Dance Diary: At the Ballet

The last time I was in a ballet class I had my original factory installed hair color. Apparently ballroom dance has made me braver. When Olivia Galgano (who choreographed a gorgeous pas de deux to my recording of So In Love for two of her professional dancers) invited me to her adult ballet class at  Art of Motion ,I thought, “why not?”

Here’s the thing about me and ballet - Deep in the darkest corner of my heart I have a secret list of careers I would pursue if I had absolutely any aptitude at all. Fashion designer is on there, so is archeologist. At the very top of the list is Ballet dancer. Alas, congenitally flat feet, my height and too much T and A (well, not so much T but a whole lot of A) precluded that. I knew that gong back into a ballet class wasn’t going to lead me to a new career, but at the same time I devoutly wished to make it through the class with my dignity in tact.

I was happily surprised to find that in addition to making me less trepedatious about even setting foot in a dance class my ballroom experience has improved the speed at which I picked up steps, my balance, my carriage and my foot articulation. It was extremely gratifying that Olivia asked me several times “how long did you say it’s been since you’ve taken class? Are you sure?” 

I am by no means ready to embark upon public acts of ballet, but I definitely want to go back to class and see where it leads. Now that I’ve learned that much of what I’ve learned about movement in the last two years can translate to other forms of dance I’m curious to try some new things.  Maybe I’ll try tap next...

Notes From the Blender

I find myself in the odd space over the last few weeks of wanting time to simultaneously speed up and slow down. I have just finished my annual wonderful crazy production marathon that is The Bistro Awards, and am heading straight into my first (and at this rate only)big dance competition. Scattered in between these events are meetings for upcoming projects, clean up from our string of nutty weather, impending houseguests, and just the daily stuff of living. And after all this? After all this...well...I’m not entirely sure.  Yes, I have things coming up, but as always at the end of a crazy busy spurt there is change. This makes me nervous.

I am trying my hardest to stay “In the Moment”. I suck at being in the moment. The hamster in the wheel that runs my brain is always jumping six spaces ahead of where I am at any given time. The hamster is fond of spiraling disaster narratives. To calm the feeling of onrushing chaos I find myself repeating a mantra I heard on NPR’s On Being, Now. Here. This. It helps to remind myself that I cannot control anything but the here and now, and sometimes not even that. All I can do is breathe and  move forward taking things as they come. Life will happen, and I will figure it out.

Tomorrow I will get up and sing and dance and plan for the furture. But for here and now, in the calm eye of my own personal hurricane there is only this, the small indulgences of a piece of cake and a movie night with Spawn. The rest can wait.

Coming Attractions: Valentine’s Edition

Photo by  Denise Medve Penguin Moon Studios

 

Why celebrate Valentine’s Day with flowers and chocolates when you can do it with song and dance and theatre? Far less caloric and definitely more satisfying! I’m going to be part of dynamite evening on February 11th at Art of Motion Studios in Ridgewood, NJ. I’ll be singing some of my favorite seasonally appropriate tunes accompanied by jazz piano prodigy Gable Plotkin. Dancers, Janette Dishuk and M.A. Taylor will be bringing their terpsichorean talents to the party. All of this will be followed by a reading of A.R. Gurney’s bittersweet valentine, Love Letters, featuring the talents of Sally Ann Tumas and Stephen Innocenzi. And if all this isn’t enough you are invited to join us for an opening reception with refreshments and a performer talk back afterward.

For complete details and tickets click right HERE! 

Who Are You Calling an Adult?

Photo by Denise Medve Penguin Moon Studios 

I need a tee shirt that says Bad at Adulting. That I have a basically grown child astounds me. That said child is a functioning human being currently not eating Tide Pods gives me hope that perhaps I am not utterly hopeless as a grown up, but deep in my heart I know I peaked maturity wise at about fourteen. Which is entirely appropriate because my friend Rick insists that I’m a fourteen year old gay boy at heart.

It struck me last summer when Spouse and I were driving through the Berkshires in our volvo listening to NPR and stopping at a farm to table market for organic free trade chocolate that not only did the world see me as an adult but as “THAT” kind of adult. Really I’m more likely to be driving said Volvo just a wee bit too fast with the windows down and the music blasting (yes, even in the dead of an East Coast winter, that is after all, why God made seat warmers).

