"Tonight was our recital. It was the first time I sang in front of a big crowd. And loud too. We did great." Sahiba, a freshman, shared on Facebook last night right after Oakland Technical High's small chorus gave its solo voice recital. (I've been directing the program at the school for about two years.) She was clearly proud and excited. In fact, she sang "Smile" wonderfully, even though pundits would have criticized the fact that she sang along with Michael Jackson on recording. As a beginning singer, she understood she wasn't quite ready to sing on her own to piano or karaoke accompaniment.
The whole event was unorthodox; our group of shy beginners didn't look remotely like "Glee." Some sang out of tune from nerves. One student, when he sang in front of people, forgot the words and needed someone else to be singing with him so he could keep going. One young woman who rarely speaks, in class or outside of class, mastered her fear and sang -- even though many of her notes were "wrong." The singers' faces showed determination, fear, focus, and total lack of pretense; they weren't ready yet to add "performance values" of facial expression and gesture. Just getting up to bare their voices in public was a huge challenge and victory because revealing our singing voices makes us unbelievably vulnerable. To sing means to let go.
And yet, hearing the tone, texture, colors, sweetness or roughness of each voice blessed us who listened. We looked briefly into the spirit of each young person, just as they are. We entered the miracle of self acceptance, if just for a moment.
Before the performance, I tried to explain my philosophy about singing to the audience of parents. I tried to explain that the reason to sing is because you love it and you love music, not to impress people or be a great singer. I tried to explain that each person's voice is unique and beautiful right where it is, that it takes time to find where your voice feels right in terms of technique, that telling people to "be quiet, you can't sing," is a huge mistake. But Anne Lamott said it better than I could, in her commencement address at UC Berkeley in 2003. I believe that she captured the reason why we sing. Here's a quote from that speech:
"Your problem is how you are going to spend this one odd and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over people and circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are....... It's magic to see spirit largely because it's so rare. Mostly you see the masks and the holograms that the culture presents as real. You see how you're doing in the world's eyes, or your family's, or yours, or in the eyes of people who are doing better than you -- much better than you –or worse. But you are not your bank account, or your ambitiousness. You're not the cold clay lump with a big belly you leave behind when you die. You are spirit, you are love, and, while it is increasingly hard to believe, you are free. If you find out next week that you are terminally ill -- and we're all terminally ill on this planet-- all that will matter is memories of beauty, that people loved you, and you loved them, and that you tried to help the poor and innocent."
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
West Side Story
Last week I lived in King's Beach, CA, next to Lake Tahoe, directing a project called "West Side Story Remix." The project, sponsored by an amazing organization called Arts for the Schools, consisted of a week of rehearsals for an adapted, student cast version of West Side Story, and four days of creative writing classes at Truckee High School. My heart/mind is still "processing" the impact on my life of a week of magic, tears and love.
It snowed. A lot. From a gray and green rainy Oakland landscape I was immersed in a pure white wonderland.
In a sports-oriented rural community, high school age boys were at first reluctant to join the cast (singing and dancing don't feel as masculine as snow boarding?). But when they did, they loved it.
A few days after we began rehearsals, a beloved boy at one of our project's high schools committed suicide. Students in the monologue writing workshops wrote about feeling lost, alone, and seeking. Suddenly we faced the fact that young people in our society need a different kind of support than just "stay in school." The project became much larger than putting on a wonderful performance of an iconic musical theater work. The transforming nature of the dramatic form called Tragedy began to connect us to our own real lives.
Our cast of 20 middle and high school performers were largely inexperienced. Many had never even been in a play before. As the week proceeded, I watched the miracle of our teens blossoming. Living night and day with the ancient story based on "Romeo and Juliet," thrust our bodies and spirits into the center of life's questions about Love, Loss, Hate, Betrayal, Hope, Redemption, Heroism. I believe that the audience for our one performance last Friday night was transformed as well. I believe they left the theater knowing the power of love.
It snowed. A lot. From a gray and green rainy Oakland landscape I was immersed in a pure white wonderland.
In a sports-oriented rural community, high school age boys were at first reluctant to join the cast (singing and dancing don't feel as masculine as snow boarding?). But when they did, they loved it.
A few days after we began rehearsals, a beloved boy at one of our project's high schools committed suicide. Students in the monologue writing workshops wrote about feeling lost, alone, and seeking. Suddenly we faced the fact that young people in our society need a different kind of support than just "stay in school." The project became much larger than putting on a wonderful performance of an iconic musical theater work. The transforming nature of the dramatic form called Tragedy began to connect us to our own real lives.
