Dan Callaway Studio

Feel Freedom. Love your confidence. Be a joy bomb.

Author: dancallaway (Page 4 of 31)

It’s Not the Louder One

October 10, 2023 /

I could write you seven emails about the last weekend.

Scott Nicholas and I did our songs at Green Room 42 last Saturday, and it couldn’t have been more satisfying.

Every day leading up to the show, my brain said,

“YOU did this. YOU emailed the venue and set up a date. YOU picked these songs and invited all these folks.”

My brain chattered helpful survival tips every day:

“You can just cut that song.”

“Maybe you’ll get that crud Noah brought home from school and have to cancel.”

“If you don’t invite that person, you won’t have to feel disappointed if they tell you no.”

But the few moments I let myself get quiet and listen, I’d hear a voice (of the still, small variety) whisper in the middle of my torso,

“It’s going to be beautiful.”

I knew it was true.

My brain was a lot louder, and therefore much more noticeable.

Much like our brightly resonant 4-year-old when Melissa tries to relay one fact about something that happened to her on any given day after I get home.

I hear the scientists have figured out that our brain trains ?? automatically switch to the track to Negative Bias Town as their default route. Something about avoiding predators.

It’s a good thing to know because you can meet your brain with understanding when it’s so eagerly contributing to the committee meeting.

I’ve found, though, that if you can get a little bit still and check in with where you know things (for me it’s around my guts), that info is what you need to stick with.

It’ll lead you into zones where you’ll have to use your courage, and that means you’re going to feel scared.

But, that’s when I say to myself, “Self, what will Future Dan be glad you did?”

And present Dan is so grateful I went ahead and shared that show.

The collaboration was heavenly. (I’m truly lucky to work with Scott Nicholas — singing with him is like riding on a magic music cloud. He’s boss.)

And the sweetest experience was sharing it with folks in the room and loved ones online.

Folks from many years and places in my life all gathered — I’m convinced the gold of a life in theatre is the friends you get to make.

Melissa and I were reflecting on all the good people we’re blessed to know; it’s nuts, and I’m so grateful.

All this to say there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing. And your only-you-ness feels so everyday that you don’t realize how special and different it’s going to be for somebody else.

I guarantee if you let yourself do the thing that’s scary that the quiet voice peacefully and firmly tells you is the satisfying path, you’ll be surprised by who gets moved, healed, and encouraged.

Now go sing, and make a show and invite your people.

And look at these sweet pics of our boys living their best Central Park life.

Love Much,

Dan

Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Singing Advice ?

October 3, 2023 /

Neil Degrasse Tyson said,

“The human genome is admirably complex, and it’s fair to ask whether there’s a finite number of humans it could make.

“The answer is yes, but it’s 10^30 – an incomprehensibly big number. The fact that you and I are alive is against stupendous odds.”

Every week, I say to you, “There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.”

I believe this. For you.

I often exempt myself from this axiom.

In fact, if you have the privilege to teach, the things you say most are the things you most need to learn.

Last week, I posted a short video of a terrific William Finn song, “Anytime,” that I plan to sing in the show on Saturday. I’ve always loved this song.

When I chose it, I thought of all the fancy folks who’ve sung it.

I thought of all the recordings I stopped after the first few lines because I have strong aesthetic opinions.

I thought about the time I read a role in an NYU reading, and William Finn was there and maintained an unimpressed poker face throughout. I was certain he thought I was terrible. 

Welcome to my particular neuroti-scape.

Pieces of this memory menagerie all surfaced just in the selection of a song.

Even in choosing to share the song on the socials, I felt wiggle waggle.

Last Tuesday, all manner of apocalyptic visions assaulted my noggin while I tried to teach.

“Three people will be at your show.”

“The risky song you chose isn’t going to pay off.”

“The people you thought were going to be there aren’t showing up for you.”

I was having a hard time.

I shared with a couple students why their usually competent silly-noise-making teacher was forgetting to play F-sharps that day.

Anytime I make something up for myself to do: a concert, a recital, a musical, I hit a moment of —

YOU made this up. YOU did this.

And it feels like I’m in nursery school and the teacher’s holding up the picture of an ostrich I colored purple saying, “Who ever heard of a purple ostrich?”

(One day I’ll write a children’s book about a purple ostrich. Or you can!)

Thing is, I do know there’s only one me. I have evidence that when I share songs, it means things to people. I even believe I’m loved and worthy of love.

