Kopfstand

There are a little set of meditations sitting near my kitchen in Berlin and I randomly choose a different one every couple of days (by random I mean I select one at random and then if I don’t like it I throw it back until I get one I like).  Yesterdays’ “random” selection was:

“Can you imagine what you would do if you could do all that you can”  Sun Tzu

I thought this was fairly appropriate for the little challenges I am facing at the moment.  I really do mean little challenges, I realise singing is not finding a cure for cancer or (as some American singer friends of mine used to say) rocket surgery!  However, these little challenges are part of the journey to finding my own voice (and I mean that in a macro as well as a micro sense).  

Firstly, I have come to the realisation that I am indeed a Soprano.  The journey towards this realisation has been long and sometimes confronting – peoples’ singing and speaking voice are deeply personal and help shape their self-image – our voice is the main conduit with which the majority of us engage and communicate with the world.  

The idea that I was singing in the wrong fach (voice-type) was mooted by various different coaches in about September/October last year, I started to accept this possibility in January this year with the assistance of some very kind mentoring by Jane Robinson, Head of the Young Artist’s Programme at ENO and some equally kind lessons with Liane Keegan, principal at Deustche Oper Berlin.

During every coaching, where I would bring progressively higher lyric mezzo repertoire, Jane would very kindly smile and say: “Are you sure you have never wanted to sing Countess, Fiordiligi etcetera”.  I would immediately feel something akin to dread in the pit of my stomach and say: “No, I have always preferred being the bridesmaid to the bride”.  Eventually, I admitted to Jane that everytime she asked I felt scared that I was being asked to be open and vulnerable and I found this frightening. She laughed and said: “But that’s exactly it, that’s what singing is”.  I would add, that is what singing with your real voice is. 

Liane’s approach was slightly different, she didn’t engage with my debates about what singing in a different fach might do to my psyche – she got me working.  She would get me doing singing exercises intended to re-train new muscle memory and with a smile told me that once we had “decrappinated” the old muscles I was using to sing, my voice would tell us where it was happiest.  And so it has.  

So now is the time to accept that I could do all that I can.  I now need to accept that my body has done the hard work.  The muscles memory is there, the technique is in.  I have to keep working it, massaging it, fine-tuning it. But I have all the information I need and I can sing again – this time in a much more sustainable fashion with a voice that expresses and communicates what my brain wants it to!  (nb: To give credit to Liane many of these phrases come straight from my lessons with her and I am in effect plagerising her motivational lingo)

It is time to start learning roles and coaching them and allowing myself to show them to people who I may not be as comfortable being open and vulnerable with.  The great thing about having a technique is that it gives me confidence and the knowledge that, even if I am open and vulnerable, I am safe – and if something goes wrong I can go back to the practice room and work out why, fine-tune and move forward.

This little journey of training the muscles and then putting them into practice in a vulnerable situation was summed up for me in yoga class last night.  I went to my first yoga class in German.  When it came time to do the Headstand the entire class went straight up into the posture  (I would usually have a chat with the teacher about the technique or do it by the wall as a safety support).  Without being able to chat to the teacher and without thinking, I followed the class and went straight up into Headstand (Kopfstand).  As a friend said, she was glad they weren’t doing the “Jump off a Cliff” posture…

I then tried a second time, as I got into the headstand I realised what I was doing, thought about it, and then did not believe I could do it – did not trust that the 7 years of muscle memory  would support me.  That moment of doubt meant I promptly did a spectacular half somersault (making sure I protected my neck) and crash landed out of the posture.  The weird thing was that although I crashed out of the pose I was elated that I had even gotten up there, in fact the descent was kind of fun too.  

And I know I can do it again.

Just when you thought it could not get any more German…

Finally after being in Berlin for 2 weeks I have seen my first piece of Regietheater**.  For those not aware of the term see the Wikipedia definition below, suffice it to say, in the context of this blog it is a shorthand way of saying: “Very weird production that, while featuring a lot of colour and movement and at times being highly entertaining, during which I really did not have a clue what was going on”.  

The show in question was Carmina Burana, performed at the Deutsche Oper in a production by Friedrich Götz What follows is a detailed and fairly long-winded description (to those who know my story-telling, this will be unsurprising, but I just don’t want you to miss a moment of the production, after all I couldn’t!) 

