On dealing with uncertainty...

Good things come to those who wait.  A nice little saying, and probably true.  But how does one go about waiting in the first place?

As a freelance singer, I do an awful lot of waiting.  Waiting to go onstage, waiting to catch a train, waiting to sing an audition.  But the hardest kind of waiting is the kind that comes after the audition or application submission.  What will the verdict be?  Is it a yes?  Is it a no?  Will I even get a response at all?

We the jury find the defendant to be guilty of good singing.

On shows like American Idol and The Voice, the audience gets to watch a performance and then immediately see the judges’ response.  This is an entertaining way to present auditions to the public.  But it doesn't work that way in the real music industry.  Most auditions don't provide instant feedback.  Usually it's just a “thank you for coming” and a “we'll let you know.”  Audition panels have spent a lot of time practising their niceties and their poker faces.  So you often leave the audition without an inkling of how well you did.  All that's left is to go home and wait.

It's all very anticlimactic.  You dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting your audition repertoire.  You carefully research new opportunities suitable for your level and background.  You invest in making a good-quality recording.  You read and re-read your CV about a thousand times to check for mistakes.  And after all that work, it's over in a matter of minutes.  You click “send”, or you sing a ten-minute audition, and that's it.

Sometimes I sing an audition and then promptly forget about it.  I have so many other things to think about that I don't have time to worry.  I might remember it every once and a while, and say absently, “oh I still haven't heard back from so-and-so.”  But it doesn't take over my life.  It doesn't consume me.

The real danger comes when I hit a dry spell, and I seem to have all the time in the world to fret and deliberate about an impending response.

Wishing, and hoping, and thinking, and praying...

The sight of an empty calendar is terrifying for a freelancer.  Unless you have savings to fall back on, it can spell danger.  It’s hard not to worry about empty weeks or months that lie ahead.  Even when the next few months are full, if you look far enough ahead you might still see that horrible blankness.  And you can't help but wonder, what if it never gets filled up?

And what do you do about those blank spaces?  Do you wait and hope that something comes up?  Do you start looking for a day job to pay the bills?  And what if you get a day job, only to be offered some singing work at the last minute?  What if the day job prevents you from travelling to important auditions, or sucks up all of your precious practising time?  There are so many uncertainties to consider.

Horrifying.

Every freelancer deals with these blank spaces in the calendar.  They might feel confident that more work will come.  They might even be accustomed to the normal rhythm of their work cycle: they know when to expect dry spells, and they plan ahead for them.  But even a veteran freelancer can be caught unawares by a dry spell.  Perhaps you know companies who employ you regularly, but that doesn't mean you can count on their loyalty.  Someone new might do a fantastic audition and bump you down to a lower spot on the list.  A new director might decide you're not right for the role after all.  Nothing is certain until a contract has been signed.  Sometimes a company decides they have to trim the fat – and it turns out that the fat includes you.

The only certainty in a freelancer's life is uncertainty.  Our work lies in a precarious place, forever yo-yoing between boom and bust.  Sometimes we're insanely busy, and other times the phone refuses to ring.  You never know when you'll be left at home, twiddling your thumbs and worrying about the future.

And so it’s times like this that I struggle.  My whole occupation, my entire life’s meaning, seems to be based on waiting.  Practising, sending out CVs, and waiting.  I don't feel like a singer at all – I feel like a professional waiter.

No, not that kind.

Most people will give some idea of how long you have to wait.  We'll contact you next week, they'll say.  We'll write to you by Smarch 11^th.  

Lousy Smarch weather...

But often these promises mean nothing.  And you'll get a letter several weeks down the line, with an apology and a reference to the “great number of applicants.”

Some people – the very worst if you ask me – don't even respond at all.  Not only are they rejecting you, but they can't even be bothered taking the time to write you a letter to let you know.

All in all, the whole thing leaves you feeling rather powerless.  There are so many factors which are out of your control.  The number of other applicants, and the standard of their singing.  The personal taste of the conductor.  The economics of the business.  The internal politics of the company.  The artistic vision of the director.  It feels like you're a puppet being pulled around, at the mercy of everyone else's whims.

Dance, puppet, dance!

But a lot of these things are also out of the company's control.  They can't control which funders make cuts or bail out completely.  They can't control how competitive the industry has become.  Sure, maybe they haven't had the courtesy to write a rejection letter.  But it's probably because they've been completely overwhelmed with applications, and can barely keep their heads above water.  It’s important to remember that like you, the other side is only human.

So rather than pointing fingers at anyone else, it's important to remember the things which you can control.  You may not be able to control who buys your “product”, but you can work hard to make sure it's a the very best product you can offer.  Invest in good lessons and coachings, and dedicate your time to efficient, focused practice.  Study suitable roles for your voice.  Stay in good physical shape by working out regularly.  Take acting lessons, or dancing lessons.  Attend performances of artists your admire.

And be proactive.  Seek out as many opportunities as possible.  Do your research online and through word of mouth.  Make useful contacts.  Always keep your ear to the ground for upcoming auditions.  Remember, the more seeds you plant, the more likely you are to have a harvest.  So increase your odds and get planting!

You never know which seeds might sprout.

Once that’s all been said and done, it's out of your hands.  You can give the best audition possible and still not get the part.  It could be the panel doesn't like the way you ornament your Handel aria, or they want you to be shorter than the leading tenor.  Or – brace yourself – it could be that they just don’t like you.

