catchmyfancy: (doctor who shiny)
ie just too sensuously lovely.

The kryptonite aspect means that, no matter what, I'm somewhat puddley at the end.

catchmyfancy: (doctor who shiny)
Fronted up to my first vocal masterclass at 4pm at the Con today almost giddy with the amazingness of FRONTING UP TO MY FIRST VOCAL MASTERCLASS.

Extra bonus, my old teacher Julia was there and she was smiling with me being all giddy.  A little moment of resonance (there's going to be a LOT of those before this year is over, brace yourselves).

I has my technical requirements sheet for Semester 1 assessment: ready?

Do two vocalises, then pad out the rest of the 15 minutes with arias and songs 'n' stuff.

Ooookay.  Sure.  No worries. 

Got my lesson time.  With Rosamund Illing!

Hitting the music library tomorrow at 8am!!!!

catchmyfancy: (Default)

This is a really boring sentence to type and to read, but there's resonances here and some of them are 25 years deep:

Tomorrow is my first day of semester for the Graduate Diploma in Music at my Yewni.

For which I have actually arranged to study part-time.

Which means for two days in the week, I am a MUSIC STEWENT.  

Studying MUSIC. 

Really, actually, really, truly, really really really getting to spend TWO DAYS A WEEK just studying music and singing and all the things that go with it.

Like hanging out in the Conservatorium.  And the VCA.  And bitching and moaning about things and saying "huh - TYPICAL" a lot about the administration of the faculty and the course.

Studying with ROSAMUND ILLING.

Going to ALL THE CONCERTS EVER with my student card giving me student rush tix and concession.


All of it with a slowly bubbling something coming up through my being.

Might it be happiness?  Might it be the thought that really I should have just cut my losses and put this whole thing in capslock_dreamwidth?

Cos, you know:


catchmyfancy: (Default)
I saw her do the role of Abigaille in "Nabucco". Abigaille is an extraordinary role (and a dangerous one if it's done before the singer is ready): one has to have vocal cords of steel and a will of iron and other metallic metaphors as well - she's a princess and she makes her play for power and pulls it off based on not much more than having more front than Myer. Batshit insane of course, as all the best roles are. And this roly-poly woman came out on stage and was Abigaille and left me breathless.

And then I got to stand behind her in the Royal Albert Hall (i was in the big choir) and hear her hang shimmering pianissimo notes in the air. Extraordinary.

Sadly, just as she was moving into all the fantabulous big big roles in her 60s (she is 63 in the performance below) she got cancer and died.

It is, as Terry Pratchett would put it, an EMBUGGERANCE. But at least she could do this (and fucking NAIL IT) and at least we still have it.  This is Isolde's Liebestod (deathsong), which I thought sadly appropriate.

Thank you, Miss Connell.

Oh - just to show the the joy she had in singing (can you spot it? *grin*) and the endless generosity of sound that I adored, here she is giving Rachmaninoff what-for in 2010:

catchmyfancy: (Default)
I've had a whirlwind time of it recently, much of it due to [personal profile] john  and [personal profile] toby  coming and staying in my house for about three weeks, with the odd visit from the adorable [personal profile] anatsuno .

I am a dyed-in-the-wool introvert, but apparently there are some people who just don't ping my argh-people-AWAYgoAWAY radar, and my two lovely International Housepests of Mystery are amongst them. 

Between them, my two other gay boyfriends (Canadian Dave and Arash) and other random friends who seem determined that my FQ (fun quotient) shall not get too low, I have had the most wonderful, alcomoholic, fooderiffic, carefree and lovely time this past month. 

I was sorry to see my IHoM go (especially having a tenor on tap, as it were, and also getting to hear the nightly installment of Adventrs-with-Grindr), but a New Adventure Looms - I'm starting the Graduate Diploma of Music at my Yewni in *gleep* eight days.

I seem to be the only one who is worried about things like timetables and enrolling and credit points and teacher choice and textbooks and assessment  - the staff at the faculty are....well, a little bit free-range and supremely unconcerned about deadlines and I feel like Hermione half the time (cue [personal profile] john  doing his best Maggie Smith: "Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Potterr").  I asked my friend Anna (a fellow music stewent) what the textbook was for Practical Anatomy for Classical Singers and she actually laughed in my face.  Apparently we have to keep a journal about how we feel after each class and how it may have helped us in our practice.  Really.  REALLY?  At this point I have to admit that I am vacillating between horrified and positively gleeful.  Erm.