Our cast of 20 middle and high school performers were largely inexperienced. Many had never even been in a play before. As the week proceeded, I watched the miracle of our teens blossoming. Living night and day with the ancient story based on "Romeo and Juliet," thrust our bodies and spirits into the center of life's questions about Love, Loss, Hate, Betrayal, Hope, Redemption, Heroism. I believe that the audience for our one performance last Friday night was transformed as well. I believe they left the theater knowing the power of love.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Freedom
Hopefully it won't fade from the news, the crisis in Libya. My heart reaches out, and I try to make sense of what's happening. The revolution's purpose is to get rid of a dictator,and also to achieve freedom, right?
The dictionary definition of freedom is "absence of restraint, coercion or necessity of choice or action." Pandora's box opens; by this definition no one is really free, since we can't do whatever we want if it involves hurting others or taking away their rights. Now in Libya the rebels are under fire. How can they agree on creating a new government, or even achieve unity when so much sacrifice is required?
I take basic political freedoms for granted and complain about the lack of habeas corpus at Gitmo, or the recent threats to collective bargaining. The day to day accounts of the chaos, death and pain happening in North Africa force me to wonder: what is so important that I would sacrifice my comfort and my life for it? As an artist and educator, do I just express my ideas, or do I have the courage and integrity to walk them?
The dictionary definition of freedom is "absence of restraint, coercion or necessity of choice or action." Pandora's box opens; by this definition no one is really free, since we can't do whatever we want if it involves hurting others or taking away their rights. Now in Libya the rebels are under fire. How can they agree on creating a new government, or even achieve unity when so much sacrifice is required?
I take basic political freedoms for granted and complain about the lack of habeas corpus at Gitmo, or the recent threats to collective bargaining. The day to day accounts of the chaos, death and pain happening in North Africa force me to wonder: what is so important that I would sacrifice my comfort and my life for it? As an artist and educator, do I just express my ideas, or do I have the courage and integrity to walk them?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Market Survival
I watched the Oscar's last night. No, more similar to the days of radio, I listened to them while typing, doing laundry, and vacuuming and didn't miss a thing. The movies the pundits expected to win, "King's Speech" and "Social Network," interested me as examples of Creative Nonfiction, the current hot genre. And I agree they both did a terrific job of making a true story very dramatic.
Why do we love these popularity contests? I rate the Oscar's alongside a few other (popularity) contests that I rarely watch, like American Idol, Who's Got Talent, Iron Chef, Top Model and Survivor. The world loves a winner, whether in ski jumping or break dancing. Tension builds; fumble with the envelope; "and the Oscar goes to... " Glitter, stars in our eyes, believe in the dream of fame and riches.
Saturday I went with my chorus students to do a "flash mob" performance at Emeryville Public Market food court. Hardly a mob: we had 7 singers able to participate. At Oakland Tech, we had achieved a pretty high level of skill in preparing a break up skit followed by a wild rendition of "I Will Survive." Parents and I all knew we were taking a risk, experimenting, trying something new and uncertain. When we got there, sure enough, it was more crowded and louder than we anticipated. We couldn't find an electric outlet. My students suddenly got stage fright. People in the crowd could sort of tell we were going to do something because we were standing around talking about it-- surprise element gone. The final blow happened when the singers couldn't hear the recorded accompaniment on the boombox. Hey, they did a great job a capella anyway. Two young men from Vacaville danced along.
But it was not glitzy or slick. My students' faces reflected their disappointment. We failed to measure up to the proficiency of our practice sessions and failed even to come close to our expectations. Too many things were out of our control. So did we fail? We would not have won any prizes, for sure. Yet the people who saw and heard us enjoyed it. The workers in the nearby food stands loved it. The parents, friends and one grandmother who formed our claque loved it.
What makes it so hard to take risks and fail to meet expectations? How do we define winning? My son's soccer coach, Dave McKeithen, used to say during a season in which the team didn't win a single game: "Did you run fast? Did you sweat? Did you have fun? You're a winner!" In my eyes our brave band of shy beginning singers won the Oscar's on Saturday. From the beginning of the year they moved from being so quiet I could hardly hear them, from being so shy they couldn't even sing solo in front of each other (let alone an audience), from having a vocal range of only four or five notes to this: over an octave vocal range, good projection, and taking risks to sing in front of their scoffing peers at assemblies and singing without technical support in front of a huge crowd of strangers in a busy food court.