Finally, try to embrace the dry spells when they do come.  You can always find a positive way to use this time.  Maybe nobody is offering you work on a silver platter, but that doesn't mean you can't make work for yourself.  Try organising a recital with friends, or even starting a new ensemble.  I've been using my empty time in the last couple of months to take a German course.  Now my German is at a higher level - and I know that will be a huge asset when searching for work.  Dry spells don't have to be so scary.  They can be an exciting challenge, a catalyst for change.  They encourage us to be creative and find new ways to invest in our future.

The fact is that a lot of this business is out of our control.  It's a combination of politics, economics, personal taste and luck.  For our part, the best we can do is to persevere.  Keep working on our craft, and improve our odds by sending out more applications.  And keep the faith, as difficult as that may be.  Because you never know what the universe might have in store for you next.

On being a Travelling Professional...

I'd like to introduce a new term here: a Travelling Professional.  A Travelling Professional is someone who, like me, has to travel a lot for their work. We can call it "TP" for short.

Actually no.  Let's not call it that.

Are you a Travelling Professional?  Perhaps you're not sure.  Perhaps you definitely are.  Perhaps you’re definitely not, but you’d still like something amusing to read on a Sunday.  In any case, here’s a helpful little list.

You know you’re a Travelling Professional when…

1. All airports and train stations look the same to you.

You don’t notice anymore if you’re in Tokyo or Amsterdam.  All you see is that you’re in an airport, or you’re in a train station.  They've all kind of melded into one big glass-and-concrete structure in your mind, because the only thing you really care about is where you’re going.  You know all those sculptures and installations and special exhibits that people put in airports, to try to make them unique?  Yeah.  Those don’t work.  You might look at them with a passing interest, but all you really care about is buying a sandwich and getting to the right gate or platform.

2. You’re always confusing your languages and currencies.

You tend to get just a little bit mixed up.  You might try to pay with Yen in Finland, or start speaking Italian in Germany.  When you're visiting so many countries in so little time, it seems impossible to keep track of where you are!  Last week I managed to speak French pretty well in Paris, but I kept unconsciously peppering it with German words: aber, und, oder, and so on.  I think the French were a little confused.

Not sure if this girl is part German.. or just crazy.....

3. You’re sick of going to restaurants.

When you’re travelling, restaurants become part of the daily grind.  It might seem nice at first, but after a while the novelty wears off.  You get pretty tired of letting a menu dictate what you’re going have for dinner tonight.  Even the nicest restaurant meal can never replace the pleasure of something cooked at home.  There’s just something so satisfying about deciding what you want to eat, buying the ingredients, and going home to make it.  Last year I spent most of December in a hotel in Stuttgart, and it didn't take me very long to get sick of the local restaurants.  When I came home for Christmas, I had no interest in the standard seasonal fat-and-carbs fest.  Instead I was desperate for fresh fruit, vegetables, and wholesome home-cooked meals.

All I want for Christmas is... salad.

4. You are accustomed to doing things practically everywhere.

Whether it’s doing your makeup on the train or warming up for an audition in a bathroom stall, you’re pretty adaptable.  You used to think brushing your teeth at the airport was weird.  Now?  It’s par for the course.

5. You find yourself feeling irrational rage towards perfect strangers.

Drivers get road rage and travelers get – travel rage.  When you’re tired and stressed, it doesn't take much to set you off.  Just the other day I was on a train, and there were two small boys playing and babbling to each other.  They weren't being whiny or causing any trouble.  They were just being kids.  Normally I would find the whole thing adorable.  But under the circumstances, I hated them.  This is what travel rage does to you.  I was once on a train in sitting in front of a woman munching on carrots, and I was so irritated that I wanted to throttle her.

6. Free Wifi is like the Holy Grail.

You search for it everywhere.  Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have it in your hotel, but this is never a guarantee.  Of course, there are a lot of networks which claim to be free WiFi, but they can’t all be trusted.  Many are the times that you've clicked on a hopeful-looking network, only to be asked for an email address and credit card details.  The truly free WiFi signal is a rare and coveted prize indeed.  Travelers will trek from cafe to lonely cafe in search of its power.  This is why I often end up eating at Starbucks.  It’s the only way to check my emails.

7. You are extremely conscious of your nationality.

I never gave much thought to being Canadian when I lived in Canada.  Now that I’m abroad, I think about my Canadian-ness all the time.  People often ask where I’m from, and then follow up with questions about Canadian sports or politics.  I often find myself getting into rather intense and lengthy discussions about my country.  I would never have any of these conversations back home.  But over here it’s different.  I’m not just me.  I’m an unofficial representative of Canada.  In fact, I would go even further than that: apparently I am Canada.  “He’s Canadian, you know” they’ll say, and give me a pointed look.  As if I’m somehow personally responsible for every other Canadian person or thing in the world.  A couple of months ago, a Spanish friend approached me and gave his congratulations.  Congratulations? I asked.  Congratulations for what?  He explained that Alice Munro, a Canadian author, had just won the Nobel Prize in Literature.  I guess I must have had a hand in that somehow?

Alright Alice, I'll expect my share of the prize money in the mail.

8. You often wake up disoriented.

Wait, whose bed is this?  Which room am I in?  Which hotel?  Which city?  Which country??  It’s a really weird feeling.  But you’re kind of used to it by now.

9. Your friends don’t get it – you’re not on holiday.

Your friends might express jealousy when you tell them you’re going to Madrid.  What they don’t understand is that travelling for work is completely different from going on vacation.  You’re not going there to see the sights or lounge on the beach.  You’re going there to work!  Although I was in Paris for five days last week, I never saw the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower.  I tried to fit in a visit to the Musée d'Orsay, but it never worked out.  And while I've spent several months working in Stuttgart, I've never done a single touristy thing there.  Much as we would like to be, Travelling Professionals are not tourists.