The production begins simply enough with the curtain rising to the fantastic sounds of O Fortuna, played sumptuously by the Deutsche Oper orchestra and sung brilliantly by the chorus.  I am already smiling in anticipation of the massive wall of sound that is about to hit me in the centre of the third row of the audience as the orchestra pit rises-up on hydrolics, simultaneously with the curtain, lifting the orchestra almost to stage level.  In the centre of the stage a female dancer in a pale grey body suit (The Dancer) is bound by ropes, tied up for a sacrifice.  So far, so Carmina Burana.

The Dancer stuggles free from ropes, once freed she dances joyfully, finding pleasure in her freedom.  She stops and hides when the Baritone enters dressed in a white linen suit (is she an animal running from human contact or is she just embarrassed at having been caught dancing?).  The Baritone, while singing, makes reference to a banner which contains pictures (a sun, a flower, a singing bird, two naked people making the shape of a letter F and an egg).  This lecture seems to liberate the Dancer to enjoy her dancing and her body.

The Baritone leaves and the Dancer is then joined by a Muscle-Bound Man in very high-cut fluoro green speedos and a fluoro green executioners mask (at this point I suppressed the first of many spasms of giggles and brought myself back under control by musing on what his purpose was).  It seems his purpose was to walk around looking muscley.  His muscles and fetching green speedos encouraged the Dancer to find tins of paint in primary colours.  With these she enhances the features of her face and body, smearing paint on her eyebrows, breasts and buttocks – this does not seem to impress the  Muscle-Bound Man and he walks off.

Two people in egg costumes with phalluses on their heads then descend from the roof and swing suspended in the air, the Dancer swings with them for a while.  She then walks off stage (probably to clean all the paint off her) and the Eggs keep swinging.  Finally they leave the stage as well.

The Baritone then comes back on with the chorus and sings a drinking song (I assume it was a drinking song as they had bottles of beer in their hands, but at this point I am not confident that anything was what it seemed).

After the Baritone falls down drunk another man (the Tenor) comes in looking like he may have stepped off a vintage plane, except that his helmet has a swan on it.  He sings the tenor aria about a swan dying in a fire while pictures of Leda and the Swan flash up on the screen behind him.  An Old Woman with very big breasts and a very big bottom comes in and gives the Baritone and Tenor some chicken drumsticks and puts lots of salt on them (that is she salts the drumsticks and the men, they also see fit to put some salt down their pants, I am not sure why?).

The Male Chorus take pins and pop the breasts and bottom of the old woman – it turns out these appendages were only balloons and the Old Woman is the Dancer from before.  She is wearing sexy underwear and red stilletos under her old woman outfit and is then ganged raped by the Men’s Chorus.

A chorus of children dressed as Parisian-Mime-Artists then enter the stage, they are carrying perspex boxes with dolls dressed in sexy underwear.  The entire Parisian-Mime-Artists-Children’s Chorus are pregnant (I have no idea what they represent, but they sing very nicely). 

Just when you think it could not get any more German a pair of bright red lips tipped on their side descends from the roof with a slit down through which the Soprano soloist enters wearing gold lamé and a very blonde wig.  

This aperture is then used as an entrance for a grim reaper like scythe followed by a dancer in a skeleton costume, (costuming note – the skeleton is not anatomically correct, there are no ribs but many circular bones in the chest area).  This dancer possibly represents death, so for clarity between describing the two dancers I will call her Death (although I admit, that I am now understanding very little of the production and she may not represent death at all).  

The Soprano seems to comfort the Dancer, then the Baritone enters takes off all his clothes and gets into a bath – I think this was meant to comfort the Dancer too.  The Dancer seems to be comforted and gives what can only be described as a lap dance to the Baritone (he looked like he was very much enjoying his job at this point).  Two children enter at this time a Girl in a red party dress and a Boy with a hobby horse.  After rejecting his hobby horse twice the Girl gets on and rides off with the Boy (no prizes for guessing the symbolism here).  The Dancer and Death have a little pas de deux here using the scythe as a dance barre.

The chorus has re-entered wearing corsets and feather boas over their black trousers and white shirts.  Everyone seems to be getting very friendly, including the Soprano, the Baritone, and the Dancer who has taken off almost all her clothes, but is still dancing very beautifully.

