Category: Audition Advice (Page 1 of 6)

Forget Goals — 3 steps I’d take moving to NYC for the first time

May 29, 2024 / dancallaway

If you’re a performer and have moved or are considering a move to New York or any large theatre market, a goal isn’t going to get you there. And goals aren’t going to serve you once you land.

But there are 3 optimal areas of focus that will give you agency, traction, satisfaction, and help you build your career inside a wholehearted life faster than all the vision boards in the world.

I’ll explain —

When I moved to New York over 20 years ago, I’d already spent a year in London studying, auditioning, and performing. I’d landed an agent, and I’d done a few cool projects by the time my visa expired — womp womp.

In London, I wanted to perform on the West End. In New York, I wanted to be in a Broadway show — that’s what I’d set out to do when I studied music theatre at Elon College.

Not only did having that goal — to be in a Broadway show — not serve me, it held me back in more ways than I was aware of.

In fact, even when the call came with a Broadway offer (ironically after I’d left New York), I ended up turning it down — more on that later.

So, what if I told you — those goals you’ve been setting —

SMART as they may be — (you know: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-bound)

are not only slowing you down — they’re frustrating you, making you anxious, and distracting you from what will move you forward faster with more joy, peace, fire, and fun?

So, why am crapping on goals?

I’m not, really. You have an intention to be a working music theatre performer. Yes, that is indeed a goal. And a great thing to want.

And it’s a goal that depends on a lot of people, decision makers, timing, and putting your body in audition rooms doing good work for a certain amount of time.

What I’m pointing out is that when you focus on the goal itself — your dream to be in a certain show, win a certain award, gain respect from a certain group of people — it takes your focus off of the many things right in front of you that you actually have agency over.

And if you’ve followed the calling to be a singing storyteller, you’ll find out, if you don’t already know, that there’s a long list of things that are out of your control.

Why not notice the things that you can actually pick up and do something with and get to work?

Then one day you’ll look up, and a connection you made because you created a thing and invited people turns into an introduction to a person you didn’t know existed who then says,

“You know, I think you’d be great for this project.”

Or, “Hey, would you like to meet this terrific agent?”

Or “Hey, do you want to audition for Les Mis?”

All these things happened to me and in ways I could never have predicted.

And they popped up because I was doing the things I had control over. Then, surprises happened.

So, what are the three things that are worth your precious time as a performer?

And what will actually create a body of work and skill that makes you ready when opportunities do come? Because if you put your body in the place and do the thing, they will.

This first thing I want you to prioritize is going to give meaning, purpose, and nourishment to all parts of your life, and you’ll find when things get hard — because they will get hard — building this is going to make all the difference.

When I first moved to New York, I ended up at an Episcopal church on the upper West Side called All Angels’.

One of my first visits there was for an open mic talent show night, and at the end they opened the floor to any folks who wanted to do something. I got and sang, and afterward, a woman who was there told me I should call her agent and work with her vocal coach.

I called both her agent and vocal coach, and I ended up signing with the agent and coaching with the coach.

The funny thing is that the vocal coach opened more doors for job opportunities than the agent — I’ll talk about that in point number two.

All Angels’, and then later St. George’s Church, where I sang in the choir, provided places where I got to know people who didn’t know or care about theatre, I could serve in the homeless shelter find mentors, make friends who worked in finance, fashion, politics, and nonprofit.

It was a place where I was safe to make a lot of messy mistakes in my 20s, and folks loved me enough to tell me the truth and walk with me while I repaired things.

Throughout my time in New York and later Los Angeles, I had places and friend groups where I could contribute, and, honestly, got pulled out of many sticky spots.

I’ve had pay-what-you-can rent in neighborhoods I couldn’t afford.

I’ve been bailed out with interest-free loans. A few times.

I’ve been fed delicious dinners next to cozy fireplaces surrounded by people who wanted to make the world better.

I’ve been given coffee and hugs when parts of my life were falling apart.

And I’ve literally been Humpty Dumptied back together when things really did explode.

All this happened and held me together because somehow I knew it was important to find a community and serve.

I don’t know how much I actually served then. I was pretty self-obsessed in my 20s, but I knew when I was on the subway late at night with achy feet after a long shift or waiting and hoping to get seen for a union call before I was union, I had a tribe in the city — tiny living rooms where I felt welcome, and places where I could do something for someone else.

This made all the difference in the world, and managed to pull my head out of my introspective hole long enough to look around and notice other folks.

When you get to New York or any place you decide to live, you need to find a group of folks in whatever form where you can help and serve.

This will get you looking out to and for others, remind you that there’s a lot more going on than your career ambitions, and bring a level of sweetness to your life you can’t measure.

You can then pass that sweetness on anywhere you go.

And you might even get a surprise agent or vocal coach.

Which brings you and me to thing number two. The thing that helped me that I didn’t even realize I was doing.

My friend Jennifer from church sent me to a frequently messy studio apartment in the East 30s where this vocal coach I told you about, Steve Lutvak, lived.

We sang, he took a look through my audition book, and sent me to the corner store with a stack of music to copy. You’d Xerox the music and leave the scores with the doorman in an indestructible FedEx envelope.

At one coaching, Steve asked me, “Hey, you want to audition for Les Mis?” The casting director had asked him if he knew anybody.

I got an appointment! No waiting in the outer lobby at Actors’ Equity hoping to be let through at the end of the day to sing 8 bars this time.

I sang all right, and I didn’t hear back.

But a few months later, I got a call to come in for an immediate replacement on the Phantom tour. I did get that job, and that’s how I got my union card — a year to the day that I’d moved to New York.

Steve often joked — I think he was joking? — that the agent commission should have gone to him. He wasn’t wrong.

But, somehow, I stumbled and scraped my way into the studios of some of New York’s best teachers.

I sought out the very best training I could, and the surprise benefit of training with the best folks you can find is that when you work hard and they see you growing in skill, they’re likely to recommend you for things when their director friends call and say, “You know anybody who can sing Gilbert and Sullivan?”

So, thing number 2 you need to do: seek out the best training with the best folks you can find. Do what you can to make it happen because it’s worth it.

I wanted to study voice with Joan Lader; she was and is one of the best voice teachers in the city.

She didn’t have room for me and referred me to one of her terrific associate teachers. But I wanted to study with Joan.

So, I told her when she had a same-day cancellation to call me, and I’d be there.

After I spent my tour savings on therapy and lattes, I couldn’t afford her rate anymore, so I ended up doing half-hour lessons on my lunch breaks.

I learned a ton from Joan, and what I absorbed from her allowed me to start teaching at a decent level when the time came in LA.

Find the best people and the best people for you, and invest in yourself.

A good teacher needs to know their stuff, tell you the truth with love, respect you, see the best and call out the gold, and have an open and curious spirit — they need to demonstrate intellectual humility, because the more anyone knows, the more they should know they don’t know.

There you go — strategic and top notch training.

So, you’re investing in a community of folks where you can serve and belong.

You’re on track with your training. You’re working and growing with terrific teachers.

Now what do you do?

Well, if you’ve moved to New York or Chicago or London or Minneapolis to dress up and pretend to be other people and tell stories on stage, there’s one thing left to do.

And for this point, I need to put you on a plane and fly you to Greensboro, North Carolina.

I was teaching at Elon University, and I realized I was itching to sing art song again. And some Sondheim. Because why not? I like to sing a lot of different things.

So I said to myself, “Self, how can I make something up where I can sing art songs I love and a slew of Sondheim? And maybe cook for people. I love that, too.”

So, I made up an event.

Friends of ours knew somebody who owned a terrific old house in Greensboro. There was no piano. There was no concert hall. There was just this terrific house with a charming parlor where I knew some great music could happen.

I talked to Mindy, who owned it, made a date, and got to work.

We found an upright piano that was being donated in a house move, I rented chairs from a party supply place, and I made up a terrific heavy hors d’oeuvre menu.

I asked my friend Katherine to play, I made a postcard, and I started bugging everybody I knew in a 30 mile radius who might enjoy Richard Strauss and Stephen Sondheim to buy a ticket.

I roped Melissa in to helping me make all the food, bought wine and fizzy water, set the whole situation up, asked students to usher and wrangle folks, set up an event on Brown Paper Tickets, and lo and behold, I sold seats and did the show.

It was terrific and exhausting and wonderful to do. Lookit!

Did it lead to a Broadway show or a movie deal or any kind of immediate career outcome? Nope.

Was it worth it? To me, yes, absolutely.

The structure of that concert led to my first faculty recital at Boston Conservatory and the beginning of a terrific collaboration with the best pianist in town, Scott Nicholas.

Now he and I are developing recitals that feature art song, musical theatre, and since we’re both avid cooks, we may throw some food in the mix, too. I’m excited to see where it goes. I’ll keep you posted.

The point is — work works. Work will work ON you. If you get to work and acknowledge that you cannot manufacture an outcome, it’ll set you free.

And while you’re at it, you will CREATE a community where you and your friends can serve, and you’ll be strategically training yourself because there’s no better way to learn your craft than by crafting. You have to do it.

