About one year ago I realized I didn't actually know how to sing.
It started in middle school when the sorting hat put me on the band track instead of the choir track and singing became something I did on the side while my focus remained on instruments.
That's when the “I am not a singer” mindset started. It was easy enough to fall into because one of my best friends, Rick Wilkerson, had a beautiful, natural voice (and charisma to boot) that would eventually put him in the leading roles of all the high school musicals. While I began to stand out in the world of “band” (which sounds like Ken's “beach”), I would happily play in the pit orchestra backing Rick's starring roles. And I loved it. It all seemed right. While I don't remember the moment, I'm quite sure it was also Rick who eventually got me to love opera. I can still recall his clear, warm tenor voice singing a damn fine Nessun Dorma.
But singing finds you. At home as a kid I started singing, quite loudly and emotionally. Singing alone became singing with friends, then singing at bluegrass jams, then singing harmonies in a cover band, then eventually lead singing in my own band. The whole time: “I'm not a singer. I'm just a dude who sings." But I kept doing it because I love it.
I wouldn't say my self assessment was wrong. I had in fact done nothing to learn to sing, and to call myself a singer felt almost like an insult to those who actually knew what they were doing and put in the time and effort to do so. I mean, I know how to kick a ball but I don't call myself a soccer player, right?
Eventually I find myself frustrated because I'm not living up to what's needed of a lead singer. My voice too often trended thin and nasally, and lost its range far too soon--you heard it, I heard it too. It was passable. It would reveal its potential at times. Eventually my second drummer, Sage Goewey, suggested I take voice lessons. He was right, and I did.
In the way that life tends to come full circle, I remember in one of my first lessons my teacher asking me if I had ever considered opera singing. It all flashed back… Rick. In high school I would check out opera CDs from the library, read librettos, beg my parents to take me to them. I loved opera! Among my first big dates with my now wife was going to the opera (which it turns out she doesn't like, but whatever). But I never in a million years imagined I could sing it. I was not a singer. Rick could do it.
So, imagine all that in my head when, in my mid 40s, an experienced and connected opera teacher looks me in the eyes and says I have natural talent, an uncommon opera voice and might be able to get somewhere in the business if I was willing to put in the work. I asked if I wasn't too old, and while I don't remember her exact response, it sounded to me like, “Well, you're no spring chicken, but you have a few decades of eligibility, especially singing roles like dads, devils, etc. You'll have to work hard though. There are many people with decades-long head starts, but it isn't quite what it seems. You have been singing as long as they have…just not opera. And you have talent."
Pause.
How many doors like that open in an average lifetime?
How many people ever believe in you like that?
I'm old enough to know that when the universe asks if you will, you say yes. I checked with my conservative dad who is almost 90. Without hesitation, he said to do it.
So I said yes. Most likely I would get nowhere with this, but if there's a chance I could sing this music that I've always loved, it's worth the try. A few folks around me thought I was crazy. It all but ended the band because of time constraints. Telling people I was into opera felt like coming out of the closet. It was disruptive, kind of embarrassing, and an absolute fantasy.
That was a year ago. In the next update I'll catch you up on what's happened since.