On Singing

On my idle days, I like nothing better than to catch up on all the pop culture tidbits I've missed over the course of the workweek. In my search for the most recent results for UK's X-Factor (I have to say that I am a Simon Cowell fan--what a real, genuine, genius of a guy), I came across this performance from Halloween week:



As a performer myself, and having been on stage many, many times in my life, I have to say that it takes a certain amount of sheer guts to just get up on stage in front of the masses, let alone perform like such. And in form of song too--somehow I think that it takes a special kind of person to be a singer. Not only do you obviously require the vocal chops, but singing is like pouring your heart and soul out to an audience who not even 5 seconds ago knew what your name was.

I have been singing for most of my life, and was lucky enough to have been brought up in a family who appreciated music, and the many aspects of it. Two of my grandmothers sang opera in post-WWII Philippines. My father's older sister was a music teacher as long as I could remember. The first record I laid my hands on was my grandmother's copy (a 45) of Rodger and Hammerstein's The Sound of Music, and the first album I bought with my own hard-earned money (Php 100 incentives for acing exams) was Gary Valenciano's 1989 album Faces of Love. I still remember bobbing my 5-year-old head (bowl haircut and all) to my father's Sweet Child O' Mine record, and singing along to Earth, Wind and Fire's Reasons--his favorite song. I was forcibly taught piano at age 7 (something my rebellious little brain vehemently resented and blocked out, which would explain why I cannot for the life of me play it to save my life). I asked my grandfather for a guitar for my 12th birthday, after seeing a circa 1970's picture of my mother playing the instrument, all flower-child and bohemian-like. I taught myself to play it, albeit rather inconsistently. I bought a violin at age 25 after seeing Lucia Micarelli play Emmanuel alongside my favorite jazz instrumentalist, Chris Botti. It now sits in a corner of my room, gathering dust. For my 27th birthday, I received a berimbau, a Brazilian traditional percussion instrument played during capoeira (which I have been practicing for almost three years). I am still not able to string it by myself, and my pinky finger still has not acclimated itself to the pain that came with having to support the entire instrument while I play it. I am planning to purchase a pandeiro (tambourine) as a Christmas gift for myself, still in line with what I do as a capoeirista.

With all my fortunes and misfortunes with music and musical instruments, singing has been the sole activity/entity that has remained with me through the years. It saw me through the confusion about my parent's separation at 6; through the struggles of belonging as a teen; through the deaths of my grandmother and father;   through falling in love and having my heart broken for the first time; through the numerous college papers and projects and exams (thanks, in part, to Do Not Delay, the band I fronted on my last semesters in school); through the decision to move half the world away and figure out what I want to do with my life; through wars and recessions--general and personal; through getting the hang of new work, family, friendships, relationships, relation-shits, etc. Through everything, really.

I recently upped the level of singing in my life by enrolling in voice classes. Then singing in my first ever cabaret show. Then joining a chorale group. Then performing with the group, and solo in a recital. And that was only the beginning.

I definitely feel a lot more confident in my voice now, and I am slowly but surely getting a hang of really performing. It takes a nice voice to sing, but to perform in full abandon is another thing. It's like giving a piece of your heart to a complete stranger, and trusting them to do the right thing with it.

Living is a risk. And when you choose to make singing a huge part of your life (or in some cases, make a living out of singing), you are taking one hell of a risk. Logic tells us that as long as there are risks involved, there will always be a 50-50 chance of a good thing happening. To me, the ability to say afterwards that, "Yes, I tried it." is reward enough.



“A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”
Maya Angelou