Deep Throat

In the lead-up to the Cabaret Fringe, I enrol in a five-day voice course.   This program is based on understanding the anatomy of the voice and how it works; knowing what is physically required to produce different vocal qualities.

There are seventeen of us in the group.  Some of them are singing teachers.  On Monday we learn about the basic anatomical structures.  We practise holding our tongues in a high position that feels very unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  We begin to work through a thick book of notes. We are shown computerized graphics and videos of working larynxes.  I'm perplexed by the terminology and I'm not sure I understand what I'm seeing.  The inside view of the larynx reminds me of the open mouth of a baby bird.

On Tuesday we build a model larynx from a cardboard kit.  I'm quite proud of my effort, but I'm still not sure where in my neck this structure is located.

I've been looking forward to a musical week, but there isn't much music.  We sing "Happy Birthday" in a variety of vocal styles.  We intone a range of vowels with various placements.  I find the lack of music agonizing.  Each lunchtime I have to move my car because of parking restrictions, and I linger in my car for a few minutes to enjoy a favourite song on the CD player.

By Wednesday afternoon, my confusion is complete.  My tongue is not behaving.  When I "siren" it won't stay in the correct position.  We lie on our backs on the floor and lift our heads to engage our neck muscles.   I haven't been sleeping well and I'm finding it difficult to absorb the technical and theoretical information.  I would like to stay on my mat and have a rest.  I feel like crying, but I don't want to be the one who's not coping.

Each day we have to grin in the mirror like gargoyles, exposing the eye teeth.  One night I dream that when I look in the mirror my eye tooth breaks and crumbles away.

On Thursday morning, we receive a second book.  This one presents a variety of vocal styles, with instructions on how to achieve each one by applying the anatomical basics.  A jazz vocal piece is played and the sound ripples through my veins.  Music at last!  The information starts to fall into place.   We practise each style, as a group and individually.  I'm still not quite sure how to operate every piece of vocal equipment, but I'm surprised at the different sounds I can produce.

On Friday we have our Masterclass.  A pianist arrives to accompany us.  I've chosen a song that I'll be performing in my show.  I want to know how to avoid running out of breath.  We have just ten minutes each.   I only get halfway through the song, but the problem is quickly identified - I'm losing air through my nose.  There is a fix for this, and this particular point has become a theme for me
throughout the week.  So now I know what to practise to take me to the next level.

It also occurs to me that I now have a menu of vocal "colours", which I could use either in singing or speech.  I start to think about how I could incorporate some of this vocal variety.

On Friday afternoon we visit a medical clinic where an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist conducts our videolaryngoscopic examinations.  First, anaesthetic is sprayed into the larger nostril.  After about ten minutes, a camera on a flexible tube is pushed through the nostril, through the back palate into the throat.  Now you can see your own larynx and watch how it responds to various movements and sounds.  We will each receive a video to review at home.

I feel a bit anxious about this test, but I want to take the opportunity to see inside my throat.  Since having pneumonia a few years ago, I've been wondering how much damage was caused by the violent and uncontrollable coughing.  How scratched and scarred is it?

When the endoscope is inserted it doesn't exactly hurt, but it feels a bit uncomfortable.  I try not to think about what's happening.  When I open my eyes I'm seeing live footage of my soft palate as it opens and shuts.  Then the camera swings around and dives deep into my throat.  I can feel it tickling, making me want to swallow.  It's hard to move my head but I just try to keep breathing as I repeat the words and sounds I'm told to produce.  And now, there in front of me is my "instrument".  Taking pride of place in the centre of the screen are my vocal folds, plump and white.  They open and close neatly on command.  There is nothing wrong with them.

All my vocal equipment is in perfect working order.

Surfing the airwaves

One Thursday night I go to The Promethean to hear a local Big Band.  This group is very popular, and plays at this venue each month, but until now I haven't managed to get there.

