This week is brought to you by Adele's "One and Only." Absolutely.
(If you listened and read, not even carefully, you'd see it.
Maybe just place me in a humidor, and I'll move right up the list.)
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Motherfucker.
Oh fuck, mother fucker, shit shit shit, balls.
I just looked at the AEA site. There is this one day with perfect, perfect breakdowns for me.
It's in May, pre-surgery. Me = so frustrated. I want so much to be able to walk in and know I can kill it in 3 octaves--especially when I know the people behind the table have heard me better. This whole confidence/ability change is making me craaazy.
If only resumes could advertise a new, improved version to come in the Summer 2011 model.
Blah.
Badass and I talked yesterday about how important (or unimportant) it really is to sing your best. On one hand, he talked about a singer disruptively awful enough to derail a show. And on the other hand, we've both fallen victim to 'singing too much' and have both benefited from placing more emphasis on acting. But here's my problem--I know that I should be able to act my heart out and not over-sing while still singing circles around enough people to get the job. When I don't have that extra singing punch that I feel so blessed to have, aren't I just another well balanced singer/actor? No. I know I'm more than that. But I feel like I'm missing my edge.
And while I'm confessing, honestly, as an audience member, I do have a big issue with people who can't sing their parts--because I know there are great, great singers out there you can send to acting school, and then nobody has to suffer. : )
And the weirdest part of all? I'm obviously excited enough about these Chicago auditions to be writing this... Life is funny sometimes...
I just looked at the AEA site. There is this one day with perfect, perfect breakdowns for me.
It's in May, pre-surgery. Me = so frustrated. I want so much to be able to walk in and know I can kill it in 3 octaves--especially when I know the people behind the table have heard me better. This whole confidence/ability change is making me craaazy.
If only resumes could advertise a new, improved version to come in the Summer 2011 model.
Blah.
Badass and I talked yesterday about how important (or unimportant) it really is to sing your best. On one hand, he talked about a singer disruptively awful enough to derail a show. And on the other hand, we've both fallen victim to 'singing too much' and have both benefited from placing more emphasis on acting. But here's my problem--I know that I should be able to act my heart out and not over-sing while still singing circles around enough people to get the job. When I don't have that extra singing punch that I feel so blessed to have, aren't I just another well balanced singer/actor? No. I know I'm more than that. But I feel like I'm missing my edge.
And while I'm confessing, honestly, as an audience member, I do have a big issue with people who can't sing their parts--because I know there are great, great singers out there you can send to acting school, and then nobody has to suffer. : )
And the weirdest part of all? I'm obviously excited enough about these Chicago auditions to be writing this... Life is funny sometimes...
Friday, April 29, 2011
a quickie.
Some people are like rays of sunshine. I'm thankful I have a few of those in my life these days.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Dreamy...
I think it will become a song once I work on it...
Did you ever have a dream where the grass is always greener, and it's vivid all day long?
So you put it in a song.
Then you place it on a pedestal, imagining it's better than it seems, but it was just a dream.
But you don't care, because you crave the green.
And all day, the same world passes but the flashes are still present, and in them you don't resent it.
The lines fade, so life and dreams are married, and it's perfect since the flutters haven't faded.
The night comes.
You lay your ear to pillow like you're trying to hear the sea shore. Just a child poised and ready to continue the adventure.
But you can't sleep, because you crave the green.
It's sun up, wake up, sit up, look around. Life is as it was. Same bed, same room, the same face next to you. Those same faces, without traces of your yesterday.
And you have to wonder, what it says about your life that you crave the green, green grass.
Are you craving things forbidden or your own supreme adventure? Are you wanting something new? Are you empty, full, or brewing restoration?
The thing about a dream that surpasses your reality is the wondering that follows. You know you want it. You think you can have it, and you hope it doesn't force you right back down.
So good.
Did you ever have a dream where the grass is always greener, and it's vivid all day long?
So you put it in a song.
Then you place it on a pedestal, imagining it's better than it seems, but it was just a dream.
But you don't care, because you crave the green.
And all day, the same world passes but the flashes are still present, and in them you don't resent it.
The lines fade, so life and dreams are married, and it's perfect since the flutters haven't faded.
The night comes.
You lay your ear to pillow like you're trying to hear the sea shore. Just a child poised and ready to continue the adventure.
But you can't sleep, because you crave the green.
It's sun up, wake up, sit up, look around. Life is as it was. Same bed, same room, the same face next to you. Those same faces, without traces of your yesterday.
