Fenlon Lamb

Well, here it is…March already! I have been a very lazy blogger. After the initial excitement of getting my thoughts out there, a kind of malaise set in. First, the teeny-bopper opera program that I was set to direct got canceled. Parents in southeast Ohio just didn’t see the importance of stagecraft and music in a time of recession. Second, I got busy with doing just about nothing musically speaking. I have officially been vocalization-free for 7 whole weeks. I’m not gonna lie to you, it feels pretty damned great. I just needed a break and I’m feeling fairly refreshed now and ready to start up this whole singing thing again. And not a moment too soon…Butterfly is coming in April and then Falstaff after that (more on those projects in my next post…soon). Third, I went out to the yoga competition, experienced the circus and came back to Ann Arbor all fired up! I’m currently finished 35 classes in a 60 day challenge; 60 sweaty, hot Bikram yoga classes in 60 days. I’m feeling fairly strong and it’s been breaking down all my expectations and replacing them with possibilities. I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

In lieu of writing some very inspired prose about the importance of music in everyday life or some dire predictions of this recessions effect on the opera world, I’m turning to a speech given at the 2008 Welcome Address given to Boston Conservatory students and their parents. Sorry to resort to the words of others but I think this is a great expression of the fears and hopes and dreams I find rolling around in my head these days. It’s a rather long read but worth it.

Until next month (which is this month, so how does that work exactly!?!)
xox Maven

Welcome Address, by Karl Paulnack : Fall Semester 2008

One of my parents’ deepest fears, I suspect, is that society would not properly value me as a musician, that I wouldn’t be appreciated. I had very good grades in high school, I was good in science and math, and they imagined that as a doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might be more appreciated than I would be as a musician. I still remember my mother’s remark when I announced my decision to apply to music school-she said, “you’re WASTING your SAT scores.” On some level, I think, my parents were not sure themselves what the value of music was, what its purpose was. And they LOVED music, they listened to classical music all the time. They just weren’t really clear about its function. So let me talk about that a little bit, because we live in a society that puts music in the “arts and entertainment” section of the newspaper, and serious music, the kind your kids are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment, in fact it’s the opposite of entertainment. Let me talk a little bit about music, and how it works.

The first people to understand how music really works were the ancient Greeks. And this is going to fascinate you; the Greeks said that music and astronomy were two sides of the same coin. Astronomy was seen as the study of relationships between observable, permanent, external objects, and music was seen as the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects. Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position of things inside us. Let me give you some examples of how this works.

One of the most profound musical compositions of all time is the Quartet for the End of Time written by French composer Olivier Messiaen in 1940. Messiaen was 31 years old when France entered the war against Nazi Germany. He was captured by the Germans in June of 1940, sent across Germany in a cattle car and imprisoned in a concentration camp. He was fortunate to find a sympathetic prison guard who gave him paper and a place to compose. There were three other musicians in the camp, a cellist, a violinist, and a clarinetist, and Messiaen wrote his quartet with these specific players in mind. It was performed in January 1941 for four thousand prisoners and guards in the prison camp. Today it is one of the most famous masterworks in the repertoire.

Given what we have since learned about life in the concentration camps, why would anyone in his right mind waste time and energy writing or playing music? There was barely enough energy on a good day to find food and water, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to escape torture-why would anyone bother with music? And yet-from the camps, we have poetry, we have music, we have visual art; it wasn’t just this one fanatic Messiaen; many, many people created art. Why? Well, in a place where people are only focused on survival, on the bare necessities, the obvious conclusion is that art must be, somehow, essential for life. The camps were without money, without hope, without commerce,without recreation, without basic respect, but they were not without art. Art is part of survival;art is part of the human spirit, an unquenchable expression of who we are. Art is one of the ways in which we say, “I am alive, and my life has meaning.”