This month I'm making the effort because they have a special guest - the brother of guitarist Mike, who is based in Japan and plays sax and a variety of other instruments.  A week earlier I managed to get to the show where the two of them played together.

I arrive a bit late for the Big Band show.  People are standing at the back, gathered around the bar.  I scan the room, searching for a place to sit.  I notice a spare seat, and I ask the guy alongside if it's free; he tells me it is.  This afternoon I've had the photo shoot for my Cabaret Fringe show.  I'm still in full makeup, big hair and massive false eyelashes - I must look like a drag queen.  I get talking to the guy alongside me.  John hosts a community radio show about Big Band and Swing music.  It turns out that all the guys in this row have their own jazz radio shows, and John introduces me to all of them.  John asks if I'd like to come onto his show as a guest, to talk about the influence of Brazilian music on Big Band, and also about my forthcoming show.

Next morning John follows up with an email, offering me a choice of two dates.  I respond straight away, accepting the first one.  He sends me a list of questions to guide our conversation, and asks me to bring some songs which I will introduce.  He would like me to be on air for about an hour.  That's fine - it's community radio, and should be pretty low-key.

But the day before this show, I get a call from a producer at the ABC, our national radio station.  This guy was a lawyer in the UK, and had contacted me in the lead-up to his move, to discuss how he might get a job here.  He has "fallen on his feet", quickly getting a job at the ABC.  He has seen my update on social media reporting that I'll be on the Big Band show.  He'd like me to do an interview with a very well-known local media personality.  This show has a big audience - it's not at all low-key; in fact it's rather high-profile.  He wants to book me for the following evening - so I'll be doing two shows at different stations in one night.

Right.  Two radio programs, at two different stations, including the ABC (the ABC!!!), about an hour apart.

I'm so happy that this is not my first experience of going on radio.  I was interviewed on another community radio show last year, so I have some idea of how to do it.  Without that experience I'd be feeing very anxious and overwhelmed.  But now, I don't feel daunted - just excited about the opportunity.

I've prepared thoroughly for the Big Band show.  All my CDs are labelled and organized in sequence.  I've made notes of how I will introduce each track, and reviewed the talking points.

I arrive at the radio station in a sparkly evening dress - this is a tip I've been given, to dress in costume to give the announcer something to react to.  John sets me at my ease in the studio and the interview goes quite smoothly.  In fact, it is very enjoyable - not stressful at all.

Leaving John's studio I jump into my car and head straight for ABC headquarters.  This time I have no idea what to expect.  I wait with the other guests, then suddenly it's my turn.  I shimmy into the studio in my sparkly dress.  When I greet the announcer it's like meeting the Wizard of Oz.  I  take my seat at the microphone.

First he asks me about my business.  Great!  Free publicity!  But that's not what I'm there to discuss. "Let's talk about cabaret!" I cajole.  Undeterred, he starts asking me about a big criminal law case that is in the news at the moment.  I say that I haven't had much experience in criminal law.  Thousands of people are listening to this.  I certainly don't want to be drawn into this discussion and run out of time to talk about my show.  I point out that on the way to the studio I jumped into a phone box and swapped my business suit for a sparkly evening dress - and it was really very hard to find a phone box.   This draws a chuckle from him.  Finally I get the message across that I have a show in the June Cabaret Fringe, and manage to spit out the name of the show just as he signs off and plays a song to end my segment.

Feeling very hyped-up, I finish my evening with a visit to La Boheme, where a local jazz band is in full flight.  The loud, edgy music, a glass of wine and a chat with a musician friend all help to calm me down and prevent me from replaying the two interviews in my head.

Painting with light

I manage to book a photo session with a photographer I've used before.  Ben took some business photos of me a couple of years ago, and he also does creative photography.  He's keen to help me with an artistic shot for my cabaret poster.

The show is "Unbreak My Heart" - about my recent adventure with heart surgery.  I suggest that we "photoshop" a heart onto a picture of me.  Ben has another idea, which doesn't involve photoshopping at all.  I will "paint" a heart with light, with long-exposure photography.