The Soprano gives the Dancer a cloak to put on and are joined by the Baritone.  They are then joined by the Muscle-Bound Man and Death.   They all hug and a large crown descends from the ceiling and encircles them all.  The Pregnant-Parisian-Mime Children’s Chorus enter sucking on giant multi-coloured lollipops and are joined by the Corset-Clad-Chorus, they sing the final reprise O Fortuna to end the piece.  The Eggs come back on and light a couple of flame throwers, adding a little fire-power to the final tableau.

At this point I am happy to surrender to the fabulous waves of sound being created by chorus and orchestra and forget about what any of it might mean.

For those of you wanting to do the same here is a little clip from youtube of O Fortuna (sadly not being performed by the DO chorus and orchestra, and more sadly without the visuals I experienced last night).

O Fortuna, Carmina Burana

**”Regietheater (German for director’s theater or producer’s theater) is a term that refers to the modern practice of allowing a director (or producer) freedom in devising the way a given opera (or play) is staged so that the composer’s original, specific stage directions (where supplied) can be changed, together with major elements of geographical location, chronological situation, casting and plot.” Wikipedia

Roundabouts – Something for the Canberrans

This story begins with a roundabout – something I know will appeal to my Canberra audiences of my Dad and 1 or 2 friends.  For the other 3 people reading this blog who don’t understand the significance I attach a small map of central Canberra in all its glorious curly-wurlyness.  

 

Inner Canberra

 

This my friends is a small selection of the exquisite roundabouts which populate the capital of Australia.  Canberra was designed with circles and curves in mind and there are few streets one can drive without having to navigate a roundabout.  In newer suburbs even the most minor of streets is populated with them – leading to the rumour that roundabouts breed.

Roundabouts in Canberra are a source of confusion to those not native to the area, however, to those who spent their formative driving years on Canberran roads, navigating a roundabout feels like fun as you slide round the city streets, merging from one flow of traffic into the other.  The other bonus is you never need to wait at a traffic light.

You can imagine, therefore, how comfortable I felt when approaching Die Siegerssaüle on Straße 17 Juni heading towards the Brandenburg Gate.  It is in the middle of a huge roundabout – just the thing to make a Canberra girl feel at home.  

 

Die Siegessaüle and Roundabout, Tiergarten, Berlin

Unfortunately, in order to navigate this 5 exit roundabout and associated pedestrian zones and bicycle paths, Berlin has seen fit to place traffic lights at every exit and entrance.

 

Traffic lights at Die Sigerßaüle

 

On the rare occasion that you are confronted with a wait at a traffic light in the city of Canberra you are often confronted with a window washer standing by the side of the road with his squeegie and bucket full of soapy water.  As I rode towards the Siegerssaüle my heart sunk firstly as I saw this was not a real roundabout, but one with traffic lights!  I grew even more despondent as I saw two young window washers standing at the traffic lights waiting for the traffic lights to stop.

Imagine my surprise when the window washers did not rush out to wash windows, but instead leapt into the traffic and started juggling batons.  On the opposite side of the roundabout another performance artist was juggling and breathing fire.  It seems even the most prosaic of places is a stage for art in Germany.

 

Jugglers not Window Washers

Serendipity: Small World-Large Currywurst

The operatic world is tiny!  Last night I went to a performance of Falstaff at the Deutsche Oper (my third opera in 1 week, others being Die Frau Ohne Schatten and Die Zauberöte für die Kinder – information to come!).  In the loo after the performance, while assessing the damage of riding to the performance by bike, I realised I was sharing the mirror with an American singer I worked with in 2006 on a performance of Falstaff on Belle-Ile, France.  

After catching up on what each of us had been doing for the last 3 years and what had brought us to Berlin, we did what most singers do – spent several hours talking shop: dissecting the performance, comparing singing techniques and discussing the different requirements for singers in Europe compared to America and England and Australia.  We were also joined by another American singer (fresh off the boat and ready to do European auditions) and an American double bass player from the orchestra of the Deutsche Oper.

Wheat beer with green cordial

This lead to a fabulous night of discussion about music and life and a sampling of some of the more delightful parts of German cuisine: Berliner Weisse mit Schuss grün und Currywurst.

Currywurst

Essentially this is a wheat beer with green cordial and a sausage with tomato sauce and curry powder, both acclaimed delicacies of Berlin (I think like Doner Kebabs you need the beer in order to eat the Wurst).  I have added pictures as seeing is believing.