Check out the video on UTube under "Market Survival."
Why do we love these popularity contests? I rate the Oscar's alongside a few other (popularity) contests that I rarely watch, like American Idol, Who's Got Talent, Iron Chef, Top Model and Survivor. The world loves a winner, whether in ski jumping or break dancing. Tension builds; fumble with the envelope; "and the Oscar goes to... " Glitter, stars in our eyes, believe in the dream of fame and riches.
Saturday I went with my chorus students to do a "flash mob" performance at Emeryville Public Market food court. Hardly a mob: we had 7 singers able to participate. At Oakland Tech, we had achieved a pretty high level of skill in preparing a break up skit followed by a wild rendition of "I Will Survive." Parents and I all knew we were taking a risk, experimenting, trying something new and uncertain. When we got there, sure enough, it was more crowded and louder than we anticipated. We couldn't find an electric outlet. My students suddenly got stage fright. People in the crowd could sort of tell we were going to do something because we were standing around talking about it-- surprise element gone. The final blow happened when the singers couldn't hear the recorded accompaniment on the boombox. Hey, they did a great job a capella anyway. Two young men from Vacaville danced along.
But it was not glitzy or slick. My students' faces reflected their disappointment. We failed to measure up to the proficiency of our practice sessions and failed even to come close to our expectations. Too many things were out of our control. So did we fail? We would not have won any prizes, for sure. Yet the people who saw and heard us enjoyed it. The workers in the nearby food stands loved it. The parents, friends and one grandmother who formed our claque loved it.
What makes it so hard to take risks and fail to meet expectations? How do we define winning? My son's soccer coach, Dave McKeithen, used to say during a season in which the team didn't win a single game: "Did you run fast? Did you sweat? Did you have fun? You're a winner!" In my eyes our brave band of shy beginning singers won the Oscar's on Saturday. From the beginning of the year they moved from being so quiet I could hardly hear them, from being so shy they couldn't even sing solo in front of each other (let alone an audience), from having a vocal range of only four or five notes to this: over an octave vocal range, good projection, and taking risks to sing in front of their scoffing peers at assemblies and singing without technical support in front of a huge crowd of strangers in a busy food court.
Check out the video on UTube under "Market Survival."
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Play
Happy Valentine's Day! Usually I like this holiday all right, but in the back of my mind consider it a kind of manufactured occasion to buy more stuff. But this year I participated in a performance art event that touched me deeply. The "happening" occurred at AgeSong in Oakland, a care center for elders with Alzheimer's related brain disorders.
I began a week ago by interviewing residents, asking them questions: what is love?; what's the secret to marriage?; what advice would you give to young people to help them have a loving, long term relationship? I reminded them about the high divorce rate and that some young people today feel marriage is a useless institution -- why bother? I taped the interviews.
We also decorated hearts and each resident told us one word to to write on a heart, words to express what makes a good marriage. I loved the words they gave: patience, wedding rice, laughter, kisses. I loved the interview comments:
* "You can't wait for your husband to care for you, you've got to care for him."
* "When times are hard you have to realize things are hard and separate a little, then come back and talk about what to do. It's hard work."
* "You've got to decide what you want to do in life, not just sit around making sugar cookies. I think we should all learn to dance, your husband, your cousins, everybody, and we'll all have great fun."
Yesterday I packed up a huge bag of hats, jackets, dresses, a ring box, and wedding veils. I put my fake wedding cake in a large stainless steel bowl. I'm proud of that cake, since I specialize in performing arts, not 3D construction. I glued boxes of different sizes together, painted them white and slathered them with vanilla icing. On top, I put candy hearts for decoration. It looked good enough to eat. I drove with my loaded car down to AgeSong.
Along with Patti, one of the wonderful activity leaders there, we staged a mock wedding ceremony. Jean put on the bright blue crepe dress with full skirt, low back and bow. Mary wore a green shawl, Ruben wore a gold glitter derby hat, Bill wore a tan felt stetson, most of the women wore tulle wedding veils. We sang the wedding march and made a procession with those who could walk or whose wheelchairs we could push. Rosie gracefully accepted her tinsel wedding ring. Someone agreed to hold the bouquet. As a combination bride and Justice of the Peace I gave a suitably metaphorical homily. "Love is sweet. And so we will put our marriage ingredients into our wedding bowl(I called out the words they had chosen the week before) -- trust, amore, dedication -- we stir up our Love Recipe -- and voila! What did we make? A wedding cake (I ran to the table where I'd hidden the cake and waved it in the air)!!"