I don’t understand how my mortgage works, cocktail chatter about interest rates, private school tuition and European vacations makes my eyes glaze over, and I can’t insist Spawn keep his room clean when mine contains a pile of clothing that dwarfs me, Spouse and all the felines put together in height and girth. My role model will forever be Auntie Mame, audacity combined with a great wardrobe. I take great pride in being the “fun” aunt, allowing my nephew to paint his fingernails green and giving my ten year old niece a makeover complete with a smoky eye.

My latent immaturity has its advantages. It means that I refuse to believe there’s a point where I have to give it up put on the sensible shoes and get on with growing old. That point where I stay home and yell at Television news (okay, I kind of do that, but it’s only an occaisional diversion, not my reason for being) and talk about how great things used to be. I still believe in taking risks and trying new things. That success is possible at any point and that there’s not a cut-off age on following your dreams. To quote my role model, life is a banquet and most poor sons-of-bitches are starving to death . I intend to eat my fill.

Do or Do Not...

Photo by Denise Medve Penguin Moon Studios

And so the year of creeping out of my comfort zone continues, although, let’s face it, at the rate I’m going it’s shaping up to be more like a decade. As I mentioned previously, I was asked to sing at a benefit for Pioneer Productions Company this past weekend. When the director contacted me I thought, Great! I’ll put on a pretty dress, say something witty, sing a funny song, and then sit backstage and eat cookies (baked goods always figure prominently on a Pioneer prop table). But it turns out that was only the first act. The second act was to be all rock musical material, and he wanted me to sing the Magenta part in Time Warp from Rocky Horror Picture Show. My first response was, Have you met me? I am known for many things Pop, country, music theatre, specialty material...Straight ahead rock music is not the first or even the fifth thing that leaps to mind.

Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself and said yes. If nothing else, it was a chance to wear my silver sequin shorts and a corset, something that is generally frowned upon in the produce aisle of my local Wegmans. Meanwhile, the little imps that inhabit the darker corners of my brain went to work. What are you thinking? they whispered, you know you’re going to look utterly ridiculous. The calmer striving for inner peace and harmony voice said, Of course, you can do this. Obviously the director saw something in you that you don’t see, maybe you should trust that. The imps rolled their eyes at this and went back to their usual activity of throwing all my clothes out of the closet and onto the chair (hey, somebody must do it).

The night of the show arrived, I sailed through the first act, rewarded (and fortified) myself with an absolutely sinful apple salted caramel blondie baked by our producer and emcee Doug McLaughlin, and donned my corset and new black velvet boots (when in doubt always go for confidence giving footwear). Onward I went into the light. The song began, the band was rocking, Dan Vissers (doing double duty as director and performer) was wailing the first verse and the imps having retrenched returned to let me know that I hadn’t the foggiest idea of what my lyrics were. I knew them when I left the house, I knew them at sound check, but somewhere between act one and my orgy of blondie consumption the words had fled.  Don’t panic, I told myself, just keep smiling, shake your hips, and something will come to you...maybe... Two bars and a hip roll before my verse the first word magically reappeared, and the imps were vanquished.

So, the moral, if indeed there is one, is if you’re going to move out of your comfort zone do it with all your heart in defiance of your personal imps, and trust your director, sometimes he (or she) can see things that you can’t. Oh, and being a rockstar, even if only for thirty-two bars is awesome!

Photo By Michelle Oates 

Music for a Snowy Day

So, remember last week when I said that Spawn has introduced me to a whole world of new music? Well, today one of these tunes has been stuck in my head, and I figured that was a pretty clear sign that I needed to share it with you. I am absolutely in love with Frank Turner’s ballad (of course, it would be a ballad) Balthazar Impressario. It’s a gorgeous story song about the last night of an English music hall.

There are two things I adore about it (well, more but I’m trying to keep this short and sassy).

One: The line “Always take the stage like it’s the last night of your life” .  Of all the ear worms from this song this is the one that I hear over and over again. It is performing advice to live by.

Two: It reminds me of my friend George Hall. George is an expert on English Music Hall, and one of the most delightful people I have ever spent time with. He knows Just about everything there is to know about theatre having worked with pretty near every luminary to trod the English boards. He’s in his nineties now and still teaching young performers in the UK. He once said to me he could not imagine retiring. I miss his twinkling eyes and exceedingly dry sense of humor. It may be time for me to plan a trip to London...