AND my brain’s negative bias (just like yours) works to keep me hidden and unexposed (read: protected).

As I wrote this to you, my brain was like, “You sure want to share THAT much?”

I mean, speaking as an over-sharer from way back, it’s an important sieve, but in this case, yes, I do want to share that much.

So that?

So that you know that all of us are managing our own cerebral chatter collectives; and a lot of times we don’t give ourselves the grace to breathe through our nose 7 times and witness our thoughts as a compassionate friend.

So, yes, Dr. deGrasse Tyson is correct; you are a mathematical miracle.

And you’re still going to have to act while you feel afraid.

Me too.

When the boys say, “Daddy, I’m scared,” I say, “I know buddy. I’m here.”

Then I say, “Remember we have to feel scared first before we can use our courage?”

Yep, fear is the prerequisite for bravery.

And to trust that the inimitable diamond of your soul that you showed up on this planet with — to trust that opening the door to that is inestimably transcendent — that feels fragile.

We have to DO something, right? PROVE something. SHOW something.

And yes, there are levels of skill we want to integrate; it’s satisfying to do excellent work.

And while we do that, I want you to think about beautiful voices you’ve heard, but you just couldn’t make yourself care.

And I want you to remember voices that were not what a snobby voice teacher might call pleasing, and you cared a lot.

It’s about the open heart and the courage to share it.

Because, yes, there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only 10-to-the-30th-power you can sing. (And you’ll often be surprised by who they are, if you ever find out.)

Love much,

Dan

PS Listen to Scott Nicholas tear up “The Dream” by Rufus Wainwright in rehearsal this week — haven’t posted or edited this yet.

PPS Speaking of building skills, did you know they’ve been building a medieval castle in France for the last 20+ years using all the materials and trades as practiced in the middle ages???? I didn’t. 

My newsfeed sent me an NPR story about it. Fascinating, and I want to visit one day.

Skipping from the Train — Where did past-tense you never think you’d get?

September 26, 2023 /

The other day I was getting off the train in Back Bay, and I felt a little guilty.

I looked around at my fellow commuters with furrowed brows, sighing deep breaths to build their courage to face the day. Spreadsheets were involved, I’m sure.

(I stare at people in the city all the time. That’s the terrific skill you can build growing up in the country where folks eyeball each other all the time.

City folk don’t have the resources — as Barbara Kingsolver described in her novel Demon Copperhead, “you have to save your juice.” —

So that leaves me, Mr. Eye Contact on Main Street free to people study. I’m also super nosy, so I can’t help it.)

But I felt that little guilt twinge disembarking the double deckah; as I walked down the platform and up the station stairs, I was like, “How’d I get so lucky that my job is listening to folks sing in a building full of recently tuned Steinways?”

If you’d told 12-year-old Dan in Mrs. Smith’s music trailer classroom that was going to be his job one day, he’d have squealed and cut a cartwheel right there.

Last Friday, I was chatting with a collaborative pianist during a classroom change.

“Good semester start?”

“Yeah, great,” she said in her terrific Polish dialect.

“I know, I said — I was thinking today how I get to work in a building full of pianos!”

She agreed. “If you’d told me as a little girl in Poland I’d be here one day, I never would have believed you.”

And I grand jetéed out of the recital hall in celebration of a week getting to do this crazy job where I sigh, yell, screlt, shout, and mimic dramatic mezzo sopranos like it’s normal all while assuming various ego identities.

It’s silly.

I also listened to an interview with Arthur Brooks and Oprah at Harvard Business School on the YouTubes. (I do recommend Brooks’s article series in The Atlantic.)

Oprah talked about how helpful it is to review all the “you never knew you were gonna’s.”

I agree.

12-year-old me never thought I’d teach at a conservatory surrounded by folks who blow my mind. 

16-year-old me didn’t know sitting in the balcony of the Majestic Theatre in 1994 that in 8 years I’d be playing a role in that same show out on the road. 

And confused, anxious, wounded me through a big chunk of my life didn’t know that guardian angels, true friends, and loving mentors would help me heal and integrate enough to share (very imperfectly) some of the ways that helped me — mostly through singing.

(Confusion, anxiety, and wounds are still a part of me; they’re just not all of me. They also tell me to slow down, breathe, pray for help, and allow some compassion to me and from me.)