And you have to wonder, what it says about your life that you crave the green, green grass.
Are you craving things forbidden or your own supreme adventure? Are you wanting something new? Are you empty, full, or brewing restoration?
The thing about a dream that surpasses your reality is the wondering that follows. You know you want it. You think you can have it, and you hope it doesn't force you right back down.
But you almost wouldn't care if you held it but a moment, because it was so green.
So good.
So green.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Body Betrayal part one of ?
Sorry folks. This isn't about Kirstie, though I will fulfill my promise soon.
This is about pain--the good, the bad, and the ones we're too young to have.
There was a time in my life where I could go to school at 7:30am, have 45 minutes of gym at some point in my day, then spend three hours at gymnastics practice. And despite injuries and the soreness of building and stretching muscles, I would get up and do it again the next day--six days a week.
I find myself at 27 complaining in my head (& sometimes aloud) about my aches and pains, and the thoughts sound like the words of my parents and *gulp* grandparents.
I decided this year that if I'm going to hurt despite activity or lack thereof, I may as well push myself to do the things I love. So I've tumbled a bit. And I started dancing again. I've taken one or two dance classes a week for about a month now, and something happened this week. I guess you should know that last Friday, I got a yellow lab to the knee at the dog park. This happens sometimes when you aren't paying attention. And it hurts. Anyway, Saturday afternoon, I got to dance class and found out it was Charleston day (aka torque your knees day). An hour and a half later, I left the studio. It was gorgeous outside, and I took a moment to take stock. The sun was shining, the breeze smelled like Spring and city, I was sweaty, and my knee ached. But I smiled. That freshly worked feeling blended with the beautiful moment, and the aches became but a pea under the mattress (I'm no princess). For one of the first times in a while, I was having such a good time, the pain was merely a small pain in the butt.
And so I have resolved to continue with this new attitude: Even if it hurts, I will do the things I love--because it hurts more not to do them.
I will push myself as long as the pleasure outweighs the pain.
There is one exception. If any of you reading this sing, you will understand.
Look, I love text and emotion and the swell of a piano underscoring my voice. But really, I love how it feels to sing. I love the deep breath in, the smoothness of the air passing through my throat, the vibrations, hearing the sound pour out effortlessly. That smooth and beautiful feeling drives me through each moment. I mean, that's why it's so much more than talking can be.
So here I am, struggling. I breath in, something scratchy passes through my throat; there's an extra buzzing I can hear in my ears. It's not me. And the effort. Oh the effort. My mind is occupied with all the tricks I can muster to sound as close to me as possible. And instead of sitting back to enjoy the ride, I am pushing a monster truck through the sand. I am navigating a bumpy road trying to just stay on it. And not crash. And you know, it is exhausting... without endurance.
I know, I know. I've bitched about my voice enough. And I promise, I will go get my face fixed, and I will be able to breath and sing as myself once more. And you won't have to hear about it anymore.
It's just been hard for me to fight through it lately. Because this is my gift. I didn't ever have to practice for 3 hours a day. It's just always been a part of me, probably the most reliable, most comfortable part. And instead of the magic of singing outweighing the difficulties, the difficulties have settled within the heart of the joy--that soaring feeling. All the work is weighing down the play of the music.
I've been trying to figure out why I get so down when I don't meet my own standards, and I finally figured it out. It's not that I'm not singing my best. It's that the act of singing has been full of difficulty and lacking pleasure. Singing doesn't feel good, and that is a gross way to feel about my love.
Singing is something I refuse to happily limp home from.
I refuse to ever lose that incomparable feeling.
So... I will warm up and practice and drink and shut up every day, because I need to take care of myself. And I will sing my heart out this weekend. Because it's for my friend. And singing for him will outweigh the sandpaper. I'm sure it will. And I will keep auditioning. Because I have to. But once this weekend passes, I will do myself the biggest favor and manifest another destiny. I will make the phone calls, and I will place the words "sinus fixing day" in my calendar. And then I will feel like myself again. And then I'll be unstoppable.
This is about pain--the good, the bad, and the ones we're too young to have.
There was a time in my life where I could go to school at 7:30am, have 45 minutes of gym at some point in my day, then spend three hours at gymnastics practice. And despite injuries and the soreness of building and stretching muscles, I would get up and do it again the next day--six days a week.
