I was recently in Hollywood with some dear friends, where I discovered a part of my past I had forgotten. Well, let me correct myself, a part of my past I had buried. I buried it so deep as to never be heard from again. It all came whooshing back to show it's face in a matter of seconds with the mere mention of a name.
Let's start at the beginning then so we're all an the same page. When I was a little girl, I always knew there was something bigger than the little tiny eye blink of a town that I grew up in. My grandparents were successful enough, my Hippie parents were, well, hippies. I experienced both sides of the financial spectrum but all at once. Talk about confusion... but I knew which one I identified with the most. I also knew which one taught me to survive when it was crucial. The finer points of this story will be in the book anyway... so let's move on.
As a child, I had a certain gift that no one recognized or chose to recognize until I was in elementary school. I did not have the opportunity to take the necessary steps to gain an education in this pursuit. My Hippie parents would never allow the expense, or quite possibly the risk of failure. We were all supposed to grow up, be secretaries, until we met a decent enough railroad worker and got married and popped out a succession of offspring who could work the little farm, raise homegrown crops of vegetables and a sheep or two. Wow... I sure must have been a shock when I showed the early signs of being an artist. My wax crayon drawings of tigers, underwater scenes, and horses were not encouraged once I started making murals 2 feet up the walls of our little cottage. Did I mention I could sing? Probably much better back then than now. I had the freedom to roam around our secluded little farm and sing my heart out to the trees, the sheep, especially the dog. He was a great audience and only needed a few dog treats to keep him sitting for the whole show. I sang in church every Sunday when my Mom would take me. My sister's or my Dad weren't much for the church thing, but I went because I could sing and no one told me to shut up, put a lid on it, or made me feel bad because I could sound like Barbara Streisand at the age of 5 and they did not.
When I reached elementary school, I sang everyday. Music and art were my favorite classes, Language Arts a close second because I loved to write. They were my escape from an often unpleasant life at the little hippie cottage and my teachers encouraged and prodded me to sing louder, use more color, and write whatever came in to my head. They cared enough to decide I needed to be a soloist in the Kiwanis Music Festival in grade 1. They made time in each school day because they knew I would never get the time or the help to rehearse at home. They brought in a substitute teacher to manage the grade 4 class so the grade 4 teacher could come and play piano for me a few times a day. We rehearsed while everyone else was outside at recess. I didn't mind, I loved to sing. Looking back now, I was really amazing for a little kid. Back then for me, it was just fun, and I could escape the bullies on the playground. In the school gym, with my teachers, I was safe, loved, and encouraged to greatness. The outcome and details of the festival, I'll leave for the book, but it made a lasting impression on me. So much so that it followed me into adulthood until recently. Also in the book.
I worked a few jobs to pay for professional vocal coaches through my teenage years. My family did not support the arts, nor did they support need to create and express. It came out in other ways, of which they also could not tolerate. I had the coolest vocal coach at 14 years old. She was loving and supportive, much like my elementary teachers. She had a radio program on every Christmas where her students were able to showcase and perform once per year on live radio. She was adorable. After a few lessons, I had trouble getting a ride to her place on a regular basis. The bus was just too far out of reach for me at that time so she suggested I go to Giovanni's Music on Whyte Avenue and order a certain book. She also said after a few lessons, I had perfect pitch. She intentionally made mistakes on the piano to see if she could catch me but each and every time, my notes were true and clear, so this book, she said, would assist me when I couldn't be there for lessons. She admonished a family member, who drove me there once, that I had a gift and if they did not support my gift, they should be ashamed.
The book came with a vocal track, diagrams, and amazing coaching. I studied that book from cover to cover, did the vocal exercises daily, and religiously, much to my family's chagrin. One of my sister's once shut off the electricity in the house so I couldn't rehearse. It was strange to have this support from complete strangers but never from my own family. This book was a lifesaver for me, a great source of comfort in my artistic struggles and the man who wrote it has been on my Top Ten List of 'must photograph subjects' since I first picked up a camera. Incidentally, the camera became a close rival of music about the same time.
Let's skip forward to my recent trip to Los Angeles, CA. I went with my friends to a meeting at the Paramount lot and we passed a man on my way out that looked a little familiar. It didn't dawn on me who it was until we were in the offices for our meeting. The young man we met with is a great filmmaker and one I believe will be an Oscar winner in the near future. His recent entry into THE Sundance Film Festival was a winner and was also up for 3 Independent Spirit Awards a few days ago.
As were were all discussing our mutual acquaintances and his recent trip to Calgary for the launch of the Teenaged Paparazzo film, he mentioned that a very dear and longtime friend of his just left the office. Seth Riggs. Yes, non other than my long distance vocal coach. Vocal coach to Julie Andrews, Ann Margaret, Stevie Wonder, Micheal Jackson, the late Whitney Houston, and many, many other gifted artists. I was actually the only other person in the room who knew who he is. He is not an 'in-the-spotlight-guy' unless you train vocally so I did not feel that was unusual. My filmmaker friend said, we had to set up a meeting. I had to meet him. I was almost overwhelmed and had to sit quiet for a minute.