I arrive at the studio in the early afternoon.  Krissy is cleaning her makeup brushes in preparation for my session.  She asks me if I like makeup.  I tell her I like makeup a lot.  In fact, I like a lot of makeup.  I think we are going to get along just fine.  She starts with the eyes, applying dark eyeshadow and adding lots of individual false eyelashes.  This takes quite a long time.  Then she fills an airbrush gadget with foundation and sprays my face, and finishes with some extremely red lipstick.  It's very heavy makeup, but I know that this is usually a good thing when having photos taken.  

Hair is next, and Krissy doubles the usual size of mine with lots of back-combing and hairspray.  All good.  I go off and change into my dress and jewellery, then we head into the studio.

My mission is to use a small torch to paint a heart on the left side of my chest.  Ben takes a photo of me, then leaves the shutter open while I play around with the light.  My initial attempts are very poor; the heart is not in the right place and it doesn't even look like a heart.  Ben suggests a different way of drawing the heart, so it will be joined up at the top.  After a few more tries I've learned to do it.  But the image isn't very impressive.  We try a row of hearts.  Better, but not great.  Krissy suggests I draw one heart on my chest and another around my head.  I have a go; I need to learn not to draw the light through my face.  Better again, but the image is still bland.  Ben asks me to project more energy.  I can't work out how to do this while I'm stationary.  Then something tells me to be more expressive.  I'm smiling sweetly, but I've seen other people's cabaret photos, and they often pull exaggerated faces.  I open my mouth and eyes a bit wider.  Yessss!   We've got the poster shot.

Ben invites me to try something else - writing with the light.  He photographs me, then I need to take a step back and use the torch to write something in the air.   I start with my name.  At first I tend to write over where my head is in the shot.  Need to step back a bit more.  The letters don't show up; I need to point the torch towards the camera and write with the other end.  There is stray light in the shot; Krissy covertly brings me the torch after the flash has gone off, so I can start my scribbling.

Finally, I manage to produce a shot of myself holding a microphone, with the word "Bossa" written in the air alongside me.  Not bad at all.  

Ben finishes off with some portrait-style pictures.  We go into the office and preview the photos.  By the time I leave the studio, it's getting dark.  I've been there for four hours.  

I've got the shot for my poster.

Dinner music

We are invited to dinner.  One of the guests is a Brazilian guitarist, a woman.  Our hostess insists that we perform together.

I think I know who this guitarist is.  About two years ago, arriving at the home of guitarist Mike, I was introduced to Eloise, who asked me "Six strings or seven?"  I explained that I wasn't learning guitar; I was a singer.  They played and I sang briefly, then she left.

We get to our friends' home.  I recognize Eloise, but am not sure if she recognizes me.  It's a beautiful balmy night in early autumn, and after introductions we have been made we have some drinks poolside.   I've brought my music books, but she apparently has not been given the same instructions.  She lives next door, and goes home to fetch her guitar.

We start with "The Girl from Ipanema".  I sing in English, she in Portuguese.  Then "Corcovado", "Dreamer", "Wave", "Little Boat" and "Summer Samba".  Eloise switches key effortlessly.  She knows the songs.  This is the music she grew up with.  We explore impromptu harmonies.  She explores my music books.

The music "gels".  It is easy and fun.  We get along well.  She has lived in Australia for many years and speaks flawless English.  We a in a world of our own.

When it's time for dinner we have to break our musical trance.

Eloise's husband says he has my flyer for "Non-stop from Brazil".  The ticketing agency must have sent some of them out before I cancelled the show.  He has already watched Eneias' videos on YouTube.  I tell them the whole sad story of the visa.

I form the view that I could work with Eloise.  I'm registered with a talent agency; I bet they could get us a gig.

Next morning she texts me to ask the names of a couple of the songs in my book.  I reply, asking if she would be interested in performing with me sometime.  She says she'd love to, when her work quietens down a bit.

We agree to make contact in the winter.