I’d love you to review a few times in your life when that version of you had no idea that later you would get to do something terrific.

And the same is true for right-now you.

We have no idea what splendid things we’re going to grow into.

There’ll be all the usual obstacles and snares, scrapes and snot, but I believe you’ve got the tools.

Know how I know? You’re reading this now. You made it.

What’s that terrific quote? You have a 100% success rate of making it through hard days.

Well done.

And here’s to what’s ahead — something beautiful you don’t even know about yet and wouldn’t believe if future you materialized and told you about it.

May you, one day soon, have to manage guilty feelings on a commuter train as you suppress the urge to skip.

And remember — there’s only one you. Folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS This sweet child on the Instagrams trying to pet a bear cub exhibits my early dialect perfectly. I talked exactly this way (and it might be what my internal voice still sounds like :)) 

PPS Here’s the interview with Arthur Brooks and Oprah at Harvard Business School.

One Thing The Theatre Is Not

September 19, 2023 /

Last week, I heard something that exploded an assumption.

(It was an interview with Seth Godin on Jen Waldman and Peter Shepherd’s podcast “The Long and the Short of It.”)

It was about the theatre industry.

Seth Godin said, “(The theatre) pretends to be an industry, often to its detriment. It is much less an industry than just about any other. And yet, the people in it keep trying to make it one, which is the first mistake.”

Hearing someone outside the theatre observe this made my brain lightly detonate, and my soul relax.

Of course it’s not an industry.

We’re all clutching the assumption that it is and somehow expecting repeatable functions and predictable outcomes.

He explained more: “The theater is so idiosyncratic, so commercially unviable, so beset by creative destruction that it’s not an industry…Star Wars is an industry. You can keep making new Star Wars shows and make a profit for a long time. Right? But a three week run of an off-Broadway play about a Buddhist retreat? That’s not an industry. That’s the theatre, for God’s sake.”

I thought about phenomena like Phantom, Wicked, and Hamilton.

But Godin’s right. Phantom didn’t guarantee the success of Love Never Dies. Wicked’s success didn’t launch a series of successful Gregory Maguire novel adaptations. And I just read a headline that Lin Manuel Miranda won’t be writing any more historical musicals.

(There is a whole discussion to be had about the Disney-verse, though.)

What gets confusing is this: the theatre has so many iterations. And many resemble predictable industry models. Therefore, these formulae get shellacked onto shows that producers decide ? have commercial promise.

But then there are all the other manifestations of our art form: non-profit houses with variable funding levels, scrappy storefront black boxes, union waiver companies, outdoor pageant situations, the story goes on and on and on and on and ooooooonnnn.

Here’s the headline, though: when you stop trying to figure out the theatre as an industry, you can relax.

Folks have been looking to commercial theatre expecting it to take a lead in cultural conscience when most of the people responsible for getting shows on a stage are stimulant-driven cortisol addicts with exhausted adrenals for whom Vegas odds are too conservative.

And then there’s the stage actor’s union who opens wider the doors for membership and calls it a move for equity when any actor can tell you what a desperate need for cash feels like.

These are the folks we’re waiting on. These are supposed to be the change makers.

Commercial theatre is going to make choices that can make money. It’s commercial.

Unions? I’m grateful for the union, and it’s given me a lot of reasons for side-eye in the last few years.

But what I want you to hear are two other major points Mr. Godin made.

One is this:

“If you want to make it in the theatre, you should learn to write. Because if you can write, you can cast yourself. And all good things start to happen once you figure out how to not only act it, but decide what gets said… that doesn’t mean you’re going to be Neil Simon or Lin Manuel, but you can figure it out. Even if you never get your thing produced, it changes your perspective.”

As someone who’s never gotten my thing produced, I have to agree. Writing makes you see theatre making anew, and it turns you, the storyteller, into a story collaborator.

So, what if you knew that the theatre isn’t really an industry?

What if you knew no one was coming to show you the franchise handbook where the shows get made and the folks always get cast?

I’d say that means you can get to work.

You can get going on sharing what you have to share, singing what you have to sing, writing what you have to write.

Because the last point Godin made about the theatre was what I resonated most deeply with:

“It’s very hard for you to change what happens on stage because that’s what they picked you to do, read the lines as written. But backstage, there’s an enormous number of things you can do. And they call it a company, but they should call it a cohort, a cadre, a tribe, a group of people.