On September 12, 2001 I was a resident of Manhattan. That morning I reached a new understanding of my art and its relationship to the world. I sat down at the piano that morning at 10 AM to practice as was my daily routine; I did it by force of habit, without thinking about it. I lifted the cover on the keyboard, and opened my music, and put my hands on the keys and took my hands off the keys. And I sat there and thought, does this even matter? Isn’t this completely irrelevant? Playing the piano right now, given what happened in this city yesterday, seems silly, absurd, irreverent, pointless. Why am I here? What place has a musician in this moment in time? Who needs a piano player right now? I was completely lost.

And then I, along with the rest of New York, went through the journey of getting through that week. I did not play the piano that day, and in fact I contemplated briefly whether I would ever want to play the piano again. And then I observed how we got through the day.

At least in my neighborhood, we didn’t shoot hoops or play Scrabble. We didn’t play cards to pass the time, we didn’t watch TV, we didn’t shop, we most certainly did not go to the mall. The first organized activity that I saw in New York, that same day, was singing. People sang. People sang around fire houses, people sang “We Shall Overcome”. Lots of people sang “America the Beautiful.” The first organized public event that I remember was the Brahms Requiem, later that week, at Lincoln Center, with the New York Philharmonic. The first organized public expression of grief, our first communal response to that historic event, was a concert. That was the beginning of a sense that life might go on. The US Military secured the airspace, but recovery was led by the arts, and by music in particular, that very night.

From these two experiences, I have come to understand that music is not part of “arts and entertainment” as the newspaper section would have us believe. It’s not a luxury, a lavish thing that we fund from leftovers of our budgets, not a plaything or an amusement or a pass time. Music is a basic need of human survival. Music is one of the ways we make sense of
our lives, one of the ways in which we express feelings when we have no words, a way for us to understand things with our hearts when we cannot with our minds.

Some of you may know Samuel Barber’s heartwrenchingly beautiful piece Adagio for Strings. If you don’t know it by that name, then some of you may know it as the background music which accompanied the Oliver Stone movie Platoon, a film about the Vietnam War. If you know that piece of music either way, you know it has the ability to crack your heart open like a walnut; it can make you cry over sadness you didn’t know you had. Music can slip beneath our conscious reality to get at what’s really going on inside us the way a good therapist does.

I bet that you have never been to a wedding where there was absolutely no music. There might have been only a little music, there might have been some really bad music, but I bet you there was some music. And something very predictable happens at weddings-people get all
pent up with all kinds of emotions, and then there’s some musical moment where the action of the wedding stops and someone sings or plays the flute or something. And even if the music is lame, even if the quality isn’t good, predictably 30 or 40 percent of the people who are going to cry at a wedding cry a couple of moments after the music starts. Why? The Greeks. Music allows us to move around those big invisible pieces of ourselves and rearrange our insides so that we can express what we feel even when we can’t talk about it. Can you imagine watching Indiana Jones or Superman or Star Wars with the dialogue but no music? What is it about the music swelling up at just the right moment in ET so that all the softies in the audience start crying at exactly the same moment? I guarantee you if you showed the movie with the music stripped out, it wouldn’t happen that way. The Greeks: Music is the understanding of the relationship between invisible internal objects.

I’ll give you one more example, the story of the most important concert of my life. I must tell you I have played a little less than a thousand concerts in my life so far. I have played in places that I thought were important. I like playing in Carnegie Hall; I enjoyed playing in Paris; it made me very happy to please the critics in St. Petersburg. I have played for people I thought were important; music critics of major newspapers, foreign heads of state. The most important concert of my entire life took place in a nursing home in Fargo, ND, about 4 years ago.

I was playing with a very dear friend of mine who is a violinist. We began, as we often do, with Aaron Copland’s Sonata, which was written during World War II and dedicated to a young friend of Copland’s, a young pilot who was shot down during the war. Now we often talk to our audiences about the pieces we are going to play rather than providing them with written program notes. But in this case, because we began the concert with this piece, we decided to talk about the piece later in the program and to just come out and play the music without explanation. Midway through the piece, an elderly man seated in a wheelchair near the
front of the concert hall began to weep. This man, whom I later met, was clearly a soldier-even in his 70′s, it was clear from his buzz-cut hair, square jaw and general demeanor that he had spent a good deal of his life in the military. I thought it a little bit odd that someone would be moved to tears by that particular movement of that particular piece, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve heard crying in a concert and we went on with the concert and finished the piece.