10. You have become a bit of a travel snob.

You've done this travelling thing so many times that you've got it down to a well-choreographed routine.  And you can’t believe that other people haven’t.  When someone packs liquids in their hand luggage, or takes a million years to go through security, you can’t help but roll your eyes at them.  What an amateur.

You're actually listening to the safety announcements on the plane??
LOSER!!

It’s a special way of life, this constant travelling.  It’s certainly not for the faint of heart.  Sometimes it’s really fun and exciting, and other times it’s extremely stressful.  Most of the times, though, it’s just Work.  An abnormal lifestyle that’s somehow become normal.  So to all you Travelling Professionals out there, I just want to say – I feel ya.  Oh, and also? Let me know if you find any free WiFi.

On being unfinished...

Last June I had a lesson with a new teacher.  He was very well-known, and came highly recommended by my friends.  People raved to me about the progress he had helped them to make in their singing  So naturally I was curious.

The lesson began, and after a bit of friendly chat, I sang my showpiece aria for him.  And then he started in on me.

He tore my singing to pieces.  Everything had to be done differently - completely differently.  I started the aria again, he stopped me after almost every note.  It was an extremely frustrating process.  We hardly got through the first page before the lesson was done.

The experience upset me very much.  At the time, I was at the end of my year at the opera studio, and I thought I was singing with a very good technique.  Naturally, with graduation only weeks away, I wanted to believe I was a finished product.  I wanted to think of myself as "ready" for the profession.

All tied up and ready to go.

But this man was telling me that I was wrong.  This man was telling me that I still had a lot of work to do.  He thought I had to re-learn my approach to singing completely.

I never went back for another lesson.

In September I moved to Cologne.  It was a new city, a new beginning.  And I was looking for a new teacher.  My friend recommended his teacher, who had an excellent reputation throughout Europe and North America.  I was intrigued, and after observing my friend's lesson I had a lesson of my own.

Like the teacher I had met in June, this teacher wanted to change my approach to singing.  Once again, I was told that I had to make big changes to my technique.  "Brynne," he said, "you have a lot of work to do."

It was a terrifying thing to hear.  But this time I was ready to hear it.  In June I had thought of myself as reaching an end.  Now I felt I was starting out again, and I was able to approach the lesson with an open mind.  So I took in what he said.  I got down to work.  And gradually I began to hear significant changes in my singing.

Nobody ever wants to hear that they have a lot of work to do.  But the truth is, we always do.  A singer's work never stops.  We are on a never-ending road of progression.

It just. Keeps. Going.

Since September, I've continued studying with my new teacher.  It's hard work, but it has its rewards.  I've just come back from a four-day masterclass with him in Paris.  It was an amazing week of inspiration and learning.  I feel like I've made a big leap forward in my singing - and I've watched other singers do the same.

A masterclass can be a transformative experience.  You have the opportunity to work intensively on your craft with an expert teacher.  Furthermore, you are in the company of several other singers who are doing the same.  Singers of every age and level attend masterclasses.  From young students to experienced professionals, we all have the same desire to continue working on our voices.

Singing can be a lonely profession.  Once you're out of education, you develop your voice and your career largely in isolation.  Sometimes you find yourself wondering, am I doing the right things?  Am I on the right track?  Am I the only one struggling here?

Is anybody else out there??

Which is why it is so wonderful to spend time with other singers in a masterclass.  It puts everything into perspective.  Suddenly you realise that you're not alone.  In my class this week there were many different voice types and styles.  There were light lyric voices and enormous dramatic voices.  High sopranos and low bass-baritones.  We even had a couple of singers who performed musical theatre and pop.  But regardless of everyone's individual vocal identity, we all had something in common.  We were all on the same road.

It was humbling to witness the talent and hard work of the other singers in the class.  And we learned so much from watching each other learn.  We empathised with each other's struggles, and we shared feedback about what we had heard.  We often exchanged opinions and experiences over coffee, lunch, and dinner.  It was a privilege to be in such friendly and sympathetic company.

Some magical things can happen in a masterclass.  When so many singers get together, all intent upon learning, there's a special kind of energy in the room.  You often find yourself trying things you might never have dared to try before.  You go further, you dare more, and you understand more deeply.  And you recognise some important truths about yourself.

You know when you're in a lesson, and something suddenly clicks for you?  Like you've had a "Eureka" moment?  Well, these moments happen even more in the intense atmosphere of a masterclass.  Often you hear or see something from another singer, and you suddenly understand something very important for yourself.  We all had thousands of these "Eureka" moments throughout the masterclass.  In fact, I don't think there would be enough bathtubs in Paris to provide for all of them!

It was an intense four days.  A lot of ideas and emotions to be taken in.  And on the evening of the fourth and final day, we gave a concert.

It was a daunting task to perform our pieces after so much precise and detailed work.  Suddenly we had to take everything we'd learned and put it into practice.  And what was more, we had to really perform our pieces.  We couldn't just stand there looking like we were solving a math problem while we thought about our technique.  We had to be in character.  We had to smile and sob and scream, all the while not letting on that we were thinking about our upper passaggio.  It felt a bit like rubbing your tummy and patting your head.

