Teaching
Because life is bizarre, I forgot that there is something I have always wanted to do. I have been in a washing machine for a few years, getting spun around and drowned in the agitations of my own ego and the agonies of starting over in a new place. I have been hoping to rebuild the outside things like gigs and connections, but have had to rebuild some inside things first. Like trust and forgiveness. As I have slowly emerged from my own personal spin cycle, dizzy and dripping but finally clean, I've noticed that I'm less interested in singing the perfect songs in the perfect place, while wearing the perfect outfit. I'm a little bit more happy about getting to sing with people I like, or people who challenge me or make me laugh. My favorite people to sing with are those I can help, and sometimes my favorite kind of helping is just shutting up.
Obviously those who can, do. Obviously, those who can, also teach; as do (sometimes) those who can't. My teaching, however, is best in the areas where, as we say in the South, I "used to couldn't." I am best at teaching the things that I personally struggled with, or learned piece by piece, and I like teaching those things because it feels good. I know what it's like to suck at that, I tell my students, and I can help you suck less.
Or something like that.
I have wanted to teach the special kind of singing I love best, which is cabaret, for a while. I wasn't sure how to do that, since without a doctorate, teaching college would be difficult for me, and even with a doctorate it would be hard. College music departments are stuffed full of opera people, who think that opera is the only way to teach singing and the only way to sing, and that every other kind of singing (as in about 95% of all the singing in the whole world) is some kind of shameful adulteration of pure technique. I guess you can tell what I think about that.
While I was in the washing machine I forgot about how much I would like to teach about my special little corner of the stage, but now I'm remembering it because an opportunity has come along and I'm very excited about it.
I can't wait to teach cabaret, because I will be teaching it to those I call "entry level singers." Teaching at that level isn't just teaching, it's permission. It's opening the door and reminding people that it's okay if they're not perfect, or pro. It's inviting them in, and making sure they have a place, and helping them do the best with what they have. It's helping them get the fears and insecurities and bad habits out of the way, so that when I sit in the audience I hear not their perfect technique, but their hearts.
We hide our hearts because of hurts, and performing well means we have to know them. These are my hurts. Not being listened to. Being excluded. Being criticized. These are everyone's hurts, and when I teach I can heal my own of those hurts while helping others heal theirs. I think teaching is about this, I think art at its best is about this. The thing that makes your heart sing also makes your scars and wounds glow, in the combined pain and power of hurt as it heals. Even if it only heals a little bit.
I agonize about all the ways that I am not virtuosic in the areas I teach. But I think understanding my students' failures and the ways that the doors have slammed in their faces helps me far more than the superhuman abilities I lack. I did not invent the door, I don't rebuild it; I just open it, and help those who wish to walk through, and that makes me happy.
So I hope to begin two important ventures this summer. The first is open mic, where everyone gets their shot and there is more to be learned than you can imagine. The second is cabaret singing class. Both ventures are about learning, meeting like-minded people and loving them through the risks and stumbles and baby steps. Both ventures are about demonstrating and celebrating inclusion. There is a place for everyone, and I'm going to be part of making that place, and protecting it from mean people and ladder people and the world, where sitting on the couch watching "Idol" is supposedly braver than trying to actually sing.
This makes me happy.
Obviously those who can, do. Obviously, those who can, also teach; as do (sometimes) those who can't. My teaching, however, is best in the areas where, as we say in the South, I "used to couldn't." I am best at teaching the things that I personally struggled with, or learned piece by piece, and I like teaching those things because it feels good. I know what it's like to suck at that, I tell my students, and I can help you suck less.
Or something like that.
I have wanted to teach the special kind of singing I love best, which is cabaret, for a while. I wasn't sure how to do that, since without a doctorate, teaching college would be difficult for me, and even with a doctorate it would be hard. College music departments are stuffed full of opera people, who think that opera is the only way to teach singing and the only way to sing, and that every other kind of singing (as in about 95% of all the singing in the whole world) is some kind of shameful adulteration of pure technique. I guess you can tell what I think about that.
While I was in the washing machine I forgot about how much I would like to teach about my special little corner of the stage, but now I'm remembering it because an opportunity has come along and I'm very excited about it.
I can't wait to teach cabaret, because I will be teaching it to those I call "entry level singers." Teaching at that level isn't just teaching, it's permission. It's opening the door and reminding people that it's okay if they're not perfect, or pro. It's inviting them in, and making sure they have a place, and helping them do the best with what they have. It's helping them get the fears and insecurities and bad habits out of the way, so that when I sit in the audience I hear not their perfect technique, but their hearts.
We hide our hearts because of hurts, and performing well means we have to know them. These are my hurts. Not being listened to. Being excluded. Being criticized. These are everyone's hurts, and when I teach I can heal my own of those hurts while helping others heal theirs. I think teaching is about this, I think art at its best is about this. The thing that makes your heart sing also makes your scars and wounds glow, in the combined pain and power of hurt as it heals. Even if it only heals a little bit.
I agonize about all the ways that I am not virtuosic in the areas I teach. But I think understanding my students' failures and the ways that the doors have slammed in their faces helps me far more than the superhuman abilities I lack. I did not invent the door, I don't rebuild it; I just open it, and help those who wish to walk through, and that makes me happy.
So I hope to begin two important ventures this summer. The first is open mic, where everyone gets their shot and there is more to be learned than you can imagine. The second is cabaret singing class. Both ventures are about learning, meeting like-minded people and loving them through the risks and stumbles and baby steps. Both ventures are about demonstrating and celebrating inclusion. There is a place for everyone, and I'm going to be part of making that place, and protecting it from mean people and ladder people and the world, where sitting on the couch watching "Idol" is supposedly braver than trying to actually sing.
This makes me happy.
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