“Who’s leading them? Who’s deciding what it’s like around here, backstage?…Even if what we do on stage is the same every night, what happens backstage is about mutual growth. You have more freedom to do that in the theatre than just about any job you can imagine.”

The relationships I’ve made backstage — that’s the gold of a life in the theatre.

The room I’m sitting in right now is thanks to knowing Lydia Rajunas on the Phantom tour 21 years ago.

Who knew when we were vibrato-ing upstage toward a rolling elephant that she’s save my nervous, home-seeking ass when I was 43 and looking for a decent spot for my family to live near Boston?

There’s no people like show people. We know this.

Join me in understanding the theatre isn’t an industry. It’s the theatre.

And let’s make more of it. There have to be many ways to gather folks in a spot and share stories and beautiful music, and why can’t you be someone who introduces one of them?

No one’s coming with the franchise manual. It’s you.

Because there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS Here’s the podcast episode from The Long and the Short of It if you’d like to listen.

PPS And here’s a lil snippet from rehearsal with Scott last week — the end of “Love Can’t Happen” from Grand Hotel.

Dairy Debacle ? — Cuss-inducing accidents that finally make you check off that thing

September 12, 2023 /

You ever had a super floppy day?

That was me two Sundays ago. We were getting home from church.

I’m convinced the number one way to get your kids to be oppositional and emotionally seismic while you discover your own nuanced crevasses of asshole potential is to attempt leaving your house on time for church.

We made it. Late. And I had a severe “don’t ask” side-eye roll going on as we brought the boys to their class.

On the way home, we did a grocery pickup (thanks for making sure we got food in the house, Melissa-Lee).

I commented as we waited that picking up groceries felt like a big chore.

Parking in a designated spot while a friendly high school kid rolls out your groceries all procured and bagged and even loads them into the back of your VW — a big, overwhelming, huff-sigh chore.

And they were probably out of the frozen waffles, too. Double huff.

I’m fine. I’m fine.

We got home — “Load out boys. Time to make some lunch.”

I put my grocery hauling game face on. Grabbed a couple bags and the gallon of milk I’d put up front with me so it wouldn’t fall out of the back and smash on the garage floor like it did that one time.

Even tired dads can use that noggin sometimes.

I held the door for Jude as he bounced up the stairs with 4 of the 5 stuffed animals he’d insisted his life would be incomplete without that morning.

Then I began my ascent.

Only, the condensation-covered gallon of milk I’d balanced on top of my forearm decided it wanted its freedom, and performed a perfect dive onto the carpeted stairs.

And burst.

I stood and watched 2% low fat milk flood out of the compromised container like, “Is this real life?”

Then I exclaimed something — probably rhymed with “yuck.” I don’t remember; I’d dissociated by that point.

I heard a concerned “What’s wroooong, Daddy?” from Jude in the living room, and I snapped back into reality.

I scooped up the leaky jug, shuttled the remaining contents to the kitchen, and finally found a use for the milk pitcher sitting atop our kitchen cabinets.

A third of a gallon of perishable dairy product — exactly what you want saturating your carpet, right?

This rogue grocery item must have known about one of the many unchecked items on my summer list:

__ Clean the carpet on the entry stairs.

Someone who made design choices about our house and didn’t have children chose white carpet, and by mid-January, no matter how unshod our feet remain, it starts looking pretty shameful.

So here was my chance to break out the Bissell carpet washer we invested in when we moved in and unearth the Oxy-Clean from whatever safe place I’d stored it.

And by 3pm, the joint was smelling Oxy-fresh.

And I was fascinated by the amount of dirt that can be extracted from freshly vacuumed carpet. Whoah.

So, the dairy debacle worked in our favor.

Now we walk down our front stairs with that, “Ah, look at our fresh carpet” feeling, and it seriously wouldn’t have happened were it not for my ill-conceived grocery conveyance methods.

The lesson: Sometimes you drop the milk.

You cuss and feel angry. And then it causes you to do something you’ve been putting off for a long time, and you end up with fresh, clean carpet.

What’s a carpet cleaner equivalent in your life?

What I discovered was this: it only took 7 minutes to set up the cleaner, and then I was off, sweating and working out my frustrations on the carpet dirt. Very exciting.

We get hung up about that first step — it’s going to take sooooo loooong to get set up.

But just do one thing.