Aside from the food, this was a wonderful night.  Singers and musicians are, on the whole, a welcoming bunch, particularly in Europe where so many of us are strangers in a strange land. The work is often transitory – friendships are made quickly, stories are shared and even before we know anything about the other person we relate through our love of opera and are genuinely excited by the capacity of the human voice to tell human stories and emotions.

My entire journey to Berlin from meeting Liane Keegan at the same time as my mentors at ENO were discussing my change of voice type to the very first application I made to the Finzi Trust, to the interview stage, to securing my accommodation here has felt serendipitous.  Last night’s meeting also felt like another occasion of serendipity.  I think I am definitely meant to be here and am so grateful to the Finzi Trust for the time I have here to learn about singing in Germany, to meet with colleagues new and old and to enjoy changing repertoire.

Goethe Institut Probe

Had my placement test for my intensive German class beginning on Monday.  After 2.5 hours of trying to convince the assessors I had some knowledge of German I ended up here.  Merde!

PS “Probe” being German for “Test”

Lost in Translation

Further to Chilvalry is in Germany:

Later on in a sportswear shop (I am really getting into this biking thing here and I needed something bright to keep the chill out and the cars aware).  A lovely young man assisted me with a bright pink sports jacket.

Me trying on jacket:  ”Das ist kuhl, Ja?”

Him: lots of laughter “O CooOOl, yes” – I have since found out that Kuh is of course German for cow and as an Aussie I regularly swallow the last syllable of most things I say!

I felt I got my own back slightly when as I was leaving he said:

Him: “Would be great to see you again if you are ever In The Hood”

Me: Laughter 

American TV has a lot to answer for.

Chivalry is in Germany

I promise to get onto the more serious topic of singing soon, but the first thing that has struck me about being in Germany is that they speak German!  

Seems obvious – but after 7 years living overseas I thought I was used to being in a foreign land with a foreign culture.  It seems, however, that England is really just Australia with a different hue.

(Suggestions for which hue or colour it may be are welcomed!)

Naive as I am I thought, after years of singing in German and a whole 6 months at the Goethe Institut in London, that I spoke German.  However, my vocabulary is not so useful being restricted to topics such as Liebe, Tod, Das dunkle Feld und der dunkle Wald, der Vöglein süße and die rote Blumen.  These words are probably inappropriate in the first conversation.  Additionally one cannot really sustain conversation by plagerising swathes of Mahler and Brahms.

Being unable to communicate except in wide-eyed nods, smiles and giggles seems to be bringing out a different personality in me – with surprisingly good results. 

So far the serious bike shop man has kindly gone through his entire catalogue of wasser dicht (water proof) bike bags and ordered the prettiest one into his serious adventure biking shop for me – Haben Sie eine Taschen mit blute rosen für meine Fahrrad? Dunke schön.

note the shoes - would not want you to think I have gone all sporty - yet...

After this exchange and many nods and smiles the other (younger)  bike man came outside to where I was about to pump up my tyres:

“Do you know how to do it?” he said in clipped and curt English

 ”I think so”  I replied and before I could add “I’m an Aussie girl so of course I can pump up a tire”  

He takes my bike, smiles and says ”Let me show you” in a German accent that sounds like he might be offering to show me more than how to fill a tyre with air.  

He then man-handles my bike and without being asked and proceeds to adjust the seat about 10 inches higher (much more comfortable!).

Nice to know chivalry is not dead.

Maybe talking is where I have been going wrong?

New City, New View – New Directions

 

          

A view to inspire Goethe

 

 

Aussie Singer in Berlin can hear church bells pealing and birds chirping through the gold and red leaves outside her Berlin apartment. She wonders whether she may have stepped into a story by Goethe – let’s hope there is not a tortured poet around somewhere or a poet being tortured…

 

 

 

 

 

Wish I had audio of the bells and the birds to share with you as well  (Aussie Singer in Berlin is unable to continue the conceit of writing in the third person).

I am here in Berlin for 3 months to take up a “New Directions” Finzi Trust Scholarship which is enabling me to study roles and complete a voice type change begun earlier this year after advice and mentoring gained while being a member of English National Opera’s programme for developing young artists, OperaWorks.  

I look forward to sharing my adventures in singing and in Berlin while I am here studying with Liane Keegan and having coachings.  Let’s see if this new city, new language, new technique and new voice-type gives me a new perspective on things.