The day for our meeting with Seth Riggs was packed into an already full schedule. I was getting a little antsy, even though the people we were meeting with already were no small potato's either, but people I had met with on our previous trip, and will likely meet again for many years.
Finally came time to go to his house. We arrive, he is gracious and genial, welcomes us in. Normally better manners would prevail but I was so nervous, I had to sit down immediately. Now considering I spent two days in the presence of His Holiness, The XIVth Dalai Lama and really wasn't nervous at all then, this nerves thing was a bit of a shock. The meeting was short as we were delayed arriving, but my filmmaker friend made sure I was able to get my pictures as well as a picture of me with Mr Riggs. He is the magic behind the talent of many of the worlds best and brightest and another moment in time that will be replayed in my memory for many years to come.
SO yes, my secret. I can sing. Although the promise I made when I had my children was to let go of music and be a good mother, did not make it easy to cultivate my gift. I again, had to have my creative outlet and I chose my camera and a life overseas with my children. My vocal chords are now rusted and scarred from lack of use, the notes don't pour out as smoothly or sweetly as they once did. I still hear the notes in my head as perfect pitch but the lack of exercise doesn't always make them come out as they should. I am assured that with practise and the right coaching, I could have them back at will.
I dug out that old book the other day. When my daughter, at 3 years of age displayed the ability to sing a song, note for note, word for word, I replaced the old cassette from the back of the book with a CD. The book is dog eared and tired looking but the information and exercises in it are still as true as they were back then. Both my children are blessed with musical ability, but chose an easier road to make a living.
I was in the laundry room in my building the other day. The acoustics are almost decent enough to practice in. With the washer and dryer going simultaneously, I was sure no one could hear me... so I sang. I sang the kids favorite Disney songs because those were the ones I could remember notes and words clearly. When I finished my repertoire, I heard the mumbling and clapping from the doorway of the basement laundry. My warbling did not go un-noticed or un-heard. After a few minutes of embarrassed laughter from me, the compliments were forthcoming. I collected my clothes and sheets and returned to my floor, shut the door of my flat behind me and leaned against the door with a sigh and a smile. After a few weeks of travelling and laundry to catch up on, I'm sure I'll have a return engagement there the next 5 nights. Thank you and Goodnight Calgary!!!!!
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
Let's start at the beginning then so we're all an the same page. When I was a little girl, I always knew there was something bigger than the little tiny eye blink of a town that I grew up in. My grandparents were successful enough, my Hippie parents were, well, hippies. I experienced both sides of the financial spectrum but all at once. Talk about confusion... but I knew which one I identified with the most. I also knew which one taught me to survive when it was crucial. The finer points of this story will be in the book anyway... so let's move on.
As a child, I had a certain gift that no one recognized or chose to recognize until I was in elementary school. I did not have the opportunity to take the necessary steps to gain an education in this pursuit. My Hippie parents would never allow the expense, or quite possibly the risk of failure. We were all supposed to grow up, be secretaries, until we met a decent enough railroad worker and got married and popped out a succession of offspring who could work the little farm, raise homegrown crops of vegetables and a sheep or two. Wow... I sure must have been a shock when I showed the early signs of being an artist. My wax crayon drawings of tigers, underwater scenes, and horses were not encouraged once I started making murals 2 feet up the walls of our little cottage. Did I mention I could sing? Probably much better back then than now. I had the freedom to roam around our secluded little farm and sing my heart out to the trees, the sheep, especially the dog. He was a great audience and only needed a few dog treats to keep him sitting for the whole show. I sang in church every Sunday when my Mom would take me. My sister's or my Dad weren't much for the church thing, but I went because I could sing and no one told me to shut up, put a lid on it, or made me feel bad because I could sound like Barbara Streisand at the age of 5 and they did not.
When I reached elementary school, I sang everyday. Music and art were my favorite classes, Language Arts a close second because I loved to write. They were my escape from an often unpleasant life at the little hippie cottage and my teachers encouraged and prodded me to sing louder, use more color, and write whatever came in to my head. They cared enough to decide I needed to be a soloist in the Kiwanis Music Festival in grade 1. They made time in each school day because they knew I would never get the time or the help to rehearse at home. They brought in a substitute teacher to manage the grade 4 class so the grade 4 teacher could come and play piano for me a few times a day. We rehearsed while everyone else was outside at recess. I didn't mind, I loved to sing. Looking back now, I was really amazing for a little kid. Back then for me, it was just fun, and I could escape the bullies on the playground. In the school gym, with my teachers, I was safe, loved, and encouraged to greatness. The outcome and details of the festival, I'll leave for the book, but it made a lasting impression on me. So much so that it followed me into adulthood until recently. Also in the book.