Action creates more action. And before you know it, you’re committed to something your heart’s been wanting to do, and you have to come through, and you’ll be so grateful you did.

Because you know — there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PPS Here’s a brief Joni moment from Friday, grabbed some time before teaching seminar to try some things with “A Case of You.” In A-flat like the 2000 Both Sides Now Concept Album, and using simple chord rhythms a lot like Brandi Carlile’s covers of the song — love her, duh.

PPPS Do you know about Mountain Rug Cleaning in the UK? They have over a MILLION YouTube subs!! You won’t believe how captivating it is to watch someone wash and restore seemingly unsalvageable rugs.

Googling Yourself

September 5, 2023 /

When I filled out the form with my show info, there was a spot where you could put all your stellar reviews.

Something in me hates doing the “Dan Callaway stupefied audiences by singing the first two A sections of ‘If I Loved You’ in one breath” thing. I don’t know what it is.

I suspect it’s arrogance — I’m above these lowly marketing ploys. I’ll just go for a nature hike, listen to birdsong, and think about lyrics, and the folks will just come see the show.

But I went ahead and wrote in the answer box something like, “Can I not? I don’t wanna Google myself.”

I even went against show description convention and wrote mine in dialogue form:

You: Who are you?

Me: I’m Dan! I sing songs, and you’ll like hearing them.

The folks at Green Room 42 were like, “You need to do it like we clearly show you on the form.”

All right, all riiiight. You know how this is done. I’ll do the rules.

I followed the format.

And then I spent a lonely night in bed while Melissa was visiting Rhode Island, cough, googling myself and scraping up digitized microfilm of reviews that may have said something favorable about me.

One theme I did discover: one LA Times theatre critic was consistent in his dislike of my work.

And after a couple hours of self consciousness purgatory, I pulled out 5 or 6 nice things other folks said. Some were even surprises from my “I don’t read reviews” period.

That swearing-off of came as a result of reading things that I didn’t need to google. Because they’re seared into long-term storage.

Things like “Callaway is suitably bland in this role,” or “He had a good start but just didn’t have what it took to finish strong,” or my personal favorite: “He was upstaged by his mullet haircut.”

(And I assure you it was not a mullet. There was equal distribution of party in the front AND back.)

Putting yourself in front of folks is hard.

And you can tell yourself “It’s not personal,” all you want, but it’s personal.

It’s you. Your identity, values, process, point of view, and soul are all part of what you share with folks, and when people bat that down, it hurts.

And I’m convinced the pain of what people may say is better than the pain of shutting yourself down.

In fact, opinions like this are evidence that you have a point of view. You’re sharing something specific. And there’s satisfaction in that.

Think of the performers whose work you don’t care for. They’re still doing their thing. Good for them.

So, I hope this will give you permission to do some whole-hearted horn tooting, to get yourself in front of folks and tell your stories.

And do remember, there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS I want you to know about my dear friend Bobby Apperson’s creative synergy magic going on in East Hollywood (and wherever you have an internet connection): Songsmith LA.

If you need a boost in getting your self and your songs in front of folks, their training in singing, playing, songwriting, and producing will give you what you’re looking for.

Check them out, and reach out to Bobby if you have any questions.

PPS Want a peep into the set list?

Here are a few things cooking so far. If you got any uptempo suggestions for me, tell me! (I always wanna sing slow, sad ballads.)

Unexpressed (John Bucchino)
Ain’t it a Pretty Night (from Susannah, Carlisle Floyd)
Change (from A New Brain, William Finn)
Anyone Can Whistle
Crying (Roy Orbison)
A Case of You and Both Sides Now (Joni Mitchell)
Chain of Love (from The Grass Harp, Claibe Richardson)
The Dream (Rufus Wainwright)
See What it Gets You (from Anyone Can Whistle)
Rhode Island is Famous for You (Dietz and Schwartz)
Shine (from The Spitfire Grill, James Valcq and Fred Alley)

You Don’t Need To Believe In Yourself

August 29, 2023 /

One time a director I respected said after an opening night, “Dan, you know what you’re doing. You just have to trust yourself.”

It meant a lot to me. And I immediately asked in my head, “Can someone please tell me how exactly one goes about trusting oneself?”

(I would go on to several years of doing just the opposite.)

When it came to career stuff, I searched and waited for this substantial self-belief I heard folks talking about.

Believe in yourself!

