Music has been taking a back seat for a very, very long time.

See, music doesn’t really pay the bills. Even if you “do it right”, you are in school and in young artist programs for a long time before you make very much money. For a gal who ran out of money to finish college and spent the ensuing years building businesses to make money to help her family keep the bills paid, of course music was going to take a back seat. Fifty bucks for a handful of rehearsals and a local concert doesn’t buy very many groceries.

The trick is to get innovative, but I admit I’ve been distracted. I have a lot of interests and passions and I’m pulled in a hell of a lot of different directions. People in college who thought I should pursue one thing were not big fans of me. Opera, art classes, musical theater. Not to mention the drawing and writing and business-building I did in my notebook while I was supposed to be paying attention. I was so enamored with my multitasking, I never got in my required courses (math, science, ha!). Not before the money ran dry, at least.

While I am passionate about music, music has taken a back seat because I am passionate about other things that do pay the bills. Those things have always had my first attention, not because they’re particularly more interesting than music (and not just because they make money) but because I liked them and it made sense at the time.

But I’ll tell you, music taking a back seat has always bothered the hell out of me.

“If I just had a little more money,” I’d say, and be frustrated, and stare dolefully at the expanse of red Schirmer opera scores on the bottom shelf. “Someday, huh?”

Someday!

Yeesh.

The part that (maybe) makes it complicated is that I’m not all that interested in giving up anything else. I will still gleefully run my business, Marty’s business, and help anyone who seems helpable. I’m still going to write and go media crazy (overdue for a videoblog, wouldn’t you say?). I’m still going to take on design projects. Because I love these things. They make me happy.

But music makes me happy, too.

Really, really happy.

There is nothing in the whole world like getting up in front of an appreciative audience and pouring out your soul. Nothing like spending weeks learning one annoying aria and finally hitting the sweet spot where you know all the words and all the notes and it just gels, it’s a part of you, it’s natural and has no taste, like saliva, it matches you perfectly and flows right through you. You’re it. It’s you.

When I see shows, I get jealous. I try to figure out what I did wrong that meant I wasn’t up there with them. I try to understand how this happened. But I know how it happened. The money wasn’t there.

John—my Welsh cousin and my voice teacher, too—tells me that he sees it happen a lot. People stop singing because they don’t have the money. Any music takes time and resources, but classical music takes more than most. Studying and rehearsing and performing all take a lot of time, especially if you’re driving two hours to your lessons the way I am (and back, oh god, the traffic from San Antonio to Austin!). Music costs money, of course. Lessons and rehearsals cost money. Let’s not even discuss concert gowns, or makeup, or, for that matter, traveling across the country to compete.

Right. Money.

So you can see how this all came about. I was working hard for money, and the money I made pretty much just barely covered my music study if I didn’t schedule lessons too often, or competitions almost ever. Taking more time off paying work in order to study more often wasn’t something I was going to do. There were still bills after moving to Austin and ditching my safety net. (Oh, who needs safety nets anyway?) So I drove down to see John and Kim (his lovely wife who plays brilliant piano!) once a month, maybe once every few months. Sometimes less. That was the way it was. It could change later, when more funds were available.

The problem is, “later” doesn’t cut it. “Later” never happens. Waiting for something nebulous to just occur is a lot like making peace with never getting it at all. Which is why I’ve had a bit of a plan up my sleeve.

You see, I left a lot of wonderful supportive music-lovers in Ohio. There were many lovely, lovely people in the Welsh community who looked after me and supported me and wanted to be kept in the loop. They wanted to see me succeed. Many of them came to support me when I had my fund raising concert in Pittsburgh, before I headed off to Wales for the first time. I’ve always been really bummed that moving to Austin meant leaving them behind, not just because their existence made me feel good (and boy, did it ever!) but because they were such kind people. They were the kind of people I wanted to stay connected to.

So a few months ago, I decided I could stay connected to them. I doubt you’ve missed my Social Connection Via Internet rants. Yes, that’s exactly where I’m going with this.

I’m setting up a site.

It’s going to be called Megan Makes Music. (Because she does. Even more now than ever!)

What Megan Makes Music is going to allow me to do is something I’ve been mulling over for a long time. The questions were these: How can I let my supporters support me the same way they would if we were local? How can they feel like a part of my progress? How can they keep track of my career? How can they feel how integral and special and important they are to me and to how far I’ve come already?

One big dilemma was how to let them feel involved when it’s impossible for them to travel 2200 miles to sit in on one of my lessons, for instance, or a rehearsal. But I think I’ve solved that problem, because by God, I have a video camera. And a (passable) internet connection. (Time Warner, do you realize they have eighty-billion megabyte net connections in Canada? WTF!?) And some very reasonable business know-how. And a hell of a lot of motivation.

