Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

Archive for the ‘Music’ Category

Whitney Houston dies at 48

with 5 comments

Whitney Houston has died at age 48.

I heard the news tonight on various channels, including MSNBC, CNN, and Fox News, so there is no mistake.  Houston is dead, and her beautiful voice and ability to emote while singing has died with her.

From a musical standpoint, there was a great deal to admire about Houston.  She had an operatic range, which is rare for singers of popular music (only Mariah Carey among current pop singers has anything close to the range of Houston).  She also chose great songs from great songwriters; for example, one of Houston’s best-known songs, “I Will Always Love You,” was originally written and performed by Dolly Parton — herself no slouch as a singer.  Yet Houston was able to add something to Parton’s excellent song to the point that if you asked ten people who’d heard each version which one they liked better, seven out of ten would probably say they liked Houston’s version better.

Houston’s death is a great loss for the music community.  And even knowing that the Grammy Awards are tomorrow (where music as a whole celebrates music and musicians), and that there will have to be a Houston retrospective, it doesn’t help overmuch because it just doesn’t seem right that someone so vital die at age 48.

As anyone who’s read my blog knows, I resonate strongly to this because my late husband Michael died at age 46, suddenly and without warning.  Then my best friend Jeff died last year, suddenly and without warning, after he’d fought off the worst of a terrible bacterial infection and seemed to be on the upswing, at age 47.  This is why it really and truly does not seem right to me that someone who still had so much left to give is dead at age 48.

I tend to think a person’s life has to be measured by what he or she did with it; in the case of Houston, I believe she was as successful as she could be, considering the terrible toll drug addiction had exacted from her.  She was a gifted performer, a fine singer, and by many accounts was a very kind person whose only real weakness was drugs.

At any rate, Houston’s life is over; she’s done all she could, and now all we have left are the recordings she left behind.

I refuse to say “rest in peace” because the phrase has been so overused that it’s trite.  I’d rather say that my heart goes out to Houston’s daughter, Bobbi Kristina, Houston’s ex-husband, Bobby Brown (someone that Houston stayed close to even after she divorced him), her mother Cissy Houston (a gifted singer in her own right), and cousin Dionne Warwick (one of the best singers of the ’60s, ’70s, and early ’80s), along with anyone else who knew Houston or loved her music.  May they be comforted by their memories and/or her music; may her spirit find happiness in Eternity.  (Amen.)

————

** Note:  Whatever else that can be said about my late husband, or my best friend Jeff, know that up until the day of each man’s passing, they learned, changed, grew, and became better people the longer they lived.  This is not to say they were saints (saints are boring); they were good men, which is a whole lot tougher thing to be than it seems.

Whitney Houston, according to Rev. Al Sharpton, had beaten most of her demons (this is my best paraphrase from hearing Sharpton on CNN and earlier on MSNBC); CNN has reported that Houston was about to star in her first movie in 15 years.  So as far as anyone knows right now, Houston was clean and sober.  She was able to act.  And she was able to perform again, albeit with a voice that was badly ravaged by drugs — though even had she “stayed clean” throughout her life, the voice tends to break down for many operatic-trained sopranos in their late 40s.

To my mind, Houston’s life was a success.  Not because she was such a great singer, but because she kept trying and didn’t give up.  In this way — and perhaps only in this way — she was like my husband, or my friend, and that’s the main reason I mourn her passing.

Written by Barb Caffrey

February 11, 2012 at 9:45 pm

Performance, Music, and Nerves

with 2 comments

Folks, I started thinking about one of the sentences I’ve thrown into several of my articles about sports stars, but mostly with regards to figure skating stars as often, only one or at most two people are on the ice at the same time.  That sentence is, “(X) can really be something, if (he/she) can learn to control (his/her) nerves.”

Now, why is it that I keep saying this?

I’m a musician, and have been since I was eleven years old.  So I know a great deal about performance anxiety.  I’ve also played many solos in front of bands and orchestras, as well as within the band and orchestra as a featured performer; that’s why I do know how it feels to be out there, all by yourself, wondering if everything’s going to work right today and waiting to see how well the performance comes off.

Consider that in music, we have many things that aren’t under our control.  How fast is the conductor taking the music?  Will one of the saxophone’s pads fall off?  (Brass players worry about similar things related to pistons sticking or the like.)  Will my reed continue to work, or will it do something idiosyncratic at the last possible minute after I’ve committed to the solo and can’t change it?

