Auch kleine Dinge

"...for time's flight is stealing my youth"

As a young soprano, I was told that by the time I was 27 my voice would be settled and that the opera world wouldn't have interest in someone much older than 30.

Competitions like the Met Opera's National Council Auditions seem to reinforce that, with the cut off age set at 31.

Next week I'll be 33 and I certainly haven't made it in any conventional context. And I feel like I've been lied to.

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It started snowing about an hour after we arrived at the music building. At first it was just a light dusting, but the flakes steadily got larger and after 2 hours had begun to stick.

As we randomly drew our singing order, I was relieved to see "D" scrawled confidently on my paper. I would sing last.

The competition got underway. Occasionally gusts of wind would blow through the doors and with the adrenaline pumping through my body, I began to shiver.

The two other sopranos sounded very similar. Big voices with flexibility and range. Healthy vibrato and consistent placement. Big repertoire.

At least that's how it sounded through the doors.

I knew I'd have to play up the different colors in my voice if I wanted to stand out. I'd been nervous about the altitude change and how it would affect my breathing. The night before I'd woken myself up, needing to take deep breaths.

I had opted not to run through any of Rejoice during our 15 minutes in the hall. It's my Moby Dick. I typically do all the runs in one breath and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do that with less oxygen in the atmosphere. I was also almost positive the judges would ask to hear it.

There had been a consensus among the people who had heard my repertoire, that the judges should hear me sing Steal Me. So I began with the aria, trying to be comedic in the first half and devastating in the second. Breath didn't seem to be too much of an issue, until I came off the big moments and felt my fingertips tingling.

They had been taking a long time to pick repertoire for the other contestants, but it felt like I blinked and they were asking for Fleur, a 180 degree turn from the Menotti. This piece offers the chance to shimmer and float, two things that I can do pretty well, but I think nerves, more than altitude dulled my finesse.

And then they asked for Rejoice. In our rehearsals, my accompanist introduced me to a faster tempo than I had been singing. It quickly became comfortable and as we started that afternoon, my breath released and became energized and it felt so good to leave behind all the trappings of Fleur.

I made all the runs in one breath.
Two days later, my obliques hummed with fatigue every time I used them.

By the time they asked for a rather obscure Wolf lied, Mein Liebster ist so klein, I was relaxed and having fun.

We came out of the hall and the snow was still coming down. I felt good and without regret.

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I didn't advance to the next round.
I wasn't named alternate either.

I did get some helpful, honest feedback.

Most surprising were:
"Big beautiful sound" "Impressive size to your instrument" "beautiful big voice"

Along with:
"occasional flatting" "your pitch sags at times" "be careful to stay on top of the pitch"

It appears my children have not only graced me with a few wrinkles, but also with a different, bigger instrument. And it appears that I do not yet have full mastery over this new voice.

There's one piece of the puzzle missing and I'm excited to fill in that gap. It will be the "click" that's heard 'round the world.

I've sung quite a bit since having children, but this is the first big thing that I've had some consistency in preparations.

Things that I will replicate in the future:
1. Showing up. You can't win something if you don't enter. Yes, I was disappointed that I didn't advance, but at least I tried. I pledge to try more often and not be afraid to disappoint.
2. Taking care of myself, which includes: As much sleep as possible. Lots of water. Minimal coffee. No alcohol the week before. Regular exercise. I also used Zicam more regularly than I ever have before and I managed to avoid the colds that both the girls had.
3. Learning my music early and performing it several times, months in advance. I knew that I needed the pressure of recitals to get my music on its feet. Thankfully I was able to find 2 venues in which to give recitals, about a month apart. As a result I was extremely comfortable with all my repertoire.
4. Asking for help. My colleagues were so generous with their time, knowledge, and experience. I'm truly lucky to have such supportive colleagues.

Things to change:
1. Seek input when selecting repertoire.
2. Being more regular with coachings and practice. There's no more time or room for anything right now, so I know there will be sacrifices. I think I'll start by cutting back on time spent cleaning the house…

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As for those people who told me I'd peak in my late 20s? I'm frustrated that I listened to them. That I thought choosing to be a mom meant I'd lose my prime singing years.

I'm singing better now, than I ever have before. I'm also not convinced that my voice is set just yet.

And while I haven't achieved operatic fame, I'm making it in my own way. Each performance, competition, rehearsal, lesson grows me. Little steps, one at a time, that will lead me to something wonderful.

Auch kleine Dinge können uns entzücken, auch kleine Dinge können teuer sein.

Bedenkt, wie gern wir uns mit Perlen schmücken, sie werden schwer behalt und sind nur klein.

Bedenkt, wie klein ist die Olivenfrucht, und wird um ihre Güte doch gesucht.

Denkt an die Rose nur, wie klein sie ist, und duftet doch so lieblich, wie ihr wißt.