So without further ado...here’s your tune for the day. You’re welcome. 

Bailey’s Rules of Life, Love & Style #1

Rule #1: Just because it comes in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it.

Someone once said to me that I could never be president because my name (and by extension the rest of me) was too girly. Up until that moment I had never considered a political career, and had a moment of wanting one for pure spite. As we have seen this is never a good idea. But that comment stayed with me for a very long time until I realized that it was absolute bunk. There was nothing wrong with me then and there is certainly nothing wrong with me now. I am a “girly girl” though I hate that term as it always feels like a veiled insult. I love clothes and the freedom of expression they give me. I enjoy the transformative aspect of fashion, I can be who I want to when I want to be depending on my mood. This does not mean I am not a serious person, or that I judge others based on their appearance. This is just who I have been from my earliest memories of fighting my mother on what I wanted to wear.

 Over the years I’ve developed my own style code. As I’ve taught classes to performers about public image, and helped nonperformers define their own style I’ve gradually developed a set of rules that I like to call Bailey’s Rules of Life, Love & Style. Personal style should be just that, personal. Unique to you and your life. While it’s always important to be aprorpriate to the occaision, it’s just as important to be true to your personal style code.  Clothing is meant to compliment who we are not hide it. With that I bring you rule number one...

Just because it comes in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it.

Fit can mean a lot of things. There’s physical fit. Is it too big? Is it too small? Do the proportions work on my body? Is it flattering? This is important but there are other almost more important meanings to the term fit...

*Does this fit my idea of who I am and who I want to be? Clothing is powerful because it tells people something about you without saying a word. What do you want to say with your outfit? What do you want people to know about you? Does the garment in question say that? 

*Does this fit the way I feel? How do you feel when you put on a particular article of clothing? Does it make you feel good? Does it give you confidence? Does it feel like “you”? Our clothes have an emotional effect on us for both good and ill. Life’s too short to wear clothes that make you feel bad.

 *Does this fit my life? Am I buying this item because it truly makes me feel great and confident in my own skin?  Or am I buying it because it’s “on trend”? On sale? Someone else told me I should? If the answer to any but the first of these questions is yes, set the garment free to go to a new home. There’s nothing wrong with trends or sales or asking someone else’s opinion, but when those factors override your sense of self confidence that’s a problem.

 *Does it fit the occasion? Here’s the thing, clothing is certainly about expressing oneself, but it is also a sign of respect. If your basic style is casual and you’re invited to a black tie event, it’s not okay to show up in your jeans and shrug and say “that’s just who I am”. It’s rude. But that doesn’t mean you have to show up in an overly embellished gown and torture chamber shoes. Find something with a simple cut, a fabric like silk jersey that is comfortable yet elegant, and add a pretty pair of flats. It sometimes takes creativity but you can translate your personal style code into any event.

 The bottom line is that a garment that fits on all levels will make you feel great! If it doesn’t you don’t need it. If it makes you want to run for president, even better!

Mother & Spawn Playlist: Guilty Pleasures

Spawn and I have both wildly divergent and yet eerily similiar tastes in music. Over the years it’s been interesting how our positions have reversed. It used to be me introducing new artists and genres to him, and now, more often than not he’s the one bringing new stuff to me. We’re always tossing songs back and forth (sometimes multiple versions of the same song) so we thought it’d be fun to start an occasional feature here on the blog where we pick a subject and build a playlist around it. 

SInce it’s January, the weather is dire and all is pretty icktastic we’re kicking off with something short, sweet, and silly. We have each chosen two of our favorite Guilty Pleasure songs. Nowhere is our divergent taste more evident than here. My choices are late seventies and early eighties pop complete with cringe inducing fashion, while his tend to a have a harder edge. It makes for a very interesting play list.

My First Pick: I have had a particular affinity for the hustle ever since my cousin Pam taught it to me in the living room at age nine. This is one of my favorite hustle songs. Plus, I got to meet Paul Shaffer the co-writer of this song last year, and he called me gorgeous so there’s that.... 

Spawn’s Take: The theme song of every cougar who ever lived.

