Well, I’m going to go on a bit about my singing exam again tonight. I’m sorry about that but the thing is consuming me at the moment like the python dislocating its jaws to swallow the elephant in The Little Prince. I’ve spent the day abject in trepidation about a first run-through with my exam accompanist. Last week’s two disastrous sessions literally paralysed me with fear today.
So, how did it go in the end? Well, not bad at all, actually. Either that or Daniel was holding back his criticism because he could see the state I was in. The first three songs – big sings all of them – lacked breath support, apparently, which is my main problem when doing a solo singing performance: the breath is the first thing to go. And if you don’t have the breath support from right down there at the bottom of your lungs, the top notes go. But I can try and work on this now that the ice is broken.
It’s funny, isn’t it? I always find it much worse performing in front of people I know, because I worry about their expectations; or I fret that I’m going to humiliate myself. Perhaps after these last couple of weeks, actually singing to the unknown examiner will be better because I probably won’t ever have to see him or her again. Unless I don’t pass, in which case I might well. So this evening nothing has really changed except that I feel a lot better than I did this afternoon. I’ve said all along: I need an accompanist whom I can miniaturise and carry with me in a old tobacco tin in my handbag. Along with a personal big band, of course.
And when I returned home, what was Oscar doing here? There’s no food on the table or anything. What is he thinking, do you think?