Famous Former Boyfriend #3

It's time to take a trip to Eastman; yes, Eastman School of Music.
The year is 1987 and I am on a plane for the first time. --
--My friend, Bill Garvey, who is a follower of a Bill
a Bill of adifferent kind, Billy Graham, is aboard the plane as well. --
--All of that's coincidence, and incidental to the upcoming story,
but nonetheless adds flavor to the narrative-angelical soup.--



--There is nothing angelic in the story I'm about to tell you; though the innocence in the main character, that would be me, will most certainly be a recurring theme.--
--So ride with me, if you will, in seat 12 A, directly next to the window, as we make our way to Rochester, New York, from the tiniest of tenoristic airports; the hub in Charlottesville, Virginia, home to none other than Dave and the Dave Matthews band. One of the premiere tenorial bands of the late twentieth century. --
--The school where I would be heading, was designed for a musical flavor of a different kind. Classical music. Strictly classical music. And this as it turned out, was a great love of mine.
--So I was heading up north to make a run at a musical career. With a brand new suit at hand and a sweet sonorous voice.

A Break from the Boyfriends

I thought it would be nice to have an intermission, of sorts, before proceeding onto......well, of course, famous boyfriend #3.--I never even realized myself that I had quite a collection. The world of narrative precipitates us into awareness, at a certain level, in spite of tendencies toward hyperbole. (All queens have a flare for drama and exaggeration, like it or not).

Having said that, I'll move straight to intermission with, of course, nothing less than more vocal pedagogy. Here is where I am at the moment:

---I. Within the context of a legato line, sound seems to parabolate laterally along the breath--with an emphasis on the word, "parabolate".
II. Bright vowels seem to parabolate backward along the front of the breath (the forward lean); releasing forward along the back.
III. Dark vowels seem to parabolate forward along the back of the breath (the backward lean); releasing backward along the front.
IV. The narrower the vowel, the lower it wants to sit.
V. The "ee", the narrowest of all, likes to parabolate backward along the platform of the hips; releasing forward along the top of the uh.....butt.
VI. The "oo" which is slightly wider, likes to sit, well, slightly higher; moving in the opposite directions.
VII. Of course the wider vowels like to sit in the ribs; still parabolating in both directions along the back and front of the breath, always attaching along the sides.

Just call me TT. Technical tenor. ---These descriptions, I suppose, represent to some degree, the idiosyncracies of my own voice, at this point in its development.

Wasn't this a lovely way to experience intermission; along the breath of a hot-aired TT.

=P

Famous Boyfriend #2--the Spinto

Wes was a sweet fellow.--Just say the line with me: "Wes was a sweet fellow."--You see he could sustain a word just long enough, "sweet", to create a sense of continuity. Anything of the such was all an illusion, really, but he had his Yankee-poodle audiences fooled for nearly decade.

Truly, imagine one of those piercing uppity poodles at your doorstep, annoying the living hell out of you with its relentless screeching, while its owner is enthralled with the clear, continuous ring of its adoring and adorable pet.--That was the experience of hearing Wes. Pure displeasure, for those of us with taste. --The Yankees may have loved him. No true Southerner would thrown roses on the stage.

Don't get me wrong. He was a raging success. Singing for the New York City Opera for nearly a decade, before winning the Cargnegie competition in the mid-1990's. With such a long stint at the Opera, and a successful win with good ol' Dale, he made his way to judge panels with the Met in D.C.--No wonder we have some of these barkers parading across stage as singers at the Met. Oh, well. To each his own.

By the time I met Wes, he was tired of it all really. --A Spinto C would, of course, grow impatient no matter the circumstance of his success. So he retired early, really, at age 39 to become a Baptist minister.

I liked him well, enough, really. And his voice was quite remarkable.--But I suppose even we Southern lyric tenors, yes we too, have a flare for the dramatic. So I left the duet of our romance in the middle of the third stanza, without even the courtesy of a harmonic departure. A permanent rest in the music, without the slightest sign of approaching absence.

Well, I've mellowed out since then. It only makes sense for a queen's lifestyle and presence to be properly aligned with his voice-type.--No?