Spawn’s First Pick:  Weezer’s tough for me to stomach between their poppy sound and the fact that their frontman is, according to things I’ve heard, a bit of a jerk. I will say they’ve got a couple of nice tunes, and I’m a sucker for a good bluesy guitar riff.

Mother’s Take: I feel no guilt in saying I take no pleasure in this song.

My Second Pick: The stuff of my seven year old singing diva fantasies. I used to imagine myself in a yellow dress wowing a packed house with this. Unfortunately,  Donny & Marie beat me to it, and on ice skates no less.

Spawn’s Take: Makes me think of guilded, feathery, Vegas trashiness...

Spawn’s Second Pick: Andrew W. K. is not really like most of the people I tend to listen to. He’s just fun. No Depth, not rhyme or reason. He’s just fun. What’s so damned wrong with that?

Mother’s Take: Uh, son, do we need to talk? 

Singing for a Cause...

In rehearsal for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest with Salvador Navarro & Dan Vissers . Photo by Penguin Moon Studios

The art of making art is a difficult one. It requires talent, vision, willing collaborators and funding. You can have the first three elements but without the last one, the almighty dollar, you won’t get very far. At times like this we all can use a little help from our friends.

Last year Pioneer Productions Company gave me the opportunnity to play Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I had a blast exploring the contours of this iconic character and made some talented new friends in the process. Now it’s time for me to give back a little of what they gave to me. On January 20th I will be reuniting with some of my pals from Cuckoo’s nest along with some other terrific performers for an evening benefiting Pioneer. 

Your ticket will get you an evening of great singing, yummy food, and the knowledge that you’re helping to bring new art to life. Click HERE to get your tix for the event. I’ll see you there!

 (If you’d like a sneak peak of what you’ll see on the 20th check out the promo below...)

Who Said it Would Be Easy

I have spent the better part of the last year or so being uncomfortable, waking up in the morning trying to breathe through the fear.  Without entirely meaning too I have been changing my life. I have pushed myself to the very limits in almost every aspect of my life. “What’s wrong with me?” I kept asking, “I could have a nice safe life. Normal people do not do this.” But with each step out onto the ledge I have learned more about myself, who I am, who I want to be, what I want to keep and what I want to leave behind. 

Watching this video clarified a lot of the thoughts and feelings I’ve had lately. Growth is not supposed to be painless. Becoming the person that we are meant to be is a difficult process, especially as you encounter so many voices in your life telling you who you should be. Discovering who I am called to be is both a revalation and a revolution. I feel like it’s been quietly waiting for me to pay attention for it to reveal itself, and now that it has I can only follow its call. 

Dance Diary: Coco, I Don’t Think We’re in Armani Anymore

Feathers & spangles & ruffles! Oh, my! 

I hoped it would never come to this. I swore I would never do it. I believe my exact words on the subject were “if I ever even say I’m thinking about doing this slap me”. And yet...here I am agreeing to take part in my first major dance competition.  And with that comes the need for a costume.

As someone who has spent a good part of her life refining her personal style entering the arena of ballroom wear is, as one of my Romanian instructors says, “a little bit challenge”. I love rhinestones and sequins and all sorts of embellishments, but I tend to draw the line at eye searing neons and animal prints in shades that any leopard will tell you do not occur in nature. And then there are the cutouts...I could be wrong, but I highly doubt any judge wants to see the scar from my gallbladder surgery. But I also had a broadway costume designer mentor who once told me that the difference between the professionals and the amateurs he worked with was that the professionals were always willing to try anything that the designer threw at them. So when it came time to go to the professionals and chose a dress my rule was “no matter what say yes” (which is also the first rule of improv, but that’s for another day).

Fortunately for me, I found a great crew of experts at Encore Ballroom Couture. It didn’t hurt at all that I came equipped with my own crew of my sister, Evie, and two great nieces, Epuri & Coco (ages ten & eight) for second and third opinions.  Entering the showroom was like landing on planet sparkle. Every where you looked there were beads and sequins and fringe and lace and color. Heaven for the little girls in my entourage and not too bad for their auntie either. It was sort of like being on Say Yes to the Dress Ballroom Edition (hmmm....I might actually watch that show....Cable execs if you’re listening...)

