Made for Walking

Here I go...back to New York. Then Philadelphia. Then Pittsburgh. Then Baltimore for a couple of hours. Then home. The physical journey is nothing compared to the mental journey this trip will put me through. 4 cities, two buses, two planes, and some subway rides mixed in, all in a matter of 6 days. In transit, there's always time for mental exercise. Today was no exception, collecting thoughts while on the Big Blue Bus:

There are a lot of sayings about walking.

Walk a mile in my shoes...

These boots were made for walking...

Different walks of life...

Take it one step at a time...

The act of putting one foot in front of the other has played a symbolic role in ancient history as well as in the modern world. Think back to the Bible stories where God's people walked for 40 years straight. Later, Jesus came, and He walked on water.

Today, we walk to raise money for a good cause. We walk to express concern over tax reform. Walking alone can cool a hot temper, settle a full stomach, jog your memory, keep you healthy, body and mind. It's so much more than point A to point B.

In the past year, I estimate that I have walked a total of 1500 miles. Seriously. While living in New York City, I walked everywhere, going to work or a voice lesson, shopping or killing time. Some days I walked while pushing a stroller or carrying heavy bags or pulling a suitcase or with someone's preciously tired toddler on my hip...in the rain. You may be wondering, given the endless options of public transit in New York, why I walked so very much. Truth be told, it's easier. I only needed to rely on myself, my own two feet and endurance. The subway schedule was not always reliable, neither were buses, and I never got in a cab unless I was feeling a little bit diva that day, mainly because traffic is awful everywhere and going 10 blocks can take 30 minutes.

The year before that, I was living in Baltimore after finishing grad school at Peabody. With a new apartment, new roomie, full-time job, and a startlingly new approach to everyday, I still didn't have a car. I've never had one. (Yes, I do have a license, and I'm a very good driver.) My job as a front desk agent (see pic below) at a downtown hotel was about two miles from my apartment. When I first started, it was summer and I worked the 3-11pm shift, so walking to work was mostly pleasant. But when I switched to the 7am-3pm shift as fall and winter came closer, I awoke in darkness, sometimes with rain or snow, and dreaded the half hour trek to work. I could have taken a combination of bus and light rail, but any permutation of the routes always came out to at least an hour commute, which meant waking up earlier and spending money instead of just calories.

[Don't worry. I will get to how this relates to singing...]

There were days that I really got down on myself. I remember crying on the walk home several times, exhausted from being on my feet all day, not wanting to sacrifice a dime that I earned toward a cab, and thinking "how could this be me? I can't believe I'm a person that has to do this."

It's taken a little while, but after traveling to Europe twice, discovering every nook and cranny of Manhattan's Upper East Side, and investing in some heavy duty rain boots, I have a profound appreciation for being able to walk great distances under any conditions.

Last spring, I met one of my favorite opera singers, Natalie Dessay. (Now one of the most recognized names in the world of opera, Ms. Dessay captured my heart when I was studying Lakmé as an undergraduate at Loyola.) She said something to me that day that I hold in my heart every time I get the least bit discouraged. I fought back tears of appreciation and awe as I greeted her and told her I was a singer, too. "Just keep improving and improving, and eventually, you'll get there," she advised. It was a statement from someone who started out dancing and acting before taking singing seriously

I realize a little more each day that this career is indeed down a seemingly never ending winding path before me: A journey from point A to point somewhere-else-who-knows. Natalie says I’ll “get there,” as if the “there” were actually a place existing in time and space. If only. I’ve been to the Met. I’ve been “there.” It isn’t the place that I’m after, not the point B. If that were the case, I’d be done! Perhaps I adore walking so much now because the forward motion at least gives the illusion of progress in other categories of my life. As long as I can put one foot in front of the other, the possibilities are quite endless. I think she is right, though. If nothing else, she is saying that step by step, we all get somewhere. The "there" may be a fabulous career in performance, or a small-town family life, or something in between.

I was made for this walking that I do. And tomorrow I will walk into another audition, and on Saturday, another. I might not be wandering in a desert or fighting for a good cause, but what I do, I do in good faith, a faith that all this walking will get me there...eventually. Just like Natalie said. And who knows? I might have to walk until there is nowhere else to go.

Practice Makes ...?

