A solution in my own backyard

October 2013.

I'm waiting to board the plane to Boston for the conference.  While I wait, I read the local newspaper.

An article catches my eye.  A primary school is introducing Brazilian Portuguese classes for the children, as the World Cup and Olympic Games will lift Brazil's profile in the next few years.

They are also holding classes for adults.

Ooh! (sharp intake of breath).

This school is five minutes from my home.  I tear out the article and keep it in a safe place to await my return.

When I get  home, I phone the school.  They give me a mobile phone number, but when I call it there is no answer.  I also send a text message, but receive no response.

It's a dead end.

But some weeks later, Facebook serves up a post by "The Brazilian Ethic School of South Australia".  They are holding classes at the primary school.  I message them on Facebook, and they send me the details.

The Beginner class is on Wednesday night.  I can't attend - that's when I have my singing lesson.

There is an Intermediate class on Saturday morning.  I ask if I can try it, and explain that I have already taught myself some Brazilian Portuguese.

"Yes, you can try it", is the response.

On Saturday morning I arrive at the school.  It's a big school, and I circumnavigate it looking for the room. Finally I find the class, and introduce myself to the teacher, Andrea, and a fellow student, Andrew.  There are only two of us in the class on this day.

Andrea starts speaking in Portuguese, and I cannot understand a word.  I feel tension developing inside me, and remind myself not to "block" the language.  I start to breathe again and try to relax; focus on the instruction.  I try hard to pronounce the words properly, and participate actively in the class.  I tell myself I only have to be good enough to not get kicked out of the class.

Andrea hands out a work book, and I don't recognize any of the words on the page.  I've been learning the language by ear, purely from songs and CD training programs.  But when I hear the words I start to connect them with the written words.

The language is a bit like Spanish, and has similarities to French.

Because I've learned other languages previously, I know how to learn a language; I am not really starting from scratch.  We learn vocabulary, verb conjugations, sentence construction.

By the end of the lesson I've learned quite a lot.  I feel confident that I can learn this language.

It's amazing what can turn up in your own backyard.

Learning the "Lingo"

If I'm going to Brazil, I'll need a way to communicate.

If I'm going to sing Brazilian songs, I'll want to be able to sing some of them in Brazilian Portuguese.  And I'll want to understand what I'm singing about.

I need to learn Brazilian Portuguese.

But how?  It is not widely offered here.  And I don't have a lot of availability to attend classes.

So I go for the next best thing - a self-teaching program on audio CD.  I purchase a 12-lesson program and listen to it while I'm cleaning up the kitchen.

At the end of the twelve lessons, I am able to order a glass of water and argue about who is going to pay for dinner.  This really isn't very useful.  The program progresses quite slowly, and it's disappointing that the content is not more practical.

And then I get Earworms.  It's not a disease.  It's the best CD language trainer ever; it utilizes music, rhythm and repetition to drill the phrases into your brain, so they stick.  I put Earworms (Volumes 1 & 2) in my car and drive around listening to the conversations.  The presenters break up the phrases and repeat each part in time to music.  It's soothing and fun.  As I drive, I join in with enthusiasm; no one can hear me.

At the same time I try to learn the Portuguese lyrics of some of my Brazilian songs.  I understand some of the words, but don't always get the full sense of the songs.  It doesn't matter - I enjoy getting my mouth around the words and imitating the singer.  I type out the lyrics and underline the syllables that are emphasized in the song.  The singers tend to run the vowels together; sometimes several words seem to merge into one.  I listen and repeat, over and over.  After a while I can sing some of the songs all the way through, only stumbling over the words once or twice.

Lani Hall (lead singer of Brasil 66) came from Chicago, and didn't speak Brazilian Portuguese.  She learned all the songs phonetically and sang them from memory.  I should be able to do this too.

But I don't feel confident enough yet to perform these songs.  When you are on stage there is a lot to think about.  It's hard enough to remember lyrics in your own language.  And I'm sure Lani had a bit of help with learning and pronouncing her lyrics.  I don't imagine she taught herself in her own lounge room.

As a next step, I decide to try a song in French.  French is my strongest foreign language, and because I understand the lyrics, it's not purely memory work.   I work on a French Christmas carol, and manage to hold it together in performance.  But I still don't feel very confident to attempt the Brazilian songs in their true language.

Video of The Christmas Song (French lyrics)

No limits

On a Sunday afternoon I arrive at an inner-city cafe/restaurant.  My friend Lauren (from the inaugural Cabaret Summer School) is singing there, accompanied by a guitarist.  I sit in the corner and order a coffee and a light snack.  Sunshine streams through the open door as the music wafts in my direction.  Lauren sings strongly and improvises creatively.

During a break, Lauren recognises me.  She comes over and embraces me warmly.  She mentions that she is graduating from her University music degree and her final recital is next week.  I tell her I'll be there - I've already seen her event publicised on Facebook.  She indicates a guy sitting at a table outside.  "Luke will be one of my adjudicators", she says.