So with the goal of saying yes to whatever they presented me to try on out came the dresses. The first thing you need to know about trying on dance costumes is that the way they appear on the hanger often bears no relation to the way they will look on a human. This was apparent pretty quickly from the very first dress. On the hanger it appeared as a pile of gold and copper stones with a skirt made of varying shades of old panty hose. But once I put it on the stones sparkled in the light and brought out my skin tone, and the chiffon skirt moved like a dream.  

Also, when your entrourage includes an eight and a ten year old there wil be some difference of opinion in what constitutes an appropriate dress. The yellow fishnet dress that was held together by spangles, feathers and a strategically placed flower or two had me breaking into the chorus of “Copacabana”, but for the under twelve set it was just right. Don’t get me wrong, it was the sort of dress that would look gorgeous on a woman with much darker skin and better developed stomach muscles than I, but it was not my dress. Their second choice of a daisy printed dress with a maribou hemline made me look like an extra on the Dukes of Hazzard but on a sunny busty blonde it would be absolutely smashing. 

In the end I figured out that much of what I already knew about dressing in the real world and dressing for the ballroom was not all that different. Jewel tones sing on me and neons and pastels not so much (the less said about the lavender dress that Evie said make me look like a fairy the better). Fringe is my embellishment of choice. The cut and fit of a garment  are my best friends.And always, always listen to the experts when they make suggestions. I’m thrilled with the dress I chose, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until March to see it. 

This one came close.... 

Losing My Balance

The Only existing pic of me on the ice. The hair gives it away.

Over the holidays I went ice skating for the first time in I don’t know how many years. The first few minutes were pretty much torture as I kept a death grip on the rail trying to think about what I knew about moving on two thin metal blades while trying not to think about all the things that could happen were I to fall off those blades. After a few deep breaths I was able to align myself and let go. While attempting to glide somewhat gracefully around the ice I had some time to think about the fine art of balance.

I’ve spent the better part of the last two years learning to dance. A lot of people questioned why I would do this, it wasn’t what I was known for why do it? Yet, from the moment I stepped into my first class, I knew that this was absolutely what I needed to be doing. And it has definitely paid off. Dancing has completely changed the way I approach performing. It’s given me an ease and physical freedom on-stage that I’ve never had, not to mention an entirely new element to add to my shows. So what’s the problem?

In committing to learning this new skill I often feel that I have thrown my life dramatically out of balance. In order to master this new skill I have had to work at it intensely and that requires time, time which gets taken away from other things. Finding time for classes and sessions and practice consumes me. It also cuts into the time I have for other things. I have had to turn down invitations and ignore the dust bunnies colonizing under the sofa. Add to that finding the time to sing and write and promote and each day is a about four hours too short.

Somewhere it occurred to me while dodging small sugar fueled children hurling themselves at me at great rates of speed that maybe it wasn’t that my life was so far out of whack at this moment but that what I needed was to change my idea of what living a balanced life means at this moment.

The first thing that I realized was that in order to bring this new thing into line with all the other things I do professionally I HAVE to work at it constantly and intensively. There is no other way but to give myself over to the process in the short term so that in the long term I can confidently add this tool to my professional arsenal. In a sense, for a little while, this is my job. After that comes attention to all the other things that need constant tuning - the singing and writing and spinning new projects and promoting the old. Finally, come the social obligations and chores. Learning to live in harmony with the dust bunnies for a while is okay as long as there’s food in the pantry and clean underwear everything else can take a backseat. As for my social life, even if I can’t see my people as often as I Iike I can make sure that I am fully present when we are together, and that means putting work aside and not feeling guilty about it.

I can’t do everything every day, but I can make sure that every day I’m doing what I need to do, and that is a great relief. And just maybe I’ll find a little bit of time to get back out on the ice.

On the First Day of Blogging...

Words! Words! Words! My brain is full of them. they spin around my head while I’m trying to sleep and crash into my conscious when I’m trying to grocery shop. The more I put off committing them to print the more they plague me. The time has come to set them free in the hope that I can finally stop frightening people in the checkout line at Wegman’s with my muttering.

Welcome to the Twelve Days of Blogging. Similar to the Twelve Days of Christmas but not- there will be no birds or pear trees, but maybe some leaping and dancing. For the next twelve days (that would be twelve weekdays, folks, even a procrastinator gets the occasional weekend off) I am going publish a post daily. I’ll be talking about music and dance and theatre and books and any other thing that  floats through the transom of my mind.