When we came out to play the next piece on the program, we decided to talk about both the first and second pieces, and we described the circumstances in which the Copland was written and mentioned its dedication to a downed pilot. The man in the front of the audience became so disturbed that he had to leave the auditorium. I honestly figured that we would not see him again, but he did come backstage afterwards, tears and all, to explain himself. What he told us was this: “During World War II, I was a pilot, and I was in an aerial combat situation where one of my team’s planes was hit. I watched my friend bail out, and watched his parachute open, but the Japanese planes which had engaged us returned and machine gunned across the parachute chords so as to separate the parachute from the pilot, and I watched my friend drop away into the ocean, realizing that he was lost. I have not thought about this
for many years, but during that first piece of music you played, this memory returned to me so vividly that it was as though I was reliving it. I didn’t understand why this was happening, why now, but then when you came out to explain that this piece of music was written to commemorate a lost pilot, it was a little more than I could handle. How does the music do that? How did it find those feelings and those memories in me?”

Remember the Greeks: music is the study of invisible relationships between internal objects. This concert in Fargo was the most important work I have ever done. For me to play for this old soldier and help him connect, somehow, with Aaron Copland, and to connect their memories of their lost friends, to help him remember and mourn his friend, this is my work. This is why music matters.

What follows is part of the talk I will give to this year’s freshman class when I welcome them a few days from now. The responsibility I will charge your sons and daughters with is this:

If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you’d take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at two AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you’re going to have to save their
life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft.

You’re not here to become an entertainer, and you don’t have to sell yourself. The truth is you don’t have anything to sell; being a musician isn’t about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevies. I’m not an entertainer; I’m a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You’re here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual
version of a chiropractor, physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well.

Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you not only to master music; I expect you to save the planet. If there is a future wave of wellness on this planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end to war, of mutual understanding, of equality, of fairness, I don’t expect it will come from a government, a military force or a corporation. I no longer even expect it to come from the religions of the world, which together seem to have brought us as much war as they have peace. If there is a future of peace for humankind, if there is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal things should fit together, I expect it will come from the artists, because that’s what we do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11, the artists are the ones who might be able to help us with our internal, invisible lives.

Dear Friends and Family,

Happy New Year!!! I know, I know …we’re more than half way through the first month already. Things move slower up here in the frozen North. Yep, La Lamb and El Santos have moved to Ann Arbor, MI. I’m looking out at a fresh 3 inches of powder on top of the 8 inch base of snow and then, of course, there are the ice-encrusted trees. Not to mention, the temperature reached a 15 year low of -17 last week!?! “Why move there?” you might ask. After 7 years in Cleveland, it was time for a change. What better place than “the Paris of the Midwest.” Tho’ I’m pretty certain a beret wouldn’t cut it around here. I’m bundled in something resembling that fake fur hat from Seinfeld. Fashion be damned, I’m friggin’ staying warm!

SO, I recently received a phone call from a friend wondering if I’d dropped off the face of the planet. Not quite, though it could definitely be argued that I’ve been to the other side of the world and back. In the past year I’ve played an old maid, a deposed queen, a gypsy whore, a cougar of a mother, and sung everywhere from Shanghai to Sacramento. I’ve flown all over the place trying to connect to audiences, trying to connect with the faceless masses and yet I don’t keep in touch with friends and family except maybe to “poke” them on Facebook!?! It got me to thinking. If the people who know and understand me are wondering just what the hell I’m actually doing…What the hell AM I doing?

In the interest of keeping in touch and creating a supportive community of well-informed arts advocates, I’m gonna give this whole interwebs blog thingie a shot! And in the spirit of hope and determination, I’ll call it “Music Matters.” Each month I’ll try to give an inside look at my goings-on as opera singer/director/teacher/yogini. I’ll highlight some personal performances and what goes into making them happen, as well as casting a spotlight on performances and companies that catch and hold my attention. I hope it will be a forum for conversation and communication both of the musical and non-musical variety.