Continuing in my role: "How do we end our marriage to our imaginary partners or to our best inner selves? We dance, of course." And so I got to dance with John, who smiled and smiled, and turned me under his arm in a graceful jitterbug. I wish I could have been as playful at my own wedding years ago.
God bless those who can play and pretend, no matter where or when, no matter how well or ill. It was the best Valentine's Day ever.
I began a week ago by interviewing residents, asking them questions: what is love?; what's the secret to marriage?; what advice would you give to young people to help them have a loving, long term relationship? I reminded them about the high divorce rate and that some young people today feel marriage is a useless institution -- why bother? I taped the interviews.
We also decorated hearts and each resident told us one word to to write on a heart, words to express what makes a good marriage. I loved the words they gave: patience, wedding rice, laughter, kisses. I loved the interview comments:
* "You can't wait for your husband to care for you, you've got to care for him."
* "When times are hard you have to realize things are hard and separate a little, then come back and talk about what to do. It's hard work."
* "You've got to decide what you want to do in life, not just sit around making sugar cookies. I think we should all learn to dance, your husband, your cousins, everybody, and we'll all have great fun."
Yesterday I packed up a huge bag of hats, jackets, dresses, a ring box, and wedding veils. I put my fake wedding cake in a large stainless steel bowl. I'm proud of that cake, since I specialize in performing arts, not 3D construction. I glued boxes of different sizes together, painted them white and slathered them with vanilla icing. On top, I put candy hearts for decoration. It looked good enough to eat. I drove with my loaded car down to AgeSong.
Along with Patti, one of the wonderful activity leaders there, we staged a mock wedding ceremony. Jean put on the bright blue crepe dress with full skirt, low back and bow. Mary wore a green shawl, Ruben wore a gold glitter derby hat, Bill wore a tan felt stetson, most of the women wore tulle wedding veils. We sang the wedding march and made a procession with those who could walk or whose wheelchairs we could push. Rosie gracefully accepted her tinsel wedding ring. Someone agreed to hold the bouquet. As a combination bride and Justice of the Peace I gave a suitably metaphorical homily. "Love is sweet. And so we will put our marriage ingredients into our wedding bowl(I called out the words they had chosen the week before) -- trust, amore, dedication -- we stir up our Love Recipe -- and voila! What did we make? A wedding cake (I ran to the table where I'd hidden the cake and waved it in the air)!!"
Continuing in my role: "How do we end our marriage to our imaginary partners or to our best inner selves? We dance, of course." And so I got to dance with John, who smiled and smiled, and turned me under his arm in a graceful jitterbug. I wish I could have been as playful at my own wedding years ago.
God bless those who can play and pretend, no matter where or when, no matter how well or ill. It was the best Valentine's Day ever.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Achievement
Educators talk about mastery, success, test scores and other monikers of academic achievement. We subscribe to the theory that if someone works hard enough they can succeed at whatever they do. I agree that persistent effort does bring results. I'm not sure that we all agree on the definition of success.
What about the student who loves to dance and works hard, but can't kick very high or memorize choreography? Or the student who loves to sing and works hard, but lags way behind the rest of the class in singing in tune? Sometimes that student would get an A, sometimes not. Most of us need goals and evaluations but I've seen too many students focus on getting a good grade instead of getting an education that prepares them to be caring, thoughtful adults.
Our culture sometimes holds up an absolute value for mastery. Success looks like a 10 in Olympic competition, a multimillion dollar stock portfolio, Nobel Prize, lead dancer in Swan Lake, American Idol winner, 4.0 GPA. Our students may one day achieve these things, but I think that we'd serve them better if we prepared our students to notice different kinds of success. For some students, getting up in the morning, taking a shower and making it to school on time is success because everything in their lives conspires to make them drop out (I once had a student who told me he didn't need to graduate because he was going to sell drugs like his uncle, but he did manage to graduate). In Oakland, we try to acknowledge student effort or ethics with a catch-all Citizenship grade: 'O' (Outstanding), 'S' (Satisfactory), 'U' (Unsatisfactory); or a choice of comments like, "a pleasure to have in class," and "steadily improving."