Look in the mirror and say in a low breathy yoga teacher voice, “I am a powerful, successful, cosmic star of stage and screen with an EGOT and nice enough abs.”

(I did have an agent one time instruct me to pull up my shirt to assess my belly, so this was a thing.)

But this feeling of invincible confidence never alighted, and I walked around thinking something must be wrong and that I might not belong in the places I wanted to sing after all.

I mean, those folks had nicer and much more smoldery headshots.

Generating all this anxiety juice was a belief I’d picked up. Maybe it was Mr. Rogers saying I was special combined with singing “One Moment in Time” in 7th grade chorus. Whatever its origin, this credo permeated everything.

Here it is:

I have to believe in myself.

This one tripped me up for years. Still does.

Where did my self belief go? I’m sure I left it right here.

So elusive.

Whoah, I must have said that out loud because here’s a news story in my Google feed about “7 Ways to Achieve Unstoppable Belief in Yourself.”

And this online course.

Oh, and YouTube heard, too.

Thanks, nosy algorithm. You always know what to serve up so that I can deceive myself that I’m making steps toward my soul’s longing through constant input, research, and notification checking.

Seriously, though, there’s that belief, right?

I need to believe in myself.

I don’t think you do.

We waste a lot of energy and brain glucose trying to conjure a Marvel hero mind-state when we could just start repeating a lyric and seeing how it lights up in our imagination.

That would be one building block of a song you’d have added to your artistic structure, and it also adds stone and mortar to something that does indeed come in handy:

CONFIDENCE

Wait. Belief? Confidence? Samesies, right?

Nope.

Confidence comes from the Latin meaning with (con) trust (fidere).

When you trust something, there’s usually a basis for that trust.

And the basis for that trust is your skill.

And in order to build your skill, you have to show up regularly and do the things that build that skill.

And in order to show up, the only thing you need to believe is that if you keep doing the things that lead to vocal freedom, expressive honesty, and creative fulfillment, you’ll sing great, open your heart, and do work that satisfies you.

None of this requires you to believe in yourself.

In fact, as soon as you stop requiring yourself to have this assurance, you can start doing the simple (not easy) work of daily noise making, story telling, and then sharing it with folks.

And anywhere you start is fine.

One action, even if it needs some prerequisites, will reveal what you need to go back and bolster, and you can take it from there.

It’s messy. It’s frustrating. And it’s worth it.

Because while I don’t think you need to believe IN yourself, the thing that’s crucial is to believe yourself.

This means noticing when your body vibrates with excitement and possibility. And when it contracts.

And actually listening to that. It’ll lead you in all kinds of unexpected directions.

I’ve noticed lately that I’ve been ignoring my body brain in favor of my noggin brain, and it’s caused a lot of futile trying and anxiety.

When I’ve tuned in and acknowledged what my body’s vibing — that I want to share more singing in more places — I don’t know how it’s all happening, but things are already flowing. 

I’ll keep you posted on that.

In the meantime, please take a sec to check in with your own body. Is the path you picked feeling good in your cells? It’s not a joke. You came to the planet with a good guidance system. I invite us to use it.

Because it’s true — there is only one you and only one me. And folks need to hear the story only we can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PSHere’s a video about how I’m finding the key for “I Ain’t Gonna Let You Break My Heart Again.” I also talk about the value of gibberish and also one of the vocal pitfalls we theatre singers fall into when we sing contemp/commercial styles. (Complete with a pretty adorable Noah and Jude appearance.)

PPS I signed the contract and everything — I will be singing at The Green Room 42 with Scott Nicholas on ? on Saturday, Oct 7 at 1pm.

Tickets aren’t live yet, but they start at $20. There’ll be a live stream, too, if you can’t get your body to NYC. Just click here to add to your calendar 🙂
 

PPPS This short from Tim Ferris’s interview with Brené Brown is not playing. It’s a call to all of us that the armor is no longer serving us.

I Went Ahead and Did It — also, how to practice

August 22, 2023 /

I went ahead and booked a date to do a show in NYC. (It’s Saturday, Oct. 7 at 1pm at The Green Room 42 if you wanna mark your calendar. Tix avail once I get my form all filled out.)

I booked it because I found out my very SPECIAL creative resistance isn’t your garden variety opposition.

Oh no, your singular unicorn enneagram 4 here has to have the stealth, undetectable kind of creative blocks that can shape shift into all manner of benevolent forms.

