“You have to live singing, eat singing, drink singing, sleep singing, breathe singing. If you don’t feel that way about singing, then find another career.” Oren Brown spoke these words, or words to that effect, at a singing seminar in Amherst, Mass. when I was still under 25 years old.
“Boy,” I thought, “there’s more to me than singing, for heaven’s sake.” I couldn’t identify with the person Mr. Brown was speaking about. I was just about to leave college and there was a great big exciting world out there. Sure, singing was the only thing I wanted to do. But I wanted to do a lot of other things, too. Doesn’t everyone?
Well, I moved to New York and set out to pursue my career in opera. Among the many obstacles I encountered, I became aware of one problem in particular: I wasn’t very good. I had a gift, certainly—but when I listened to myself on tape, I didn’t sound at all like the singers on recordings.
As young singers, we’re all told by our teachers to be patient, that the voice will mature. I really took that to heart. So, while I took lessons and waited, I lived. I fell in and out of love, found and lost jobs, moved from apartment to apartment, and auditioned for theater. Meanwhile my voice was not acquiring a professional sound.
The years dragged on and my life was looking less and less promising. Toward the end of my twenties everything looked pretty abysmal. By now I was taking anti-depressants and seriously considering killing myself. Somehow or other, (actually, I know exactly how, but that’s not important now) I decided life might be worth living if I could just make myself comfortable. I went back to school and learned to be a computer expert.
When I decided to make myself comfortable, I abandoned singing. People I met during that time of my life didn’t know I had a music degree. Music and I didn’t mix, so either music had to go, or I had to go. I chose music.
This stunt worked for quite a while. I convinced myself that I could be content making money and having a good job. All my friends were happy and that’s what they did.
In time I had so much confidence and success that I fell in love for good. My goal of being comfortable was attainable and I had met it.
My partner and I moved to California where we lived very nicely. My annual income was more than $100,000 a year.
But here’s the thing. I was one of those people Oren Brown had talked about—I just didn’t know it.
Every day, when I woke up, I would silently scream, “No! Not another day.” My non-working life was great. But the 40-plus hours I spent at work every week were torture. It wasn’t just the job—I changed jobs often. I, reluctantly, was born a singer.
It was time to decide. Either I would live the rest of my life in psychic misery, or I would do something about my situation.
Four years ago, at the age of 39, I decided to learn how to sing with a professional sound. There’s no other choice for me. Not infrequently, I’m met with kind reminders that I’m very old to be embarking on a singing career. It saddens me, of course. But what are my options?
As it happens, I know my options. They are: 1) Don’t sing and be guaranteed a miserable life until the day I die; or 2) Try with all my might to sing and still possibly be miserable until the day I die, but possibly, just possibly, be a singer and find happiness.
Now, I think about singing all day and night, just as Oren Brown said a singer does. It can’t be that all singers are that way. But I can’t fight it any longer. I am.
Allen Riberdy is now living in Los Angels after having lived in New York for many years. He has been reassembling his voice and will soon begin his re-entry into opera. He can be reached at allenvr@earthlink.net