Famous Boyfriend #2

Oh goodness, now I'm resorting to numbering them off, as if they were notched on my bedroom door; a way of documenting a good month's work for a hunter and fisherman of sorts.-- Surely I could find a catchy title for Wes, the barrel-chested spinto whom I dated for a mere three weeks.--"Stumpy Little Fellow". Yeah, that should do.



Just say that phrase in your head, "Stumpy Little Fellow", and you'll know what it's like to be a Spinto tenor, ugly and jagged.--Wes could not sing a legato line to save his soul. Not even in the midst of a blossoming romance.



Wump. Wump. Humph. Humph. That was the way he walked. At 5 feet 3, no wonder. Dicker. Dicker. Humph. Humph. Always variations. But no legato line; not to save his soles.--He'd wear his shoes out before he'd even try them on; just by looking at them with his squinty Spinto Eyes.


But never mind his walk; or his brassy snarling voice.-- What really took the cake was concept of relationships. After our first date, he popped right down on the bed-ping. The bouncy Spinto proceeded to remove his clothing.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, it's time to shift gears."

"This is not how it's done."

"Oh, really. Well I've had no practice."

"Apparently."

Even our conversations were jagged and jumpy. Staccato style. A Spintogato line.

--No fun for Greg, the seamless lyric--.

Famous Former Boyfriends, End of Part I.

So Doug and I quickly shifted our tapdance from the Interlochen cottage to the dunes of Lake Michigan; travelling there by way of his covertible. arriving at the dunes with windburned faces, tassled hair, and a total sense of freedom.
It was as if we were driving to into a land of fiction, a dream that would last forever. Lake Infinity if you will. A timeless romance, with Greg and Doug as leading characters.
Yet we were boundariless. Each suspended in the other's smiles and laughter. We'd climb the hills with no sense of destiny or desire to reach the top. Allready at the pinnacle, zigzagging giddily from hill to hill.
The sun shone down on the hills creating every hue of gold and yellow imaginable. John Denver wrote a song called Almost Heaven. Here on the hilltops of Lake Michigan, Heaven found a place in our seamless interactions. Warm, golden, and silent.
The summer would soon end, and so would our romance. Months later Doug would write a note to my mother's address, a postcard signed "D". That would end my love for D. At the time I was fiercely closeted.
Two years later Doug became a Broadway Star, and still enjoys an illustrious career today.--In fact he'll be singing with the symphony here, this April. Hmmm.....should I bring him a golden wildflower from the banks of Lake Michigan?

Former Famous Boyfriends, Continued

Doug was a sight to behold. Deep brown eyes. Thick brown wavy hair. Chiseled jaw. A sparkle in his eyes spilling into his presence. Doug was a gem.

But how would I ever meet him, shy boy that I was. a many years younger.

Well, I drummed up the courage, and mosied over to his cottage. He was standing at the doorstep whistling up a tune the way singers often do.

But then there came a pause, and I knew a rest in the music..... woud only build up anticipation.-- What else is silence for in the midst of a budding romance?

So I forwarded the converation, with the style of a true Southerner: "I am fascinated by your tap class. But I simply have no shoes. Do you have an extra pair? Perhaps in your....uh....closet?"

Well indeed he was more than happy to take me to his closet, and the romance proceeded from there, at the speed of a Michigan hurricane.

More about the still waters along the dunes sometime tomorrow.

=)

=)

Famous Former Boyfriends

My friend, Az, has inspired me to go with a theme. So the next several blogs will be devoted to, yep, you've got it--famous former boyfriends.



Let's see, should I start with
Philip the redhead..... or
Doug the broadway belter......Hmmm....
--Doug was a real deary. Well, the truth is they all were.--
But I'll start with Doug.



It all started, you see, on a cool summer day, amidst the verdant green of the pristine Northern forests-- Interlochen, Michigan to be precise, a camp for musicians.

And oh was it camp. Queens galore. Queens in rehearsal rooms. Queens on front porches. --Queens sneaking a skinny dip in the lake next to campus. You couldn't walk from A to B without running into a queen. --A swarm of queens truly. Just buzzing their behinds everywhere.

Well, I had my behind at tap dance headquarters. The kids were all stomping away and making a ceremonial racket. But my eyes were completely glued on the glorious instructor. --Doug was his name.--Any guesses as to how everything unfolded?...."unfolded"?.....