Luke is the other reason I've come out to this event today.  He is one of the jazz singers I often hear about, but I've never heard him sing.  His public performances seem always to be on week nights at locations I can't get to.  He is a cousin of Chris, the gifted pianist who often accompanied me in the early days.

Lauren finishes her set and departs.  Luke and his guitarist set up.  It is now late in the day.  Bill arrives and we order some wine and a seafood entree platter.  We chat and enjoy the music.  As the musicians announce that they are taking a break, they invite requests.  Our platter arrives, and we munch on the delicious snacks.

When the next break comes, they plead for requests.  I go up and ask if they play any songs by Jobim: "I'm sure you would have quite a few", I say.  They reel off several titles.  I make approving noises and suggest some others.  Then Luke says "How come you know these songs?  Are you a singer?  Would you like to sing one of these songs with us?"

No, I would not.  I have not come prepared to sing.  I have had two glasses of wine.  I am very happy listening to you both, thank you, anyway.

Luke says "Well, come back and sing next week."  Guitarist Paul cuts in, "No, I think she should sing today."  He is not going to let me off the hook.

I go to the bathroom to think about it, and I do a few warm-up exercises.  I come back and tell them that I'll sing "Dreamer".  You've got to take the chances that are offered to you.  My heart rate immediately escalates, and I hope my newly-repaired valve doesn't burst.

During the final set they call me to come up.  Luke produces a small saxophone.  I perch on a bar stool and listen carefully to the introductory bars.  Then I launch in to the song.  It goes very smoothly.  They are very good musicians, and I have had enough experience to turn an unexpected jam into a performance.   It feels fantastic.  Luke invites me to come back again.  Normally I would dismiss this as pure politeness, but he repeats the invitation several times.  Perhaps I will.

A few days later I visit my cardiologist for my three-month check-up.  This time I get a friendlier nurse.  As she applies the gloopy fluid to my chest, she says "Let's see if this valve is functioning the way it should".  I close my eyes.  I don't want to see anything that might scare me.  I breathe deeply and  try to remain calm.  I cannot do anything about the result.  It is what it is.

The cardiologist calls me in.  He measures my blood pressure.  It is normal.  He declares "Everything is working properly.  You are well."

I plant my elbows on his desk.  I let out a sigh and my head drops into my hands.  It has been an eventful four months.

I quiz him - can I go back to lifting weights in the gym?  Is there anything I can't do?

"There is nothing you cannot do", he says.  "I'll see you in twelve months."

I'm inclined to take him literally - that there is nothing I cannot do.

I will triumph over my limbic brain

Now recovered from my heart surgery, I look for a way to get back into performing.

I'm a member of the public speaking group Toastmasters, and they are organizing a "variety night".  I sang in this show last year, and see it as a good chance to get back in front of an audience.

I decide to perform a song called "Lost in Wonderland".  The music is by Jobim - an instrumental piece he named "Antigua".  I've listened to this music many times, and wished I could sing it - but there were no lyrics. Then last year, listening to a new Barbra Streisand album, I discovered that the song does have words.  A lyricist called Marshall Barer wrote the words for her, she recorded the song in 1968 and only released it last year.  It's called "Lost in Wonderland" and is a dark, grown-up Alice in Wonderland song.  It is very challenging, as there are lots of words and the melody line jumps around, up and down.

I'm keen to give this difficult song a first outing.

At the Toastmasters night, I'm the opening act.  It's my first performance in four months, and as I commence my piece the adrenaline surges.  My voice does not betray my nerves.  I've learned to control that, but the tension gets channeled into my hands. The microphone is doing a dance of its own.  And towards the end of the song my mouth is getting dry.  Mentally I tell myself "Keep going - breathe!".  My lungs obey, my voice comes out well, I remember all my words, and with a boost of determination I finish the song strongly.

This is a big development - the ability to "watch" myself and take my own advice as I perform.

In the past I've felt frustrated with carefully preparing a song, only to have it hijacked by my "limbic brain" - the primitive part of the brain that controls the fight-or flight-instinct.  I've felt it tugging and warning "danger, danger".  It has made me forget my lyrics. It has inhibited me from throwing my voice forward, causing it to fall back into my throat.  It has held me back from singing in full voice, and instead I have flicked over into my thin, small head voice. I've felt myself resiling from a higher note even though I know I can sing it.  I've failed to modify my vowels in the way I've planned to, and forgotten to drop my jaw open in the way I know I should.

And after a performance, I've said to myself "Will my brain please work?"  All my energy, it seems, has been going towards remembering words and conquering nerves.  You always think you'll be fine, but it feels very different when you get up there on stage.

At the Toastmasters show, I notice a big improvement in my ability to perform as I've planned, and to sing as I know I can.

But nerves are still hindering my performance, and I'm determined to conquer my limbic brain, that is holding me back from my best performance.