And when you’re in an audition room, when you leave, you’ll have that project to think about.

And when you’re sending a postcard every six weeks to the casting director you want to call you in, you’ll have something to invite them to.

So, that’s the third thing. Get to work.

Look at your skill proficiency, decide what it is that you do best, and create a way to share that.

Ask yourself, where can something like this happen? Do I need an actual theatre? Or will a living room work? A corner of a park? A bar or coffee shop or bookstore? Start asking and trying things, and the next steps become clear.

So that’s it.

Invest and serve in a community of folks who want to make the world around them better and more loving.

Figure out how to train with terrific teachers. However you have to do it. Offer service trades, cycle your areas of focus, pick up an extra shift or two at work.

And get to work.

Make your own stuff. Ask friends you love who will get in the trenches with you and put up with you when you get unreasonable and cranky.

And do the work to do the work. It’s its own reward. And it can’t do anything but benefit you. It’s worth it.

I heard this from Myron Golden who’s a business leader — Stop asking if it will work FOR you, and let it work ON you.

And then you might find that the GOAL you wrote down in your manifestation journal shows up, and you feel differently about it than you did when you wrote it down.

This happened to me after I left New York and moved to LA. I didn’t move for my career. In fact, I barely worked as an actor for my first 2 years there. (Sad palm tree emoji.)

Shortly after I got there, my agent called with an offer to join the Broadway company of Phantom. Without thinking about it more than 2 seconds, I heard myself tell him, “No thanks.”

I’d moved to LA for a relationship. And I thought if I went back to New York, that would be the end of that.

Turned out, the relationship did end (that was the part of my life I talked about earlier when loving friends Humpy Dumptied me back together again.)

There were many reasons I said no to that opportunity — some healthy and some not.

And it’s a fork in the road I’ve revisited.

When Phantom closed last year, I did think wow it would have been great to be a part of the Broadway company at some point.

But, if I had said yes, I probably wouldn’t have come back to LA.

Therefore, I wouldn’t have met Melissa, have the family we have now, and I probably wouldn’t have been pin balled into my life’s central professional purpose which is teaching. It’s always found me wherever I go.

So, I say that for you to know, yes, have a goal. Have a dream. And make a plan so the plan can change.

What you have control over are the inputs you contribute and the seeds you plant.

Those actions are the things that will create the surprises you could never make up, outcomes that are better than the ones you dreamed of no matter how specific and measurable you make them. That’s been my experience.

So there it is — look for a community where you can serve.

Seek out and invest in the best training you can find.

And get to work. Take a hard, honest look at your current skills, share the ones that you do best, and invite your friends to help. You’ll be making a community and training opportunity all at once.

You keep doing that, and you’ll see surprises appear everywhere. You’ll have the satisfaction of sharing, giving, and helping other folks. You’ll know you’re investing in making your skills first rate. And, you’ll be making meaningful work that you can center your creative attention on and have something to invite folks to.

You get those three actions rolling on a regular basis, and you’ll see all kinds of great things spring up in your life and career.

Now, if you’re like me, and you want to get to work, but you have forty seven things you want to work on and don’t know where to begin, so you get overwhelmed and end up binge listening to podcasts about vulnerability and finding your purpose, I made a video for you —

How to know what to do with your life in 24 hours.

This exercise I learned was very helpful, and I want to share it with you.

And most of all, remember there’s only one you, and somebody needs to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much — Dan

PS I’m creating something very exciting and special, and you can get in here for free ––

I just started this online group for theatre singers.

It’s going to be a community where folks help each other out and collaborate.

There’ll be courses and tools for

vocal technique, successful auditioning, storytelling and song interp, life tools for creatives, step-by-steps to make your own work, audition book/rep SOS, sheet music shares…

and any other help you need — let me know, and we’ll build it!

I’m making a place where theatre singers can access top notch training tools while you connect with and help each other.

Here’s where you can join — (I’m going to turn it into a paid membership later, but you’d be in for free forever) — I’d love to see you there as we’re just getting off the ground. There’s already been so much great connection and interaction among our first 21 members. Get in!

www.skool.com/dan-callaway-studio-4139

Find THE perfect song — and other horrible advice that tanks musical theatre careers

May 22, 2024 / dancallaway

If you’re an auditioning music theatre performer, you own a 3-ring binder that casting folks call your book.

Have you stopped to ask yourself — how do I feel about my book?

What’s my relationship to this small library of musical theatre and contemporary commercial repertoire that’s meant to represent my best narrative vocal skills?

What guidance have I followed to curate this collection?

And is it doing me any favors?

There’s a pile of audition book assumptions based on terrible, unquestioned advice humming around in music theatre singers’ heads that keep them stuck and frustrated.

These untrue rules plop good singers’ pics and resumes right into the NO pile.

And the crazy thing is that a lot of these beliefs, they picked up from fancy, expensive degree programs.

So, you’re now wondering — what is this horrible advice?

Have I indeed fallen prey to it like a tap dancing lemming?

And, are these beliefs killing audition opportunities like Sweeney Todd on meat pie BOGO day?

Well, let’s get into then, shall we? Not the meat pies. The LIES. The liiiiiies.

There are many.

But to keep it simple, I’ll break it down to just 3 for you today.

Lie number one can be illustrated by the following tale:

It was the end of a long day of auditions for the music theatre program at Elon University — I was tired, and I was forcing myself to stay engaged.

A lot of kids had invested time, effort, and plane fare to be there, so I wanted to be there for them.

It had turned out to be a disappointing day.

Singers were nervous. Few folks seemed to be able to connect or open up. There was a lot of ok-yet-boring singing.

When I hear auditions, I listen carefully, but I don’t initiate the forward lean or try to coax people out.

If their heart is open, they prepared well, and they live wholeheartedly in their story, I’ll be irresistibly drawn in.

That was not happening a lot on this day.

In fact, there were three different singers who all came in singing “How Deep is the Ocean” by Irving Berlin.

It was clear they’d all coached with the same college prep organization because all three of them had IDENTICAL gestures, emotional colors, and vocal choices.

Only, they weren’t their choices. And it was clear.

Someone had shellacked a performance onto them, and the only thing I remember is that three young women wasted their money and time on terrible audition prep that gave no consideration to who they were.

One singer came in, though, and I don’t remember her first song. It wasn’t a great fit, and there were a couple of vocal struggles. And cool — it was a college audition. You gotta give professors something to do for four years, after all.

But this singer drew me in because her love of singing hadn’t been squished out of her through hours of robot coaching, and her sound hooked up with her heart. You know what that feels like when you hear it.

So, we asked her to sing something else.

She offered “No One Else” from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812.

It’s a beautiful song, AND I’d heard it a lot — always with the same earnest, furrowed brow expression, staring longingly at one nebulous point in the distance.

I groaned inside, but sure. Let’s hear it.

By the time she finished, I said — “You just made me love that song again.”

She didn’t have perfect technique. She didn’t belt the high note at the end with particular prowess. There may have been a couple of wonky rhythms.

And who cared? She LOVED that song, and she sang it with an open heart. Thank GOD.

If I’d been coaching her at that point, I might have encouraged her to find something that wasn’t so trendy and perhaps overdone. But, she loved that song, sang it well and with her heart, and caused me to love it again, too.

So, lie/horrible advice #1 is — you have to avoid overdone songs.

Nope, not if you do them well and from your singular point of view.

Songs are usually overdone for a reason: they’re usually quite good.

The other advantage of singing well known material is that table folk can feel smart for knowing the song and then focus on how you do it.

If you sing unfamiliar material, I’m going to be devoting a brain cell to — wait, do I like this? Hmmm. I dunno. I think they could have made a better choice with “How Deep is the Ocean.”

So yeah, go ahead and be like terrific New York based singer, Broadway veteran, and voice teacher Christina Saffran did at an audition in LA when she sang the appointment before me.

You know what she sang? “I Dreamed a Dream.” And she killed it. I’ll put her website in the PS.

The second group of unhelpful advice harmonizes, however dissonantly, with avoiding overdone songs.

This particular falsehood wastes your time, makes you obsess over things that don’t matter, and blame your material for things it has no control over. Poor material.

I’ll tell you a story about myself and how this shook down for me.

Back in 2001 —

🎵 Way way back many centuries ago, not long after the Bible began! 🎵

I was doing outdoor drama on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

One of my fellow company members had his finger on the PULSE of the latest new musical theatre coming through the pipeline (He did go on to be a very effective audition coach and busy working actor.)

He recommended I get the new book of John Bucchino songs, Grateful.

There was one song in there that would be great for me. It was called “Better than I,” and it was written for The Prince of Egypt prequel.

Aaron, the recommender, hit the nail on the head with my vibe.

The song was faithy, sung directly TO God, and was, indeed, communicated by a hero of the Old Testament, Joseph.

🎵 Go go go Joesph, you know what they say…🎵

(You’re welcome for the week of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat ear worms.)

I used this song all the time.