Nevertheless, everyone seemed to pull it off with panache.  I was amazed to hear people incorporating what they had learned into their performance.  And it was a real pleasure to watch everyone sing in full performance mode, dress shoes and all.  We all finished the concert with a feeling of euphoria.  We had accomplished so much!

But as we celebrated over wine and curry, we were all brought swiftly back to reality.  One by one, our teacher began taking us aside to give us feedback.  And he didn't pull any punches.  He recognised the progress each of us had made, but he also told us where we had faltered and what we needed to work on.

Despite our accomplishments this week, we still have a lot of work to do.  Because there will always be a lot of work to do.  This is what our teacher wanted us to understand.  That it's never safe to rest on your laurels.

Don't rest on your Laurels.  Don't rest on your Hardys either.

When you give a performance, you like to think of yourself as polished and complete.  A finished product.  But the truth is that noone is ever a finished product.  A performance, no matter how successful, is only ever a snapshot of where you are right now.  It's one moment on a never-ending path of improvement.

The greatest challenge of singing is that no matter where you are on your path, no matter what you're learning, you still have to be able to drop everything and perform.  When the moment arrives, be it an audition or an opening night, you have to put on the best show that you can.  Give yourself to the moment, accept where you are now, and show it off to the best advantage possible.

We are all a work in progress.  We pursue a challenging and relentless learning process that never ends.  But that's the reason we chose to be a singer in the first place.  Because we'll never stop learning.  We'll never stop improving.  And we'll never stop trying to be the best that we can be.

On storytelling...

Who doesn't love a good story?  As children we beg our parents for one more fairytale before bedtime.  Or we sit by the campfire, enraptured and terrified by a gripping ghost story.

"And then they told her... the calls were coming from outside the house!
Wait, no, I got that wrong..."

As we grow older we find our own ways to pursue exciting stories, whether through books, films, or television.  We seek out stories wherever we go.  This passion for narrative is an intrinsic part of human nature.  It’s inscribed deeply in our DNA.

But what if some stories are bad for us?  What if some narratives in our life are holding us back, deceiving us, or even damaging us?

Every day you tell yourself millions of little stories.  It’s a coping mechanism, a way to make sense of yourself and the world.  Take this story, for instance: my name is Angela, I’m a British soprano and I study in Germany.

Hi Angela.  Love the side ponytail.

At first glance, this story seems helpful.  It gives Angela an identity, a place in the world.  But it also places limits on her.  Certainly Angela is so much more than her name, nationality, voice type, and place of study.  And yet every day she is telling herself that that is all she is.  She is boxing herself in with her own words.

Is being a British soprano the essence of Angela’s existence?  Is studying in Germany the meaning of her life?  Of course not.  But if she identifies with this story too much, she is putting herself in a very small and precarious place.  What if one of these labels were taken away from her?  For instance, what if she changed from a soprano to a mezzo-soprano?  She might feel lost, desperate, hopeless.  She has clung to her story so much that she doesn't know what to do without it.

We all cling to stories like this, for many different reasons.  They comfort us in an uncertain world.  They help us to interpret events, to understand people, or to create a series of logical cause-and-effect relationships.  And often, they add a bit drama to our everyday lives.  

That's right.  We're all a bit of a drama queen.

But clinging to these kinds of stories can be extremely dangerous.  Why?  Because we forget that they’re stories.  We forget that they're based in our minds, and not in reality.

For every event in your life, there are two layers: the bare facts, and the emotional filter through which you perceive them.  For instance, you might be sitting on a streetcar and notice that someone is staring at you.  If you are feeling particularly insecure about your appearance that day, you might think to yourself, he’s staring because my outfit looks stupid.  You have no idea if this thought is true.  These are the only facts you know: you’re sitting on a streetcar, and someone is staring.  Everything else is a product of your mind – a story which your emotions are projecting onto the situation.

Nonetheless, you might believe this story.  You might choose to identify with it.  And in doing so, you are mistaking a story for the truth.  You are creating a negative reality for yourself out of thin air.  It's completely nuts!  And yet we do this to ourselves all the time.

Have you ever choked in an important audition or performance?  I certainly have.  One particular audition comes to mind.  Around this time last year I was heading to Amsterdam to audition for a prestigious opera academy.  I had auditioned for the same opera academy the year before, and had come very close to winning a place.  This time I was determined to get in.  I had convinced myself that this was it.  The be-all, end-all of auditions.  I had to win a place in this opera academy, because it was the very best thing for me to do next.  In fact, it was the only thing to do next.

Now.  Of course the opera academy wasn't the only thing I could do next.  The world is an enormous place full of innumerable chances and opportunities for a young singer like me.  There are millions of jobs and young artist programmes outside of this one opera academy in Amsterdam.  But at the time, I didn't see that.  I was blind to everything except this audition.  I told myself that I had to win it, and there was no other option.

So what happened?  Well first of all, I became extremely anxious.  For weeks leading up to this audition, I couldn't sleep properly.  My arias ran through my head constantly.  Eventually my immune system couldn't handle the stress anymore, and I contracted tonsillitis.  I was prescribed antibiotics, but they made me sick to my stomach.  I arrived on the day of the audition feeling stressed out, exhausted, and incredibly nauseous.

Needless to say, it wasn't my best performance.  I didn't even make it to the second round of auditions.  I was pretty crushed.  And it took me a long time before I could look back and see how I had sabotaged myself.

In getting psyched up for this audition, I had told myself an extremely dangerous story.  I had created a psychological drama, in which the audition had all the power in the world to decide if I was a good singer.  I had made myself completely terrified of the audition and its result.  It was no wonder that I failed so spectacularly!