So I’m going to build a membership site. And I’m going to let my supporters pay whatever they want to help me out on an ongoing basis, and I am going to start sending private blog entries and new audio recordings and even the occasional rehearsal video down the pike, so they can actually be involved. It won’t be perfect when we start, but we’ll refine it as we go—and it will mean regular, wonderful music under circumstances that greatly improve my ability to schedule regular lessons and rehearsals—and increase my chances of creating music-related income and getting me safely to Wales in 2010. We’re not aiming for second place this time, folks. We’re aiming higher.

And you can help me do it.

Right now, Megan Makes Music is one sign-up page for more information. I’m moving as quickly as I can to get everything figured out and running, so depending on the number of people who turn out to be interested, I may have it settled and ready to go in the next few weeks. I’m really, really hoping that everyone gets a lot out of it, and I’m very excited to have a good excuse to make music again. This is going to be really freaking fun. ;}

If it makes you as happy as it makes me, drop on by and let me know.

Thank you for listening, guys. :}

PS. I was not kidding about cool people talking about me on BBC Radio Wales yesterday morning. Here’s a link to the recording that looks like it will only be up until Monday October 12th—works great in Safari, not so great in Firefox. (Meh!) Alan Upshall is one of the nicest Welshmen I know, and he’s the one talking to Roy Noble on the air. Alan’s bit starts at 36-and-a-half minutes in and goes for about a half hour. If everything works out, there will be another BBC Radio Wales recording for you to listen to in the next week or two. ;}

If you’re looking for the beginning, it’s right here. ;}

Well, Why NOT Get Sick?

It was my own fault, honestly. Marty’s birthday is August 26th, so the previous weekend we had a party and some fun evenings with friends, and the inevitable influx of wheat, sugar, and dairy. One little exception at a time, I can generally keep up with (though I shouldn’t). But all of them at once and in quantity… nope. The big problem is that I can get away with it for awhile. I think, Oh, I’m fiiiiine. And then I find out that I’m wrong!

And so that last week of August, I didn’t touch my music. Not so much because I couldn’t… but because my every tiny mote of energy was bent on doing the work that had to be done before I left. It would have been reasonable to finish this work if I’d been healthy. With a sinus infection, it took everything I had. Needless to say, I didn’t get out to buy a strapless bra. Marty spent a lot of time taking care of me. And I spent a lot of time wrapped in a blanket, sipping tea with whisky or drinking lemon-ginger shots, pumping out project work.

The day before my flight left, I felt mostly better. I was still easily exhausted, but my other symptoms were pretty much gone. I went to the MAC counter at Saks Fifth Avenue and bought half the makeup my little sister had recommended. (At this point I knew nothing about makeup. The woman there made me up; it was fun.) I went home and crashed. Marty helped me pack. The next day, I flew to Pittsburgh.

My mother picked me up at the airport and took me home to Youngstown. I spent the next three days mostly relaxing. I did a little bit of work, and I ran my music to the rehearsal accompaniments Kim had kindly recorded for me. I gave mini concert sets for my grandmother in the living room. I sang for the dogs. Then I crashed some more, because I was still getting tired from little things like showering—but it was getting better.

Checking Into the Hilton (and Out of the Internet)

On Tuesday the first of September, my mother drove me into Pittsburgh. We went to Ross Park and bought the rest of my makeup from an adorable man who clearly knew exactly where everything was. We went to Nordstrom and told them just how in-a-hurry we were, and the kindest, loveliest woman rushed around finding a strapless that fit me. It turned out that they didn’t have the right size in the store for what I wanted—but I suggested that I try a difference size down just to see if it would work. It did, and we bought it. We thanked her and dashed away.

You know some of this; we checked into the Hilton Pittsburgh, and their wireless was broken. They insisted that it would be fixed in a day or so. (It stayed broken the entire time I was there.) I used the internet by sitting on the floor outside my room, or squeezing onto one corner of the farthest bed, or (occasionally) risking a trip to the lobby to see if it was working there. When connected, it was very slow. But the hotel was ultra-posh, otherwise enjoyable (if you don’t eat, drink and breathe internet the way I do) and I managed all right.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I made sure my pieces were—finally—memorized.