No one else was singing it. It was pretty. It had high notes, a terrific key change, and it suited me.

I don’t think I ever got called back when I took it in the room.

It is a beautiful song, but it’s about someone who already figured something out.

There was little conflict, and while I do believe one can sing to God, it makes the make-believe harder in an audition room. It just does.

But, this song was so particular to me, and I developed a feeling of ownership and attachment to it. And I should have sung it in my club act.

It wasn’t doing what an audition song is supposed to do:

Tell a clear story with a beginning, middle, and end, demonstrate the ability to sing with artistry and authentic heart connection, and solve a specific casting problem for the production you’re auditioning for.

But, I believed this song was the perfect song for me, and I thought it helped me stand out.

It may have been perfect for a Wednesday night at the Unitarian Universalist Open Mic Fundraiser, but it didn’t do me any favors at my Dr. Zhivago callback.

And that’s because I believed terrible advice #2 — there’s the perfect audition song for you, and your choice of material alone will cause you to stand out.

Nope.

There are thousands of theatre songs. So, there are hundreds of songs that could be perfect for you depending on many factors.

And your clever choice of material isn’t going to help you stand out.

No one’s going to be behind a table and say, “Well, that lacked conflict, drive, and clarity, but wow, you sure went deep into the Lincoln Center archives. Let’s collaborate 7 hours a day in a rehearsal hall.”

If you sing the crap out of “Popular” and put a specific point of view on it that’s yours alone, that would stand out to me.

Remember that singer who sang freaking “Popular”? Broke out into the Charleston during the la la section? Epic.

So, remember — there are hundreds of songs that can be perfect for you.

And your material choice alone cannot make you stand out. You stand out when you prepare, do excellent work, and open your heart.

Which brings us to the third falsehood you can disabuse yourself of and therefore lift a heavy, unreal audition burden off your shoulders.

This one is tricky, though, because this one is false until it’s not. I’ll explain what I mean later. As in most things — more than one thing can be true.

Imagine you go to a party, and the host of the party is a director you want to work with.

You’ve met them a few times before, and there’s rapport, but you really want to make a great impression.

You arrive with a couple of friends, and it’s a daytime party, and your host, the director, directs you to the drinks station where they’re serving just one cocktail. (Ina Garten always says, “Just serve one cocktail. How easy is that?”)

It’s a delicious, fresh gin, cilantro, and cucumber situation with sparkling something, and everybody’s sipping their glasses talking about how zingy and clean it is.

The problem is, cucumber makes you irrationally gag, you have the gene that makes cilantro taste like soap, and you haven’t drunk gin since an unfortunate evening of questionable life choices at an Irish pub on 2nd Avenue in 2003.

Your host hands you a tall glass of icy cocktail goodness with muddled cukes and Dawn dish detergent, and what do you do?

Ask for a water?

No! You choke down your bevvy, and lightly wretch/exclaim, “What an interesting flavor!”

Your host tops you up throughout the party, and soon you’re sneaking into the bathroom to empty the contents of your glass into the toilet only to surreptitiously re-emerge declaring that you need to switch over to water since you’re driving.

Your friend says, “No worries, I can dr—”

“NO!” you shout like Moira Rose. “I’ll drive.”

We do all kinds of dumb things to please people who can give us things we really want like jobs and shows.

And this shows up in people’s audition books all the time.

Agents visit schools and ask students, “What are you going to use for this show that’s currently running on Broadway?”

College seniors graduate from BFA programs thinking they need to be ready with perfect cuts suited to 7 Broadway shows.

In the meantime, they completely forget about the hundreds of regional theaters across the United States producing golden age revivals, Stephen Sondheim revues, and the complete works of Kander and Ebb.

There’s a wide breadth of style and representation of eras in musical theater.

If you don’t naturally vibe ’80s hair band, then it’s not wise for you to target all the regional productions of Rock of Ages.

What I’m saying is this.

There’s a style world, a narrative world, and a an energetic world that appeals to you on a cellular level.

You might want to do high-knee time steps in 42nd Street for the rest of your life, or your dream might be to play Fosca in every production of Passion in perpetuity.

There’s a way of doing musical theatre that appeals to you, and it’s important you know what that looks like.

I ask voice students at the beginning of the semester to describe what their dream career and work would look like. Go ahead and ask yourself.

What kind of shows would you do?

What kind of stories would you tell?

What style of music would you sing?

What would production aesthetics look like?

What kind of venues would you be performing in?

What kind of people would you be working with?

This gives them and me a sense of what their narrative and artistic values are.

Then, we can make a clear judgment about what kind of repertoire resonates most powerfully for them.

It’s super important to know this because you may be able to make the right sounds singing “Crazy on You,” but there’s somebody who rolls out of bed breathing that style like Pat Benetar and Animal from The Muppets had a rock monster baby.

You might be more at home singing “Not a Day Goes By.”

If that’s true, it’s important that you know it.

Pay attention to what styles and stories resonate deeply and satisfy you. That’s going to be the direction where you thrive effortlessly.

So, the bad advice here is that your book needs to be filled with everything that makes you current and marketable right now.

You need to have multiple contemporary commercial songs that apply to all the different styles being produced on Broadway stages so that you can be ready for any and all auditions.

All I’m saying is — it’s okay for you to know that you’re not the vibe for Hadestown or Oklahoma!. You’re more of a Beautiful: The Carole King Story kinda gal.

When you know what you love and what lights you up, your audition book will reflect who you are because it’ll be full of songs that shine your values.

You won’t have to worry about branding and setting yourself apart. Singing the things you love will tell that story.

Now, a distinction has to be made here — there’s a big difference between shoehorning yourself into a musical style because you think that’s what’s getting hired now versus opening yourself to possibility.

When I was in my 20s I got called in for Rent a lot.

Every time I went in, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if I actually could sing this? I can’t do this style.”

And sure enough, a rock singer I was not.

But I kept getting called in, so casting felt like I had potential.

Every time I went in, my head kept saying, “You’re not right for this. You’re a fake rock singer. This is so stupid. Why did they call you in?”

I’m not saying that I would’ve been Broadway’s next Roger, but what would have happened if I’d taken in the information that table folk saw that possibility in me?

Several years later, I got called in for Deaf West’s production of Pippin — for Lewis, Pippins brother. I’d always wanted to work with them ever since I saw their Big River in 2003 (not the same night as the Irish pub gin debacle).

The breakdown asked us to to wear a form-fitting T-shirt so they could see the bods. (Do they even do that in breakdowns anymore? Oof. I get anxious remembering it.)

That freaked me out because it was LA, and I was like, if they want a major gun show, they can find it. My agent, the inimitable Gerry Koch, said, “Dan, just go in and let them decide if you’re not right for the project.”

I ended up getting called back in for the voice of Charles, and I got to collaborate with one of the best actors I’ve ever worked with — Troy Kotsur.

The Academy thought so, too, because his skill got recognized with an Oscar a couple years ago. If you don’t know his work, look him up. He’s tremendous.

If I’d stayed home and not gone in and sang my Don Henley cut at Center Theatre Group that day, I would’ve missed out on one of the best theatre experiences of my life. Questionable casting breakdown and all.

And one quick PS on this, if you want a clear guide about what to include in your audition book, I recommend casting director Merri Sugarman’s book From Craft to Career.

She shares a very clear breakdown of categories that are flexible and will cover your bases as a music theatre singer.

She also wrote one of the most straightforward explanations of how to talk to an audition pianist. It’s an excellent book, and if you do what she says, you’ll see results.

So, quick review of our three audition book falsehoods —

Number 1 — You have to choose new, clever, and obscure material for you book.

Nope. Familiar works great, and things are usually overdone for a reason. Go ahead and sing those songs with skill and wholeheartedness.

Number 2 — there’s the perfect audition song for you, and your choice of material alone will cause you to stand out.

Nope.

There are thousands of great songs, therefore hundreds that can share your best skills. And you don’t get points for clever song choice if you’re not actually delivering on it.

And Number 3 — your book needs to be filled with everything that makes you current and marketable right now.

I mean, an audition book filled only with Gilbert and Sullivan will have a very narrow usage, but the truth here is — focus your book on the styles and aesthetics that ring truest to you.

Feature your strengths, and at the same time, open your heart to embodying possibilities your ego might rule out because it’s new and unfamiliar.

Don’t sit in a chair in the middle of an audition room singing “One Song Glory” thinking, “Why’d they even call me in?” They called you in. Prepare, make clear choices, and then do them the courtesy of letting them make their own decisions.

That’s the beauty of being a theatre singer, after all —

You get to embody a different identity with every song you sing. Your irreplaceable voice and soul empathizing and looking through someone else’s ego lens. You get to make all kinds of sounds.

And speaking of new sounds, have you ever started working with a new style, started making the sounds — you were getting nods from teachers and music directors, but your brain was like, “That’s not YOU! YOU don’t sound like that! Who even ARE you?” Just me?

Well, I made a video for you — 3 simple questions that’ll unlock any style you want to sing.