Well, figure skaters have to worry about their skates; not just their skate blades, but whether or not their laces will break.  (This happened to Nobunari Oda at the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver.)  Will there be ruts in the ice that can’t be avoided?  (This happened to Johnny Weir during his second combination spin at the 2010 Olympics and stopped his spin dead.)  How well did the competitor do beforehand?  (This is important because people throw stuffed animals on the ice and it can take a while to clear them off, plus as the next competitor, you have to stay away from them before they’re all cleared.)

So all you can do, as a performer in whatever discipline, is control what you can control.  That’s tough to learn.  (I know I didn’t really learn it until I was close to thirty.)  And worrying about it beforehand is counterproductive, yet if you’ve had past difficulties, it’s very human.  (We all do it.)

The solution, if there is one, is to not take it all so seriously.  (This can be very tough to do in a business where how well you audition is vital, but it’s necessary.)  And to remember that no matter how badly you may play today, you’ll play well tomorrow and the next day and the day after that — because you’ve done everything you can do by rehearsing for untold, uncounted hours beforehand.

That’s why, despite how casual it may seem when I throw that one sentence in there about such-and-such “controlling his (or her) nerves,” it’s not a casual thing at all.  It’s a long-held belief that’s been borne out by many things I’ve lived through as a performer.  And it’s why I have empathy for someone who really has talent, like Jeremy Abbott, who uncharacteristically falters (as Abbott did during his 2010 Olympic short program; Abbott performed much better in the long program to finish in ninth place overall, but even his long program wasn’t really up to his best), because I know he (or she) can do much better if he’ll only learn to trust himself along the way.

One more thing to consider is this: when you perform for a living (or for even part of your living), you start thinking you’re only as good as your last performance.  I’d like to tell all performers of all types one, simple thing:  Please, do not do this. 

Instead, what you as a performer need to do is to remember that you have prepared well for whatever it is you’re about to do.  That you’ve dedicated yourself to learn your craft.  And that you’re going to do your level best; that’s all anyone can expect of you, and it’s all you should expect out of yourself.

You also should try — and I know this is very, very hard — not to let the dictates of how you perform take over your life.   Who you are as a person has very little to do with how you may perform any given day, though how you prepare for the performance, and what you put into the performance — your “sweat equity” — has a great deal to do with you and your perseverance and your personal character.

That’s why I write blog posts about perseverance, because I feel that’s the main difference between a person who ultimately succeeds and one who doesn’t.  You must refuse to give up on yourself and your talents, because that’s literally the only way to lose in the game of life — no matter how well, or how badly, you may perform on any given day.

My late husband Michael used to tell me, “If you can’t do it today, you will assuredly do it tomorrow.  I know you; I know you don’t give up.  ‘Quit’ is not part of your vocabulary.”  And then I get back after it tomorrow, because I know he was — and still is (wherever he is now in Eternity) — right.

Or to distill this message down to its essence: your only true competition is yourself.  So do yourself a favor, and keep utilizing your talents as long as humanly possible.  Don’t give up.

Written by Barb Caffrey

January 31, 2012 at 12:28 am

Performances, Chaz Bono, and DWTS

with one comment

This week on “Dancing with the Stars,” it was Broadway Week — meaning every star had to do a ballroom dance of some sort to a Broadway song and also put some “Broadway inflection” into his or her routine.  Chaz Bono and his professional partner, Lacey Schwimmer, drew the tango — not an easy thing to dance to a Broadway tune — and the theme to Phantom of the Opera.

Now, I’ve written before about my liking for Chaz Bono before; I believe what he’s doing, in being open about his past gender identity struggles and being the first transsexual contestant ever on DWTS, is a very good and empowering thing.  I also think that as a heavier person, he dances well and shows that it’s a complete myth that “big people can’t dance.”

His routine tonight to “Phantom” was a tough one; his partner, Lacey Schwimmer, told him early on that he’d have to “step it up” and do more difficult choreography — that the “super-basic” routines he had learned up until now wouldn’t work.  (Note that last week’s samba routine was not all that easy; what I think Schwimmer was referring to was the rhumba routine and some of the routines before that, which were at the most basic level.)  I think this was difficult for Bono to hear, but he handled it, learned his routine, and performed it well.

Then came the judges, who were more critical than Bono had anticipated (they were about what Lacey Schwimmer expected, though of course I’m sure she’d hoped for better); they said that the role of the Phantom “did not suit” Bono (both head judge Len Goodman and judge Bruno Tonioli said this pretty much word-for-word, while judge Carrie-Ann Inaba said it in a slightly kinder way, referring to the “challenge” of acting a character that is not your own), that the dance of the tango wasn’t fiery enough or precise enough, and that Bono altogether “lacked the sense of menace” that a dance like this requires (Goodman, again).  No mention was made of the fact that Bono danced most of the dance in the half-mask of the Phantom; no mention was made that Bono’s movements were sharper and crisper than they’ve ever been, and that the form of the dance was preserved throughout.