I cemented my Welsh, repeating phrases to remember to use the right words. I had succeeded in setting aside almost all of my workload while in Pittsburgh, and I had a lot of downtime. I slept. I kept myself fed. I rehearsed alone in my room (wondering how obnoxious I seemed to the neighbors) and waited for someone to complain to the front desk. (No one ever did. Whew.) I watched Keith Olbermann and Bill Maher on the spiffy flatscreen. I watched the gorgeous view outside my window, and the gorgeous view outside the Executive Lounge windows. One night, I noticed them building something crazy in Point Park. (It turned out to be a portable football field. They worked all night for a few nights in a row. It was a riot.) I read my book. I slept some more.

Wednesday evening Joan arrived in Pittsburgh and came up to my room to go over my pieces with me. We read them through, adjusting bits and pieces, and then I sang them for her. She called my attention to two places, praised my progress over all, and that was it. I am always surprised when this sort of thing goes well, because I have so little internal compass for whether my Welsh is correct. It often feels like quite a bit of uncertain gut intuition refined with Joan’s guidance and, well, just doing what I’m told! But the outcome always seems magical to me, especially this time.) I thanked Joan—gratefully and profusely—and we went our separate ways to bed.

On Friday, I rehearsed with Alan Thomas, who is fantastic. We rehearsed in the Ballroom, which was perhaps one of the most exciting places I’ve had the opportunity to make noise in. The sound and shape of it felt so good, I felt like I could sing forever—even after the first set, when I botched the words or the diction or the timing. Alan helped me get my tempos closer to what I had been rehearsing with, and everything was instantaneously better. I relaxed. I sang two more songs, echoing to the rafters. They went well. We stopped.

I uploaded the recording I had taken of that rehearsal to the internet (it took just about forever) and called John, who was glad to listen and give me some pointers Friday night. I changed my rehearsing, now, because we were close; I breathed the music instead of singing outright, and I kept my eyes closed. I was picturing the room in front of me. I was imagining the energy exchange of an audience that appreciates the music in front of them. I was working out my final interpretation and the sequence of emotions I wanted to use—simple, but applicable. I was trying to stop analyzing it and start feeling it.

A few times I sang in front of the picture window looking out at Point Park. I don’t think anyone noticed, but it would be very funny if they had. ;}

Saturday: Lift-Off

I don’t remember Saturday very well, but I’ll surely do my best to recount it…

If you’re looking for the beginning, it’s right here. ;}

Thirty Days and Counting

In August, I scheduled my voice lessons. I learned the songs. I guessed at the Welsh until—glory of glories!—I colluded with the gracious and generous Joan Mandry and my ever-persevering mother to receive an audio cassette of Joan’s amazing Welsh diction by FedEx. (Meuryn’s Min y mor, spoken poetically, is a truly beautiful piece. I highly recommend you listen, if anyone ever offers you an opportunity.) On receiving Joan’s recitations I adjusted my Welsh, practiced when I could fit it in (between paying projects, that is, and trying to nudge my budget to this side and that to accommodate my musical exploits) and periodically requested that Marty drive me to San Antonio for my voice lessons with John and rehearsals with Kim—John’s wife, an incredibly accomplished pianist. In the past I’ve driven to San Antonio myself, but in this case we were doing visits week after week, and I didn’t think I could take the traffic. Good thing, too, because I think I fell asleep on the drive home every time. Thank you, Marty.

At my last in-person rehearsal, Kim prodded me on my memorization and I forced myself to look away from the music. I had roughly 80% of the lyrics memorized by then. My Welsh wasn’t quite there; I kept noticing items that didn’t match Joan’s pronunciation, and I adjusted these as I noticed them.

A week and a half before August end, I went shopping. Vasa and I spent four hours browsing for a concert dress (well, and breaking for sushi)—and with really only twenty minutes before we had to head home, we decided to drop by White House Black Market. We probably wouldn’t find anything, but at least I could see what they had, if anything looked promising. Why not?

I walked in the door, scanned the store for long dresses, and plowed straight through to the back. A woman looked up and asked if she could help me. “Anything long and mostly black in a 12 or 14,” I said, all business. Like lightning she shuffled through a nearby rack and handed me two dresses. Not much of a selection. I took them and scooted back to a changing room.

The first dress I tried on was spectacular, and fit me perfectly.

It was strapless and long, with a gathered fold down the front. I didn’t have a strapless bra to try with it, but I propped myself with my hands to look at everything in the big center mirror. All agreed with my spectacular assessment. But I’d have to buy a bra. “Nordstrom,” the woman told us. I looked at the price tag—$150 marked down to $100. Perfect. “It’s worth it,” I said. “I’ll find a bra.”

Vasa and I skated out of that store in unadulterated glee. Imagine, shopping for four hours and finding the perfect dress in a store I’d previously been sure I couldn’t shop in—size, price!—in the very last twenty minutes!

