Recording Surprises

Recording in my living room surrounded by tube traps.

This past week, I began recording with Larksong Trio, my chamber ensemble with Calvin Herst on piano and Jennifer Yeaton-Parris on flute. We are recording a CD of cross-over folk songs – traditional American and Celtic folk songs arranged in a variety of ways, both classical and contemporary. We have played these songs for years. It never occurred to me to be nervous – until Monday’s rehearsal the day before our first session.
Despite my best intentions I could feel my whole body getting tighter and tighter, beginning with my neck and jaw, recruiting the rest of my body like the defensive line of the Patriots (my favorite football team!).
Defend, my body exhorted.
Defend against what? I asked, frustrated at this surprise attack.
Defend against vulnerability, came the reply.
Singing is inherently vulnerable, as I was viscerally reminded. Further, the mind is required for the mechanics of music making, but it can’t control the heart or the body. Heart is required for emotion, to convey something meaningful in a song, not just the right notes and words at the right time. Emotions can trigger vulnerability and its fierce protector, fear, which is what happened to me last week.
I managed two evenings of recording by rooting the lower half of my body into Mother Earth, channeling the tension from my jaw, neck and shoulders down my legs and out my body. By the third day, however, I was too husky vocally to record. We have rescheduled. I am reminded once again that control for a singer (or for life) is illusory. As one of the composers, William Fletcher, said, “I make it a practice not to fight life, if I can help it.” I am practicing love and compassion when fear and tension win the day. There’s always tomorrow.