A Warrior Doesn't Quit

The artist and the warrior are not so different. Both keep fighting no matter what.

Today marks the 100th time I have heard an adult say, "I wish my parents had not let me quit piano lessons!" OK, I'm lying. I don't really know the exact number of times I have heard this, but I hear it a lot. A LOT. When I tell people I am a piano teacher, I hear one of two things: their own musical pursuits or their regret for giving it up. The past two weeks have been very challenging for me as a singer. Every day I have had at least one moment when I've thought about quitting, but every day I have also made progress. It's a funny thing, the way the mind works during music practice. Any ounce of imperfection can make me want to throw my hands up and turn my back on this silly little goal of becoming a great musician. Only it isn't a silly little goal, and making mistakes is how you become a great musician. Every artist must develop a warrior mindset about practice. A warrior keeps training, even when he's tired and even when he makes mistakes. 

I started Classical singing lessons last week with Katie, a doctoral student at University of Southern California. David thought it would be great to fine-tune my sound, and I agreed that the Classical model is the best approach. Katie has a beautiful operatic voice and she teaches in a relaxed and calm manner. She is a great example for someone jittery like me with my tight jaw and tense shoulders. I sang Italian Art Song for the first time in a decade and we were both surprised at how quickly the technique came back to me. I was able to pronounce the Italian correctly 98% of the time, and I hit all the notes fairly comfortably. But not EVERYTHING came back. I've developed some bad habits that I did not have when I was in the middle of my intense days as a student. My notes could be more pristine and my jaw is so tense. Katie told me to move my jaw in circles and move my tongue side to side. I look like a crazy person, but I think it's helping. I have decided to call it "face yoga."

From Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, my favorite warrior themed movie.

In my experience, piano students flirt with the idea of quitting once they reach level 4 or 5. I think when you reach this point in your practice you are starting to sound really good, but you have to begin working harder. I know for myself at that time, I felt frustrated that I wasn't perfect yet. I smiled as I wrote that, because after 15 years of practice, I am still not a perfect pianist and now have the wisdom to know I never will be. Students are usually approaching age 10 or 11 by this year and they are starting to develop different priorities in their lives and sometimes they sacrifice piano for other pursuits. They don't want to work hard to get better. They just want to play perfectly without trying. It doesn't work like that. That is not the warrior mindset. You have to keep working. Music is a discipline. If you stop pushing yourself, you will end up like the retired ninja who no longer trains and has the waistline to prove it. Your skills will plateau. What you already know will be very easy, but very boring.

While 11 year olds may in fact quit, because they would rather hang out with friends than practice the piano, I know I will not really quit. My moments of wanting to quit are more like the moments when you have a fight with your boyfriend, and you storm out of the room threatening to break up when all you really want is for him to chase after you. It's all talk. On my amazing practice days I congratulate myself and feel really good, and on the rough days, I feel frustrated but remind myself that music is a discipline. Just like a warrior in battle, you don't pull out because you are tired or scared. You keep fighting. The life of any artist is like this. When you believe you were put on this earth to create, you keep practicing. You have to stay strong and keep going.

Singing = Yoga

After spending some free time at the piano this summer playing through Jazz tunes like "Autumn Leaves," "Cheek to Cheek," and "Fly Me to the Moon," I am back to focusing 100 percent on my life's purpose: singing. Singing is a really fascinating experience. Unlike external, material instruments, the voice is the only invisible instrument we carry with us at all times. To study singing is very difficult. You cannot see the actual instrument, you can only feel and hear it, and the terms used in voice lessons can sometimes seem a bit esoteric: feel the vibrations coming from inside your head or your chest, make the sound vibrate in your nasal cavities, "think" the notes higher (as my high school choir teacher used to say). Voice teachers are used to seeing a lot of puzzled faces on new students. 

I studied Classical Voice intensely when I was a high school student. I studied mainly Italian Art Song, German Lieder, Gospel Choir, and Catholic-style Latin Mass music. As a teacher, there is only so much you can do for your students, because there is no way to really demonstrate on the actual instrument they possess. You can sing for them and try your best to describe how you do it, but ultimately, I find the experience of studying voice to be more spiritual in nature for the student. Which is why I titled this post "Singing=Yoga."

Triangle Pose

In yoga, we learn how to stretch our bodies in ways that seem impossible at first. With visualization and breath, we learn how to twist and stretch, and once we conquer a pose, the result is a calm, almost meditative feeling. I am beginning to feel the same way about singing practice. One must use breath and visualization to make the internal vibrations come out as pleasant, flexible sounds. 