For the first installment, I would love to encourage a New Year’s Resolution for the Arts. Maybe I’ve been doing too much yoga, or perhaps I’m feeling the need to be this years Jerry Maguire but I so strongly want to take a proactive, grass roots approach towards my business right now. With opera companies and arts organizations shutting down left and right, and the economy in a tailspin, is it too much to hope that communication of human emotion and sharing of artistic endeavors might just be the balm that soothes our jangled nerves? So take a minute and have a peek at my A,B,C,D’s. Consider it a “half-scale” attempt at bolstering the arts community while enjoying yourself and taking the edge off this anxious climate. It’s like a pledge to PBS but on a more local level. Just some simple resolutions that you can make this year. If you follow through on even one resolution, I’m pretty certain that good karma will ensue. Check it out:

A) Advocate for the Arts

Write our new President, your Senator or Congresswoman, your local school board and tell them you want to see more arts programs in your schools and more national funding for the arts. Or how about a Secretary of the Arts? I don’t know about you but I love the idea of Quincey Jones or Tina Turner or Placido Domingo in a political office! Here’s a link to a petition you can sign.

B) Bring a Friend

If you are already an avid concert goer, grab a friend and expose them to your passion…you know what I mean…dance, symphony, jazz, opera, whatever floats your boat. If you’ve never been to an opera, just so you know, there is safety in numbers! Enlist a friend, study the libretto together and make a date to go to a show. Need recommendations? Drop me a line and I’ll give you some thoughts on good first operas. If you’re in the South Jersey vicinity this month come check out Yours Truly in a recital of Spanish songs and a theatrical piece complete with symphony and dance called El Amor Brujo (Bewitched Love). That’s January 24th and 25th with Bay Atlantic Symphony and Tyson Deaton, pianist. You can find tickets at the symphony’s website.

Please let me know if you’re going to make it, I’d love to catch up after the show.

C) Communicate with an Artist

Sounds crazy, I’m sure, but there’s really nothing like a quick “break-a-leg” email or a “good luck” phone call to get me pumped for a show. So if you can’t make it and you’ve got a second, send a quick “Toi, toi, toi” my way. And if you’ve want a quick spit in support of your endeavors, Please let me know what’s going on with your performance calendars. If that performance is a talk in the board room or a busy week of retail, or maybe a trying couple of yoga poses…I’d love to support your efforts! On a more universal level, perhaps you know a great music teacher. Communicate your appreciation to them. It goes a really long way. Also, I’d love to hear your thoughts and ideas about performances that you’ve attended. Drop me a line with a couple words about your most recent experience.

D) Donate Time and/or Money

There are so many wonderful arts organizations to support. Seek out local companies that you believe in whole heartedly. Are you a graphic artist? Donate your expertise and design a program or an advertisement. Great baker? Make some delicious intermission treats. You get the idea. Or, how about ushering? Of course, all these productions take money to create. Consider donating cold, hard cash to support a company. Every little bit counts. As the GD of Opera Vivente said, take a look at our new President’s example-many small donations makes a successful campaign fund. And in this case, it’s tax deductible! Two links below if you feel a donation coming on:

• Opera Vivente
• Opera Cleveland

On a more personal level, consider supporting an artist directly. It goes something like this: Lessons $130-$150 per hour, Coahings $50-$65 per hour, Gown for Performance $150-$250, Infusing the economy one opera singer at a time…PRICELESS. Over-used, yes, but true. Besides, opera singers are healthy eaters so we’ll take some of the money to the grocery store and further stimulate the economy I think that it’s a safe bet, a sound investment. Toss some dosh in the direction of a singer and listen to the amazing tunes you’ll get for a return on your investment.

Thanks for indulging my need to step up on a soap box and join me next month when I brave the brutal world of teen opera at Kent State’s prep program! Also, an update on my trip to the oxymoron expo: Yoga Competition?

Wishing you a year full of peace, love, soul, opera, arts, entertainment and all that jazz. And remember…*music matters*, I tell you what!

xox Maven of Music Matters