2008 to present at the International Bar Association (IBA) conference. I loved it, and promised myself that I would return, and would also visit other countries in South America. It's a big continent with lots of countries, all with their own exotic culture - it's a bit like another Europe waiting to be explored.
Maybe it's possible to tie in my visit with a conference? The IBA holds a dozen or so conferences around the world each year - maybe they will hold one in Brazil or a neighbouring country. Also my husband goes to medical conferences. There is a possibility that one will be held in Recife, Brazil, in early 2015.
Another possibility is to link my visit with the World Cup in 2014. A Brazilian lawyer I've met at the IBA is keen for me to come to his city (Cuiaba) which is hosting some of the games.
It's been suggested to me that I need to make a reconnoiter visit there in order to find musician(s), select and book venue etc. I'm not sure I will do this - what I'm hoping is that I can arrange my event through people in my network who have contacts in Rio. I'm trusting in the "6 degrees of separation" theory.
For the moment, I'm trying to learn as much as I can about Brazil and Rio. I've watched Michael Palin's TV series on Brazil, and I'm reading his book.
Michael Palin talks about Rio beach etiquette
One thing I've learned - Brazilian people love the (late) Bossa Nova composer Tom Jobim. Whenever I've mentioned his name to Brazilians, they have spontaneously burst into song. Jobim is a national hero, and the Rio airport is named after him. I'm hoping that the fact I'll be singing Jobim will generate some enthusiasm for my show.
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
If a singer sings, and no one is in the audience, is there a sound?
The thing is, I'm not Diana Krall.
I'm not even any sort of celebrity; just an escaped lawyer who got the music "bug".
I've performed in my home city; that's all.
So why will anyone come to my concert in Rio, when I'm completely unknown there?
Yes, I have done a reality check by asking myself this question. And my answer is - because I'll do it for a charity, and people will come to support the charity.
I've already approached a charity in Rio that has been recommended to me, and in principle they're happy to be associated with my event. But I have to keep the name of this charity under wraps for the moment, because my proposal has to be approved by their Board (which I will request when I've made some arrangements and we are closer to the date).
I need a venue - but what size of venue should I look for? What if hundreds of people want to come?
What if no one comes? No, don't think about that.
There are quite a few logistical things to consider - arranging an event from so far away, in a place where I don't know anyone, is a challenge.
But I have to believe that people will come, and that they will enjoy the show.
You can watch me in concert here
I'm not even any sort of celebrity; just an escaped lawyer who got the music "bug".
I've performed in my home city; that's all.
So why will anyone come to my concert in Rio, when I'm completely unknown there?
Yes, I have done a reality check by asking myself this question. And my answer is - because I'll do it for a charity, and people will come to support the charity.
I've already approached a charity in Rio that has been recommended to me, and in principle they're happy to be associated with my event. But I have to keep the name of this charity under wraps for the moment, because my proposal has to be approved by their Board (which I will request when I've made some arrangements and we are closer to the date).
I need a venue - but what size of venue should I look for? What if hundreds of people want to come?
What if no one comes? No, don't think about that.
There are quite a few logistical things to consider - arranging an event from so far away, in a place where I don't know anyone, is a challenge.
But I have to believe that people will come, and that they will enjoy the show.
You can watch me in concert here
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
A declaration
Coals to Newcastle?
How about "Bossa to Rio"?
That's my plan. I'm going to hold a concert in Rio de Janeiro, and sing all my favourite Brazilian songs to a Brazilian audience.
Can I do it?
I think I can. But will I?
Well, I'm more likely to make it happen if I declare my plan publicly, than if I keep the idea to myself!
So, here's the beginning of my blog, to chart my progress from escaped lawyer in Adelaide, Australia, to bossa nova performer in Rio.
I guess your first question would be ....why?
For me, it's the challenge of a lifetime. I've been singing the songs for 4-5 years, and I'm completely obsessed with this music.
What music? Bossa Nova - it's Brazilian music from the early 1960's. You'd probably know "The Girl From Ipanema" - it's by Antonio Carlos Jobim (also known as Tom Jobim). He wrote hundreds of other songs too. Other composers are Luis Bonfa and Marcos Valle.
My plan has been brewing for a while now. The inspiration came about 3 years ago, when I watched a DVD of Diana Krall's concert in Rio ("Quiet Nights"). There's a moment in that concert where Diana has sung several songs in English, then she sings one in Portuguese. As she starts the song, the audience realizes she's singing in their language, and they start to cheer wildly. The auditorium roof almost lifts off, and eventually she's got them all singing along.
At that point I said to myself "I want what she's having!"
I then promptly dismissed the idea as completely ridiculous.
But a few months later, I was working with a mentor who was encouraging me to "think big". He asked me what would be the most ambitious and audacious thing I could do. And I told him I'd have a concert in Rio.
Saying it out loud made me start to take the idea seriously.
Still, it's taken another couple of years for me to believe I can do it, and to set about making a plan.
Now that my kids are grown up (both at Uni now), I've got a chance to do it. A window of opportunity of just a few years. I want to do it in 2014-2015 - not far away!
So, get your seatbelt on and follow my blog - come with me on an adventure to Rio!
How about "Bossa to Rio"?
That's my plan. I'm going to hold a concert in Rio de Janeiro, and sing all my favourite Brazilian songs to a Brazilian audience.
Can I do it?
I think I can. But will I?
Well, I'm more likely to make it happen if I declare my plan publicly, than if I keep the idea to myself!
So, here's the beginning of my blog, to chart my progress from escaped lawyer in Adelaide, Australia, to bossa nova performer in Rio.
I guess your first question would be ....why?
For me, it's the challenge of a lifetime. I've been singing the songs for 4-5 years, and I'm completely obsessed with this music.
What music? Bossa Nova - it's Brazilian music from the early 1960's. You'd probably know "The Girl From Ipanema" - it's by Antonio Carlos Jobim (also known as Tom Jobim). He wrote hundreds of other songs too. Other composers are Luis Bonfa and Marcos Valle.
My plan has been brewing for a while now. The inspiration came about 3 years ago, when I watched a DVD of Diana Krall's concert in Rio ("Quiet Nights"). There's a moment in that concert where Diana has sung several songs in English, then she sings one in Portuguese. As she starts the song, the audience realizes she's singing in their language, and they start to cheer wildly. The auditorium roof almost lifts off, and eventually she's got them all singing along.
At that point I said to myself "I want what she's having!"
I then promptly dismissed the idea as completely ridiculous.
But a few months later, I was working with a mentor who was encouraging me to "think big". He asked me what would be the most ambitious and audacious thing I could do. And I told him I'd have a concert in Rio.
Saying it out loud made me start to take the idea seriously.
Still, it's taken another couple of years for me to believe I can do it, and to set about making a plan.
Now that my kids are grown up (both at Uni now), I've got a chance to do it. A window of opportunity of just a few years. I want to do it in 2014-2015 - not far away!
So, get your seatbelt on and follow my blog - come with me on an adventure to Rio!
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