Good singers act

Exhibit A: Ellen Greene performing "Somewhere That's Green" from Little Shop of Horrors. I cringe as I listen to her, but I can't stop watching. She is heartbreaking to behold. Every note, gesture and expression delineate the character she's playing. She is Acting The Song. Exhibit B: This lovely young lady is singing "Somewhere That's Green," at her school talent show. She's blessed with a healthy voice that's pleasant to hear. She's dressed in a charming outfit just right for her age, and she's performing with poise and grace. She is singing, but she is not Acting The Song-- Thank God she's not!

Isn't singing a song more important than acting it? Good singing is the fruit of good acting. Good acting demands that a performer understand the history of a song and a show, its characters, plot, and lyrics. Good acting communicates physical and vocal cues that reveal and underline a character's thoughts and emotions - her voice. Good acting heightens high notes, deepens sighs, lengthens fermatas and expands rests. Good acting also makes vocal performances more believable, as singers discover aspects of themselves in the character. (Can a pubescent middle school Gleek successfully mine the emotional core of a downtrodden, centerfold-shaped floral shop worker who's being abused by her sadistic dentist boyfriend? Lord, I hope not.)

And yet, good acting is something that we barely have time to cover in voice lesson and rehearsal. We have to focus on good technique, learning the notes, blocking the scenes, and following the spots. So, when you have a chance to delve into Acting the Song outside of recital or callbacks, you should take it. . .

Which leads me to my shameless plug: On October 27, I'm teaching a one-day course on Acting The Song at Courthouse Center For The Arts in West Kingston!

I taught a one-week version of this course at CCA last summer, including some wonderful resources from Tracey Moore. There were exercises, improvisations, character questionnaires, research assignments, free writing and coaching. Some students learned new music, some worked on their standard repertoire. Everyone improved concentration and focus, and their understanding of character, and yes - they just sounded better. The final performances were impressive. As soon as it was over we all knew we wanted to do it again! Contact the Courthouse now to reserve your spot: 401-782-1018 or kelly@courthousearts.org

In mid November I'll be back at CCA, teaching a two-day "Broadway History For Non-Dummies" course. . . but that's another post!

Write on

I'm back in writing/directing mode after two months of teaching the world to sing. My children's history show, Quonnie: The Musical 2012, opens in less than two weeks! Once again I've written the script and lyrics myself, borrowing melodies from many different musical eras. I like writing lyrics and sometimes I'm really pleased, which makes up for the other times. "The Last Time I Saw Paris" was written by Oscar Hammerstein II and affectionately recalled the City of Light before the Nazi occupation. I used it in Quonnie: The Musical to provide a sentimental look at life in my neck of the woods back in September 1938, when Quonochontaug, RI (and the rest of New England) was devastated by a hurricane.

This year I have a couple of sweet elementary-age girls crooning the lyrics, which describe Quonnie before and after the storm: "The last time I saw Quonnie/the berries tasted sweet/the blush was on the roses red, we complained about the heat." The line I am proudest of incorporates a well known phrase: "The houses floated out to sea, the shoreline narrowed thin/our gardens drowned in ocean salt, a world gone with the wind." I meant it to refer to the song, which came out in 1937, but it could easily bring to mind the movie, which debuted in 1939. (And really, is there any better opening title sequence than this? ;)) To me it's a perfect visual image of how the hurricane affected this area.

I'm also proud of a lyric I dreamed up on the fly, Saturday night around 6pm. I was preparing to sing  "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better" from Irving Berlin's Annie Get Your Gun. The original lyrics describe Annie's rivalry with Frank Butler, but my duet partner was Ben Hutto, the esteemed director of choirs at the National Cathedral School and St. Alban's School in Washington, DC. So, I started rewriting some lyrics to reflect our roles as music director and vocal coach at the Royal School of Church Music's Newport course. I scribbled out lines and showed them to Ben for approval. Some were clunkers, but some were good: "I sing music that'r make a window shatter," "I can stick my tongue out and sometimes stick my lung out." My very favorite will only be understandable to church musicians, but they'll howl: "I can Phos Hilaron with my underwear on." He delivered it perfectly and brought down the house.

Okay, then. YOU try to rhyme Phos Hilaron, wise guy.

Writing with gas

For my summer vacation, I'm writing "Quonnie: The Musical 2012," teaching voice and acting classes at three different summer camps, prepping new classes for the fall in three different locations, and communing with my fellow Somatic VoiceWork voice teachers in hot, humid Virginia. I'm trying to brush the mats out of my 19 year old cat's fur. I'm ordering books for my high school freshman son. I'm cheering my daughter as she practices ice hockey. I'm also doing some weeding in the garden, growing pumpkins and radishes (I ate my own radishes yesterday!), doing some weeding, trying to grow sweet potatoes, and doing some weeding.

I haven't written much since I completed the first "Quonnie" script a year ago. I was looking forward to researching the history of my area again, and actually yes, that part is fun. But the scriptwriting has been difficult. I told myself the only way to improve on last year's show was to write my own music, in addition my own lyrics. I forgot that Elton John had Bernie Taupin, Lennon had McCartney, and even the Captain had Tennille. I was alone and adrift.

Seeing my distress, my husband asked, "Why are you trying to write a first draft perfectly?" He had described my thought process exactly. I gave up trying to control what came into my head, and as soon as I did, ideas and lyrics pushed their way into my brain and onto the page. I may still have time to write the music, but if not, there's always next year.

In the rear view mirror, all writing is easy. I wrote Bride and Flatulence three years ago and finally got a performance of it up on YouTube. I had read Austen's books, and wondered about the private lives of all the genteel men in her literary universe. I wondered what they were like when the women were off catching butterflies and planning balls. Then I stumbled onMr. Darcy Takes A Wife, an R-rated fan fiction sequel to Pride and Prejudice. The Darcys' "compleat delight" in each other, energetically expressed in several locations in and around Pemberley, resulted in the production of an heir, plus a few more progeny. Instead of exploring their most intimate pleasures, I imagined Darcy and Elizabeth's most intimate . . . embarrassments.

Mr. Darby and Miss Bennett in "Bride And Flatulence," 2010. Click on the photo to watch the whole play.

Looking at the video, I think it turned out well. I look at the video and recall happy rehearsals and sentimental thoughts. But, digging a little deeper into my memory, I also remember writing feverishly through the night before the play's due date. I emailed updated versions of scenes into the wee hours, until my future husband finally said, "Good night, and send me the rest at 6am!" I remember the first reading was at 9am and even the adrenaline could barely keep me awake. I was out of . . . gas?

Writing is like childbirth -- you forget the pain, but if you think long enough, you'll remember it. (And still be glad you did it.) And, there's no way to do it perfectly -- just get on with it, take all the help you can get, and hope for a happy ending. It usually works out.

And now, back to writing . . or teaching . . or weeding.