Everyday, before I practice, I do thirty minutes of vocal warm-ups and then I practice a form of meditation called "Toning." In eastern philosophy, it is believed that we all possess seven chakra points, or wheels of energy throughout the center of our bodies. In this philosophy, it is believed that each chakra point can be balanced by singing it's pitches that supposedly resonate with each chakra. For the lowest chakra point at the base of our spines, we sing a very low pitch, and as the focus goes higher up the spine, the corresponding pitch also raises. I spend about five minutes toning each point. It not only helps me focus my mind, but singing extended notes helps me practice vocal control. After I finish, I am calm and my voice is steady.

For several weeks I have kept this daily vocal practice going, and it is paying off. Something clicked today. For the first time, all of the notes came out of me with very little effort. It was like all of my internal muscles relaxed, and the sounds that came out of me where beautiful to feel. I remembered very clearly how I fell in love with the act of singing when I was a very young teenager. It is very much like spending a year trying to form the perfect triangle pose in yoga, struggling each time to get your arms to reach up and down in a perfect vertical line, while your legs form a perfectly straight upside-down V and your face turns up toward the sky. At first it is impossible, but after a lot of practice, one day everything just falls into place, and the result is worth it. Once you form that perfect pose, and you are relaxed enough to take in a calm breath or two: total peace. 

I felt that way today as I sang. For several months, I have struggled to get my voice back in shape the way it once was. After years of only singing folk and rock music, my range had withered to only two octaves, and my breath control was weak compared to what I once bragged about. Today, the hard work finally proved to be worth it, because just like spending a year in a challenging yoga class, everything finally clicked and I felt the encouragement to keep going. Just like yoga practice, my muscles finally figured out how to relax so I could take a breath or two, and for a few moments I felt total peace. 

Stage Fright

Tonight I played the banjo for the first time in public for a full set of songs. I accompanied my friend, Rachael Harryman, a singer-songwriter originally from Kentucky. We performed at Bar Lubitsch in West Hollywood. I was nervous and excited. I love the banjo. I think I might love it more than the guitar. I don't know if this will make sense or not, but the feel of plucking the strings and the sound it makes against the drumhead is similar to the way it feels in my vocal cords when I sing. It has a flexible sound and it resonates more like a human voice than the guitar strings. I was nervous because it was new in a lot of ways. I have only been playing the banjo casually for 4 years, and I had never played country music before I met Rachael. I wanted to do it because I like Rachael's music, and I wanted to challenge myself.

I am always nervous when I perform. I was very relieved when, after the show, David told me that I seemed totally comfortable on stage. (I have always been very good at deceiving audiences in that way.) In high school, we were taught to always appear comfortable on stage, even if we were terrified. One time in college, I opened for my favorite band at the time, Le Tigre, and I was so nervous my knees were shaking. That is a real problem when you are standing up playing a heavy Les Paul electric guitar. Even then I had to first figure out how to look at ease, and second, remember how to play my songs.

On my way to the show, I thought about stage fright. I was trying to relate it to life the way I always like to do. I realized that stage fright is something we all deal with, even if we are not performers. Sometimes we have to speak to a large group at work and that can be scary, but sometimes the stage fright can happen when you have to talk to one person. I have known so many people who are afraid to say what they want to say. I know I have been that person many times as well. The dilemma of the performer has to do with a fear of failure, and I think the same is true in our own personal interactions. At work, there may be a difficult boss who talks to you in a disrespectful manner. The thought of speaking up about it with her could be very scary. I think doing so would bring up a similar feeling to stage fright. So maybe the answer is to treat it the same way a performer would prepare for a show? Practice. Consider all the possible ways to perform the song. Then, share the different ways with someone you trust to give you honest feedback. Really think about the way the material will be delivered. And be totally confident that you know what you are doing. You want to always appear like you are brave even if your knees are shaking.

Once I realized that we all have stage fright on a pretty regular basis, I relaxed. I was still nervous, but I felt more at peace with the nervousness. I knew it just meant that I care very much about the outcome and all of the hard work I did preparing for the show. I would like to be honestly comfortable on stage, and I think I may have nailed the first step to doing that. A Buddhist would say I have "made friends" with stage fright. I feel I am understanding what it is, and by doing that, I may be a little closer to overcoming it.

Feelings

I am trying to allow more feeling into my music. When I was younger, I had no problem baring my soul through music, but as I have gotten older, the walls have become thicker. The problem with this is the music suffers. In order to become a great musician, you have to allow your feelings to come through. It is a very vulnerable place to be.