Then you’ll be tootling off to your South Pacific audition in the morning followed by your Jagged Little Pill callback later that day and maybe some My Fair Lady tomorrow. How easy is that?

And please always remember, no matter what song you’re giving a tempo for, there’s only one you, and somebody needs to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much, Dan

PS Here’s Christina Saffran’s website.

PPS Here’s Merri Sugarman’s book that’ll tell you how to set up your audition book, talk to an audition pianist, and have more satisfaction and control in your career — From Craft to Career: A Casting Director’s Guide for the Actor

Betty Buckley says so — One simple change will transform your auditions and your life — it’s physics

April 30, 2024 / dancallaway

There’s a large club of theatre singers who work hard, sing well, have solid storytelling skills, and yet regularly deliver forgettable, boring, and tedious auditions that yield no call backs and no traction.

I myself have been a card carrying member of this club —

I took a class with a director I’d auditioned for in NYC once. I hadn’t booked any shows he was directing, but I’d heard his class was helpful.

After a few weeks of work and adjustments, he said to me, “I didn’t see any of this depth and potential when you auditioned for me. Not one inking of it.”

And he was right because I was doing this one thing that regularly shoots theatre singers in the character shoe.

What if there was one shift you could make that could fundamentally change everything about how you show up in an audition room, on camera, in the rehearsal hall, on the stage, and even in your life and relationships?

And what if this shift was very simple and something you can practice anywhere?

And what if this shift meant that you can guarantee yourself a satisfying, embodied, and integrated experience whether you’re in an audition room or at rehearsal or on the stage?

While you cannot control the outcome of what the table people decide, this shift will help you become so joyful about the things you can control that I’ll bet you a fro yo that you’ll also see changes in the results you’re getting from auditions.

This tool also shifts how you interact in the world and makes the experience of your life sweeter, more present, and helps you relate in a wholehearted way.

This journey starts with the one and only Betty Lynn Buckley.

I did scene study and song interpretation with her in New York City over the course of 3 years. If you don’t know her work, give her a quick google, and you’ll see she’s a master of theatre singing.

One thing about her class that confused, drew, mystified, frustrated, and taught me was meditation.

We meditated. A lot.

I was suspicious about how this was going to help me snag a leading role in an original Broadway cast, but the seeds she planted during those years grew into some of the strongest trees in my technique forest.

Meditation taught me to be an observer, a witness, and to look at things differently than I ever had before.

The reason I took Betty’s class was because the few times I’d seen her perform, I noticed the whole atmosphere in the theatre changed when she sang. And I wanted to be able to create an experience like that.

Betty said something over and over, and it made zero sense to my 24-year-old brain. “Be the seer,” she’d say. “Be the observer.”

I see just fine, thank you very much. You’re telling me that seeing something is going to help me get a callback for Urinetown?

I was a basic mess in Betty’s class. I did some good work, and other days I’d stand in front of class and sob and not know why I was crying. (I’d tell my students now that was important work, too.) She stood with me through all of it.

And it was this lesson: to be the seer that created a superpower in me as a singer and as a human who wants to share and live a vibrant, wholehearted, connected life.

But, what was it about Betty’s admonition that created such a shift?

Well, it was quantum mechanics.

Of course.

What’s your first expectation when you walk into a singing class? Naturally, it’s to discuss the dual wave/particle nature of reality.

If you do a quick google on the Double Slit Experiment, you’ll find out how this process led to the birth of quantum mechanics.

I’ll spare you my attempt to explain, but the nutshell is this — scientists learned that light could behave either as a wave or as a particle depending on how it was being observed.

A photon beam was aimed at 2 slits in a metal sheet and created wave patterns after passing through.

Scientists were like, hmmmm that’s curious. Shouldn’t it behave like a particle?

So they set up a camera to see what was going on as light passed through the openings.

Once the cameras were operational, the light changed its behavior, and it made a pattern that showed the behavior of a particle rather than the behavior of a wave.

The mere change of adding an observer, a camera, caused the wave to collapse into a particle.

This is the power of the observer.

You’ve experienced this power in your own life.

Have you ever had a teacher who formed an opinion or assumption about you the moment they met you and the energy of that point of view completely shaped your relationship with them?

You can feel the power of an authority figure’s belief about you in your very cells.

If you had that little league coach who yelled at you all the time because they BELIEVED in you, while you may not have wanted to do those extra laps and pushups, the fact that someone saw great potential in you planted something substantial in your guts that told you you had what it took to play good defense or get around for that third pirouette.

I’ll say that again — in this series of experiments, light changed its behavior based on being observed. Looking at it changed it.

I remember hearing Betty say that in class, and my mind simply didn’t accept it.

A thing’s a thing, and how could it change just because you looked at it?

I still don’t know how that happens, but my experience has shown me that it’s true.

When I believe in a student and call out the possibilities I see, one day they turn around and notice they’re singing with a balanced, organized voice while living a specific story with an open heart. It even surprises me when I see it all come together — I’m like, dang, these tools work! Even though I know they work. There’s wonder about it, still.

This information — how you see things — is crucial for you as a singer and storyteller because you can actually determine not only how you’re looking at things, but you can also shift your actual vantage point.

And this piece of intel is crucial.

And this is what Betty meant when she said “Be the seer. Not the seen.”

The question for you to ask is — are you seeing the world from behind your own eyeballs? Are you cozy and rooted into your own soul looking out at and relating to the world and folks around you?

OR have you hovered your consciousness somewhere outside yourself like a self-critical drone and begun to observe yourself from the outside?

You can feel the energetic shift in someone when this happens.

If I’m here hunkered down in my own body and looking out to you with an open heart, that feels a certain way.

And if I float out of myself and look back at me wondering what you’re thinking, or was this shirt a good choice for today, or what do you think about my singing, acting choices, and how can I get you to like me? Oof, that’s a very uncomfy place to be in my experience.

And we all go there. Humans, it seems, are the only sentient beings capable of this self consciousness particle collapse.

So, that’s question one to ask yourself.

Am I looking and seeing from behind my own eyeballs? Or am I somewhere outside shooting scrutiny lasers at myself?

Becoming aware of where your consciousness may have located itself is indeed step one. And this is something you can start to ask yourself anywhere.

An exchange with a cashier or barista is a great time to practice. Compliment their glasses or commiserate about the weather. What does it feel like to relate to another human without wondering if your shoes were a good choice?

Also notice what it feels like when you start to leave the center of you.

This happens a lot when we predict the future. If there’s a thing coming up when people will be looking at us — like an audition — we often pre-game it and imagine how it’s going to go.

But, notice where your imagination centers itself. Is it focused on your experience from inside your body? Or are you playing out how you may be perceived by the folks there?

I spent countless days in the latter zone. Still do. Even as I communicate this to you, my brain wants to ask “How’m I doing? How are you seeing me now?”

And yes, you definitely want to read the room. The way people respond to you is key information.

Now the question is, “Ok, so I get the whole where am I looking from thing and why it’s important, but how do I change it?”

And the good news is it’s just like singing — you can practice.

If you feel a kind of gut crunch or contraction, if your mind starts to run through scenarios and wheedle plans to manage how folks perceive you, you’ve sent the attack copters out.

On your next breath, you can bring yourself back into yourself.

Try it. Let your air out first. Now breathe through your nose and let yourself come back in behind your eyeballs.

Notice things in your environment and name them to yourself. Wall, doorknob, window, tree, bench, stoplight.

And when you fly out again, you can return on your next breath.

You’ll also notice a feature of self-consciousness is that it shuts down your breathing. So when you get it going again, it’s easier to move yourself back home.

When you’re singing a song, you may notice, oh whoops, I’ve floated over to behind the table people, and I don’t like this.

Tell yourself, on the next breath, I can come back.

And it may take three of four breaths, but you can come back to you. It’s the ability to fix the bike while you’re riding it — a phrase I learned from my spiritual director.

Anytime you’re moving from A to B, there will be things that don’t go to plan, so on the next breath you get to decide again. That’s how you move through a song, too.

So, it’s becoming aware of where your point of view is — are you grounded in your own skeleton looking out to your world, or are you zooming around to figure out how you’re being perceived?

Hint — you can never really know, and the good news is most folks aren’t thinking about you. They’re thinking about themselves. Just like you are. So that can be some very liberating information.

On your next breath you can come back home.

Now you’re probably like — all this sounds very self-realized and like a generally more pleasant way to walk down the street, but will this have real effects in the audition room? If I get behind my eyeballs, am I going to book those jobs???

I would bet you a frozen yogurt that if you cultivate this awareness and working from your identity as the seer, you’re going to see a shift in your results. You have to.

There are unlimited factors about auditioning that you have absolutely no control over. You cannot control what direction of the table folk. Stop trying to crack the code. There’s no code. Not like that.

But, if you’ve ever had the privilege of sitting behind an audition table, you will see this difference immediately.

When a human walks into the room, and they human from inside themselves and relate to you heart to heart, your own heart opens and says, “Oh thank God. Thank you for being a fellow human person.” It’s spring water on a hot day and a cozy blanket in grey winter.