As a performer myself (though not a dancer or actor), I’ve been there.  So I have some words for Chaz Bono that I hope he’ll heed tonight:  “Mr. Bono, please, do not listen to the harshness of these critics.  You have to understand that as a performer, not everyone is going to appreciate what you do, and you can’t do anything about that.  You can only control what you can do — which you did, as you danced the best I have ever seen you on the entire season of ‘Dancing with the Stars.'”

Or, in other words — I think the critics, while they’re certainly correct about the forms of the dance and maybe had a point about being more emphatic in your movements (the only way you could possibly have been more “menacing,” it seems to me, behind the Phantom’s half-mask, is to be very direct, cutting, and emphatic), are flat wrong about how you danced.

Look.  Your partner, Ms. Schwimmer, is correct about the way the judges will act.  This is just what they do; some of it is for effect, because they want to make a better show — and some of it is just how they are overall. 

Schwimmer knows this; she’s been dealing with these same judges now for several years.  All of her training is meant to help you withstand their criticism; she is an exacting teacher, yes, but also a kind and honest one.  She isn’t known for cursing or being upset with her pupils, in the main; she’s known for being able to teach anyone — including Steve-O of “Jackass” fame while he was just “getting clean” after finishing up some rehab for alcohol and drug addiction — to the point that her partners actually learn the dances, rather than just the routines.

Do you know what that means?  You’ll remember how to rhumba years from now.  You’ll know how to do the cha cha cha.  You’ll understand the tango, and be able to do it again once you’re off the show — that’s because she does teach the “super-basics” as well as the flourishes a show like “Dancing” requires, because she wants you to understand the dance as well as perform it.

The upshot of all of this, Mr. Bono, is this — it was very hard for me, as a viewer, to watch your face fall once you’d performed your routine to “Phantom of the Opera.”  I didn’t like seeing that, because that made me think that you’ve forgotten the most important person in the equation — you — and are basing your opinion of yourself on what other people think rather than what you think about yourself.

Granted, this can be very tough to do as a performing artist.  I have been there (I once had someone criticize my oboe playing who had listened to three hundred clarinets in a solo-ensemble music contest; it was the one and only year I didn’t go to the state contest in high school — I was the only oboist this judge heard all day, too, which made it all the more unfair) and I know how difficult it is.

Here’s another example for you:  I once had a saxophone lesson when I was going for my Master’s degree where I asked my professor, “Did I do anything right today?” 

His answer was, “Of course!  But if I don’t tell you what you did wrong, how will you ever improve?”   (Note that I was an “older” Master’s candidate, going for my Master’s past age thirty because I believed in myself and felt I still had a chance to improve my playing and perhaps work in my field.  I still believe that if my hands co-operate, I will be able to once again get back to where I should be and I really wish to work in my field, which is performing, teaching, and composing music.) 

This is why I have great sympathy for you doing something so far out of your “comfort zone,” because you obviously believe it’s the right thing to do.

I think what Lacey Schwimmer is doing by giving you criticism about how to improve your dancing and your overall performance is meant so you can take the criticism, incorporate it into your performance, and become a better dancer.  It certainly is not meant to wound you (even though it hurts, and badly, at the time).

As a performing artist (no matter how long I’ve had to be idle due to my carpal tunnel syndrome and other issues), I know that when fifty people compliment you, but one is highly critical, you tend to remember the one person who was so critical like it’s a burr under your skin.  I can only imagine what it must be like to hear yourself be criticized like that by three judges on national TV.

I know that I, as a viewer, saw both improvement and personality in your dance.  And I believe that as a performer, you did your job, because you did the very best you possibly could — you lived up to everything your teacher asked of you — in the best way you possibly could do it. 

So what I’d like most to tell you is this: keep on dancing, Mr. Bono.  You’re doing a fine job; you’ve learned a lot; you’ve hung in there and you’ve done everything in your power to improve and you have, indeed, shown improvement.   And while your overall likeability is one of your greatest strengths, do you know what your best strength is?  Your perseverance.

So keep on keepin’ on, and non illegitimi carborundum.

———

Oh, one other thing: if I listened to “the critics” regarding my saxophone playing (now that I can’t do as much as before, or at least as quickly as before), I’d not even be making the attempt to play.  So yes, improvement must be taken into consideration here — which is why every single week, I’ve voted for Chaz Bono and Lacey Schwimmer and it’s why I plan to keep doing so.