I find myself at 27 complaining in my head (& sometimes aloud) about my aches and pains, and the thoughts sound like the words of my parents and *gulp* grandparents.
I decided this year that if I'm going to hurt despite activity or lack thereof, I may as well push myself to do the things I love. So I've tumbled a bit. And I started dancing again. I've taken one or two dance classes a week for about a month now, and something happened this week. I guess you should know that last Friday, I got a yellow lab to the knee at the dog park. This happens sometimes when you aren't paying attention. And it hurts. Anyway, Saturday afternoon, I got to dance class and found out it was Charleston day (aka torque your knees day). An hour and a half later, I left the studio. It was gorgeous outside, and I took a moment to take stock. The sun was shining, the breeze smelled like Spring and city, I was sweaty, and my knee ached. But I smiled. That freshly worked feeling blended with the beautiful moment, and the aches became but a pea under the mattress (I'm no princess). For one of the first times in a while, I was having such a good time, the pain was merely a small pain in the butt.
And so I have resolved to continue with this new attitude: Even if it hurts, I will do the things I love--because it hurts more not to do them.
I will push myself as long as the pleasure outweighs the pain.
There is one exception. If any of you reading this sing, you will understand.
Look, I love text and emotion and the swell of a piano underscoring my voice. But really, I love how it feels to sing. I love the deep breath in, the smoothness of the air passing through my throat, the vibrations, hearing the sound pour out effortlessly. That smooth and beautiful feeling drives me through each moment. I mean, that's why it's so much more than talking can be.
So here I am, struggling. I breath in, something scratchy passes through my throat; there's an extra buzzing I can hear in my ears. It's not me. And the effort. Oh the effort. My mind is occupied with all the tricks I can muster to sound as close to me as possible. And instead of sitting back to enjoy the ride, I am pushing a monster truck through the sand. I am navigating a bumpy road trying to just stay on it. And not crash. And you know, it is exhausting... without endurance.
I know, I know. I've bitched about my voice enough. And I promise, I will go get my face fixed, and I will be able to breath and sing as myself once more. And you won't have to hear about it anymore.
It's just been hard for me to fight through it lately. Because this is my gift. I didn't ever have to practice for 3 hours a day. It's just always been a part of me, probably the most reliable, most comfortable part. And instead of the magic of singing outweighing the difficulties, the difficulties have settled within the heart of the joy--that soaring feeling. All the work is weighing down the play of the music.
I've been trying to figure out why I get so down when I don't meet my own standards, and I finally figured it out. It's not that I'm not singing my best. It's that the act of singing has been full of difficulty and lacking pleasure. Singing doesn't feel good, and that is a gross way to feel about my love.
Singing is something I refuse to happily limp home from.
I refuse to ever lose that incomparable feeling.
So... I will warm up and practice and drink and shut up every day, because I need to take care of myself. And I will sing my heart out this weekend. Because it's for my friend. And singing for him will outweigh the sandpaper. I'm sure it will. And I will keep auditioning. Because I have to. But once this weekend passes, I will do myself the biggest favor and manifest another destiny. I will make the phone calls, and I will place the words "sinus fixing day" in my calendar. And then I will feel like myself again. And then I'll be unstoppable.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Our house has no dining room furniture because my parents each came with a piano.
This is just a quickie, but I wanted to put it here...
Reason I love my parents # 816:
Allie: I'm singing in a benefit for M.
Mom & Dad: Of course we'll be there. We love you, we love M, and we hate C*nc*r.
Allie: Oh hey Mom, since you'll be there, want to accompany me?
Mom: Sure. Sounds great.
A few days later...
Mom: Don't panic, but I'm playing a show, and I have a performance the day I was supposed to play for you.
Allie: No problem...
Dad, since you'll be there, want to accompany me?
Dad: Sure. Sounds great.
Who else could tell this story? I'm a lucky girl to be in such good accompany. (sorry)
Reason I love my parents # 816:
Allie: I'm singing in a benefit for M.
Mom & Dad: Of course we'll be there. We love you, we love M, and we hate C*nc*r.
Allie: Oh hey Mom, since you'll be there, want to accompany me?
Mom: Sure. Sounds great.
A few days later...
Mom: Don't panic, but I'm playing a show, and I have a performance the day I was supposed to play for you.
Allie: No problem...
Dad, since you'll be there, want to accompany me?
Dad: Sure. Sounds great.
Who else could tell this story? I'm a lucky girl to be in such good accompany. (sorry)
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