That energetic exchange is life giving, and that actor made the table person’s day better just by relating in this way.

The director I took the class from that time? The one who told me he saw nothing about the depth and breadth of my talent? The reason I disappeared in the room was because I was desperate for a director-y person to say, “You know what? You’re really talented! I think you’re good!”

That’s not their job.

Their job is to cast a show, and your job is to bring excellent work into the room, and you’ll do excellent work with satisfaction when you commit to seeing.

The way you might be seen from the imaginary outside of you is not your business. It’s not controllable, and there’s no way for you to even form an accurate assessment.

And if you can, please get behind an audition table somewhere. Be a reader or monitor or get coffee for folks.

You’ll see this immediately. You’ll see there’ll be folks who come in, sing real pretty, do a nice job, and you just can’t make yourself care.

For a number of reasons, their attention is not hunkered into their experience of a specific story, and their energetic focus blurs.

You may hear directors and casting give the note, “That’s too general — I need specifics.”

General is a self-consciousness defense.

“You know what your decision is, which is not to decide.” Because a decision has to come from your own guts and your own point of view and from SEEING things clearly.

If you’re too occupied perceiving yourself from an unreal outside, there’s no way you have the mental and heart capacity to see and PLAY with possibilities in the story. And you’ll be like I was with that director — blurry and invisible.

So, my answer to — will this shift in focus, will being the seer help me get more jobs? I can’t imagine a world in which this won’t help.

Most importantly, can you imagine how much more content and satisfying your life will be living from this place?

You can practice all the time. And when you feel contracted, anxious, you notice your breathing stopped, you can come back inside on the next breath or three.

I always say that singing and storytelling is about opening your heart and inviting folks inside. Remember — you cannot invite someone in if you’re not there.

Now, CAVEAT!

Before you go about your singing aggressively looking outward into the mid-distance checking on every breath if you’re truly inside your body, remember in our human experience we look a lot of places. I look at the outside world, and I look into my internal world.

I even have regular moments of self consciousness, and that, too, is a human thing you can share.

What if every time you noticed you were feeling self-conscious while sharing a song you remembered, “Every person within earshot knows exactly what this feels like.”?

You can then invite them IN to that reality with you. You don’t need to resist it. Acknowledge it as the protector it’s trying to be, and then invite in.

And to give you even more clarity on how to do this, here’s a video from a series I made for you, and this will give you a super simple fix for how your eyeballs can help you, number one, feel like a human, and, number two, enliven your experience of any story you’re singing about. See you over there.

And please remember there is only one you and somebody needs to hear the story only you can sing.

Love Much,
Dan

Is this weird? It totally is. You got any ideas?

March 19, 2024 / dancallaway

I went to an audition last week.

I prepped like I believed that phrase “there‘s no such thing as too much preparation.”

I chose a song that was perfect for the character I had in mind,

transcribed and transposed it in Finale,

even worked it in studio class to give my students an object lesson – see how your 46-year-old professor who’s been doing this for a while still freezes with panic sometimes and shouts creative profanity when he messes up that part. Again.

(Side note — my students had the BEST notes for me. Bravi y’all!)

The audition went fine. I was satisfied with my work, and onward you walk.

It got me to thinking about us theater storytellers, though — this crazy audition game we play.

You

read a break down,

choose a song that sounds like the world of the show,

has a story like the one your character would sing,

wear the clothes that suggest a costume,

but don’t get too costume-y.

Really want the role,

but don’t present as needy.

Answer the questions of the breakdown well,

but remember it’s not about what they want,

but it is, but don’t try to figure that out.

This is why I saw a couple of people in the holding room I’m sure I recognized from auditions 20+ years ago only with various degrees of manic desperation crinkling their brows.

I thought oh no, it looks like this is the center of your life, showing up to the calls and singing the songs and talking to the other folks about how it went in the room. I felt sad.

Of course, I have no idea if the things I projected on these strangers was accurate, or just a swirl of my own fear and ambivalence, but it did make me consider why auditioning is such a specific and tricky practice.

Auditioning requires that you understand the show, understand what piece of the show’s puzzle you might be, and then you need to figure out how to clearly convey your understanding through song choice, shirt choice, and vibe choice.

This one particular piece of this one particular puzzle calls on one facet of your overall skill set. If you were an architect, that day you’d feel like you’re sharing a blueprint of a backyard shed, while on the shelves of your studio, you have drafts of libraries, museums, and art deco skyscrapers.

No wonder actors fall into the kitchen sink trap.

I’ll shoehorn the journey of Oedipus into 16 bars and add an opt up. Shipoopi!

It’s the impulse to share, and the reason we joined to the drama club.

I can keep on making up stories and playing pretend? Yes, please! Oh, and sometimes people laugh, cry, and clap? Sign me up!

When Noah, our older boy, gets home from kindergarten, he heads straight to the living room, builds a ship, or a pyramid, or an army base out of Duplos, and begins a whole production playing all the characters featuring Elmo, Bluey, and a Ninja Turtle.

It’s delightful to hear his imagination fly.

Auditions ask us to narrow that wild, child-like stream into a very focused task, and the annoying truth of most creative endeavors is — you find a lot of freedom inside limits.

So, perhaps, rather than bemoaning how reductive an audition might feel, what if we combined our imagination powers with the rules of the game? (Auditioning is very Chutes and Ladders.)

The audition breakdown is like the instructions. You learn the object of the game and understand if it’s Candy Land or Settlers of Catan. You devise a strategy song choice, decide what game piece you think you are, and you prepare and share.

I find the more focused you are on the task of the audition, the more committed you are to your particular point of view, somehow the multi-facets of you naturally emerge and shine.

It’s not something you can be aware of, but your focus on the story along with an open heart creates human connection.

If you go in a room prepared to tell the story you crafted, alive in that moment, and open your heart, that’s a successful audition.

And then there’s this question for you:

What would be a way for you to create and share a rich story that features those blueprint drafts you’re so proud of on your shelves? Your sense of humor, dialect skills, well-honed belt-mix and accordion playing all in one show? 🙂

Dream up some possibilities, write them down, and practice them and share pieces with your trusted people. Then you’re on your way to building your own thing. No audition necessary.

Anything you make will be unrepeatable because there is, after all, only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS You’re precious, and you’re loved. You may feel like you just had to slide way down a long chute on the board game. I’m confident that your next few turns are going to redirect you to a terrific ladder you may have missed the first time through. Keep doing your thing and share. 💙

Shenanigans — Civil engineering challenges in Boston’s Metro West and how rainy nighttime driving applies to your creative life

December 12, 2023 / dancallaway

I’m imagining the civil engineering society of the Greater Boston area got together at some point and said —

“All right, all right, listen up — we’re dealing with old horse paths here. The roads are narrow. They wind in all directions. And there aren’t any alternative routes.

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do — we’ll just hew to the historical legacy of these questionable thoroughfares and make sure the lighting at night is true to the road’s 1805 founding. There won’t be any.

“And reflectors? Paul Revere didn’t need them, did he?

“And we’re not so profligate as to squander tax funds on things like reflective paint for white and yellow lines. No. When it rains and it’s dark out, folks can maneuver themselves through the small ponds on Route 9 using bat sonar.”

Maybe it’s because my eyes are gonna be 46 this month, but I’m not about the night time rainy roads around here.

The other night I drove home in the rain and literally missed my exit off the Mass Pike.

Signaled, followed the signs. I saw the arrows, but the road? Nope. Had to rumble my way back on to the highway and try my best to intuit the next offramp via ESP.

This morning Melissa and I thanked our guardian angels, lucky stars, and trusty green 2009 Scion XD —

(her name’s Willow — purchased in Hollywood. We joke that she’s been super traumatized by all the East Coast weather she’s been subjected to in the last 9 years.)

— we thanked them (angels, stars, and car) for getting us to Newton-Wellesley hospital this morning where Melissa’s having a long-anticipated surgery so she won’t feel like her abdomen is in perpetual revolt anymore. I’m excited for a new chapter for her. 🙏

But all the recent nighttime wet-road driving around the Boston area’s got me thinking — isn’t that just like your creative life?

You’re driving along wondering if your headlights are working or not, trying to make out if that’s asphalt or a hydroplane disaster pond in front of you.

An oversized Infiniti SUV barrels past you smacking your windshield with a puddle wave, and the Yukon behind you decides high beams are the appropriate selection when tailing a wee hatchback.

When you’re a singing storyteller and have a desire like

🪄 play a role in a beautiful show with a company of excellent people and get paid a workable wage for it 🌟

the road to the stage door can feel like dark New England rain driving.

It’s not like you can bump your CV on LinkedIn or apply at your local musical theatre branch.

There’s auditions.
And there’s finding out about the auditions.
And there’s getting to the auditions and getting in the door.
And there’s having materials that’ll serve you and the needs of the production(s).
And there’s reaching out to casting folks over and over with no response.
And there’s spending hours creating self-tapes that you hope get watched.
And there’s getting used to being back in an actual room with real people after you’ve been putting everything on video.
And there’s the very recent reality that one microbe can shut down an entire art form that you’ve dreamed about being a part of since you heard the high school chorus sing that arrangement of “I Dreamed a Dream.”