To be continued.....

The World of Play

Too often we perceive task that lie before as work instead of play. Or, rather, we fail to see the playfulness involved in good ol' fashioned hard work.

Exercise is work
Cooking is work
Meditation is work
Sex is work

Yep that's right, all the things we do outside of work become work!

And, of course, work is just plain work.

For those of us who sing, even breathing becomes work!

Oh, my goodness, I have been working and working and working my whole life, but it is time for a change.

This week I'm going to commit to making every aspect of my life a form of play.--Pure chocolate ice cream for the entire week. Not a mix of work and play; not a dab of some realm outside either work or play, into other dabs and dimensions outside the world of describability. Nope.
Just play.

Chocolate week.

Today I will start with voice--playing with the colors afforded by the words, and by varying rhythmic styles.--Why sing "Amarilli" in a smooth veluptuous 2/4 when it can also be sung in a nice bright coloratura-style 4/4 as well.--For God's sake, live a little with the music. Have fun, dear.

Oh, my--am I talking to myself?---Oh, well, two selves are more fun for conversation!

=) =P ......?

Commitment

I seem to be one of those who likes to sample just about every flavor of ice cream at the Baskin Robbins. --Some of you creative types out there, I'm sure, can relate.--Wouldn't it be nice, though, to commit to chocolate ice cream?--To decide that chocolate is indeed your favorite, and darnit you're just going to stick with it.

Of course, there is always a thresh-hold point, that point at which your stomach will turn and your face turn green, or chocolate brown, if you have to take one more bite of the chosen flavor.--- Time to try something different, oh, butterscotch perhaps, just to take a break and allow one's desire for chocolate to resurface in due time.

Maybe it's o.k. to have two flavors. But certainly not three or four or five, or, in my case, Lord help me, ten different favorites all swirling in the mix like a flavorless dish. How uninviting really.

--I had a boyfriend, from Appalachia, Bruce was his name, who liked to stack mashed potatoes and beats along with a few bits of hamburger on top of his green salad; oh and don't forget the ranch dressing, that was gluey swirl, yum. ..lots of incongruent parts mixed in together and consumed all at once. --Well that may be yummy to some Appalachian boys around town... I must confess I myself come from the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia.

But I am taking a new turn. Green Salads on the T and S days. Chocolate ice cream on the others. And there will be no ice cream in my salad.

So there I have made a commitment.--Let's see if I can hold myself to it.

The Sex of Vocal Pedagogy

Sex is about pairs, no?
Pairs of people and pairs of parts.

Yet often we want to talk about the two essential parts:
Thus God made man and woman, so that they.....

But of course we know there are many parts
And many many ways to pair

So too goes with voice, it seems
with the five essential vowels ah, eh, ee, oh, oo

Hmm...what are the five essential parts
of the human body, when engaged in the song of love-making

Still digressing
always digressing

So when the ah pairs with eh, in the speaking voice
ah is on the bottom (pitch-wise) and eh is on the top

Eh is the brighter of the two, ugh the analogy is troubling there
On the other hand the ah is more full and luscious, with greater potential--so there...

We can always add in the "ee", just to spice things up a little
This vowel is always versatile, which makes the experiencing inviting--if not riveting

Pair the "ee" with the "eh" and you get narrow phonation, even slightly nasal
Isn't it fun to see just how narrowly you can set the orifice--nasal is nasty and nice

Pairing does wonders
for paradox

Pair the "ee" with the "ah" and you get a full and sensual sound
Like chocolate, swirling chocolate, along the lips of Juan Pedro (who is Juan Pedro, oh my)

Such a pairing can be dangerous
for a tenor on the trapeze

Tiptoeing as a tightwire act
with nastly nasal F#'s to spin

into

infinity

Spirituality, Absence, and Imagination

O.k. guys, maybe you're wondering how these things somehow connect in a coherent way. Well, I suppose the answer to that will vary from person to person, but for me it is straightforward: it takes a lot of imagination for me to put myself in a completely absent space, where I can be present with another individual on his/her own terms.

Yep that's me--somehow always wanting to insert my creative and/or opinionated self into a conversation. Wanting to make myself present in a way that is not in any way indicative of actually being present with another individual. Isn't it ironic, really--that being fully present with someone requires oneself to suspend self, as it were--to be absent, in a sense.

