Sunday, July 14, 2013
Michael and I are standing in front of Queensland Conservatorium in Brisbane, Australia, with Mimmi Fulmer on the last day of the 8th International Congress of Voice Teachers. More than a year ago, I had been asked to contribute a chapter on ornamenting Classical and Bel Canto arias to a book edited by Scott Harrison, who teaches at the Queensland Conservatorium. He was also involved with hosting the conference, and he suggested that I give a talk on the material from the chapter. Continue reading
I have decided to take a break from practicing. The Richardson Chamber Players concert two weeks ago was a big success.Yet, as I wooped up to the high C at the end of Bachianas Brasilieras, I realized how much pressure I had been feeling leading up to this concert, and how relieved I was that I had gotten through it. 
I finally have some time to write about Dragon Mother. The whirlwind of the Fall semester has settled a bit over the holiday break and I can look back on the whole process of bringing this project to life. It started almost two years ago in the interval between semesters when I felt restless without enough to do. I decided to ask various composers to write pieces for me in the coming years. 
Heading to Kansas to sing High Holy Days again, I decided to go out there a day early and visit the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve. I had seen an article about it in the National Parks magazine and it looked incredibly beautiful. About an hour and a half north east of Wichita, in the Flint Hills, it was a bit too far to go back and forth in one day. 
I have seen David five more times since the beginning of May. It has worked out to about 3 or 4 weeks between lessons, with various non-singing vacation/retreat weeks in there as well. Each time, he gave me new and different exercises. Usually I had just about gotten used to the previous set of exercises when it was time to learn others. 
There I am, sunning on some rocks, somewhere in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, writing in my travel journal as my wet clothes dry, watching the Middle Fork of the Salmon River flow by and by. Michael and I flew to Boise, and drove three hours into the mountains to arrive in the tiny town of Stanley, Idaho, nestled at the foot of the magnificent Sawtooth Mountain range. 
I drove up to Barre on Sunday, Feb. 5, and cried the whole way. The night before, Lenore and I did our French concert at Stonebridge and it was a disaster. Ok, it probably wasn’t as bad as I thought, and I’m sure they enjoyed it, but when I warmed up before the concert, on my own with the new exercises, I could tell that things did not feel quite right.