Play

I wanna talk about “play.” I read somewhere recently (I think in my extremely nerdy pet nutrition book, The Forever Dog) that humans are the only mammal that stops playing when we become adults. People I’m in community with, whom I have immense respect for, are always talking about incorporating play back into our lives as adults, as a practice of self care, and an outlet to nourish our inner child. But most of us don’t actually know what it means to play anymore, and even if we know it on a surface level we may find it exceedingly difficult to actually let go and have fun. I think play, in many ways, is about freedom. You know what else is about freedom? SINGING.

I think we can and should play when we sing. I love to breathe in weird places, stretch words, explore different sounds that I didn’t know could be “beautiful.” Sound is infinite, and our voices are capable of an absurd amount of sounds. Coming back to Musical Theater really let me play more than I did when I sang Classically. I’m sure, in part that’s because I was never advanced enough of a Classical singer to really explore those elements, but I don’t know… from what I’ve seen and heard, the Classical realm is a lot more rigid, even at the professional level. I know there’s a certain level of that rigidity in Musical Theater too, but certainly less, and I plan to resist that as much as I can. The rigidity of Musical Theater is different somehow: it’s more about the boxes we’re needlessly put into.

I’ve seen a lot of TikToks recently about these boxes, and the ways the education system tries to confine us all to the same generic “Musical Theater” sound (shout out to my voice teacher, Erin, for NOT doing that to me). What happened to the unmistakable voices of the generations before us? I think those voices became unmistakable through the practice of play. So I’m gonna play and lean into weirdness in my art, even if a lot of people hate it. I’m going to make weird choices that fall in line with my unique experiences as an artist. I don’t want to be a cookie cutter Musical Theater artist. I wanna be that weird blob of cookie made from the awkward bits and pieces that weren’t quite enough to be made into a real distinguishable shape, but is baked into a professional cookie regardless.

Anyway, let’s get weird with it.

What is Practice?

I want to redefine practice. For most of my adult life I’ve only felt like I’ve had a “successful” practice session when I am able to sing full out, and sing through multiple songs from my repertoire. I do this to the point of not even counting my less-than-satisfactory sessions on my practice log. But that’s not sustainable, because being an adult and working full time in the midst of late stage capitalism is exhausting. Then I had to go and have ambitious dreams too? I can feel my body screaming at me to rest and I can feel myself resisting. I hear a tiny voice in my head that says “if you don’t practice every day you’ll never make it to Broadway.” But let’s face it, that’s some utter bullshit.

First of all, do I even want “Broadway” specifically? Not necessarily. I mean, of course I want that, but ultimately I just want to tell moving stories with the best of the best artists in the world. And those artists aren’t all on Broadway. We know that Broadway is more than just raw talent; it’s luck, it’s nepotism, it’s fame, it’s politics. This whole ideology of Broadway being the end-all/be-all of “making it” doesn’t make any sense. And while I understand all of that intellectually, emotionally it’s harder. I believe, however, that there are steps to take to help my somatic being understand. One of those steps is redefining practice. So let’s do it.

Practice is engaging with my art.

Practice is flexible.

Practice can and must meet my body and mind where it’s at on any given day.

Practice is sacred.

I feel warmed up when I have moved my body, when I have meditated, when I have massaged my feet and built a connection to the earth beneath me. I feel warmed up when I take time (a commodity that is so hard to come by these days). I feel warmed up when the day before I too much water for my tiny bladder to even comprehend. I feel warmed up when I’m actively taking care of myself. I want to make a habit of moving through life in a constant state of “warming up.” And when I come to my official “practice time” I want to be gentle and kind. I want to meet myself where I am, and thank myself for showing up in the first place.

Now let’s get practical… here is a list of tangible activities that count as practicing (oh god I already feel myself resisting this):

1. Listening to other performers sing my repertoire

2. Analyzing the text

3. Studying the show/context of the piece

4. Watching recent recordings of myself, and taking note of what I’d like to try differently

5. Writing more thoughts on singing, and attempting to integrate the thoughts into my lived experience

6. S.O.V.T. work

7. Journaling about the character, or through the perspective of the character

8. Straight up having a full on practice session where I don’t feel like I sounded particularly great. Even when I sound bad, or feel mediocre, this is still practicing.

Being less than amazing at something you care about as an adult is so awful. We become so unwilling to be bad at stuff. I sing because I love it, and I don’t love it because I’m good at it (which I am…), I love it because it feels good. So I choose to love it even when I don’t feel particularly good at it.

Thoughts on Singing

Singing is sometimes exhausting. Few things give me as much joy and energy as singing, but it is hard. It is physically hard to keep a consistent, pressurized breath, without nearly passing out. It’s hard to stand tall and stay rooted when you’re already so tired. It’s hard to get your tongue to stop fucking around, and just stay out of your way. It’s emotionally hard to not sound as good today as you did yesterday. It’s mentally hard to get the motivation to practice everyday, especially if you’re already battling mental illness. 

I am tired today. I was tired yesterday, too. But I love this and I won’t stop just because of a couple off days, no matter what my inner-critic tells me. While I have no standing on which to do so, I’d like to give you permission to rest, and to offer gentle forgiveness for the days that you just can’t do it. Just because we love something doesn’t mean it’s always going to be easy for us to engage with it. Some days you’ll just warm up your voice, and then collapse on the couch, watch Schitt’s Creek, and curse capitalism under your breath. That’s okay. Even in the pursuit of singing professionally, that’s okay. There are always going to be days when I don’t practice, and then end up hating myself for it. I want to let that feeling in, and also challenge it. I’m not entirely sure how to do that, but I’m trying. We’re all trying. And when you can sing, do it. Make it happen. Cancel your plans, turn off the tv, and do it.