Some manifestations include —

Telling myself I should only focus on one thing (prolly just teaching.)

Telling myself that taking time to work on creative projects is selfish and makes me a substandard dad and hubby.

YouTube videos.

I told you a couple weeks ago about how I got the tappity tap on my shoulder to start walking my talk and put my money where my mic is. ?

So, I did.

Now I’m like, “Woo!” And “Crap.” But mostly “Woooo!”

I got in my studio early this morning and started making noises and breaking down the opening number I’m planning. It might be a terrible idea, and it might, as the kids say, slap.

We’ll see.

But right now, there are some parts that are bad.

Noah heard the video playback as I toasted waffles this morning, and said, “Daddy, you’re not the champion of the Frozen 2 song.”

(See? Maybe a terrible idea. I’ll keep you posted.)

That’s what all this processy stuff is for.

Things I remembered this morning I wanna share with you are —

2 questions you need to sit with and know for yourself song by song and phrase by phrase:

  1. Who am I?
  2. What do I believe is happening?

The answers to these will guide every vocal decision you make. If you don’t have a clue about these ideas, you’ll lack a very important compass.

You’ll jump in to making sounds and learning notes disconnected from the meaning of the song, and if that’s not clear to you, it won’t be clear to folks listening.

And while you may sound objectively terrific, the reason you’re singing at all will be lost. (Sounding good isn’t a good enough reason.)

I get anxious about whether or not I can make the sounds well, so I rush ahead to make sure I can figure that out.

I have to slow down and let these questions percolate, give myself some time not to know, and even let them bubble while I go about my day. Usually the fun answers come when I’m scrubbing something or walking somewhere.

Always ask those questions.

In each song, even if you’re being you and not playing a character, you’re expressing a facet of your identity, and there are thousands of possibilities. And that point of view is gonna inform how you make sounds about what you think is happening.

The other crucial thing for me is to video myself.

This provides empirical evidence in all directions.

I listen back to things I think must have sounded rough, and I’m pleasantly surprised. Or I listen back to something I think I nailed, and I’m like, whoah, I’m gonna need to approach that differently.

This happens a lot with intonation. I’ll hear the fundamental frequency strong in my inside hearing, but the way it comes out in the room is flat. Womp womp.

I have to shape my tract with more bright color to mitigate that. It sounds too bright in my head, but I listen back, and I’m like, “Oh, ok. That’s solid.”

You’ll also listen to yourself with empathetic mirror neurons and be able to feel where you have inhibitors and energy blocks.

Happened to me today as well. I listened back and felt constriction around my larynx a couple times — “Hmmmm. That felt pretty good when I sang it. But listening back alerted me that there could be more ease and freedom.”

I’m excited, and it feels great to listen to your heart and walk accordingly.

And remember — if you’re gonna be in NYC Saturday Oct 7 and you ain’t already got lunch plans, put the show on your calendar. Here’s a Google Calendar Link you can add — just click it, and it’s there!

There’s gonna be some Roy Orbison, Tracy Chapman, William Finn, Rufus Wainwright, Bonnie Raitt, Mr. Sondheim, Craig Carnelia, Carlisle Floyd, Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, and songs from The Grass Harp and The Spitfire Grill. That’s the plan right now.

I’ll let you know if it becomes an all-polka show.

And I’m joined by my friend and colleague Scott Nicholas on keys who is the objective bees’ knees. ??

And if you want a little more behind the scenes on how to construct a program be it for your own cabaret, one person show, or plaint to a credit card customer service because you blanked on your payment date, I made you this video:

Always remember — there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

In fact, I think that’ll be the title of my show — “Only One You.” See how you inspire me?

Boom! Now go sing.

And

Love much,

Dan

PS I’ve recently discovered Nahre Sol’s YouTube channel — classically trained pianist Juilliard grad who shares terrific in-depth content on what she’s working in. Recommend!

PPS If you haven’t read Steven Pressfield, he has a terrific book called The War of Art.

One Thing I’ve Never Been Able to Do — while silently envying and judging those who can

August 15, 2023 /

When I was in the UK right after college, Tom and Joanna Gillium took me in like one of their own.

I was their 22-year-old adoptee getting thrown in the Ford Transit van with their 5 kiddos, and it was terrific.