I know and have worked with both the former Dean and the current Dean of this Faculty in my position as Graduations is now my course coordinator and the other is - now my Dean.  Former Dean was kinda...well, flakey at the best of times and talked a lot about feelings (I see a theme here) and Current Dean (who I have met with, worked with and chatted to on multiple occasions) recently spent 15 minutes talking at someone he thought was me.  She rang me to tell me the gist of the conversation because she didn't want to embarrass him by pointing out she wasn't me.  I would have had NO such compunctions.  This person? Is, yes, large-ish.  Also a caucasian woman.  Also over 35.  Also: half a foot taller, and not, you know, anything like me to look at.   There isn't a *headdesk* big enough.  My faculty management, you guys.

The fun of it will be watching his face when I walk into the prep meeting for their graduation in a couple weeks.  I better see some squirming, is all I can say.

Oh yes, I'll still be working: I am trying to pull this qualification off part-time and still do my job three days a week.

Miracles of miracles, management are supporting me taking my long-service leave at a rate of two days per week during Semester. Possibly because it was that, or me disappearing for three months sometime this year - they all got very nervous when I qualified for long-service leave (not sure what to do for study leave: I may end up being strategically ill - I have 100+ days of sick leave to burn through. Don't get me wrong, I've been ill: just didn't use the leave. Which should tell you all the things you need to know.)

I also have the physical goal of getting much much fitter, and turning my body into a better instrument.  That's what I'm about to become: an instrument. 

Also - wow - must pull together repertoire list for whoever-new-teacher-will-be - it could be this person. Or not. Who can tell?  A tree in a golden forest, people, a tree in a golden forest.

The best bit, though, the thing that makes the tiny anxiety attacks (am typing this in a sweaty state, believe me) and pulling my hair out over getting arrangements nailed down worth it, is that I get to finally - FINALLY - just be a musician and a music student.  Still have to look at that one out of the corner of my eye, because I get a little tired-and-emotional when I think about it properly.  I went and had a prowl around the music library the other day and was looking at baroque ensemble facsimile scores (in which I am interested not at all although they were very pretty), but I got the sniffles anyway.  I'm blaming the dust. 

catchmyfancy: (escher)
Action today:

1. LMusA
  • the lovely Anna found me the sheet music for From Rosy Bowers (Purcell).  Have printed it out and found a recording I like.

4. Geoffrey Parsons award:  
  • Tom has settled on Schlagende Herzen (Strauss) and Von ewiger Liebe (Brahms) for our two audition pieces. 
  • I went and found the soprano version of the Brahms (but the recording I love most is by a mezzo, Anne Sofie van Otter, go figure); gave it to Tom before he went away for a week (and also loaned him my shiny new Gerald Moore book, he better not lose it in the wilds of Hamilton that's all I can say; or use it to fend off the young lasses - and possibly young lads - of said township, who will no doubt think their eisteddfod accompanist surpassing fair and overly talented and thus eminently pursuable - poor Tom!); and broke the back of it tonight so I can start digging into it in my lesson tomorrow.
  • is it weird to say I'm terribly excited by the Brahms?  Not just because it's a glorious, difficult piece; but because FINALLY I have a piece that trips me up on every.single.thing I think is missing/wrong/undeveloped in my singing, the things that keep me a talented amateur instead of letting me advance to be a professional contender.  It's an excellent diagnostic tool as well as being a masterwork.
5. Stash wars: found the yellow gingham for Josie's apron, and also the interfacing for tracing the pattern onto.

6. Stuff wars: cleared out my cupboard and the one in the front room of all the plastic hangers I have ever bought, methinks.  Have made a date with Melinda to drive her home on Wednesday, which means I can deposit all the hangers into the charity bin in the church next door to her house.

8. Make the better decision:
  • had breakfast this morning, and chose fresh-squeezed vegie juice and a chicken-and-dark-leaves-in-mountain-bread roll for lunch. 
  • Had dinner at Mary and Melinda's house and got chickpea and chorizo and tomato something plus salad and more flatbread. 
  • Went and bought vegies and fruit and general Stuff tonight - spent $47, but I have everything I need for the rest of the week foodwise. 
  • DID NOT GO TO GYM, but then was not breathing overly well for most of the day, so: swings and roundabouts. 
  • Got 16 minutes before bed! (outside limit of midnight).
catchmyfancy: (escher)
A week or so ago I was meandering through old entries trying to find a recipe I posted a couple of years ago. 

Which is like going to look up just one small thing in the encyclopedia and coming to about two hours later sitting on the floor surrounded by open volumes.  I guess the internets equivalent is getting sucked into the TV Tropes vortex.  (Click on link at your own time-management peril).