Oh, and you need to be really good at compelling, honest, wholehearted storytelling while singing in an adrenalized state.

Blind driving on Route 9 is easier.

BUT AND — rainy pitch-black puddle skid motoring has some lessons to teach us.

🌧️ You can only see the road you can see in front of you. Aim in the safest direction you can, pay attention, and refrain from using cruise control.

☔️ Some assholes get assholey-er in rough conditions. Let your wipers do their work, and focus on your lane.

🌂 If a car is going effectively in the direction you want to go, use their tire tracks and tail lights as a guide for a while.

⛈️ Take a deep breath and slow down a little. No need to put on your hazards. You’re moving. You’re taking care of the road in front of you one headlight zone at a time. You keep driving, you’ll get where you need to go.

⚠️ Sometimes you miss Exit 117 to Framingham because you can’t see the road. Keep driving. You can get off at 111, and there’ll probably be less shenanigans on the quieter lanes.

You’ll get where you need to go.

Your heart rate will spike. You’ll swear. But you’ll get there.

Take care of the road you can see in front of you.

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

Love much,

Dan

PS Melissa and I had a terrific day date a couple weekends ago — got to see several of my BoCo kidz do great work in City of Angels. 👏

We had lunch at Petit Robert Bistro in the South End (or as I like to call it, Lil Bobby’s.) Highly recommend if you’re in Boston. The mussels were the best either of us ever had. All broth was duly sopped with freshly baked baguette. And our macarons to go — my mouth’s watering just remembering them.

PPS Surgery went great 🙏

Change of Plan — Blueberry muffin mind tricks, staring at walls pretending, and other life trajectory changers

December 5, 2023 / dancallaway

Every morning after I get off the train, I stop at Flour Bakery + Café on Dalton Street because if you BYO cup, you get coffee for $1.50.

Their coffee is delicious, and the pastry game is epic.

I usually skip the food and just get coffee. They know me now, so they grab my cup and ask, “Dark or medium?”

Except for last week. My friend at the register said, “What do you want today besides your coffee?”

The upsell skillz caught me off guard.

She must’ve seen the eyeballing the blueberry muffins next to the currant oat scones.

And before I could say “No thanks, just coffee,” I heard myself blurt, “Blueberry muffin.”

In the space of two seconds, I noticed multiple thoughts.

I mean what kind of morning crazy pants must I BE just to get coffee when this pastry repast splays itself so wantonly before my gaze?

And

I mean, I don’t want to disappoint the employees of Flour Bakery + Café by not ordering a sunrise carbohydrate.

My mind was Jim Carrey’s Grinch yes-no-no-yes monologue.

So, out the door with my little blueberry muffin brown bag I departed.

I tell the pedagogy students at the Conservatory that we make a plan so that the plan will change.

And the plan always changes.

It makes me think about how we know exactly how a song is going to go.

We know who we’re going to sing to. We know we’re on that park bench next to the sycamore tree where the pigeon pooped on our shoulder that time.

We know what our imaginary partner just said during the introduction to make us sing the opening line of our song.

We smell the spring tulips growing in the flower bed next to the tree. We even crafted some swans gliding across the water in the distant pond.

Then we get on the stage or in the room, and all we can think about is how fast our heart is beating, wondering if we remembered to zip in the bathroom, and that the gap in the curtains we chose to sing toward just looks like a gap in the curtains. Where’s the sycamore tree with its dappled bark????

All the things we imagined aren’t coming up like they did in the shower.

So, we focus harder.

Usually, this leads to existential pain and your consciousness hovering out like a critical drone shooting comments into your brain while you’re just trying to tell the story you so meticulously devised.

You weren’t planning on someone asking you what you wanted with your coffee.

But see, you made a plan. And you have to make a plan so that the plan can change.

So, say “thank you” to the rapid heartbeat.

Check your zipper or just accept it it might be down.

And remember that you can look at a gap in a curtain and let it be a curtain gap.

In the meantime, why don’t you go ahead and take the pressure off of you to focus so hard on yourself partner?

Think of all the serious conversations you’ve had with folks only to notice that your attention wandered.

All that to say, we made a plan. Now it’s going to change. And we just have to deal with it. And that can be exciting.

This is super true in big life as well.

Back in 2019 in the before times, the Callaways were planning to move to the Jersey ‘burbs.

I was up for a job at NYU and was on campus for final interviews on March 9, 2020. A lot of people found that their plans drastically changed around that day.

But we’d made a plan, and we were making steps. Then, new information directed us in other ways.

The closed the door in NYC meant I got to spend one more year at Elon. That year deepened and sweetened my love for teaching and clarified the privilege that I have to walk alongside singers like you.

It also opened the way for us to head to the Boston area and for this gift of a job at the Conservatory.

This was nowhere on my radar when Melissa and I were pulling carrots out of our front yard garden in Los Angeles 10 years ago.

This is all to encourage you that it’s all right if you feel blindingly clue free at the moment.

Take out a piece of paper and write down at the top “Wouldn’t it be cool if…”

Then write a few things down.

Make some plans, and take some steps. Google a thing. Write an email to someone who knows something about something.

The original plan you have won’t be what it looks like later. Just know that.

I believe what comes will be even better.

Make a plan so the plan will change. It’s probably going to be frustrating. But if you just keep taking steps and adjusting to what comes, you’re going to find satisfaction and gratification in walking toward what you know to be the direction of your contribution.

Some days you may purchase an unexpected blueberry muffin.

Other days, it’s being amused that your brain’s thinking about pop tarts, instead of your song scenario.

And other weeks it’s letting yourself feel sad about a closed door and waiting with expectancy to know which direction to go now that you’ve been redirected.

Make a plan so the plan can change.

And I suggest one of your plans can be to sing something today because there is only one you and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much, Dan

PS It’s Melissa’s Birthday today! I made her a chocolate cake with cherry buttercream frosting. I had a terrific plan to make some cherry syrup that I was going to drizzle over the top. It ended up looking more smeared-atop-an-English-muffin than boulangerie dreams, but I’m confident it’ll taste nice.

Oh, here’s the only chocolate cake recipe I use. You won’t find a yummier one.

PPS In the plans changing category for this week, we were having a fun time drawing pictures yesterday morning.

Noah tried to copy a picture of a helicopter I’d drawn, and when he got frustrated with his attempt, he wadded up the paper and threw it in the kitchen trash. I fished it out and asked him what was up. He was really sad and frustrated that he couldn’t draw the helicopter the way I drawn it. I got out the crayons and made a little creation with what he’d done. I was pretty pleased with our collab 🙂

Poor kid has inherited my perfectionism gene. I seriously pray I can help him navigate it early.

PPPS if there are any typos or horrible grammatical errors present in this email, I’m going to blame our younger nugget Jude. Here’s a snapshot of my experience getting this email sent out to you today.

My Mistake — This keeps happening. I’m working on it

November 28, 2023 / dancallaway

Noah’s been wanting to decorate for Christmas since Halloween. He could NOT understand why anybody would wait until after Thanksgiving to haul out the holly.

Seriously, he woke up Thursday morning and said, “We get to decorate for Christmaaaaas!”

I can remember losing my mind about draping lights all over everything when I was a kid. It’s terrific to get to live it through Noah and Jude’s eyes.

We finally got the tree up and ornamented yesterday evening.

After being waylaid by a Saturday urgent care trip to see about an ear infection, a rogue LED on our pre-lit tree that never got resolved (even after Melissa and I undertook the Sisyphean task of replacing every unlit bulb in the strand), and general exhaustion, extracting the Christmas bins from behind the I’ll-get-to-that-someday boxes was going to be a mythic test.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

The true trial began when I tried “decorating” with the boys while Melissa braved the elements (mostly human) to source a new air mattress from Big Lots. My brother Ben’s visiting from Spain, and our current one’s motor gave up the ghost.

But yeah, placing fragile, tinselly things around the house in tasteful locations with 4- and 5-year old humans full of testosterone and opinions — I went ahead and pulled down the bourbon and the “Dad — Aged to Perfection” tumbler Melissa got me on my last birthday.

While I coaxed Noah into the half-bath to help me put the Santa toilet seat cover and rug into their coveted positions, I heard a loud crash on the kitchen tiles and Jude’s voice say, “Sorrrryyyy!”

I emerged from from the toilet room with wide T-rex eyes and saw that one of our Christmas cocoa mugs lay shattered on the floor.

I calmly said in my whispery Daniel Tiger’s Neighbohood Dad voice, “That’s all right, son. It was an accident. We’ll get this cleaned up together.” Then we sang a situationally themed song about the learning moment.

Nope. That’s not what happened.

I don’t remember my exact vocabulary, but the subtext was, “Why can’t you listen to me? I TOLD you to come into the bathroom with the Christmas towels! SEE? This is what happens when you don’t do what I say. This is the opposite of fun, and I’m pissed about it because Bing Crosby’s whistling “White Christmas” on the Alexa cube, and we should be happy, dammit! And LISTEN TO ME!”