In contrast, last week I had another audition, for which I had barely enough time to prepare.  I had received a phone call on Monday asking me to come in on Thursday!  This gave me just enough time to brush up my arias and re-learn an excerpt in a blitz of focused practice.  Before I knew it I was onstage, singing my audition.

And I nailed it.

WHAT THE WHAT??!!!

Why did I nail this audition, while I choked on the one in Amsterdam?  I had spent months preparing for the audition in Amsterdam, polishing my arias with expert coaches and perfecting them with trusted teachers.  This audition, in contrast, was prepared at the last minute, over the span of three days.

The truth is that my success in this audition had nothing to do with how I had prepared my arias.  It had everything to do with how I had prepared myself mentally.  Or rather, how I didn't prepare myself mentally.  Since I only had three days before this audition, I didn't have time to get nervous.  I didn't have time to tell myself a story, building up the audition in my head until it crushed me.

Of course, as soon as this audition was over, I found the time to tell myself a story.  I reflected on my success, and I found a way to excuse it.  They must not have had a very high standard, I told myself.  That’s why I did so well.  Even after doing something well, I found a way to transform it into a story of failure.

Does this way of thinking sound familiar to you?  Have you ever diminished your successes, or rejected someone’s praise?  Just like some people see the world through rose-tinted glasses, others choose to look through shades of grey.  We find ways to twist reality, no matter what it looks like, into a picture of negativity.

A less-than-inspiring way to view the world.

The truth is that you did succeed.  The truth is that the person complimenting you did enjoy your performance.  These are objective facts, and yet you manage to obscure them from your vision completely.  You project your own negative emotions and beliefs onto the situation, and turn it into something else.  If only you could take off your grey shades for just a moment, you would see the truth for what it is.  But your urge for storytelling is too strong.  And once again, you deceive yourself.

Next time you find yourself reacting strongly to a situation, try to take a step back.  Separate the facts from the fiction.  What is the truth, and what is the story you’re telling yourself?  You might have many good reasons to believe this story.  Perhaps it helps to reinforce some deep-seated belief about yourself or the world.  Perhaps it gives you some drama you’re craving, or it feeds your ego.  There may be several reasons to find your story compelling.  But it’s important to see your story for what it is – fantasy, conjecture, emotional guesswork.  No more real than the monsters under your bed.

We all love a good story.  Unfortunately, we often love a bad story too.  Our perceptions and interpretations of the world can cripple us if we let them.  This is why it’s important to recognise our mind’s stories when we hear them.  The minute we see them for what they are, they lose their power over us.

The stories we tell ourselves can be extremely convincing.  But they will only ever be as real as we allow them to be.

On getting back to business...

Ah, January.  A time of rebirth.  A time of new beginnings.  A time of resolutions and personal growth.

Yeah, right.

The truth is, January isn't quite the inspiring time that it’s meant to be.  Despite all the fireworks and New Years hype, most of us greet January with a world-weary sigh.  The holidays are over.  It’s back to business as usual.  Christmas has left us overweight, overspent, and exhausted.  And now we have to haul our figgy-pudding-filled selves back to the everyday grind of work.  This is why the third Monday of January is known as "Blue Monday", the most depressing day of the year.  We’re like a horde of cranky children throwing a fit.  We just don’t want to go back to school.

You might think that returning to work is easier for a freelance musician.  After all, our work consists of doing what we love.  Don’t we spend all day making music, pursuing our deepest passion?

If only it were that easy.  While we do spend many hours making music, we also spend a lot of time doing non-musical work.  Sending emails, placing phone calls, booking flights, writing applications, and making out invoices.  This is the dreaded un-fun side of the job.  The never-ending list of administrative tasks.  The business behind the art.

In large-scale arts companies, this non-musical work is split up among a team of specially dedicated professionals.  The musicians deal with the music and the management deals with everything else.  Individual artists, when they are established enough to afford it, will also delegate their administrative work.  They might hire an accountant to do their taxes, an agent to book their gigs, or a personal assistant to take phone calls and manage paperwork.  But many of us don’t have the luxury of separating the business from our art.  We have to be our own agent, accountant, and personal assistant, all rolled into one.

The freelance musician: a Jack-of-all-trades.

If you're living in the UK, January means one thing and one thing only: the dreaded annual tax return.  Being self-employed can make your taxes more complicated than string theory.  You will have several different employers throughout the year, all with different tax codes.  And as if this messy hodge-podge of income sources wasn't bad enough, there's the matter of tracking business expenses.  Every penny you spend for your music should be accounted for.  The problem is, nobody is entirely sure what counts as a business expense.  Do you claim makeup and hair products, if you sometimes use them for auditions?  Do you claim heating bills if you teach or practise out of your home?  Musicians are constantly debating over these questions, and nobody ever seems to reach a solid conclusion.  The fact is that there are a lot of blurred lines in the music business.  Nobody knows quite where their business ends and their life begins.

If you work abroad, a tax return can get even more complicated.  The various tax laws and treaties between countries are enough to confuse an expert in international law.  Then again, your employer might decide to simplify things by charging a “foreigners tax”.  In other words, he will take a pickaxe to your paycheque and chisel off giant chunks until it's no longer recognisable as money.

This is your pay after foreigners tax.

When I first became self-employed, I was not at all prepared for the Gordonian Knot of paperwork that awaited me.  I hadn't kept track of anything.  When the time came to do my tax return, I was in for a nasty surprise!  Nowadays I’m fairly fastidious with my records.  I keep a diary of my income and expenses, marking down the date, location, and project for each receipt.  It’s tedious work, but I know it will make things much easier when I file my taxes.