I also want to hear from you. Chime in with your thoughts and even links to your blog. Let’s get some conversation going. I’ll start it off right now by telling you my next post will be all about Balance. Finding it, losing it, and what it all means.

Satan’s Little Jukebox

Of all the billions of words circulating in the universe none strike quite so much fear in this singer’s heart like the word KARAOKE. I firmly believe that Karaoke is Japanese for “musical hell with beer” even though Spouse, who lived in Japan and speaks the language, assures me this is not so. I’m not alone in this conviction. Many of the musicians I know would rather be dipped in sugar and thrust into a pool full of bees than sit through an evening of people singing along to pre-recorded tracks. And yet, despite this, Saturday night found me in a karaoke lounge in the hinterlands of Jersey. Dismayed does not begin to describe it.

At first, I attempted to lay low. If they didn’t know I was a singer I could sit quietly and let everyone else take the wheel. Maybe I could tell people I was an accountant. But here’s the thing: if one is going to go incognito perhaps an emerald green sequined vintage top and six inch heels are not the best wardrobe choices. It also didn’t help matters that my friend, whose party it was, announced to everyone in the room “this is my friend Wendy Lane, and she’s a wonderful singer”. Within thirty seconds I had been well and truly outed.

The thing about karaoke is it’s a lesson in letting go of expectations. You have very little control here (and if you know anything at all about me at this point it is that I like being in control) and the more you fight this the more you will fail. You can pick your song and that’s about it. You’re stuck with whatever key, tempo and arrangement the machine decides to spew at you. All you can do is take a deep breath and hold on.

it wasn’t all bad.There’s something exhilarating about having to think on my feet, adjusting to an accompaniment I’ve never heard, and an audience who’s not necessarily interested in me. I go back to all the things I was taught about learning to sing in piano bars. Find the one person in the room that’s listening. Let go of the idea that this is a “performance”. Be in the room with your audience. This is a chance to sing and have fun, it’s not about impressing anyone. 

What was interesting was that once I did sing people people wanted to talk to me. For an introvert like me (I know, go figure) it made all the difference to my enjoyment of the evening. Do I now love karaoke? No. Will I be looking for chances to to do it in the future? Um, no. Did I get to sing a thing or two I wouldn’t normally get to, and make some interesting new friends. Absolutely!

A Little Song, A Little Dance

Sometimes I have an idea that I know in my heart is going to absolutely brilliant or fail utterly. Too often I let my fear get the better of me and bury those ideas under the more mundane things I have to do until they reappear to torment me late at night when sleep won’t come. A few months ago I had such an idea. I tried to ignore it but it pestered me endlessly. I decided to take it to my most trusted artistic advisors. Surely, they would tell me that I was out of my mind and I could move on to the next saner project. No quite... They all LOVED it and insisted this was absolutely the right next move for me. 

The idea was this - Take about a dozen or so of my very favorite songs and stories and combine it with some of the things I’ve been doing with dance. Have I mentioned that I am not a natural dancer? I’ve worked hard on it, I have seriously invested in doing it, but could I do it well enough to combine it seamlessly with what I already do? Most importantly, would it be “Me”? As it turns out the answer was absolutely yes. In fact, in some ways, it is the most Me I have ever felt on-stage.

I started with three tunes I had long fantasized about adding dance to. The first was Leonard Cohen’s Dance Me to the End of Love. Several years ago Rick Jensen (who was musical director for this show) put together a stunning Russian Play of an arrangement of this for me, and It became the title of the show and the starting point for choosing all the other songs.  Next came Gretchen Peters’ The Matador , a gorgeous metaphor for life with an artist. I always have at least one Gretchen Peters song in every set. She’s a consummate musical story teller. With The Matador I had a vision of telling this story with a mix of Paso Doble and Argentine Tango. Finally, there was Stephen Sondheim’s Can That Boy Foxtrot. It was a bit of a joke because my distaste for the Foxtrot is a well known fact in the dance studio. But also, it’s just a great song, sexy sassy and funny and who doesn’t want to be that?