The thing I’m grateful for is little Judelet’s ability to say a hearty sorry and move on.

He knew it was an accident, and he wasn’t beating himself up about it.

But in these moments of exasperation, it’s like someone pushes my reactivity-bot button, and up from the bile center come phrases like, “Why would you DO that?”.

I can feel how ugly and damaging it is when it comes out — like I’ve slimed the boys and myself at the same time. It’s not who I want to be, and it’s not how I want to affect them.

“I’m SORRY, Daddy!” Jude repeated.

I’m grateful for his sense of self. HE knew he was just trying to put the mug on the counter near where the coffee cups go. HE knew it was an accident.

It was just the moment I needed to regroup.

“I totally forgive you, Jude, and I wish you’d waited for me like I asked.”

We swept up the ceramic and finished turning our toilet into Santa Claus.

And I took a generous sip from my tumbler.

That moment wasn’t about Jude not listening to me. It was about me not feeling listened to.

It was also me telling myself a story of inadequacy. “If I were really an effective dad, my boys would listen to me and do what I say.”

And I made up a terrifying future scenario when I would yell at Jude to stop running in a parking lot only for him to ignore me and careen into danger. (Although the exact opposite thing happened that very morning after church.) Disaster outcome planning is rarely open to countervailing evidence.

But think about those three needs:

You need to be listened to.

You need to feel effective and adequate at your tasks.

You need to have some reasons to believe things will be okay.

Now think about how these needs get challenged every time you walk into an audition room or put your finger on the red circle on your phone screen and pretend you’re singing to somebody.

We ask ourselves, “Are the table people listening to me? I don’t know if they are. How can I get them to listen to me? I know, try harder.”

If we feel unheard and unseen, we can do the time-tested kid logic of, “If I’m not being heard or seen, then it must be my fault. I must be bad at this. There are other people who are so much better, clearly. I’m sure they get listened to.”

Or we hurl the blame outward. Also ineffective.

And that quickly leap frogs to, “This will always be this way. This is what auditioning is like. This is what being a singing storyteller is like.”

So we do one of two things.

We armor up. We don’t let ourselves want the thing, and we offer up half-alive songs what might sound just fine, but there’s no open door into the heart. The unheard, unseen, inadequate, always-like-this story goes on.

Or we quit.

But there is another way that brings satisfaction and joy to your work.

Here you go —

Listen to YOU. Are you even listening to the words you’re singing? I bet if you do, that story might come alive, and you might start to have a little fun.

Along with that, let everybody off the hook. Nobody has to listen to you. But I guarantee if you’re having you’re own auditory party over there, I’m gonna be all “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Assess your skills well. Do you need to bolster your tools? Are there things you need to integrate and gain confidence with? When you watch yourself back on video, are you meeting your own aesthetic standards?

This is a helpful question, and it gives you something to DO. You can get to work, and you can get better by spending 7 minutes a day on that technical skill.

Then you have evidence to show yourself — I am effective. I do have these skills. And when I don’t, I have the GRIT to acquire them.

And then open your heart. Prepare the hell out of your work. Then “connect, George, connect.”

Don’t perform. Prepare and connect.

Imagine there are French doors, latched at your sternum. Open them up, step out on your balcony, and say, “You’re invited in here!”

There’s nothing more beautiful than your soul, so trust the inward welcome.

Listen to you. Bolster your skill for your own satisfaction. Prepare and connect.

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

Love much,

Dan

PS I’m writing a book!

The focus is on telling you all the things I say in lessons that make people say “I wish I’d known that before!” in a systematic fashion while sharing my experience of singing as a way to heal.

Sound good to you? Let me know. Send me a quick email back and tell me if that’s something you could use.

Also, if you’ve got a singing while pretending issue you wish you could solve with a book, let me know! Any idea you have — I’d love to say thank to you in the acknowledgements 🙏📚.

Send me an email and tell me your ideas and what you need. What have you been looking for that you can’t find? Email me back by clicking here.

The Only Thing You Can Control + listen in on Merri Sugarman from Tara Rubin Casting talk about simple things that make a big difference

November 14, 2023 / dancallaway

There was a callback for a production of Ordinary Days, and I prepared the CRAP outa that audition. PRE-PARED. I knew the song cold. I knew my point of view. I was ready to live this experience.

I did my thing. The director even let out a “Wow” when I finished.

I didn’t book that job.

But I remember that audition, and it’s a satisfying memory.

I also remember a callback for a production of Fiddler on the Roof. Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick were in the room. I started my work, and when the director gave me adjustments, I became the amazing shrinking actor.

Am I going to get this right?

How do I get them to pick me?

I’d already thought up my opening night cards and everything — a picture of me playing Tevye in the 1996 Mt. Airy High School spring musical. (Sounds crazy, no?)

I didn’t get that job, either.

I can still hear my agent delivering the feedback afterward, “They said you just got smaller and smaller.”

What did that mean? Talk louder? More gestuuuures?

Now I have a clearer idea what probably happened.

(After many years of getting the note in tech rehearsals — “Dan, look up, we’re losing your eyes,” I have a clue.)

I wanted to hide and be seen at the same time.

Auditioning is hard. You go in there after investing hours and dollars into preparation, throw your guts on the floor, and then the teachery people tell you just to leave it in the room. (Or on the self-tape. That one’s even harder.)

As I survey the times I shrank back, I see 3 things behind it all:

1. I wanted one of the table folk to give me my you-belong-here card.

2. I thought I needed a you-belong-here card.

3. And I believed what I wanted couldn’t be available to me. Because see number 1.

I loved what I did, and I wanted to do it on big stages. And I was using my career as a mechanism to tell me I was all right after all.

If I got picked, that must mean something, right?

And here’s the irony.

I’d already picked myself. I was already paying NYC rent, taking that subway to midtown, in the room singing the song.

But, the moment I walked in the door, I decided to un-pick myself and plop that responsibility in somebody else’s lap.

It’s like you invited me to dinner and asked me to bring the salad.

I say, “Great! My salad game is legend.”

Then, I show up at your house and ask, “Where do you keep your croutons? Wait, you only have iceberg?”

Same for you. You already decided that your life needs to include singing about your innermost thoughts and feelings in a narrative construct.

So, now your responsibility is to make sure you put together your proprietary blend of fresh greens, crunch, savory with sweet surprise, and get your dressing ratios right.

Slap that in a big bowl, and BYO utensils because you’re fixing to mix that UP when you get to the audition.

(And I always advocate for quality dijon and mayo in the dressing. Secret weapon? Maple syrup.)

You’re prepped for the party. Whether it’s an appointment or an open call, you’re invited. You belong there. Get in there and serve it up.

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

Love much,

Dan

PS That audition for Ordinary Days that I didn’t book? I look back on that with satisfaction because I was fully and deeply prepared. I did my work that day. And I’m committed to doing the same in every audition I have from now on.

I had the privilege of talking with Merri Sugarman from Tara Rubin Casting last week, and one of the things she returned to many times was this—

The only thing we have as actors is our preparation — the excellence of our work and choosing to open our hearts. Leaving the room saying, “Yep, I’d gladly pay the ticket price to see what just did in there.”

If you haven’t grabbed it, her book From Craft to Career: A Casting Director’s Guide for the Actor is full of practical insight.

If you do what she says in there, things will change.

Here are the links to check out our conversation. I’m still digesting all we talked about. I promise if you listen and do what she says, you’ll see growth in your career.

Part 1:
How has casting changed since 2020?
changes in audition procedures.
What does preparation mean?
One primary mistake actors make in the room.

Part 2:
How little moments turn into consequential trajectory changers
Trusting your nudges
What Merri sang when she booked Les Mis
All about follow up

Part 3:
Practical simple and straightforward things you can always do
Reality check on your skills, being real with yourself
watching people grow through the audition process
some tough truths that’ll set you free

Nobody Can Basic Like You Basic

August 6, 2023 / dancallaway

I got to work with MTCA (Musical Theatre College Auditions) last week in NYC, and it was terrific.

One thing I wanna tell you, well, two.

One — go ahead and sing the basic song that everybody sings.

There are 2 reasons for this.

Reason 1 is that the table people will already know it, so they can focus on you.

And that leads to reason number 2: If I’m listening to a new song, my brain will be split between you and the song itself.

What is this song? What’s the story? You have a lot more heavy lifting to do as the storyteller when you sing unfamiliar material.

And

Two — sing the basic song knowing that you’re the only one who can sing it like you do.

Objectively. Genetically, biologically, and on the level of your inimitable soul, you’re the only one who can sing it that way — which brings me to the real point.

Table people will know you can sing in the first couple of bars. What makes all the difference in the world is whether or not you open the door to your heart and invite folks in.

No one knows the secret things you’re singing about (and it’s none of our business), but we know if we’re invited into your singular, one-of-a-kind space.

