I’ve started my second semester teaching voice and I am enjoying meeting my new students. (I also enjoyed the day off to celebrate Martin Luther King Jr Day. Is it still jet lag if you’ve been off a plane for over a week? *smile*). Out of my work with them, demonstrating exercises and beginning to sing, a theme is emerging. Many are afraid to sing.

Or, more accurately, they’re afraid someone will hear them. *smile*

Oh yeah, I remember that.

…

In my own singing journey, I learned that a BIG part of being a singer is a willingness to look silly and sound funny a lot of the time. You make funny faces, you make funny noises, you wear scarves when it’s 70 degrees outside and bathe in hand santizer in the winter.

YOU are the instrument.  You use — and therefore have to exercise — your entire voice. Even the parts that aren’t so pretty or that you’ll likely never use in performance. (Although, the opportunity to use my whole voice is one of the things I love about improvising.)

To be a singer, you have to be willing to take up space.

If you can’t practice in an “as if no one is listening” kind of way, you’ll stifle your progress.

(And if I can’t perform in a “let ‘er rip” kind of way, I kind of feel like “what’s the point?” That might just be me. *grin*)

…

I remember deciding to become singer.

Deciding to sing and be heard.

It was finding the courage to do the goofy parts of singing and stop worrying about if anyone might hear them. The warming up (yes, even at gigs!), the stretches, the loud siren noises and squeaky high notes. (My mom often jokes that it’s a good thing my neighbors know I sing or they might call somebody!)

It’s also about being prepared to sing “in the moment,” which usually means you’ve spent some time learning some songs, learning your keys and working on your voice. Even if you improvise, it helps to have done this prep work.

…

I like this video of Bobby McFerrin (well, because it’s Bobby and) because he tunes his instrument as the quartet players tune theirs. Even done playfully, it drives home the point — for a vocalist, the voice IS the instrument.

(I also like that he bridges the gap between being a novice violinist (5:20) and expert vocalist with such grace and good humor.)

I spent the many (many, many) hours traveling back to the states staggered by all that I learned during my latest singing adventure.

I have spent the week since my return working through my jet lag (*tired grin*) and trying to figure out how to integrate and apply that “knowledge.” Hard when most of it feels so intangible and when I can already feel the presence of the week slipping away. (And then there was chicken. *smile*)

With all this reflection, I came up with my keyword for 2011:

“Embody – to express, personify, or exemplify in concrete form;
to organize; to incorporate; to embrace; to manifest.”

I want to spend the next year becoming what I glimpsed about music and improvisation in Africa.* To more fully connect with the self I am when improvising and to inhabit the world I create when I sing.

How about you? Have you found your keyword for 2011?

…

Note: According to the map, I was in the Spanish Canary Islands, but in my heart and body I was in Africa. (More on that later.)

My travels started in Wisconsin where I spent the holidays and Sunday I caught my first flight from O’hare. Unfortunately, due to a problem with a brake light sensor, I spent an extra two hours on my flight from Chicago to Madrid. (But, after hearing Henk’s story about the emergency landing his flight to LA made this past summer, I won’t complain too much. Besides, as I said to my seatmate, brakes seem important *grin*).

Pillars and the curved, vaulted ceiling at the Madrid Airport

…

The Madrid airport was quite beautiful and while there I met a security guard as I was taking a picture of one of the murals. He kindly offered to take a picture of me with the mural and asked me if I was from New York. (How on earth did he know I was American? – cheesy grin). I said that I was from Minnesota and he said “Ah yes, I have been there – with the big mall.” Turns out he had been to the Mall of America in 1999.  What are the chances?

Me in front of a mural in the Madrid airport

As in Chicago, I arrived at the airport well before my gate information was posted. So I found a place to sit with my bags close at hand (my security guard friend had cautioned me about pickpockets) and ate the rest of my lunch. As I finished, Paula (a classmate) walked up to me as though we had arranged to meet there. We laughed and hugged and went to get her something to eat.

Standing in line at the café, we ran into Marilena, whom had moments ago found Constanza. We sat with our coffee and sandwiches as I tried to slow down my English and we loudly and excitedly caught up.

Having finished lunch, we began to walk toward our gate. (All of the signs in Madrid have the gate numbers with minutes next to them. I assume that this is the time they estimate it will take you to walk to them? Anyway, gate K was 12 minutes away.) On our way, we bumped into Henk. Much laughing (but no singing yet) and hugging later, we boarded our flight to Tenerife.

I poured my cricked and cramped body into my seat next to a young couple and their baby. There were many, many children on the flight (so there was not a lot of sleeping). But all of the children I encountered on this trip traveled so well. After a few conversation attempts involving a lot of gesturing, we figured out that the family spoke Spanish and I spoke English, but we managed to communicate well enough.  I made a new friend with the couple when I fished out my handy shaker egg to help calm the baby. (The descent was particularly rock as the babies ears began to pop. *sad face*) Costanza (seated in the row in front of me) translated that the mother told me I was “loveable” at the end of our time together.

The view of Volcano Tiede from the car

Three hours later, we landed in Tenerife and it was a short – and beautiful! – ride to our lodging. More reunions, hugs, kisses laughter, some food and some wine and my travels came to end.

Sunset on the night of my arrival