Practicing has been something I've done for almost all my life.
At an early age, my parents encouraged me to take piano lessons, join the band at school, and sing in the childrens' choir at church. I believe my Alfred piano books are still somewhere around my parents' house. My beautiful, twice-repaired, silver Bach Stradivarius trumpet is there somewhere, too. My voice, thankfully, stayed with me.

I officially began to study singing at age 16. I entered The Junior Miss Scholarship Program (do NOT call it a pageant, please!) and needed the help of a voice teacher to perfect my Talent for the competition. Rebecca Grimes, a lovely soprano herself, helped me choose a piece that was impressive enough, yet short enough to fit into the 90 second time constraint. Up until then, my repertoire included everything from Madrigals to Mariah Carey, from Gilbert and Sullivan to Andrew Lloyd Webber. But never any honest-to-goodness opera arias. [aside: There is much debate over when, as a classical voice teacher, to give your students arias as opposed to art songs and show tunes. Of course, I didn't know what was what then, so I didn't know it was supposed to be hard. As a result, I thought it was pretty easy!] My teacher chose "O mio babbino caro" from Gianni Schicchi.

Check it out for yourself. My Dad is pretty good at archiving most everything I've ever recorded. This was recorded in Mobile, Alabama. I have to admit, it is pretty hilarious to listen to myself from 10 years ago!

Now that I have been practicing how to sing for 10 years, you would think I would know exactly what to expect when I open my mouth. Most of the time, I feel like the opposite is true. I have had three different full time voice teachers, and other influences from teachers and coaches along the way. As a result, my vocal technique has grown and changed as my voice has, which is a good thing. The challenge lies in the fact that a human voice changes with age, time of day, mood, diet, exercise, you name it. Practicing becomes a time when I have to determine how to negotiate around different issues, instead of focusing on the communicative power of the music and language. The effort of practice, then, is more about reducing the negative than reinforcing the positive. After a while, mental exhaustion sets in, and it is very easy to either push too hard or just give up.

Today, I experimented with a different approach to my practice time. I began the day fairly early, up at 7:30, singing by 8:30am! I got my creative juices flowing alongside my glass of regular juice, writing lyrics to a partially written "pop" song (as opposed to classical) I've been working on. As I wrote, I picked up my guitar and sang. I let whatever was going to come out, just come out. Nobody was there to listen and critique. But I have to say, it was pretty darn good. Without warming up. Without nit-picking. Without thinking, really.

After about an hour and a half, and finishing that song, I went right into practicing my opera audition repertoire. I was amazed at how free I felt to express, both physically and vocally, the aria I worked on. All of a sudden, I felt more in character, and the aria was more a part of me. I let the vibe of Rossini become incorporated with my own intuitive creative vibe.

What it comes down to is Trust, Faith, and Love: Trust that all the PRACTICE hours I have put in thus far has added up and made me the singer I am today; Faith that my attention to detail and to my own artistic soul will eventually help me reach my goals; and finally, Love, extreme passion for the craft of expression through musical performance, and complete willingness to approach new and old pieces alike with wild abandon.

Oh, did I mention I was crowned Jackson County Junior Miss that year? Yep.

Treks in the City

Two weekends ago, I traveled to New York City for an audition. This, in itself, is nothing new. September marked the beginning of "audition season,"and I have been up several times already. But there was something different about this particular trek. I planned ahead for an extended stay, 5 days, in order to get several things accomplished.

On one of the days, I had a coaching on a new aria (Una voce poco fa from The Barber of Seville) with a distinguished opera professional, which went rather well, aside from the fact that I was battling a seasonal cold. (Apparently, other people were, too, because a DVD shoot that was planned got cancelled at the last minute!)

The audition for Natchez Festival of Music was a success... in my book. Of course, I won't hear back from them regarding casting for at least a few weeks, if not a month or two. Measuring the success of an audition or performance is more about how I feel they perceived me and whether or not I accomplished my goal for that day than it is about actually getting the job. For this audition, I wanted to feel relaxed and confident going in, and be in control of my breathing, which is the first thing that goes when nerves take hold!

But what about when other things take hold that you can't control?

My schedule for this particular weekend included a restaurant, shall I say, appearance. A local actor/pianist/singer invited me to collaborate with him on a night he was playing in this Italian restaurant in the Theater District. I took the opportunity to, as he suggested, sing some "stuff" other than opera. I brought the best of my musical theater songs with me, along with some more jazzy tunes.

