---------------------------
Sunday – Eye Gouge Hell
---------------------------
My first promotional rave, I write it only to tell you – watch the BBC series ‘Jekyll’ with James Nesbitt! It is amazing, the best thing I have seen on TV in so long. Mysterious, funny, scary, witty, interesting, thrilling, fascinating; any piece of praise this series gets it deserves. The only bad thing about it is there isn’t enough! Only one lone brilliant series. The ABC has been running it in two episode doubles and I missed the first one and cursed myself for it when I saw the second. Every moment is gripping, Nesbitt is brilliant, with just a simple change of his hair he embodies both characters so perfectly it makes you wonder whether he really does struggle with the condition. The plot – fantastic, but don’t miss a minute or you could be left behind. The end is a bit of a cliff hanger and it leaves you thinking that there could be, since there is room and opportunity, for another series. And yes, it is on DVD. I won’t give you anymore clues as to what it is about, one needs to start from the start with no idea and an open mind, but if you like psychological thrillers you will love this. If you find the time get it (you can order here among other places) and watch it.
I watched the final tonight, turned the TV off and went straight to bed, as it finished at 10:15PM, and just lay there thinking all the things I described above.
You know that myth about the Taj Mahal, how the emperor Shah Jahan ordered the craftsmen’s eyes to be gouged out so that they would never be able to view anything more beautiful and splendid than the Taj Mahal? Well, I know I’m just raving here, and I hope you’re not disappointed if you do watch the series, but that is how I felt about it. I doubt I will watch a show quite as good and so and I do not wish to see anymore.
---------------------------
Monday – The Vacluse Lament
---------------------------
Where do you begin with an ongoing saga like this? Another singing lesson, you may have guessed, Monday, with a different kind of Mondayitis. I actually woke up with this unconnected feeling of happiness, with no reason or particular joy, I just felt OK. A feeling that was quickly forgotten in the morning rush, but it was nice for the 2.5 seconds it took me to realise where I was. I almost forgot about my lesson altogether. Blissfully. I was too busy nearly getting what I want with Mr. Crushing. And, and, I wrote a song, a very nice song poem thing about him. It was a dream to write. Such deep difficult feelings, such prose, sentiment, rhythm and feeling all expressed so well in 45 minutes, crossing topics off my ‘To Cover’ list like no-body’s business. Oh that is how writing should be. No wasted paper, no wasted time. Fun and easy… But back to the singing lessons that I can’t say the same thing about.
I nearly cried in this one. I was waiting for the time when I hated it, realised I wasn’t improving and she asked why I was doing it and why I was so depressed about it.
Why.
Shit.
Why am I depressed? Because I’m bad. Why and I bad? (I know I said I wouldn’t say this anymore but I feel it) because I suck! I have been kicked out of singing lessons before, no-one thinks I can sing. Are you daft woman? S U C K. Why am I doing it? Because I want to accomplish my dream, to perform my lyrics as songs. Why else am I depressed? Because I can’t see myself ever doing that! At the moment I don’t feel I’ll ever get remotely close, I doubt I’ll ever even master the C-Major Scale.
And I don’t care how much of my life I have left! I am already behind. I need 10, 20, 50 years! But I only have one left if I want to get into university this year, that you went to anyway and say is shit and that there is no library, so there goes two dreams in one, congratulations, bingo, whatever.
I’d trade him. I would. I know his opinion means more to me that it should, it means heaps to me, to both of us, and he makes me cry worse than any singing teacher ever could, but I’d trade him; the only thing that is going right in my life at the moment. If the devil came up to me tomorrow and said “I’ll give you a great voice, or the ability to improve or at least something passable to start with; if in return he will never love you, or want you, you still might be friends but you’ll never get what you want in that regard. You can only have one or the other. Trade his love, want, and the better half of the friendship for a voice…” I’d do it. It’s mean and it would hurt immensely, but that is the limit of how far I would go. Never let him hear me say that I’d do it. But he’ll never fill the void left by my dream and he’s shut me out before and I lived.
This, singing, is what I have trouble with. I would pawn off a bunch of things if I had a choice. But I don’t, and it’s probably better that way.
I sit in front of my computer in my dank hot bedroom, lost again. Listening. All I am left with is the recording of this vocal exercise I am trying to learn. It’s this lilty flowing near minute of ‘oohs.’ When I first heard it I was a little stunned, it really is a beautiful piece, and that made it even worse when I realised, knew, that I would never be able to do it. It’s such a sad thing to, not the way my teacher sings it per se, she sings it perfectly, and exactly the way it is supposed to be done, not in a tired way but like she had done it a million times, it just is when she sings it. But when I hear it playing back it’s like some snide angel is mourning the sad reality of my whole singing lesson situation, it embodies everything that depresses me about it all. Makes me sad on quite a few levels.
And it has a name this thing (and if I ever do master it over the next few weeks I may even post a rendition so you can see what I mean) I call it The Vacluse Lament, after how ‘vocalise’ looks in her handwriting on the sheet music.
Wednesday – Cave Daze
---------------------------
Today is pain, grey and boring and ominous. It has nothing to do with yesterday, or even Monday. It just is. My back hurts like crazy, I am swollen and I think I am coming down with a cold, I have a very important ‘ness’ to do today that I am not looking forward to, and the weather sucks.
I felt like writing a huge evil blog that would most likely be terrible to read because of its reeking negativity. Going on with myself being a pillar of frustrated determination against the cruel and nasty sea of people who only want to crush my dreams… but before I got a chance I checked my email, and found two more lovely comments. And I backed off completely, I felt like ditching it all.
I think now I can do this, now I’m sorted with it.