With more than a little trepidation I presented the idea to Costi, my Romanian Ballroom Champion dance teacher. Surely, here was the person who was going to agree with me that I was absolutely insane to try this. Instead he took my rehearsal tracks with only the slightest raised eyebrow and came back with three gorgeously choreographed pieces that managed to combine the elements of my personality and the things I do best as a dancer. When he first showed me what he had come up with for Dance Me to the End of Love I actually jumped up and down and clapped my hands it was so exciting. And if you know me at all you know I am not a jumper up and downer.

The other songs in the set came together surprisingly easily. I just picked the things I loved to sing the very most. Songs by friends like Michele  Brourman, Amanda McBroom, Rick and Lina Koutrakos shared a set with tunes by more distant icons like June Carter Cash, Cole Porter, Joni Mitchell, and  Leonard Cohen. There wasn’t a song in the bunch that I hadn’t fallen in love with. Every time I sang I felt like I was rediscovering old friends. I’m always amazed how over time a song will continue to grow and change and take on deeper meaning. 

In the week leading up to the show I alternated between excited anticipation and dread that I was going to make an ass of myself. I expected that I would spend the entire set tense because the idea of dancing in a show was so scary to me. The great surprise was once I actually walked out onto the stage I never felt more relaxed during a performance. Things flowed even better than they had in my mind, and the dance numbers seemed like they had always been there, even when I missed a step or two (hey, it woudn’t be me if I hadn’t).

It helped that I was blessed with  brilliant collaborators in Rick, Costi, and my creative sounding board Sally Mayes. I was also fortunate in having a warm and enthusiastic audience whom I could feel with me every step of the way. I had done my homework now I got to forget about it and have fun. And I did! I also realized that studying dance has affected  more than those moments when I am actually dancing. It’s changed everything from the way I stand at the microphone to the way I walk across the stage. It’s helped me become at home in a body that I’ve often viewed as an enemy. 

My one thought when all was said and done was “when can I do this again”? And I will. Keep watching this space!

Sooner Rather Than Later, Please

This week has been a wretched week on both a personal level and the larger global level. Bad news seems  to be coming thick and fast from all corners. There is so much that seems beyond our control right now, with demons prowling everywhere. What can we do? Well, there's kindness and compassion both for others and for ourselves.  You'd be surprised how little of that it takes to lighten a mood. And beyond that there's music. Good music- the kind that makes you laugh and cry and forget just for a minute that the odds are long and so is the day. Yesterday just when I was at the absolute end of my tether I stumbled across Karen Ziemba & Bill Irwin's version of Stephen Sondheim's Sooner or Later. It didn't solve my problems or spout platitudes, it didn't even do my dishes. But it made me smile, and at that moment everything seemed much better. So,I'm sharing it with you, I hope it makes your day just a bit happier.

From the Archives

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I may have mentioned that I have a show coming up...I'm sifting through charts, and recordings and notes mining for musical treasure. As I have been lucky  to work with some truly gifted composers and arrangers over the past few years it's never a question of not having enough material, but of narrowing down the list to a show that's somewhat less than five hours long. Along the way I run across all sorts of things that I have forgotten about, like this little gem that Rick Jensen and I recorded a while back.  Will it make the list for October 15? Well... you'll have to come to see us to find out.

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Dance Diary - In the Beginning

Here's the thing. I like being in charge. I'm used to being in charge. I'm good at being in charge. I'm one of those hyper competent good in a crisis be it on stage or backstage kind of people. I've spent years learning to be good at what I do. When I step on-stage and pick up a microphone I know what I'm doing. Even if it's an impromptu last minute didn't know I was going to have to perform kind of thing I know what to do. I've produced and taught and directed and run the zoo in various ways for a long time. I am happily accustomed to being in complete control of my world.  That is, I was...until I stepped into a dance studio. 

Of all the things that surprised me about this adventure none was more unexpected and more difficult to accept than the fact that I was suddenly a complete neophyte at something. That I had to let go of everything I knew for a little while and let someone else be in charge. Not only that but I was going to have to be abjectly terrible at something...in public. Don't get me wrong, there are lots of things I do not do well, but generally I try to do those things only in the privacy of my own home, with the shades drawn and Spouse and Spawn safely out of town. Yet here I was putting my terpsichorean flaws on display for the entire world.