This all came to me today, as I was reading a blog from a fellow whose life is devoted to spirituality. Way cool, huh. Maybe I'm finding myself currently suspended between my creative self--which seems to be an essential part of who I am--and my spiritual self, which would release me from the notion of an essence altogether, beyond of course, spirituality itself.

Yet doing this Does take imagination, no? So therein seems to lie the paradox, the very paradox that will allow me the luxury of staying suspended, living inside both selves simultaneously.

None of this may make any sense. But oh well, it feels good to simply write.--Blogs are a blessing.

=)

Roller Travelling Virgin

That would not be describing me--no. Though it seemed that way when I hopped onto the rink for the first time in nearly a decade. Imagine hydroplaning on a two inch sheet of Louisiana rain. A treacherous Southern highway claiming an unsuspecting victim. That's what it felt like yesterday as I skidded across the rink here in suburban Alabama. The children drivers, oblivious to the awkward traveller careening across their paths. They just mosied on, enjoying a sun-shiny day. Clear road. Perfect traction.---Somehow I'd been precipitated into a narrative that only a middle aged man could perceive.

That leads us to the other man on the highway, Hussein, the Travelling Virgin. Never been in a pair of wheels, not his entire life. Well, with a name like Hussein, you know those folks in the Middle East don't even have paved roads, much less padded rinks.--(I wish I were being entirely ironic, but of course in Palestine, that's what the Israelis have done. Created an apartheid whereby only the nationals drive on paved road, with separate identifiable license plates. If only Americans weren't duped by the uninformed media.)

How I'm pulled into digressing!--So back to the Virgin.--Well, there are advantages to being one you know. Especially if you're middle-aged. Because by then, you know to play it careful. So instead of barreling onto the highway, he kept to the side of the road. Holding onto the siderails as he nudged his way from bend to bend.

By the end of the hour he had made his way around the rink, a full circle!--With a clear triumph at hand, we turned in the blades and set our calendars for a future attempt. Some time toward the end of March.--Anyone want to join...the highway is awaitin'!

Paradox Box: Redux

I guess I should hasten to add that the voice is often still
somehow inward and outward at the same time:
a paradox of a different kind.

What is more, the world of consonants adds a whole new dimension:
Some tend to naturally pair with round vowels, others with bright ones;
when they're added into the mix, it's more than possible to
compress a round vowel on the way down
or a bright vowel on the way up:
assuming the phrase itself is not completely still to begin with....

Ah, the world of voice and context....hmmm.....

The Paradox Box: Art of Voice

O.k. guys, gals, who like to sing or read about singing,
this post is for you,
and it will all begin with what I call the paradox box: the voice
which seems to begin with the vowel and end with the breath.

Only more complex: the way the vowel manifests itself in the breath depends on
which vowels you're talking about and whether the musical line
is ascending or descending:

The round vowels, it would seem
tend to compress on the way up
and expand on the way down

while the bright vowels
operate in reversal:
therein lies the paradox.

In the ideal scenario compressions are lateral
this seems to be imperative in the tenor voice
though I've talked to sopranos, whose breath connection is less intense
sensing it vertically.

For ya'll singers out there:
does this description "resonate" with you?

Words Versus Images

Today I will be focusing on life purpose.--Where to begin?: with words or images? Some of you coaches or consultants out there may be aware of strengthfinders, which are encoded in words. Yet there are also visualizations that often focus on talents, that seem to spiral down down to the very core of a person. Or so it would seem.

--Do individuals truly have a core?-- Do images most accurately depict the essence of a person? --If so, what about the interpretation of the images through words? --This it would seem, makes the issue of meaning and understanding problematic.

Well, enough of the philosophical hat.--Perhaps I'll have some insight by the end of the weekend.--Any thoughts, anyone?

Getting Started

Hello World,

My name is Greg, otherwise known as Tenore;

I'm a fun coach, otherwise called a life-coach.

My mission: to plant seeds of fun and creativity

into the minds of bloggers everywhere;

or to unearth the fun and creativity you

already possess.

--To have a creative exchange with those who

thrive on creativity and exchange.

I look forward to meeting you.

Bye for now

=)

Greg