Beyond the complicated world of taxes, there is of course the tricky matter of booking work in the first place.  This would be no problem if the work was regular, but it's not.  Music is a business of feast and famine.  Some weeks you will be inundated with offers, and other weeks you’ll be left twiddling your thumbs.  Music companies seem to have an irritating tendency of scheduling all their performances at the same time, instead of spreading them out evenly throughout the year.  Until Hermione's time-turner becomes a real thing, and you can actually manage to be in several places at once, you're left with a tough decision.  Instead of doing four projects in a month, as you would like to, you end up choosing only one.  Not the most exciting project, mind you, but the one which pays the most money.  And the rest of the month?

With work being so irregular, cashflow is often a problem.  When you get booked for a gig, you may think your bank account can heave a sigh of relief.  But it's not that simple.  Many companies will require you to book and pay for your own travel and accommodation, only to reimburse you later.  You have to pay a lot out of your own pocket before you see any money from your employer.  This is on top of the many other expenses which you regularly invest in to advance your career: lessons, coachings, masterclasses, young artist programmes, accompanist fees, headshots, website development, recording sessions, and the list goes on.  You tell yourself it will be worth it in the long run, and it usually is.  But it can take a long time before you see any tangible monetary results from your investment.  The fact is that most musicians have to go into a large amount of debt before they get paid.

A lot of musicians address this problem by applying for extra funding, whether it's a grant, a scholarship, a bursary, a loan, or a line of credit.  And what does that mean?  Surprise, surprise.  More paperwork.  

Send help.  Please.

Now if you're anything like me, you hate this non-musical aspect of the job.  The money, the logistics, and the piles upon piles of paperwork.  It’s the kind of stuff that makes me hate being a grownup.  But it’s a necessary evil.  Some days I can’t face it, and I let the paperwork and emails pile up.  Other days I get a burst of motivation and decide to tackle everything head-on.  I make up my mind: today is the day!  I’m going to be proactive and professional!  I’m going to sort everything out!  I send out a blitz of emails, and I fill out every application form I can get my hands on.

Oddly enough, not much seems to change after my monumental decision to Get Things Done.  As it turns out, just because I've decided to be super-productive and organised, it doesn't mean that everyone else has.  And so my emails sit unanswered in someone else’s inbox.  By the time I get a response, my burst of motivation has ended.  I let the work pile up, and the whole cycle begins again.

Sometimes, however, by some magical alignment of the stars, another person has decided to Get Things Done at the same time as I have.  They get back to me right away, and everything gets sorted out.  We both bask in a shared glow of smugness and relief, knowing that we've managed to accomplish yet another boring unsavoury task.  It’s pretty much the best feeling in the world.

When you think about all the petty administrative work and bureaucratic battles that musicians have to tackle, it's amazing that we ever get around to making music  And yet, somehow we do.

We do this non-musical work as a labour of love.  We love our music.  And we know that without the administrative work, the musical work would never happen.  So we soldier on, and we fill out more forms.  It may be tedious and stressful and unnecessarily complicated.  But it's essential work, and somebody has to do it.

And on that note, I have some more applications to fill out.  Happy January, everyone!

On being German...

By now I've become pretty familiar with German culture.  And for the most part, I like it very much.  After all, I wouldn't be living here if I didn't feel some kind of affinity with German-ness.  Nevertheless, there are some aspects of German culture that continue to elude me.  Little quirks that leave me completely perplexed.  Here are ten of them, in no particular order.

1. Everything is on time… except Deutsche Bahn.

Germans value their Pünktlichkeit above all.  Or so it would seem.  When you live in Germany, you learn that there is one major exception to this rule: Deutsche Bahn.  For Deutsche Bahn, schedules are meaningless.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that Deutsche Bahn employees spend their spare time sitting around laughing at the so-called schedules and the customers who are naïve enough to actually believe them. 

"And then I said.. the train will arrive at 10:30!!"

If there is one rule in Germany, it’s that the trains are never on time.  After a couple of train journeys, you learn to expect the familiar announcement: “Sehr geehrte Damen und Herren…” followed by a verbose explanation about why your train is going to be late.  At this point I’ve learned to adapt to the tardy trains.  I book my trip so that there's a window of at least two hours before I need to arrive.  And then I pray.

2. Jaywalking is a cardinal sin.

If you come from Canada or the States, you know that it’s *technically* against the law to cross when there’s a red light.  But this law is more of a guideline, to be followed within reason.  If there are no cars on the road, of course you’re going to cross.  Why should you waste time waiting for a light to change colour when it’s perfectly safe to walk?  Why, you may ask?  Because you’re German.  To the Germans, the Ampelmann is an emissary of God, to be followed austerely with a fervent devotion.  Any transgression against the command of the Ampelmann will be viewed as a cardinal sin.  You will be punished severely with hellfire and brimstone.  Or at the very least, you will be chastised sternly by any nearby Germans.

"ALL SHALL BOW DOWN BEFORE ME IN TERROR!!!"

3. Speeches are sacrosanct.

Germans looooove to make speeches.  Long, long speeches.  You cannot expect to attend any event and not have to listen to at least two self-important Germans make a speech.  And don’t expect the speech to be clear or concise either.  It will be as long-winded as possible.  Full of flowery overly-formal language which is unnecessarily difficult to understand.  I think this is why Germans eat so many cold cuts and potato salads.  This way they don’t have to worry about the food going cold while they listen to the speeches.

