This year marks my daughter’s entrance—all of her own doing—into the world of musical theatre. With her beautiful, strong voice, her dancing ability, and her poise and confidence on stage, she earned the role of one of the children in a local production of The Sound of Music. It is so exciting to see her find a passion, something she looks forward to every day, something she wants to talk about and tell her friends and teachers about, something she cares about enough to practice hard to make it the best it can be.
Our family members all enjoy wonderful opportunities to perform musically or theatrically. My husband plays trumpet in two different bands, rehearsing and performing regularly. I sing in various venues, including opera, oratorio and musical theatre. For my young son’s part, it is clear that he loves music and that he is quite the “drama king.” Last summer he attended a children’s theater camp that he still talks about. In his Cub Scout den, he is leading the boys in enthusiasm in a skit they have mostly written themselves and put together to perform for their fellow Scouts.
I must admit that it can be tricky to have us all involved in different ways with our performing. We confront, of course, the expected logistical issues in getting everyone to where they are supposed to be at the right times and with the right equipment (whether it be the trumpet, scores or scripts, costume pieces, or enough snacks and water). But socially we find ourselves feeling “different” from many of our peers. While they may be out during the afternoon playing soccer, we are out late at night rehearsing. While they may be enviously thick-skinned, we possess the sensitive artistic temperament. While they car-pool to neighboring towns for tournaments, we drive to big cities for lessons and rehearsals.
Nonetheless, watching my little girl work through the process of putting a play together is particularly exciting for me. Not only is she engaged in one of the things that is near and dear to my heart, but also I can see the wonderful learning opportunities that open up to her in pursuing this multifaceted art form. The humor, bonding, and shared experiences of a group of people working together in a stage production are wonderfully fulfilling for people of all ages. The cast works long and hard for hours together, and they build something that they all recognize is larger than anything they could have accomplished on their own. The process of improvement over time is obvious to all those involved, and in the end, the performance is its own reward for a job well done.
Being a part of a production allows you to become intimate with it in a way in which the audience never could in only one or two viewings. You finally get all of the jokes. You begin to understand the higher structure of the work: how the composer and librettist allow characters time to change clothes between scenes, how they use levity to release tension between dark moments, how solos and leads change off with chorus numbers for variety. Perhaps most importantly, you begin to understand how we must support each other to make the whole process work. It is the ultimate team-building exercise. How exciting it is to watch my child unveil the layers of complexity and begin to understand something in depth.
Several months ago, on the recommendation of a friend, I bought a recording that featured a performance by a famous singer with a very recognizable voice. (Symphony No. 3, Op. 36 “Symphony of Sorrowful Songs,” by Henryk Górecki, performed by the London Sinfonietta with Dawn Upshaw, conducted by David Zinman, on the Nonesuch label.)
While losing myself in the beautiful music, I completely forgot who the singer was. The mood she was able to set was perfect for the piece—and not at all the type of thing I was used to hearing her sing. This recording is the perfect illustration of what a performer needs to do. The ability to set a mood, to convey ideas, and to induce emotions in others is the ultimate goal, which can transport both the listener and the performer beyond themselves and into something indescribable.
This is the ultimate irony of performing: To do it well, you must be incredibly self-absorbed. I speak specifically of singing because that is what I know best, but I suspect this applies not only to other musical endeavors, but also to almost anything in which you wish to achieve excellence—you must spend hour upon hour perfecting your own technical ability.
In singing, the instrument is your own body. You become aware of every tense muscle, every breath, every distraction, every internal thought that causes you anxiety and thus affects the voice, and on and on. As you dissect and overcome these problems (read: never) you are working at the level of high art, micro-examining meanings and details so as to transcend them.
Most of these wonderful benefits can be obtained in many different ways. People bond, learn the benefit of hard work, explore things in depth, and contribute to larger goals all the time. For us, these experiences come wrapped in music—and we are all so grateful for the opportunity. We hope our children will enjoy a passion for life, and freedom of expression in whatever media they choose.
Perhaps we can think of music, performing, art—in fact, all endeavors—as supreme individual challenges that ultimately lead to a greater appreciation of group interdependency. The ensemble is truly greater than the sum of its parts.