I ended up reading the first six months of entries wherein I came to grips with physical training (and my vocal injury), and I realised a couple of things:
(a) I really suck at tag management and will now have to go back and re-tag everything
(b) posting little and often and using the blog as, ooh I don't know, an online diary or something really actually worked.  I liked being able to type the words "just back from the gym", so I tended to BE just back from the gym.

I've been updating on Facecrack, but that just dissolves into....somewhere and nowhere.  You can't go back a couple of months easily, never mind a couple of years.

These days I have multiple projects on, so instead of just one multifaceted project (like [personal profile] etfb 's Project Apple - and hey - that one worked!) I bring you THE LIST (dun dun duuuuun!)

Here they all are:

1. LMusA practical singing exam - 40 minute recital with bonus viva voce from the examiners -  Deadline: mid-Sept

2. Musicianship 6th grade (basically the written component of (1): aka just cos you can sing pretty doesn't mean you're allowed to be all iggerant and not know a relative minor should one bite you on the arse)(and believe me, in the past they have)  Deadline: mid-August

3.  Lyrebird music society recital: 5th September at 2.30pm DO come and bring all your friends 80 minute recital (or two 40-minute halves - if ever I was losing my junior journeyman status and heading towards senior in the bizarre ricocheting journey that is my musical career where I'm either an earlier-spent-force-regathered or a very late bloomer - pick one -  and looking ahead to the dim, daunting peaks of mastery, September will be the month to KNOW.)

4. Geoffrey Parsons award: 28th June in Ajuloide.  Me and Tom throwing down in the city of churches.

5. Stash wars: who will win - the fabric stash or me?  In this challenge I attempt to ignore the screams of the fabric as I cut into it and actually turn it INTO something and get it out the door, or in use around the house. Deadline: end of 2010, it's gone, it's made, or it's earmarked.

6. Stuff wars (a slightly snappier title than "jesus mary joseph and ethel merman, I am drowning in STUFF and it must go before I turn into someone who has to clear a path into the rooms they want to use...").  Deadline: right bloody NOW.

7. Garden: needs to be looked after better.  Deadline: so it's pretty in the Spring.

8. Gym, fitness, sleeping, eating - I'm giving this one no deadline, but I'll go with: make the better decision.  Every time.  It helps to have perspective: one of my singing teacher's other students came for her lesson and we were chatting about staying well and looking after yourself and all I could hear was whine-whine-whinge (yeah, she's young and fairly ridiculous, just like looking in the retrospectoscope for me) and when she said "I'll try", I have to admit I lost my temper a little and my parting line was: "as Yoda says: Do.  or Do Not.  There is no 'Try'."  It is a fabulous exit line.  But as I dodged trams across Royal Parade, I had to admit: good advice for me too.  I either make the right decision (going to bed at 11pm not 2am; going to the gym instead of sitting hunched at my desk; cooking real food instead of eating whatever) or I don't.  And no whining about the consequences.  (not the warmest and fluffiest of places to be sitting, but at least it's honest).

And that should keep me going for a while, I reckon...
catchmyfancy: (work)
Further evidence that my WORK (it's a job, they pay me, it's just a job, just a means to an end yes yes yes it IS) has risen up like a very large wave and gone FWOOSH and broken and gotten everything, everything, sopping wet and I'll never get it dry again:

1. An ETA on my adorable, twinkly little Valedictorian - he emailed me to tell me that he was belatedly ushered into the Departmental office and told in hushed tones that he had been chosen as the valedictorian.  Bless him, he did his best to act surprised, apparently even using the word "gosh".  And, he assured me somewhat breathlessly in his email, that he thinks he may have gotten away with it. 

It is possible I may have to bring him home and put him on my mantelpiece to preserve the extreme cuteness, because going on and working as an intern is just gonna drain the nice right out of him.  And this was the best email I had

2.  So after rescheduling twice because of this wretched Office Lurgy O'Doom, I finally trotted along yesterday afternoon to audition for Richard Gill and Opera Victoria in the rather lovely surrounds of Horti Hall on Victoria Parade.    Yes, the audition went well, yes I was (mostly) happy with my performance (the middle and lower notes were still a bit sticky, but the top notes were extra-pingy to make up for it) and I sang Pace Pace and was able to pull off my usual trick - thank the goddess of sopranos, Hysterica - of singing the final page on pretty much one breath including nailing the final top B flat to the wall and asking it some Serious Questions.  And yes, R.Gill said they were "interested" in me and were putting me as (yawn) a potential chorus member on (snore) the "first openers" list (whatever the hell that is - one assumes it basically means "don't call us, we'll call you".)   Roughly the same outcome as 2005, only this time they let me finish my aria (!) and were more effusive about what they would use me for.   Which I suppose is some kinda progress.