I don't have a practical assessment system figured out, although I like the way arts and many other educators now focus on portfolios, presentations and written reflections as measurements. Ideally perhaps - instead of a high school Exit Exam - a student might demonstrate what they are curious about, what new discovery in assignments excited them, why the required curriculum is or is not important for their lives, what made a good teacher, how they grew (or not) because of school. Is it possible to grade the quality of someone's thinking and personal growth, or should each person learn to assess these things in his/her own mind and heart?
What about the student who loves to dance and works hard, but can't kick very high or memorize choreography? Or the student who loves to sing and works hard, but lags way behind the rest of the class in singing in tune? Sometimes that student would get an A, sometimes not. Most of us need goals and evaluations but I've seen too many students focus on getting a good grade instead of getting an education that prepares them to be caring, thoughtful adults.
Our culture sometimes holds up an absolute value for mastery. Success looks like a 10 in Olympic competition, a multimillion dollar stock portfolio, Nobel Prize, lead dancer in Swan Lake, American Idol winner, 4.0 GPA. Our students may one day achieve these things, but I think that we'd serve them better if we prepared our students to notice different kinds of success. For some students, getting up in the morning, taking a shower and making it to school on time is success because everything in their lives conspires to make them drop out (I once had a student who told me he didn't need to graduate because he was going to sell drugs like his uncle, but he did manage to graduate). In Oakland, we try to acknowledge student effort or ethics with a catch-all Citizenship grade: 'O' (Outstanding), 'S' (Satisfactory), 'U' (Unsatisfactory); or a choice of comments like, "a pleasure to have in class," and "steadily improving."
I don't have a practical assessment system figured out, although I like the way arts and many other educators now focus on portfolios, presentations and written reflections as measurements. Ideally perhaps - instead of a high school Exit Exam - a student might demonstrate what they are curious about, what new discovery in assignments excited them, why the required curriculum is or is not important for their lives, what made a good teacher, how they grew (or not) because of school. Is it possible to grade the quality of someone's thinking and personal growth, or should each person learn to assess these things in his/her own mind and heart?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Fame
I'm collaborating on a play by a wonderful local actress, Gina Gold. One of the themes in the piece is the addiction to fame, to getting noticed, to being seen or heard, to ..to... to.. being loved.
In the theater world we understand the attraction to applause. Getting attention from an audience can be addicting; lack of attention from an audience can be devastating.
I notice that these days, non-theater folks seem to want fame too.
"I'm trying out for American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance and America's Got Talent." We can have a blog (ahem, like this one), we can see how many friends we've got on Facebook, followers on Twitter, connections on LinkedIn, how many hits on YouTube. My voice students long to catapult to Idol status; then they wonder why fame doesn't happen from singing a song fairly well along with a recording. Fame should be instant, like Facebook, right?
By the way, how are all the famous people doing? I wonder - when I read about the celebrities in rehab or on their sixth divorce. Is there something about the addiction to fame that makes us want more and more?
"The only reason to sing is because you love it," my 80 year old voice teacher, Margaret Sheldon, said to me years ago. We're seldom in control of whether we get noticed or not, so why not find something we love doing for its own sake? In a culture where we do things to "get" money or status or to "build" skills, I like the idea of "art for art's sake."
In fact, I think I'll take Mrs. Sheldon's wise advice even further. Maybe the only reason to live is because I love it.
In the theater world we understand the attraction to applause. Getting attention from an audience can be addicting; lack of attention from an audience can be devastating.
I notice that these days, non-theater folks seem to want fame too.
"I'm trying out for American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance and America's Got Talent." We can have a blog (ahem, like this one), we can see how many friends we've got on Facebook, followers on Twitter, connections on LinkedIn, how many hits on YouTube. My voice students long to catapult to Idol status; then they wonder why fame doesn't happen from singing a song fairly well along with a recording. Fame should be instant, like Facebook, right?
By the way, how are all the famous people doing? I wonder - when I read about the celebrities in rehab or on their sixth divorce. Is there something about the addiction to fame that makes us want more and more?
"The only reason to sing is because you love it," my 80 year old voice teacher, Margaret Sheldon, said to me years ago. We're seldom in control of whether we get noticed or not, so why not find something we love doing for its own sake? In a culture where we do things to "get" money or status or to "build" skills, I like the idea of "art for art's sake."
In fact, I think I'll take Mrs. Sheldon's wise advice even further. Maybe the only reason to live is because I love it.
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