If it's not one fiasco, it's another it seems. Traveling to Boston this past week was a bit of a ... we'll call it a learning experience. Growing up in the midwest, I have pretty strong "I can do it myself" sensibilities. I figured that since I can brave public transportation in New York or Chicago by myself, then Boston would be a piece of cake, right? Well ... not exactly.
I arrived in Boston early Thursday morning and had about 12 hours to kill before my audition. Trying to be as frugal as possible, I bought my handy dandy Charlie Card, armed myself with my HopStop app and headed out into the world. My hotel was a bit north of downtown, but HopStop assured me I could get there on my own. I take the train to the indicated station and find the bus stop. I have to switch buses a couple of times to get to my hotel, but that's no big deal right?
What. have. I. done. Well, either I'm not tall enough for bus drivers to see me, or I look like someone they should pass by for sport because the first two buses I was to catch simply drove by without thinking about acknowledging my presence. No worries ~ HopStop to the rescue! It tells me to get another bus. He stops! And then he doesn't let me out at the right stop so I have to walk 2 blocks to catch my next bus in 10 minutes, which coincidentally takes me past a local fire station. I'm clearly out of place ~ carrying my overnight bag. *Look at the cute little white girl running through the street with her scarf and skinny jeans, carrying a pink bag.*
I run as three {that's right} more buses pass me by as I'm trying to catch them. All to the amusement of the firemen across the street. I don't even know where I am and I'm in *godknowswhereBoston* sure that someone is going to stab me because my mother has made me a paranoid adult. I'm exhausted. I've been trying to catch buses for over an hour at this point and I've been up since 4:30 am. Finally I wave the white flag of defeat and find a cab parked nearby {thank you, gods}. He takes me to my hotel in mere minutes where I promptly book a rental car.
Now I really want to explore Boston, but I'm super tired. And on the verge of a meltdown. So I opt to stay in my hotel room and find inner peace. Only to find a giant knot that's growing on the back of my trick hip {the one that popped out of place when I was 16 during dance, and now doesn't want to move at the beginning of every day}. *le sigh* Oh well. Getting ready for my audition, I'm on the verge of tears. I don't want to do this. *pullyourselftogetherstacy* *youareagrownup*
Thankfully, navigating Boston via car isn't as terrifying as it could have been ~ Bostoners are super friendly and don't want to kill you like New York drivers. The harbor is *gorgeous* and I find my audition location without incident. So I warm up and wait because I am, of course, ridiculously early.
The audition is wonderful. Really wonderful. I sing really well. I'm engaged. When I finish my second aria, the pianist and auditioner {who is so fabulous, I can't even begin to talk about it} giggles and says "that was fun!" Take that, universe!
The universe chuckles menacingly. When I get back to my hotel, the lobby is filled with high school students who are also staying in my hotel. I actually say "you've got to be kidding me" as I walk through the lobby in amazement. I fill the bucket in my room with ice, take some melatonin and crawl into bed feeling great about the only really important part of my day, and wondering how painful walking will be in the morning.
Ah, morning. Some of my karma seems to have turned around, but not all of it. I get a cab to the airport after returning my rental car, and it's cash only. Lucky for me the sweetest cab driver on the planet is driving and when I tell him I only have $10 cash for a $13 fare {blasted toll bridges took all of my cash!} he says "no problem, I'll do it for $10." I buy overpriced Aleve at the airport giftshop because of the pain. So much pain. My god why is my body falling apart? And then ... every. baby. in. Boston. is waiting to board my plane. Seriously, I've never seen so many babies on one plane before. Amazing. Just take me home.
So I guess we've learned a couple of lessons here. First ~ when it comes to public transportation trains and subways are a win. Avoid buses at all costs. Second ~ sometimes terrible trips make for great auditions. And flawless trips make for pretty boring blogs.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
sabotage
You know those days when you wake up and you *know* it's going to be a great day? It's audition day and all of the stars have aligned in your favor. You feel good. You look great. You're not the least bit bothered by being violated by the government as you pass through airport security. Not even one flight was delayed. Even the flight attendant says "have a great day, hollywood" as you you deboard the plane.You land in a new city, hop in your rental car {which you scored for a mere $15} and think "I like this place!" You've found the perfect souvenir {I collect things from audition locations} in perhaps the most beautiful shopping "mall" you've ever seen in your life. It's going to be a great day!
You arrive at the audition location appropriately early, because that's how you roll. You warm up. Ahhh, the gods of singing have blessed you. Everything is in line and you sound great {if you do say so yourself}. You wait. They're running behind, but you don't mind. They're only hearing one aria, and you've already chosen which one to sing. The aria that always works. The one that everyone loves. It's your *thisistheariaIpulloutofmybackpocketbecauseIsingitwellevenwhenI'mnotsingingwell* aria.
When it's finally time, you walk into the room. The people you're singing for are friendly {thank you, gods!}. The music director says he loves the aria you're singing. You're wearing his favorite shade of blue. And he looks at your resume and says "what a great name!" *Yes* ... And then it happens. The pianist begins to play and it's clear that she's never seen the aria you're singing before in her life.