But guess what - the man came and talked at a ceremony two years ago and so we had a nice little chat about that; and then (oh this is telling), before, when I was waiting to go in, I was chatting away with a pair of smiley brother-baritones, one of whom I did the ill-fated Turandot with at the end of 2004.  And he remembered I ran grads - and then he said "hey, can I ask you something?" and we went into a loooong detailed discussion about his graduation options.  Cute, smiley brother baritones...and I talk grads.  *sigh*

3. So after going back to work, and deciding around 6pm that I only had one life to live, I hied me hence down into the city to Rivers because they had a sale on, and detoured via a couple other shops and was on my way back thinking "home home home home HOME" on an endless loop in my very tired brain and very nearly about to get off the tram when I spotted [ profile] tigerdenbodu  next to the doors.  She said "I'm off to the pub. Do you know where the Clyde is?  Hey - you should come!  Did I mention I'm a bit pissed from going to a Union Arts function?" and so there I was, in the Clyde, singing and chatting with all the nicey-nice choristers and getting hugged by tall basses (which sort of took me back a bit, but in a nice way) and I came away with somebody's phone number and email scrawled on the back of a liquorland receipt in my pocket.....

Don't go getting excited though.  A couple of the choristers were students (and wanted to know alllll about their graduation, *sigh*) and one of them wanted to know if she could do some work at ceremonies, so gave me her contact details.  *headdesk*

catchmyfancy: (unstable)
Otherwise known as "Alexandra turns into a small child with the attention span of a gnat and the emotional stability of a psychotic wildebeest who knows he can take those lion beeyatches DOWN.  Oh roll on the 23rd of December when she shall be restored to her humanity as per the more amusing transformation fanfics" time.

Or, rather, I start living moment to moment. To moment.  To moment and to moment.  And if you type that word five times it loses all meaning.  Heh. 

Eg, today. 

- Woke up at 8.10am, which is pout-making for a Sunday.  So I pouted. 
- had to put three loads of clothes on line.  In the process had to survey the ever-growing and slightly scary MEGAPILE of clean clothes to be put away.  More pouting.  Also, sighing. 
- after finally extracting the necessary items of clothing from the MEGAPILE to appear decent in public and remembering stuff for singing lesson, no time for breakky.  Pouting. And sighing and bitching.  As I live by myself, this was all completely wasted bitchage too.
- had shower, raced out of house and off to Ingrid's.   (Yes I remembered to put on clothes).  Car low on fuel.  Crap.  BUT THEN I get to drive fast on the freeway and sing along loudly to Young Person's Music on my iShuffle.   You should hear me do Justin Timberlake singing Cry me a river.
Miss Ingrid!  Hurrah!  Miss Ingrid let me have two muesli bars!  More Hurrah!  And also we picked much green leafy things from her vegie garden for me to take away and eat.  Extra Hurrah!
- Off to Lisa's Lacies.  Nothing decent in my size.  Bah.  BUT THEN a reduced-price bra!  And Kindi and Ingrid both managed to find FOUR EACH <loud cheers!> (only well-endowed females will truly know the feeling of jubilation in our hearts at that monent, for it seems that nature cursed rather than blessed us by giving us a feature requiring expensive cantilevering and if you can find something decent for under $60 you are doing excessively well)
- BUT THEN looked at mobile and saw plaintive SMS and realised I was supposed to meet Melinda yesterday after a concert and clean forgot oh crappity crap crap crap I am an evil, EVULL friend and should die
- bundled off to a factory outlet place by Ingrid and Kindi and found Leather Bag of Surpassing Loveliness and Utility for Everday at half-price.  Extreme happiness.  But I am an EVULL FRIEND and Melinda will surely hate me for just forgetting her.  *sob* *schniff* (That whirring sound you hear is Ingrid's and Kindi's eyes rolling).
- off to singing lesson.  Singing lesson went very well - Butterfly and Pace Pace sitting very nicely indeed.  Endorphins released all over the shop and I get to skip out to my car.
- Drive in to city.  Sun shining!  Cool wind whipping about!  More singing along to my iShuffle!  This time, many people along St Kilda Road got to hear snippets of me doing Gabriella Cilmi , John Barrowman, Green Day and bits from Wicked
- BUT THEN here I am in at work.  BLEH.

BUT THEN: found this on Youtube: She-Ra and Evil-Lyn do "Loathing" from Wicked!  Bwahahahahaha!

(oh all right - here's the original.  Sort of. Not nearly as fabulous.)

And it's only been six hours since I got our of bed.  I don't know if my adrenal glads are up for another five weeks of this.


catchmyfancy: (Default)

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