I started a major life transition 6 months ago, and I have had to ride a wave of different emotions throughout the process. I have tried to put those feelings into the music, and I get a little closer as each month passes. I still struggle with letting go completely, but I can tell I am getting there.

Over the last two weeks, David has been out of town, so in a way, I had time off. I still practiced each day and worked on songwriting, but without our regular rehearsals, I had more freedom to do other things. I decided to do activities that would get me in touch with my feelings. I went to two very dramatic plays, took a few yoga classes, took two modern dance classes and attended a Breathwork class with Gong Bath at the end.  That last one probably sounds the most intriguing, and it certainly was.

My dear friend, Andrew Kutchera, leads breathwork classes here in Los Angeles. I met him when I was performing at a yoga studio many months ago.  In his workshops, we learn to do a 3 part breath that starts at the diaphragm, moves into the lungs, and exits through the mouth. We do this for 45 minutes, lying on our backs, covered in blankets. It sounds like it wouldn’t be a big deal, but it definitely is.

We always start each session with intention setting. Lately, my intentions have had to do with confidence and believing I have a right to share my voice with the world.  At this last class, I decided I wanted to become more grounded in how I feel about things. Everything. My opinions about life, my philosophy, the path I have chosen for myself… I want to feel secure in the way I see the world. I am a very sensitive person, and for a long time, I have questioned the way I believe my life should be. Sensitive people tend to spend a lot of energy pleasing others, and for the first time in my life, I am living totally for myself. I need to own that, and become more confident in the choices I have made. This kind of self-improvement is essential for becoming a better artist.

The breathwork experience was heightened by the Gong Bath. A very nice man, Nicolo from Italy, played the gongs through the entire session! Gongs are amazing. When a gong is struck, you can feel the vibrations throughout the entire room.  The vibrations from the gong plus the repeated breath technique made me feel as if I were on some kind of drug. It was really incredible. As I continued to breathe, my body became more and more aware of all the emotional ups and downs I have dealt with lately.  The gong vibrations hit me in a way I did not expect. When you hear a song from your childhood, your body usually responds. You have a memory and you feel like you are back in that same place where you heard the song for the first time.  The gongs hit me in a similar way, on a spiritual level. I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I would be all right. It is okay that I am who I am. It’s time to own it.  

After the class I had the sudden urge to sing “Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)” by Don Mclean. This song is about Vincent Van Gogh. How he was so sensitive and so different and out of place and how misunderstood he felt at times. For some reason, this song really called out to me, and I have been singing it for over a week. I was so moved by the chorus that for several days, I cried each time I sang it. Normally, I would stop singing it after crying no less than 6 times, afraid of the emotion inside of me, but this time, I decided to sing through it, tears and all. I’m sure the neighbors wondered why this girl was torturing herself sobbing through a song like that, but to me it was really a beautiful experience. I felt like I really experienced the music at a deep level. I no longer felt afraid to experience my real feelings through song. 

Showing Up

It is a fact that most piano students hate to practice. I don't know why this is. I was never that way. I was one of the odd exceptions. I have a few students who are also the exception. They are focused and seem to get a thrill off of the hard work and resulting accomplishments. But most students... I wonder if they think it is their divine right or something? To play perfectly without practice, that is. I don't know... I shouldn't assume such harsh judgements, but it is also a fact that if you are going to play music well, you have to practice. No exceptions.

Writers can relate to this resistance to practice. Writers know very well that you must have the discipline to show up everyday and write, even if what you write is terrible. The point is to show up. Buddhists use this term as well, when talking about meditation practice. We can resist sitting on the cushion, telling ourselves we don't have time, but if we commit to 5 minutes, it is likely we will end up sitting longer. The same is true for all creative practice.

I have anxiety about songwriting. I also fear my own songs. I worry about sitting at the piano, because of the disappointing and impending doom of having to eventually get up and fulfill my other responsibilities. That is the problem of not being present, and the anxiety is really about my fear of failure, my fear of writing embarrassingly awful melodies and singing borderline cliche's. All of this rumbles through me at about 10:30 every morning as I anticipate my 11:00 start time for practice. I have dealt with this for years, and yet, I still manage to write songs that are okay, and despite my intense fear of failure, my voice continues to improve. This is why I say you have to show up first.

I am very hard on myself. I still think I could be a better songwriter, and my fingers could flow over the piano with more ease, my voice could soar with less effort, I could tear up the guitar with better solos, but for now, I just need to relax about showing up.