It’s just after seven in the morning and still dark. I’m clean-shaven, the wheelie bin has been pushed to the end of the drive and I’m nearing the end of five years of weekly singing tuition. That’s potentially 250 lessons and I’ve missed very few. Say 230 sessions.
For four of those years I’d have driven through Hereford’s heartbreakingly lovely landscape to V’s tiny village (see pic). To stand next to her piano. This year I’ve waited in my study for her Skype call at 08.30. I’m not her first pupil of the day (some are in foreign places) yet she always looks fresher than I do.
Things have changed. Lesson anticipation used to thrill me, now it’s simply part of my life. But no less important, no less rewarding. The repertoire has grown to about seventy songs, some came easily, some were a struggle. During the early years some of my faults were overlooked, not now. The coming lesson will be all detail.
Today it will be Weep You No More Sad Fountains, the words written by an anonymous Elizabethan four hundred years ago. The setting by Roger Quilter (died 1953) one of V’s favourite composers. Here’s a 17-year-old baritone doing Weep you no more. CLICK.
But the biggest change is that I’ve entered the whole world of music making. I listen differently, I admire skills that were previously obscure, I’m aware of the disciplines musicians willingly accept. The songs I now tackle are not those that immediately reveal their qualities.
I self-isolate (with VR of course) but I’m eighty-five. A chance encounter with Covid-19 could blow me away. I don’t suppose I’d be happy about that but knowing something about music might make it less of a wrench.
It’s a bit like Wotan’s spear.
Passions should be nurtured and loved. How wonderful to have a passion to look forward to each week, and enhance the rest of your life also. It must make this hideous quarantining bearable. Sandi
ReplyDeleteSandi: As you well know, singing is a physical as well as a mental activity. Combining both requires concentration which helps keep the Covid-19 rats away. Also there's always the chance that a little beauty is just round the corner.
ReplyDeleteI admire you for many things. Taking singing lessons in your 80's is just one of them. I'm so glad you and VR are being careful. Now tell me more about Wotan's spear.
ReplyDeleteColette: Nice of you to say that, but I'm not sure I deserve admiration. To this day I'm not entirely sure where the sudden impulse came from, but having made the phone call to V (not my first choice since she wasn't the nearest teacher; luckily my first choice never responded) I know whence the most important encouragement came from.
Delete"Is it realistic of me, at age 80, to take up singing lessons?" I asked V. She said, "Age isn't important, desire (to learn) is what matters."
In fact we discussed the nature of being taught at that last lesson. I mentioned I was fascinated by V's methods, particularly when it comes to the creation of vowels and consonants (ie, arranging my lips and "pushing" the sound from the front of my mouth - very tricky I assure you). I'd noticed how she was never impatient. How she intuitively switched to another approach to ensure I never lost interest.
"But I hope we never lose any of the joy of singing during these technical sessions," she said. I assured her we never did. And that was the absolute truth.
Wotan, the king of the Nordic gods, appears in all four operas that constitute Wagner's Ring Cycle. He always carries his spear which is supposed to be the source of his vast godlike powers. Yet Wotan suffers many reverses as he travels through the saga. Why doesn't he use the spear? asked a music-loving friend of mine who wasn't all that keen on Wagner. The answer to that question never arises.
The idea being that Wotan would be a fool to depend on the spear if he returned to Earth at the moment and found himself lacking a mask.
Well, that was a surprise ... the voice that came out of skinny Henry's lips! Beautiful indeed!
ReplyDeleteA friend of mine is retiring soon and asked me what she should do? The first thing that came to mind was, "take singing lessons."
Zu Schwer: Naturally I'd support your suggestion. Singing exercises the body (but not too much) as well as the mind. It also occupies the mind. Perfect for someone who's retired.
DeleteBut here are one or two caveats. Although I'm still puzzled about why I abruptly decided to take lessons, I have realised in retrospect that I have always had a technical, if then uninformed, interest in music. Many years ago I played the mouth organ and the trumpet, albeit only by ear. Also music must have the capacity to move one to tears. I'd say weekly sessions are essential, to maintain a sense of progress; it's more difficult to keep things on the boil via rehearsals alone at home. I suspect that lessons will cost more in the USA than they do here in the UK; thus weekly lessons may become a substantial expense.
More than anything else, though, singing must be something one really wants to do. Even now, after five years, I truly hate it when I miss a lesson.
Glad you liked Henry. A very adult voice for someone who's only 17. A baritone, too, as I am. I learned (am learning) a lot from him.
Thank you, Robbie! I'll discuss this with my friend. Her daughter plays a musical instrument, which also led to my suggestion.
Delete17! I do have a soft spot for baritones, I must admit.
A lovely landscape and a very special-sounding teacher. It must feel wonderful to be so well guided and to have steady progress. Our daughters are musical, playing 'cello, oboe and piano but I am hopeless and can't hold a tune. I used to sing with them when they were schoolgirls studying GCSE music, but it sent them into fits of helpless laughter as I unwittingly changed key!
ReplyDeleteGarden: I've been very, very lucky. One may yearn to understand music but there's no guarantee it will happen, even if an opportunity presents itself. It may depend on some internal, unidentifiable urge which the majority seems to lack.
DeleteV has turned out to be the perfect teacher for my circumstances. Given my age it was mutually understood that there wouldn't be enough time left for me to start from scratch: repeating scales, decoding the mathematics of musical time, disentangling key signatures. That I would pick up these matters as and when they became necessary. That from Lesson One I would wrestle with music that had exhilarated me as a listener. As it turned out, an aria from the Magic Flute which I constantly return to when singing to myself, proof that I've been able to form a rewarding relationship that has subsequently turned into a satisfactory competence.
Things are sterner now but I revel in the seriousness of what we do. That I'm up for it.
I sympathise with you. I suspect you sang with your daughters because singing - however imperfect - pleased you. The musical incompatibility between you and them may be a sign of relief on their part that they've moved on. After all, when I've commented in your blog about my antipathy toward gardening, haven't you said to yourself (silently): Poor fool!