Now let me clarify - it's not like I'm singing some obscure piece of 20th century, atonal music that no one ever sings. And it's certainly not Stravinsky or some giant Straussian aria that audition pianists fear. It's "Steal Me, Sweet Thief." One of *the* most performed English arias for light lyric/lyric sopranos. We sing it all the time.
She really wants to play slowly so she can get *all* the notes. {why do audition pianists do this? don't they realize that this moment is not about how well they play?} No big deal, you think. Just stay with me and everything will be fine. Not to worry. Just keep up with me. But she doesn't. In fact, the more you try to push the tempo forward, the slower she insists on playing. So you have to take all of your emergency breaths ~ the ones you *never* take. And when you get to the glorious B in the middle of the aria she keeps slowing down until ... *motherfucker*
That didn't just happen. You did *not* make me breathe in the middle of a word. Never in my life have I ever had to breathe in the middle of a word in an audition. If I can't finish the aria well, I don't sing it in an audition. *whatjusthappenedwithmylife*
So you finish the aria. They thank you for singing and apologize that they're only hearing one aria today because they're running behind. You smile, say "of course. thank you for hearing me," and retrieve your binder from the pianist {who you wish you could kill with your laser-like vision, but instead you smile politely and again say "thank you."} But it's not over yet. There's a hole in the stage where your heel promptly becomes wedged and comes completely off of your foot. Mother.of.God. You retrieve your heel, laugh nervously and say "wow, there's a hole in the stage... hehe..." getmeoutofhere. And you can't slink out of the room fast enough.
Suddenly all of my mojo is gone. The line to return my rental car is miles long and I need to get back to the airport to catch a quick flight. Only to get there and find out it's delayed. And we won't even talk about the flock of giant basketball players who are on the last leg of my flight, sitting right next to me ... who start a fight with the guy in front of me. And continue to use their cell phones for the duration of the flight. Oh this plane is going to crash, I just know it. Sweetbabyjesusinamanger where did my fabulous day go?
So this leads to the question ... what can you do, if you can do anything, to recover from audition issues stemming from the accompanist they've selected for the audition? Is there, in fact, *anything* you can do without making yourself look like a total diva or excuse monger? Anyone?
You arrive at the audition location appropriately early, because that's how you roll. You warm up. Ahhh, the gods of singing have blessed you. Everything is in line and you sound great {if you do say so yourself}. You wait. They're running behind, but you don't mind. They're only hearing one aria, and you've already chosen which one to sing. The aria that always works. The one that everyone loves. It's your *thisistheariaIpulloutofmybackpocketbecauseIsingitwellevenwhenI'mnotsingingwell* aria.
When it's finally time, you walk into the room. The people you're singing for are friendly {thank you, gods!}. The music director says he loves the aria you're singing. You're wearing his favorite shade of blue. And he looks at your resume and says "what a great name!" *Yes* ... And then it happens. The pianist begins to play and it's clear that she's never seen the aria you're singing before in her life.
Now let me clarify - it's not like I'm singing some obscure piece of 20th century, atonal music that no one ever sings. And it's certainly not Stravinsky or some giant Straussian aria that audition pianists fear. It's "Steal Me, Sweet Thief." One of *the* most performed English arias for light lyric/lyric sopranos. We sing it all the time.
She really wants to play slowly so she can get *all* the notes. {why do audition pianists do this? don't they realize that this moment is not about how well they play?} No big deal, you think. Just stay with me and everything will be fine. Not to worry. Just keep up with me. But she doesn't. In fact, the more you try to push the tempo forward, the slower she insists on playing. So you have to take all of your emergency breaths ~ the ones you *never* take. And when you get to the glorious B in the middle of the aria she keeps slowing down until ... *motherfucker*
That didn't just happen. You did *not* make me breathe in the middle of a word. Never in my life have I ever had to breathe in the middle of a word in an audition. If I can't finish the aria well, I don't sing it in an audition. *whatjusthappenedwithmylife*
So you finish the aria. They thank you for singing and apologize that they're only hearing one aria today because they're running behind. You smile, say "of course. thank you for hearing me," and retrieve your binder from the pianist {who you wish you could kill with your laser-like vision, but instead you smile politely and again say "thank you."} But it's not over yet. There's a hole in the stage where your heel promptly becomes wedged and comes completely off of your foot. Mother.of.God. You retrieve your heel, laugh nervously and say "wow, there's a hole in the stage... hehe..." getmeoutofhere. And you can't slink out of the room fast enough.
Suddenly all of my mojo is gone. The line to return my rental car is miles long and I need to get back to the airport to catch a quick flight. Only to get there and find out it's delayed. And we won't even talk about the flock of giant basketball players who are on the last leg of my flight, sitting right next to me ... who start a fight with the guy in front of me. And continue to use their cell phones for the duration of the flight. Oh this plane is going to crash, I just know it. Sweetbabyjesusinamanger where did my fabulous day go?
So this leads to the question ... what can you do, if you can do anything, to recover from audition issues stemming from the accompanist they've selected for the audition? Is there, in fact, *anything* you can do without making yourself look like a total diva or excuse monger? Anyone?
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