When you do invite us in, your soul rises up, dissolves your ego, and shares beauty that you can’t even be aware of.

You’ll sparkle and love and care bear stare, and it’ll feel satisfying, beautiful, and a little like you’re doing nothing.

So go ahead. Nobody can basic like you basic.

How Theatre Singers Can Find Easy, Powerful, and Efficient Resonance — and Why I’ll Never Tell You to “Get it Forward”

July 28, 2023 / dancallaway

If you haven’t heard the news already, there’s a little bit of advice for theatre singers that’s been going around for a long time.

It has to do with the sinuses in your face, and folks who taught bel canto singers back in the day often used these mysterious skull caves as guide posts for singers to know they were making the right kinds of acoustically amplified sounds.

Versions of this legend have been passed down through oral tradition and may take on the form of phrases, such as “get it forward” or “use your mask,” or you may even have a visual of a very well-meaning voice teacher pointing on either side of their nose, and telling you to aim your voice there like a laser beam.

In my experience, all of this has been the opposite of helpful.

And I can tell you why real real quick.

First of all, nobody can hear what’s going on in your mask except for you. The only thing folks hear is what vibrates through your mouth and through your nose.

You might not even have the self perception to feel the resonance there, and that’s okay.

The second reason I never think this way or encourage singers I work with to think this way is because the vast majority of your resonance happens in a little place that I’d love to talk about.

That place is your pharynx.

If you snort, let your uvula flop back like your sawing logs at 3 AM (my wife reports I am expert at this these days, sorry sweetie) you’ll feel the spot.

? In the above pic, you’ll see the blue, yellow and green portions — those are where your prime resonant money’s at.

Makes sense, right? They’re directly north of your vocal folds.

Your folds vibrate, and then all that vibration gets bounced around and amplified right there in the recital hall of your vocal tract.

Feeling resonance in your mask is an EFFECT, and what you’re feeling is nanoseconds past tense. The vibrations you’re feeling there are the result of what just came through your folds and pharynx.

In my experience, when I’ve tried to aim for the front, sing into my mask, or hit any kind of back row through a lot of forward resonance, my body recruits all kinds of muscles to direct this feeling to this spot.

And this makes the pharynx muscles do the only things they can — constrict.

Lookit: (image courtesy of Teach Me Anatomy)

The green, orange, and blue muscle groups — they swallow for you hundreds of times a day. And the only thing they can do is get smaller.

To sing well, this mischief has to be managed. The softer and meltier these muscles are, the more room the recital hall (your pharynx) has to bounce sound waves around and amplify them.

If they’re squeezing just a little trying to laser beam your sound forward, well, you’re going to get a real samey, monochrome, bright metallic sound that honestly musical theatre gets made fun of for.

And for good reason — it’s dopey, and folks are missing out on all the individual color that the rest of their singular vocal tract can paint those sound waves with as they travel through.

So, what DO I do?

I encourage a dual perception — a centered awareness of the resonance vibrating through your vocal tract while your communication attention goes to your scene partner.

Musical theatre performers have to manage multiple awareness all the time.

I’m Christine Daae, I’m me, there’s the conductor, the audience is full tonight, that bobby pin is in too tight, maybe I’ll offer Raoul a breath mint later, I should have warmed up better before this show, I could use a nap, watch the conductor.

I’m astounded when folks believe we can’t think about vocal technique and storytelling at the same time. We have to. Humans have to think about more than one thing on the regular.

Yes, I know all the recent studies on how you can’t really multitask, and yes, hand raised.

But are you trying to tell me that when you’re scrubbing your tub you can’t sing “Alone” by Heart at the same time?

See?

I mean, anybody who’s sung and danced simultaneously can tell you that technique and singing can happen at the same time. Or else you fall over.

So here’s what I want you to understand:

Your primary resonance happens in your pharynx.

Folks can only hear what vibrates through your mouth and your nose.

Therefore, let’s do things that help these two factors happen as freely and efficiently as they can.

You might feel like your forehead’s gonna buzz right off your head, but someone could make a very similar sound and feel none of that.

Here are the questions you can ask yourself in order to find the sweet spot for efficient resonance and honest communication.

What are you singing?

What’s the world of the show or the song? Ado Annie’s gonna sing differently from A Little Night Music’s Ann, and she’s gonna sing differently from Ana in Frozen.

You’re a theatre singer. You make thousands of different sounds.

Once you know that,

What kind of breath support are you using?

“If I Loved You” support is gonna be very different from “Take Me or Leave Me.”

(”If I Loved You” is gonna have floatier ribs and be generated from the lower transverse abs and obliques [appoggio], and Rent is gonna have more rib closure and engagement which produces compressed phonation —

think toddler wailing over their banana being peeled the wrong way, broken, or slightly bruised. Those ribs know how to engage with the focal folds.

Then get a sense of the emotional impulse you’re working with.

Ado Annie: “It ain’t so much a question of not knowing what to do….”

Ann: “Soon, I promise. Soon I won’t shy away.”

Ana: “For the first time in FOREVER!….”

Three very different needs to communicate. These emotional images will light up in different parts of the body, and they’ll move the voice in a different way. Pay attention to your body on this.

Then, notice how that affects the phonatory pattern of the voice —

What happens when you notice the emotional energy of surmising, “It ain’t so much a question of not knowing what to do.”?

And how’s that different from Ann singing, “Soon, I promise….”?

And Ana’s got a completely different set of circumstances going on.

Your folds are going to sing these three different characters in different ways.

Now, it’s time to notice what the voice is doing just north of you larynx — in your pharynx.

Meditate your attention right back to that spot where your uvula vibrates against the back pharyngeal wall when you snort.

That’s the spot where I want you to notice your vibratory energy flowing past like a stream.

How does Ado Annie’s stream move?

How about Ann?

And Ana?

Notice the differences in air speed and how you feel the vibrations. Does that feel different from what you normally do?

Do you still feel sensations up in the front of your face? For me, I never think about them anymore. I may just be used to them, but I just don’t focus there.

Then after that, how can you shape your articulators and the rest of the tract to help you the most?

The one tip I have for you on this is to let your tongue float into your mouth. You want your tongue to float high and close to your hard palate.

This does at least 3 things:

1, it gets your tongue out of your most resonant place, your pharynx.

2, it floats the root of the tongue off of the larynx, so this whole mechanism has freedom to move.

and 3. When the tongue floats high toward the hard palate, it creates a very helpful acoustic bottleneck that causes sound waves to bounce back into the pharynx and amplify even more.

Then, the dialect of these characters, their self concept, and the world of the show are going to affect your articulation choices. Your entire body energy based on who you believe you are is going to shape how your tongue, teeth, and soft palate, and pharynx all interact.

And that’s the flow of energy that you have actual immediate control over. You can witness that as the actor/storyteller while looking to see if your communication is landing with your scene partner.

You can, in fact, do more than one thing at a time within a given task.

I hope this takes the pressure off of you to think you have to target and aim vibrations in a certain spot on your face. Sometimes you may feel sympathetic resonance galore in all kinds of places in your skull. Other times, you won’t.

That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you are making free, efficient sounds that come from a deep belief and empathy for who you are being, and the story you are courageous enough to live.

Again, what I want you to walk away with from this is —

Your primary resonance happens in your pharynx. Nobody can hear your mask.

You can indeed think about vocal technique and storytelling at the same time. In fact, I believe they serve each other.

Trying to aim your voice in a forward direction can sometimes recruit muscles that decrease efficiency and cause unwanted constriction.

Then, when you’re working on any kind of material, ask yourself:

What world am I in? What am I singing?

What kind of breath support does this call for? What’s my body’s identity here?

How does this affect my phonatory pattern? What kinds of sounds am I making?

And then what do the resonances happening in my pharynx feel like as they flow through?

and then,

How do your articulators, affected by your body’s ego identity as this character or in this style, sculpt this vibration when it flows through your mouth?

And sub note on this, and this is a whole other topic — let your tongue float high and fill a lot of the mouth. It gets out of your pharynx, frees your larynx, and creates a terrific acoustic environment.

All of these things you have direct agency over. You can stand in your energy column, share generously, and observe how your scene partners respond with openness, curiosity, and play.

Practice these things, and reach out if you have questions at dan@dancallaway.com. Or click on “work with me” to find out how you can, well, work with me.

I’m all about getting you simple tools that make sense and work fast so that you can tell the stories you want to with joy, freedom and love, feel confident and excited at auditions, and contribute beautiful and satisfying work in whatever room you collaborate.

Because remember there is objectively, empirically, and scientifically only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing. Now go sing. Bye. ?

One — go ahead and sing the basic song that everybody sings.

Two — sing the basic song knowing that you’re the only one who can sing it like you do.

What are you singing?

What kind of breath support are you using?

Then get a sense of the emotional impulse you’re working with.

Then, notice how that affects the phonatory pattern of the voice —

Now, it’s time to notice what the voice is doing just north of you larynx — in your pharynx.

Then after that, how can you shape your articulators and the rest of the tract to help you the most?

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