Sehr praktisch.

4. There is no concept of queuing.

Where I come from, queuing is kind of important.  It’s polite to line up, and Canadians pride themselves on their politeness.  The last time I was in Toronto, I looked on in wonder as people at the bus station formed two perfect lines where the bus doors would open.  The bus hadn't even arrived yet, and people were already thoughtfully anticipating how they would board it in an orderly fashion.  It was truly a beautiful sight to behold.  Here in Germany, however, people don’t queue.  They swarm.  There is no concept of waiting your turn, or first come first served.  The idea is that you push and shove, and if you have sharp enough elbows you will get where you want.  This is particularly disconcerting when exiting and entering trains.  You would think that people would wait for you to get out before pushing their way in, but oh no.  It’s mayhem, I tell you.  Total mayhem!

Trying to exit a train in Germany.

5. Everything is dead on Sundays and holidays.

So I've been living in Europe for a while now.  I've gotten pretty used to things being closed on a Sunday.  I understand this is not a culture of speed and convenience, like the one that I come from.  Sunday is not for shopping and consumerism – it’s for quiet reflection, reading, gardening, and spending time with family.  I get it, ok?  In fact I think it's kind of a nice idea.  So I think ahead, and I make sure I have everything I need from the shops on a Saturday.  What has come as a total surprise to me, however, is the way things shut down on holidays.  For example.  Christmas Eve is a day of hustle and bustle, right?  The day that everyone goes out to do their last-minute gift shopping and buy more butter and flour for Christmas dinner?  Not in Germany.  This year, to my shock and horror, I discovered that everything shuts down before 3pm on Christmas Eve.  And I mean everything!  Want to enjoy one more merry glass of Glühwein at the Christmas market?  Forget it.  The Christmas market is already shut down and packed away for the year.  On Christmas Eve, a busy German city will transform into a ghost town.  It’s actually really creepy.  The same goes for New Years Eve, New Years Day, and a bunch of random local holidays which will probably take you by surprise.  Basically, don’t expect to be able to get anything from the shops.  Ever.

Germany on a Sunday.
(People still wait for the light to change before crossing.)

6. Fresh air is important, but drafts are dangerous.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wrap my head around this one.  Germans are often opening their windows or going on little walks for some "frische Luft".  At the same time, they have a pathological fear of drafts.  The most common complaint you’ll hear from a German is “es zieht”.  Why are drafts so dangerous?  Well, apparently Germans believe that drafts will make them sick.  Colds, flus, pneumonia, arthritis, the bubonic plague – you name it, and the Germans will most certainly blame it on a draft.

"It vas se draft."

7. Air conditioning is also deeply suspicious.

Like drafts, Germans have a deep-seated suspicion of air conditioning.  They believe that the artificially circulated air will make them sick.  It doesn't matter how uncomfortably hot you are.  It doesn't matter if you are suffocating or fainting from heat stroke.  Apparently it is healthier to remain cooped up in a stiflingly hot muggy room than to turn on the air conditioning and – God forbid – allow your body to return to a regular temperature.  I have no idea where this superstition comes from.  All I’m going to say is, I've spent many summers in air-conditioned Toronto not getting sick.

8. Everything must fit neatly into a category.

If it doesn't, people will react with panic and confusion.  Germans like to sort everything into boxes.  They like everything to fit into one box, and one box only.  Anyone who’s familiar with the fach system in opera will be aware of this, but trust me, it goes much further than that.  When I opened a bank account here, I was interrogated about the nature of my work.  Not only did they want to know that I was a freelance singer, they wanted to know exactly what kind of singer I am.  Do I sing opera, oratorio, lieder?  Do I sing as a soloist or in choirs and ensembles?  When I replied “all of the above” the lady at the bank looked horrified.  I’m pretty sure she almost had an aneurysm.

"I can't fit her into a category!  WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!"

9. You have the right to offer your complete, uncensored opinion to everyone.

It doesn't matter if they’re a total stranger crossing at a red light (see above).  They should still hear your opinion.  Germans feel they have the right to judge everything openly – and with no sugar coating.  Sometimes this kind of blunt honesty can be refreshing.  One could argue that it's better than being dishonest for the sake of being “nice”, as people often do in Canada.  But sometimes you’re minding your own business, not asking for an opinion, and a German comes up and assaults you with it anyway.  I mean, come on people!  That’s just plain rude.

10. Cake hardly ever tastes as good as it looks.

I cannot count the number of times that I've ordered a beautiful piece of cake at a German cafe, only to be sorely disappointed.  It looks like it should taste glorious, but it's just a bland lump of flour and butter.  What gives, Germany??  Are you not allowed to use sugar in your baking???  The weirdest part is that these cakes, as well as being completely tasteless, are extremely fatty.  Talk about a waste of calories!  If I'm going to break my diet, I want my tastebuds to at least enjoy the experience!

German cake: not to be trusted.

Germany, I love you dearly.  But some of your oddball traits will puzzle me until my dying day.  At the very least, I can congratulate myself on taking things lightly.  While many of these things used to make me cringe with frustration, these days I’m able to brush them off with a chuckle and a shrug of the shoulders.  After all, aren't we all a bit weird? 

On seeing the big picture...

I've been pretty quiet on here lately, and the reason is that I've been very busy.  I spent most of December doing choir work.  I was very grateful for this work: after all, I was earning money by singing, and not by doing data entry in an office or scanning items in a grocery store.  I also really enjoy singing in choirs.  I get a real sense of satisfaction out of making music with a large group of singers.  And the choral repertoire is full of stunningly beautiful music.

