![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sometimes listening to recordings of myself makes me think I should never try to play music in front of people ever again. AUGH
I had to put together some sort of splicey Frankenstein performance of Rain for Ran's Performance Seminar this afternoon, and the only recording I had that had all the arrangement changes was the one from Tuesday night. On which occasion I was the MOST NERVOUS I HAVE EVER BEEN. So last night I stayed up till an inadvisable hour trying to make it into a presentable piece of... something. Forcing myself to listen to my "NERVES AAAHHUHHHWAHHH NERVOUS" voice over and over as I put together different takes has given me a perspective on my singing that I didn't really have before. Nervous classical recordings of me just sound like a chipmunk; the technique's still good, the pitch is rarely off, maybe there's a crack or two. Nervous rock recordings of me sound like... Well, BAD. All my technique, which is clearly not as trained as my classical technique (or maybe it's just the register) went OUT THE SKYLIGHT. Not even the window. I wobbled like an 89-year-old church soprano who is also flat half the time because she's going deaf of the syphilis she got from men she slept with after twitching her head at them, which she never stops doing and it makes her musical phrases hiccup in the middles and at the ends.
By the end, after a few stops and starts from the esteemed peer/teacher audience which was making me so nervous, I had settled in, and the last chorus actually sounds really good. Everyone else sounds beautiful; Leah came up with interesting melodic harmony, the strings create their glistening sheen over the top of the unexpected harmony, the drums developed some fantastic orchestrational ideas after a few suggestions from Anthony, and Simon did something new and breathtaking with every repeat, and his solo (which he had to do 3 times) was more fantastic every time. But I'm nearly on my own at the beginning. And there's only one take of the beginning. And it's 89 years old.
Luckily, after all this worrying, we didn't get to me today in Ran's class, so it's likely that no one but me has heard this recording (although I did email it to him and the TAs, and both of the TAs are singers and one of them is... Leah). Whatever comes of other people hearing it, though, I have learned that I cannot afford to succumb to those kind of nerves when singing songs in that style and register. Oh it is so bad. So bad. And don't tell me I'm being extra hard on myself, it can't be that bad, trust me, I know what I am capable of. AND IT IS THAT BAD. At least, the beginning is. To be sure, I've waited 24 hours and listened to it again, and it's just as horrifying.
To make up for it in a weird way I want to write something else now about how awesome I am, because sometimes I am awesome. In a lot of ways that I find particular people fail to notice.
I also have the poem for Susan's wedding revised and ready to write music for. Hankus was thrilled about the project yesterday when I told him in my lesson. Also, he wanted me to play Rain again just me and piano, since now it's arranged and he "won't have the chance often again".
Dominique's lesson was encouragingly musically active; I have vocal exercises to do! Like I'm a vocalist or something. Because all the exercises we learn as classical musicians are geared toward classical music, we're making some up that will be helpful for improvisation in not-so-classical idioms. Man, diminished-scale exercises are awesome. And hard, so far.
I had to put together some sort of splicey Frankenstein performance of Rain for Ran's Performance Seminar this afternoon, and the only recording I had that had all the arrangement changes was the one from Tuesday night. On which occasion I was the MOST NERVOUS I HAVE EVER BEEN. So last night I stayed up till an inadvisable hour trying to make it into a presentable piece of... something. Forcing myself to listen to my "NERVES AAAHHUHHHWAHHH NERVOUS" voice over and over as I put together different takes has given me a perspective on my singing that I didn't really have before. Nervous classical recordings of me just sound like a chipmunk; the technique's still good, the pitch is rarely off, maybe there's a crack or two. Nervous rock recordings of me sound like... Well, BAD. All my technique, which is clearly not as trained as my classical technique (or maybe it's just the register) went OUT THE SKYLIGHT. Not even the window. I wobbled like an 89-year-old church soprano who is also flat half the time because she's going deaf of the syphilis she got from men she slept with after twitching her head at them, which she never stops doing and it makes her musical phrases hiccup in the middles and at the ends.
By the end, after a few stops and starts from the esteemed peer/teacher audience which was making me so nervous, I had settled in, and the last chorus actually sounds really good. Everyone else sounds beautiful; Leah came up with interesting melodic harmony, the strings create their glistening sheen over the top of the unexpected harmony, the drums developed some fantastic orchestrational ideas after a few suggestions from Anthony, and Simon did something new and breathtaking with every repeat, and his solo (which he had to do 3 times) was more fantastic every time. But I'm nearly on my own at the beginning. And there's only one take of the beginning. And it's 89 years old.
Luckily, after all this worrying, we didn't get to me today in Ran's class, so it's likely that no one but me has heard this recording (although I did email it to him and the TAs, and both of the TAs are singers and one of them is... Leah). Whatever comes of other people hearing it, though, I have learned that I cannot afford to succumb to those kind of nerves when singing songs in that style and register. Oh it is so bad. So bad. And don't tell me I'm being extra hard on myself, it can't be that bad, trust me, I know what I am capable of. AND IT IS THAT BAD. At least, the beginning is. To be sure, I've waited 24 hours and listened to it again, and it's just as horrifying.
To make up for it in a weird way I want to write something else now about how awesome I am, because sometimes I am awesome. In a lot of ways that I find particular people fail to notice.
I also have the poem for Susan's wedding revised and ready to write music for. Hankus was thrilled about the project yesterday when I told him in my lesson. Also, he wanted me to play Rain again just me and piano, since now it's arranged and he "won't have the chance often again".
Dominique's lesson was encouragingly musically active; I have vocal exercises to do! Like I'm a vocalist or something. Because all the exercises we learn as classical musicians are geared toward classical music, we're making some up that will be helpful for improvisation in not-so-classical idioms. Man, diminished-scale exercises are awesome. And hard, so far.