The restaurant was across the street from the theater showing Chicago. When I arrived at 5:30pm, the pre-theater crowd was tucking in for their dinner. The piano was situated near the hostess station at the end of the wine bar. As I waited for my turn to sing, I quickly realized how NOT ideal this was for a performance of any kind. We were so far away from the diners, I doubt most of them knew we were there.

The owner and his family, including a young, noisy toddler, were running around between the entrance and the head table, tracing a path right through the piano/singer area. In fact, there wasn't even really a place for me to stand! I waited on deck at this small table (okay, they're all small tables in New York) against the wall, and stood up to sing right by the pianist, next to the servers' entrance to the bar, totally in the way. As if all these distractions weren't enough, one Mr. Big from Sex in the City walks right through the door and sits on the closest bar stool to where I was singing. He was there to make some phone calls and watch the Jets game, apparently. I handled myself with grace and poise...I think. (Can't say the same for some guests who were coming in to dine. Two women got up the nerve to ask for a photo op, only to be denied!) I didn't let the celebrity behind me distract me anymore than the screaming kid. He was shrieking with joy at the music, I'm sure.

Listen for yourself...Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man! Keep in mind, there was no rehearsal for this. Or maybe this was the rehearsal.
(Photo credit, Headshots by Joseph Allen. Steve K Murphy, piano)

After three hours of back and forth (there was another singer sharing the time), we, the musicians were invited to the head table to eat and drink... A first at this establishment! Steve, the pianist, suspected it might have been something nice Mr. Big said to his pal, the owner. Or maybe that we were just exceptionally entertaining, the parts that were heard. In any case, the night was a success, because the only thing I decided to achieve was to sing, and gosh darn, have a little fun while I'm doing it!

What's in a name?: an introduction

I have been called a lot of different things in my 26 short years:

Dancer, Soprano, Stage Animal, Southern Girl, Most Likely to Succeed, Stage Addict, Valedictorian, Winner, Loser, Chava, Poopsie, Sister, Favorite, Na-na....and now...

Opera Singer.

Mom remembers when she decided what my full name would be. She was sitting on the swing, herself and her 7-month-round pregnant belly, when it came to her. I would be named Maria Kate Fleming, a graceful combination of family names and heritage. Kate for short.

Up until I began graduate school at Peabody Conservatory, I never felt so strongly about using my entire name. Sure, people knew that I went by my middle name, and I made sure my high school diploma included the whole thing. But it wasn't until I moved farther away from home and into adulthood that I made the decision.
I announced at our first opera department informational meeting, "Hi, my name is Maria Kate. Both names are my first name. It's a southern thing!" I waited for the response. Did it work? Did they believe me? Was I bluffing? It felt a little strange, this altered self. Nervous laughs and mumbled comments greeted me. I was certain this distinction would give me an edge. Who would remember just plain ol' "Kate"?

As I'd suspected, the questions followed: "Is it okay if I call you just Maria?" or "Do you know the Olsen twins? Haha, you know, like Mary-Kate? That's your name, right?" Yes, truly, everybody's a comedian! I put a great amount of effort into clarifying what I wanted to be called: Maria Kate, all four syllables, no hyphen, just a two-in-one like Betty Sue or Jamie Lynn or Minnie Mouse. All the corrections finally caught on, and I suddenly had a new identity. I created a new me, separate, yet connected to my Mississippi home.

I plastered my new name, my real name, on my resumes, audition applications, and assignments. Trying my hardest to get comfortable hearing more than one syllable, I made no exceptions, until...

I formed close friendships with some of my colleagues. Something didn't feel right. I was acting as if this new label had to come with a new angle on life, with even higher expectations than before. The me I knew tap danced and wrote silly poems and ate fried food and twirled a baton. Maria Kate had to be more professional, more unique, more focused, more everything! But maybe not more me. Eventually, I requested that my buddies call me just Kate.


Four years later, the verdict is still out. All 6 syllables of my full name remain as my professional name, and I will always be Maria Kate to some directors, teachers, and colleagues. Lately, though, in this post-grad/pre-full-time-career existence, I find myself reaching out to a new hand, unsure of what will come out. So...let's see...

Hi. It's nice to meet you. You can just call me Kate.