Yesterday I found Amanda’s latest blog. I was excited and I read it with fervour, but then was able to sit down straight after and write a nice not too long somewhat insightful connecting comment – in 10 minutes, without the mind-boggle. It was so nice to just be able to digest it like that. I think that’s how it is supposed to be, how I wish it will be from now on. I know the semi-insane, semi-obsessive letters needed to be exorcised and it certainly helped me get in touch with more people than I ever thought would be in the same position. But I think I am past that. I think my sane comment will get the attention (and maybe even a mention) that any other good sane comment deserves. Yes. I know I have said this before, maybe it’s truer this time, maybe I just need to wait and she will mess me up all over again, but for now…
More with the “I think”s and “I know that I have said this before”s –
I think I feel the feeling of validation and grounding that I hypothesised comments would have. You heard about my mood this morning, I never could have dreamed that comments could do that for me, most of my pre-comment feedback came from my housemate, which was at times a little awkward considering how long she has known me and that we live together. And although I have criticised the blogging architecture and general societal influence, I think it get how it works now. Of course it wouldn’t have succeeded like it has if it didn’t work, but I think I get how it works for me, as an audience of others blogs (both the famous and non-famous type) and as a blogger. There is a balance and it is strange how this need works.
I know now that I do this for me, for that need that I have to keep a diary (which I could never mange to do) and badgered myself about for some time, which is part of the larger desire to leave some mark on the world; but I also do this because I feel a little alone most of the time, it’s for the people, it’s for the friends I lost, it’s for the connections old and new, it’s a platform from which people can know me, the people that do comment and the people that I would like to comment or read (this is where Amanda fit’s in) and also because I enjoy the idea of this burgeoning media type and the unique opportunities it may present.
Ah, feels good to finally be able to say why, ties it all up in a not so neat paragraph. Rather simple now that I think about it. You just wait till I change my mind again…
☆Anika☆
between 'Select' and 'Name' to play the file, or 
at the end to download, then wait for your link to appear.
Hello again
ReplyDelete17 then ? Damn we also share some experiences of being 17, though mine is past, thank goodness...
Yes I also took singing lessons and yes, I did also cried during my singing lessons, got my throat so tied up that i couldn't even explain why, or speak at all, and have finally my -though very nice and patient- singing teacher get angry for that. And for the same reason : my terrible patheticness and lack of talent at singing and the utter, unbelievable frustration coming from it, like a painter without pigments. oh yes and damn this also was made even worse by my huge ambitions and the sense of emergency going the end of high school, like the world telling you you have to know by the end of the year what you are going to do in life and abandon everything of the rest forever ever ever. No, really, I did believe that. To add to that i was in a band with my forbidden crush/extremely talented friend who was trying to make me sing on songs, for which I was (or thought i was) not at all prepared. Thus ensued tear crisis during rehearsals, shame and guilt and all the heavy apparatus of blaming oneself.
Damn, that was a bit stupid. Totally human but stupid. Yes you DO have time. In Melbourne, I met the loveliest couple ever, both singers, both the most amazingly touching, vibrant voices i ever heard. Both telling me how bad to not special they were at the start. When the guy told his mum some 10 years ago he was going to be a singer and that's it, she took a worried look and told him he should reconsider the career.. no not because it doesn't pay, because he was the worst singer ever, no pitch, no way he could hold it.
Well, he loved it. He loved the songs, he loved singing, he held on. Now he's .. maybe indeed 10 years older than you are, not yet a national star but one of the greatest singer i ever heard.
First, despair doesn't help. At all. Neither focusing too much on how it sounds now. If you are afraid, if you mae it slowly equal singing with pain and shame of course it will sound and bad and no you won't progress. You have to let it go. I mean, let go of the ambition, of the deadline, of the pressure. Your voice is not going to come because you pressure it out. You have to work relentlessly on finding it, smiling when you glimpse it, shrug when you don't. singing teachers have seen worse so don't worry about them. singing lessons are not shows, they are made for errors and pure utter badness. The voice will come when you least expect it, when you will actually enjoy it for what it is, for the practice and the research itself rather than for the goal. Use your ability to criticize yourself not to put yourself down and wish you were born with another voice but to list what precise points are to be worked on (and no, the list can never be to long and that's not something to be ashamed of), and be patient about conqueering it. You do the best the can so why shame yourself because you can't do more.
second, no, life doesn't stop at the start of uni. Ok, it might be the middle of nowhere with no ressources, hence no singing lessons or even culture at all (yuck), but even then there are sometimes choirs, clubs, friends, anything, or even you can try and note down your exercises and teach yourself. Or take a minor or breadth subject in music ? And your soul is not gonna decompose or get formated once in uni.. Uni is a hell lot of free time and encounters and freedom. and it's not like it's gonna be a straight road to working life after that. Oh no, really, really not...
Do it for the music, not for the instant fame, not for the admiration, for the attention (you're talking a lot about it, but hey.. 17, same old same old), for the recognition, whatever you call it. Do not tame it with force, but trick it with nicenes, to your voice and yourself. It's like a relationship, you can't be too intransigeant, lady, or it'll go away!
and you should post some of thoise poems ^^
Hmmm, no I dont think that university is the end of the line. My only caution about that was that it wasn't going to be the art paradise full of like minded people that I thought it should be. Like what I was told high school would be like when I was in primary school. Needless to say it was in fact worse. But otherwise:
ReplyDeleteYeah, it's all true. You got me. And I blogged about it of course.If I don't mention some of what you wrote and let some of it slide it's not because I didn't read all of it, or it didn't sink in. Every single word hit home like a ton of bricks.
But I do have two questions, did you ever acquire the ability to sing or the dream that came with it? And which poems?
And lastly – thank you.
Anika.