I worked a few jobs to pay for professional vocal coaches through my teenage years. My family did not support the arts, nor did they support need to create and express. It came out in other ways, of which they also could not tolerate. I had the coolest vocal coach at 14 years old. She was loving and supportive, much like my elementary teachers. She had a radio program on every Christmas where her students were able to showcase and perform once per year on live radio. She was adorable. After a few lessons, I had trouble getting a ride to her place on a regular basis. The bus was just too far out of reach for me at that time so she suggested I go to Giovanni's Music on Whyte Avenue and order a certain book. She also said after a few lessons, I had perfect pitch. She intentionally made mistakes on the piano to see if she could catch me but each and every time, my notes were true and clear, so this book, she said, would assist me when I couldn't be there for lessons. She admonished a family member, who drove me there once, that I had a gift and if they did not support my gift, they should be ashamed.
The book came with a vocal track, diagrams, and amazing coaching. I studied that book from cover to cover, did the vocal exercises daily, and religiously, much to my family's chagrin. One of my sister's once shut off the electricity in the house so I couldn't rehearse. It was strange to have this support from complete strangers but never from my own family. This book was a lifesaver for me, a great source of comfort in my artistic struggles and the man who wrote it has been on my Top Ten List of 'must photograph subjects' since I first picked up a camera. Incidentally, the camera became a close rival of music about the same time.
Let's skip forward to my recent trip to Los Angeles, CA. I went with my friends to a meeting at the Paramount lot and we passed a man on my way out that looked a little familiar. It didn't dawn on me who it was until we were in the offices for our meeting. The young man we met with is a great filmmaker and one I believe will be an Oscar winner in the near future. His recent entry into THE Sundance Film Festival was a winner and was also up for 3 Independent Spirit Awards a few days ago.
As were were all discussing our mutual acquaintances and his recent trip to Calgary for the launch of the Teenaged Paparazzo film, he mentioned that a very dear and longtime friend of his just left the office. Seth Riggs. Yes, non other than my long distance vocal coach. Vocal coach to Julie Andrews, Ann Margaret, Stevie Wonder, Micheal Jackson, the late Whitney Houston, and many, many other gifted artists. I was actually the only other person in the room who knew who he is. He is not an 'in-the-spotlight-guy' unless you train vocally so I did not feel that was unusual. My filmmaker friend said, we had to set up a meeting. I had to meet him. I was almost overwhelmed and had to sit quiet for a minute.
The day for our meeting with Seth Riggs was packed into an already full schedule. I was getting a little antsy, even though the people we were meeting with already were no small potato's either, but people I had met with on our previous trip, and will likely meet again for many years.
Finally came time to go to his house. We arrive, he is gracious and genial, welcomes us in. Normally better manners would prevail but I was so nervous, I had to sit down immediately. Now considering I spent two days in the presence of His Holiness, The XIVth Dalai Lama and really wasn't nervous at all then, this nerves thing was a bit of a shock. The meeting was short as we were delayed arriving, but my filmmaker friend made sure I was able to get my pictures as well as a picture of me with Mr Riggs. He is the magic behind the talent of many of the worlds best and brightest and another moment in time that will be replayed in my memory for many years to come.
SO yes, my secret. I can sing. Although the promise I made when I had my children was to let go of music and be a good mother, did not make it easy to cultivate my gift. I again, had to have my creative outlet and I chose my camera and a life overseas with my children. My vocal chords are now rusted and scarred from lack of use, the notes don't pour out as smoothly or sweetly as they once did. I still hear the notes in my head as perfect pitch but the lack of exercise doesn't always make them come out as they should. I am assured that with practise and the right coaching, I could have them back at will.
I dug out that old book the other day. When my daughter, at 3 years of age displayed the ability to sing a song, note for note, word for word, I replaced the old cassette from the back of the book with a CD. The book is dog eared and tired looking but the information and exercises in it are still as true as they were back then. Both my children are blessed with musical ability, but chose an easier road to make a living.
I was in the laundry room in my building the other day. The acoustics are almost decent enough to practice in. With the washer and dryer going simultaneously, I was sure no one could hear me... so I sang. I sang the kids favorite Disney songs because those were the ones I could remember notes and words clearly. When I finished my repertoire, I heard the mumbling and clapping from the doorway of the basement laundry. My warbling did not go un-noticed or un-heard. After a few minutes of embarrassed laughter from me, the compliments were forthcoming. I collected my clothes and sheets and returned to my floor, shut the door of my flat behind me and leaned against the door with a sigh and a smile. After a few weeks of travelling and laundry to catch up on, I'm sure I'll have a return engagement there the next 5 nights. Thank you and Goodnight Calgary!!!!!
Don't forget to check your Compass!
Cole
No comments:
Post a Comment