I dropped stuffed animal bombs over the stair railing with their five year old, Tim. I played ping-pong with Hugh. Felt completely lost trying to keep up with Rosie and Ali quoting Ali G at the lunch table, and felt even more lost when their eldest, Ed, tried to teach me about football. ⚽️ 

They fed me lunch almost every Sunday, took me along to Kensington Gardens to walk their dog Buxton, hooked me up with a room in a beautiful house (while my rent went to charity), and got me a terrific pub job where my love of cooking took off. 

They were a major influence in my life and cultivated my value for hospitality and folks getting together to eat.

One summer, they invited me to spend some days with them at their family’s house in the North York Moors.

What a stunning place. We hiked, we ate, we drink whiskey in front of the fire, and we had a terrific day by the sea in Runswick (which I mistakenly called Bruswick for many years). Most of that village got to hear my primal howl when I breached into the water — still frigid in August.

I noticed by about day three of my Yorkshire holiday I started to get twitchy.

I felt guilty about all of this rest and leisure I was enjoying. And I looked at my sweet Gillums, and I wondered how exactly were they able to rest they way they did. It looked that way to me, anyway. 

But I noticed it then — I couldn’t chill the boop out.

I still haven’t earned my merit badge for hammock swinging.

Last Friday we went to hang out with the family of one of Noah’s preschool friends (what if we could love and hug each other like 5-year-old besties ps? — so sweet).

Dad Brendan’s from Massachusetts, Irish heritage, and Mom Gabi is from Brazil. There were other Brazilian friends there, and ridiculously good food.

When we arrived I was frazzled, stressed, tired, and real prickly, thinking about all the work I wasn’t getting done.

After we left, I said, “We clearly needed some Brazilian friends.”

How can you be stressed with delicious steak, a beer, and bossa nova playing?

This lesson is showing up for me. It walks in gently and invites me to rest. I usually refuse the invite.

But it’s so crucial. I’m seeing this. Maybe.

And there are glimpses recently that when I do RSVP yes, work-related blessings from surprise sources fly in the door. Funny.

This week we’ve been invited to visit our friends at a beautiful lake in New Hampshire.

I’m DETERMINED I’m going to RELAX :).

Seriously, though, pray for me, saints. I miss moments of beauty, wonder, thank-you, and wow on a regular basis because I think that person is really waiting for my email reply.

I’m not that important, and what terrific information.

Anne Lamott wrote, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes… Including you.”

I’m gonna take her advice. I’m inviting you to as well.

(And don’t do what I do here — relax with a PURPOSE — I’m gonna relax so I can….. See? I need help. Lordt.)

I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, in the next few days, where can you dedicate some moments to genuine turn-off-your-phone rest time? I’d love to hear what you cook up. I need recipes.

And do remember there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS I wasn’t the only one influenced by the Gillums’ value for hospitality; their daughter Ali made a whole business out of it. Check her out.

How “Caro mio ben” Makes You a Stylistically Versatile Badass

August 12, 2023 /

If you’ve had any degree of vocal training in the Western classical tradition, you’ve encountered the 24 Italian Songs book.

Folks love to hate on em. You can search the YouTubes and find a lot of nascent singers doing their best.

You can also find some of the world’s greatest like Cecilia Bartoli bring them to stunning life.

Theatre singers often give these the hard eye roll because they can’t see how a 250-year-old art song is gonna help them nail that Hairspray callback.

And they’re right. It’s not a direct line. Add to that most singers don’t take the trouble to find out what they’re singing about, and yeah, absolutely — you’re in irrelevant-to-me snooze town right away.

But when you’re a theatre singer, you get to embody countless stories and folks, and that means countless sounds. And these songs have a lot to teach us about how to access those in beautiful, soul sharing ways.

I’m remembering reading the program notes from Betty Buckley’s concert at the Donmar Warehouse in 2000; she talked about how her core training was in bel canto technique, and you can hear the value for legato singing, communication of soul, and vibrant presence in everything she did/does.

Go listen to some “Memory” circa 1983 as well as the stuff she sang in “Tender Mercies” and you’re gonna hear legato flow in all of it. If there’s a theatre singer you wanna take a note or seven from, there you go.

These can give you the keys to flow in your breath and sound, vowel secrets and acoustic leverage, make your articulation clear and effortless, make you a flexible embody-er of character, give you terrific sound comparison tools, and show you how to mine the beauty in material folks call overdone.

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