never a dull moment

I thought I would give you a little window into the world of an accompanist.

We joke a lot, my colleagues and I, about the things we hear from singers.  If I only had a nickel for every time I have heard the following:

"Sorry I didn't get you the music, but it's not very hard."
"My acid-reflux is really acting up."
"I have all this post-nasal drip."
"I think it's my allergies."
"Yeah, it's just all this mucus."
"Sorry, I'm just not very good at rhythm."
"My voice is just tired today."
"My chords are a little swollen."
"I'm on vocal rest."

It was the last one that found it's way to my ears this morning, just before our 7:30AM call time this morning as we headed out to Annapolis for our final performance of "Ariel's Tempest."

One of our singers, who is gearing up to give her senior recital on Tuesday, was feeling vocally tired. She informed me this morning that her teacher had placed her on vocal rest yesterday and that she needed to "sing as little as possible" in today's performance.  And I understand her quandary.  She needs to be healthy for her recital.  She doesn't want to risk further injury.  The "Tempest" music is not really easy on the voice.  And 10:30AM is not prime time for any kind of vocal performance.

So, therefore, she needs to sing less.  Translation: she needs to make cuts from her part.

Enter: the music director.

That, apparently, is: yours truly.

And so it begins.  Each performance has its issues...people singing wrong notes, rhythms, entering too soon, not entering soon enough....issues of balance - is the piano too loud for the singers to be heard by the audience? Is the piano loud enough for the singers to hear it? Can I hear the singers if I play loud enough for them to hear?

These are a few of the things that go through my mind as I play. My job is to make them sound good - cover up any mistakes....speed up the tempo if they're running out of breath....play their part with them if they're going a little flat.  They have a lot to think about: words, music, technique, acting, staging, props, etc. - so they need to know that I'm there to support them musically.

But today was a new one.

I spent the 30 min. van ride talking through potential cuts with the members of the cast.  Cutting singing means cutting staging as well. So if we cut out a page of music, then someone that was on stage left might not have had the time to make it to stage right and get their prop for their next line.    If we cut out a page of music, we might be missing an essential part to the plot - and leave the audience confused.   If we cut out a page of music, the other people on stage might be confused and start singing the wrong part.   If we cut out a page of music, we might have an interesting time getting from one key to another.

Lots to consider. Everything is interconnected and interdependent.

But somehow, it worked.  Somehow, the transitions flowed, people remembered what we were leaving out, props ended up on the right part of the stage.

And fortunately, the composer, who was in the audience today, was gracious.

And I think the kids liked it too.

Afterwards, the kids often flock to the "Ariel" character - she's got the coolest costume, by far. They want to meet her and take a picture with her.  She's sort of the equivalent of a princess at Disneyland.

But today, for the first time, someone wanted to meet the pianist.

A very precocious 9-year-old Katie walked right up to me and asked, "Do you have any advice for an aspiring pianist?"

I'm not sure what I said.  Something about keep practicing, play with other people, experiment with making up your own things.

But as I reflect on that question now, I think back on my nine-year-old self.  Who would have thought that I would be music directing an opera?   Who would have thought that some day I'd be rehearsing scene-cuts 2 hours before the curtain opens?  Who would have thought that I'd even have the authority to make those cuts?!

So Katie: wherever you are, keep practicing.  Keep loving that "Moonlight Sonata."  Be ready for anything. Expect the unexpected.  Keep aspiring.

And I hope that you are pleasantly surprised when you turn around someday and see where you ended up.