And if that weren't enough...I discovered that all those bad habits I'd worked so hard to overcome as a musician popped up in my dancing. Rushing, anticipating, bad posture,  incomplete connection with my partner - things I thought were long gone were merely waiting for me to take up dance so they could display themselves in all new ways. Sort of like that pimple that appears without fail on your chin prior to every major life event. There have been moments of pure pain where I wanted nothing more than to flee the building and collapse in a heap of sobs.

So, why do it? Why put myself though the humiliation of baring my two left feet to the world. Well, first of all, I'm stubborn. My mother used to say I'd argue with the devil if he popped up and said it was nice day. And while I've never quite understood exactly why that was a bad thing, she's right. Once I get my teeth into something I will not let it go until I've beaten it into submission. While some may see this as a flaw, I think it's actually one of my saving graces. 

But beyond that I know that the only way to be good at something is to allow yourself to be bad at it. No matter what our level of natural talent when we set out to learn a new skill we have to go through that painful awkward phase where we aren't so great at it. This is how we learn. It's not easy, it sure ain't pretty but this is where we really grow. And if we do it right, as a bonus, we might learn a little empathy along the way.

I have been reminded that a bad class won't kill me. It's not a sign from above that I should quit. Bad days are part of the process. Learning something new, even something you love dearly, is not all unalloyed pleasure. It's hard, it should be. I have discovered I'm not happy unless I'm being challenged. The difficult days are the ones that force me to take a look at what I'm doing and adjust accordingly. I may go home and rant and rave and threaten never to darken the studio door again, but once I get that out of my system my pigheadedness kicks in and I'm back in class the next day determined to master the challenge.

Finally, being a beginner has vastly improved my practice habits. Put simply, if I don't want to look like Bambi on ice in class I'd better set aside the time everyday to practice. Wynton Marsalis said, When you practice, it means you are willing to sacrifice to sound good...time spent practicing is the true sign of virtue in a musician." There are other things I could be doing but if I'm serious about moving past my beginner status there's only one way to do it - through sheer cussed hard work. Fortunately that's another of my talents.

Thursday Morning Tunes

I am not a morning person. Cranky and monosyllabic are the two words that best describe my morning persona. It takes dynamite and a giant hit of caffeine (though I'm working on giving that up) to propel me into motion. Once my eyes have been forced open I scroll through my email, social networking, and the news until I'm able to form coherent sentences. Alas, these days those sentences are usually rants about the sorry state of democracy and the world in general. So, it was a lovely change this morning to be greeted with a wonderful article from Rolling Stone about Bobbie Gentry. Which in turn sent me straight to my various musical devices. From there it was just a little hop to  YouTube and this...

Suddenly my morning just got a lot better. Only now I'm wondering where to get my hands on a red catsuit...

What's In a Name

For someone who doesn't drink coffee, who can't abide the taste (although I do love the smell), Notes From Hot Coffee would seem an unusual choice of a blog name. But Hot Coffee is a phrase that has a lot of significance to me as both a real and a metaphorical place.

The real place is Hot Coffee, Mississippi, a tiny town halfway between Natchez, MS and Mobile, AL. It is the place where farmers,  on their way to or from taking their crops to market, would stop at L.N. Davis' General Store for what Davis called, "the best hot coffee around" . The name stuck, and though Hot Coffee is best known for producing the actors Stella Stephens and Dana Andrews, I prefer to think of it as the place that produced my maternal grandparents Norma Lane Saxon Carter and William Matthew Carter. It is, in a very literal sense, the place were much of my family began. 

Hot Coffee is also the place where many of the stories my mother told me are set. It was alive in my imagination long before I ever went to visit the real place.  It is the place were stories are born, true stories, that combine tragedy, and laugh-out-loud comedy with a cast of good-hearted yet flawed characters who are just a little odd. You may not have ever been there, but you know these people, you root for them, and in the end you fall in love with them. It's creativity and beauty and real life. It is what I look for in the songs I sing and the stories I tell.

Finally, Hot Coffee is the name of the theatre piece I have been toiling over this past little while. One day it will be finished and see the light of day (or rather a theatre), but until then I will be sharing bits and pieces of its birth story with you. 

So, welcome to Hot Coffee! I hope that in reading my stories you will be inspired to share you own. Everyone is welcome here, because everyone has a story that's worth hearing.