The thing is, I don't want to sing exclusively in choirs.  I want to have a solo career.  And taking on lots of choir work makes it difficult to keep working towards that goal.

It's a tricky situation, and one which a lot of young singers struggle with.  The reality is that most of us don’t earn a living with our singing right away.  So we take a “day job” to make ends meet until we can get our careers off the ground.  The trouble is, a day job is often so draining and demanding that you can lose sight of your long-term career goals.

You need the "day job" to survive, whether it's teaching, choral singing, or temping in an office.  But you also need to work on your long-term career development.  Let the day job slide, and you have no money.  Let the career slide, and you'll be stay the day job forever.  So how do you keep the balance?

The balancing act: it gets pretty crazy!

I have been struggling with this balance a lot lately.  My problem is that I look at my work through a zoom lens.  When I'm working on a choir project, I focus on that project and nothing else.  I work hard in rehearsals, but the rest of the time I usually act as though I'm on holiday.  Drinking coffee, shopping, having a few beers at the hotel bar... It's an easy trap to fall into, especially when I'm surrounded by a fun group of colleagues.  Of course I need some downtime to recover from work, but if I treat all my "free time" as free time, I won't make any progress as a soloist.

I have arias to learn.  I have my technique to work on.  I have applications to send off and auditions to prepare for.  So why am I frittering away my free time like this?  Am I just being lazy?

I think it’s more complicated than that.  It's a matter of limited resources.  There is only so much energy and focus a person can put in on a given day.  If you spend all day poring over a spreadsheet or sitting in three-hour meetings, it’s not so easy to concentrate on learning a new aria in the evening.  It gets even harder when your "day job" uses your voice, as it does in teaching or in choral singing.  There's a limit to the number of hours per day in which you can healthily sing.  And you want to preserve the best of your voice for when it's important - that is, when you're getting paid.

But beyond practicalities, there's the matter of perspective.  It’s just so easy to get sucked into small details and forget about the big picture.  You end up living from day to day, thinking about what you need to do now in order to survive.  

"I just need to keep my head above water.  That's all."

The trick is to think beyond your day-to-day survival. Think bigger.  Check your map.  Where are you now?  Where do you want to go?  How are you going to get there?

Everyone has an ambition for the future.  A goal towards which they believe they are working.  But are you really working toward it?  You can tell people your goal all you want.  You can shout it from the hilltops and post it all over facebook.  But unless you are taking regular steps to achieve it, your goal is nothing more than a delusion. 

"I am going to start my own company!!!
You can tell I'm serious about it because of the sunset!"

It’s important to keep working on your big picture, even when the smaller picture may be limiting your time and resources.  The trick is to avoid burnout by working smartly and efficiently.  I've discovered a few things that help.

First of all, you need a bare minimum.  Something you can commit to doing every day.  This should become a daily habit, as routine as brushing your teeth.  My bare minimum is a good warmup.  Warming up every day is very important for many reasons.  It keeps my voice healthy and sets me up to sing well for the rest of the day.  It also serves as an M.O.T. – a chance to check in with my voice and see how everything is working.  Is my high A a bit thin this morning?  Are my low notes a bit wobbly?  How is my coloratura running along?  Warming up helps me check in with my voice and be aware of anything different I might have to look out for later in the day.  Even if I’m in rehearsals all day and have no time for individual practice, I make sure I start the day with a good warm up.

Warming up: your daily vocal M.O.T.

Secondly, you need to set smaller goals for yourself each week.  These goals should be realistic and achievable.  Some weeks you just won’t have time to get as much done.  But making small progress is better than no progress at all.  You may not be able to learn a 10-page aria this week, but perhaps you could work through the first two pages. 

Thirdly, motivate yourself by keeping track of your progress.  Make a to-do list.  Enjoy ticking off tasks as you finish them.  And keep reading the list to remind yourself of what still needs to be done.  Checking your to-do list is like checking your compass.  It reminds you of where you are and where you’re going.  And it alerts you when you're veering off course.

Uh-oh.  My career should be heading northeast, not southwest.

What about those days when you come home from an eight hour rehearsal and you have no voice left?  Can you still use your time productively?  Absolutely.  There are a lot of things you can do without singing.  Listen to recordings to hear how other singers interpret your repertoire.  Listen to recordings of your lessons and coachings, and take notes.  And practise mentally.  Go through your music in your head, imagining in detail exactly how you want to sing it.  You’ll be amazed what a difference you’ll hear the next time you sing the piece.

Finally, don’t dismiss your “day job” as a mere money earner.  See it for its full value.  What can you learn from this job which you can use in your career?  If you teach, can you learn something from the way you've addressed a student’s technical problem?  If you sing in a choir, can you work on improving your breath control, or your pianissimos?  If you work in an office, can you learn some important tips on running a business?  Remember, you are pursuing a challenging career which demands diverse skills and knowledge.  You can find learning opportunities almost anywhere.  So think outside of the box, and try to see the full worth in every experience.

The hills are alive with the sound of learning opportunities!

It’s hard to remember the big picture.  We all have days when we get home from our day job and just want to collapse on the couch.  But do this every day and you’ll be stuck on the couch forever.  Your time may be limited, but you can still use it smartly.  Remember that quality is more important than quantity.  It doesn't matter how many hours you can put in today.  As long as you are investing thoughtful, focused work towards your long-term goal, you will make progress.

Your dream can remain a dream or it can become a reality.  It’s up to you to decide.