And we got home on time, too. I still think Vasa is my lucky shopping buddy. Thanks, Vasa. ;}

Music, check. Perfect dress, check. One week before my flight to Pittsburgh, I got sick.

Yep. You heard me.

If you’re looking for the beginning, it’s right here. ;}

And then…

I’ll tell you—this year, I thought competing was going to be an awful idea. I already had so much on my plate that I couldn’t imagine giving a competition the time and preparation it deserved. I didn’t want to do it halfway, especially since I was determined to beat my performance in Swansea the next time I had an opportunity to compete in the National. If I was going to do it, I was going to do it right.

Of course, this is what we tell ourselves when we put off anything. I am really, really good at it. I’ll tell myself for ages that I’m waiting to do it right, I’m waiting for the resources, I’m waiting for a sign. Sometimes this is true and good—but sometimes, I’m just waiting. Most of the time, I don’t need to wait—and you will find this is true for yourself as well. Most of the time, I already have everything I need. You see, I had already technically “put off” the North American Festival of Wales for two years after finishing the National in 2006—always something, always a little less money than I needed, always distracted by this or that or the other thing. Always waiting for my technique to be better, waiting to be certain I could win. And this year, I had heard rumors that the David G. Morris award might be discontinued after 2009. Did I really want to miss what might be my last opportunity to have the trip largely subsidized by people who loved and supported me, with money I didn’t have to raise from scratch? I had other ideas up my sleeve, but this competition was the thing that made the most sense, and winning it was the only scenario in which I knew I’d be accepted to compete in Wales. If I was going back to the old country anytime soon, I’d better at least give NAFOW another shot.

I sent in my application… and promptly became absolutely swamped with work.

I was terrified. Tim, you can poke me about positive language all you want and it’ll still be true. I was totally terrified. I “knew” I was in over my head (right, whatever), I “knew” this had all been a bad idea, I “knew” I was going to make a fool of myself. (And thanks to Tim, at a certain point I remembered his very helpful advice and started stripping such “certainties” from my repertory once more!) For a month or two, I stuck my head in a hole and did things I knew I did well. I built websites and idea plans and web businesses. I worked up marketing campaigns for Marty. I refined our workflow, our organizational systems, made new-and-improved spreadsheets to track our finances, logged consulting time with wonderful clients, answered questions, solved problems, made friends. Everything was getting better—and more challenging, if that’s possible. Any time I looked up from my keyboard and noticed how close we were getting to September, I felt a little queasy. I’ll never be able to do this, I thought. And I’d go back to work, and feel pretty much fine. BUSY. But fine.

This was not simply a matter of me being unwilling to look my commitment in the eye. This was a matter of just about every moment I had being necessarily focused on paying our rent, our electric, the ISP, and so on and so forth. With no competition looming in my immediate future, my workload and ongoing concentration would likely have been exactly the same. But I was also unwilling to look my commitment in the eye.

Scared people do goofy things, you know?

Fast forward to July, two months till curtain. I now have the music in my hands. I asked my mother to order it, sight unseen, with no sure idea of how well the pieces will go or if the keys will be quite right. David Williams wisely suggested that I might sing the two pieces I would sing (in some alternate universe) at the 2009 National Eisteddfod, where they give you a choice of two pieces, then a second required piece. In this case, the required piece was Min y mor, by Meuryn and Eric Jones. The choice was a hoppin’ Verdi or a glorious Mascagni. I chose the Mascagni because I was pretty sure I could do long lines and howling high notes justice, and the runs in the Verdi would take me ages to pin down (though I hate turning down Verdi). The aria in question was Mascagni’s Voi lo sapete. I made my decision by watching them on YouTube. (Yes. You heard me right. YouTube.)

I should mention, at this point, that without my mother and David Williams to be patient with me and help me fill in the pieces, I probably would never have made it to NAFOW this year. I had my hands so incredibly full keeping all the balls in the air, I would likely not have managed to set aside the resources needed to get this thing rolling. Without David’s suggestions and support, I might never have chosen my pieces—and without my mother’s constant questions and offering of assistance, I might not have gotten the music ordered, or the dress or makeup purchased, or the hotel booked, or the lessons scheduled. It’s because of them I got to Pittsburgh at all. I am appropriately grateful!

So in July, I was traveling. My father had surgery and I hopped a flight to Northeast Ohio to hang out around the house and keep an eye on him. When I returned, my voice teacher—John Van Cura, my wonderful cousin also of Welsh descent—was still out of town for another few days, but my delay in scheduling turned into two weeks as I plowed through paid projects to reach some financial equilibrium—and suddenly it was August.

Thirty Days and Counting

One month to get everything done—that was August.