Audition Tips for Singers (from a Pianist)

Art is happening here.

Many people dislike auditions, and I can't blame them - it's unpleasant business trying to convince others you're great in six minutes or less. To make the experience a bit more pleasant, I thought I'd share some basic insights on how to prepare. I didn't think anyone needed to be told some of these things, but all of this I've lived through. Someone somewhere went to an audition and wasn't aware, so here's to you. Next time you'll know.

0. Make sure you know what you're auditioning for. If they want to hear "newer" repertoire but the advertisement does not include the word "musical", maybe just check what the genre is. Pro tip: contemporary classical music differs somewhat from Let It Go.

1. Choose a selection of songs. They might want to hear excerpts from two or three, so bring more scores than one. It's very likely the pianist isn't a walking jukebox and will not be able to play arias from memory - and even if they could, why should they help you get the job when you've already proved yourself to be an unprepared twat.

2. Usually it's wise to sing basic repertoire. The jury likes to hear stuff they know, and pianists like to play stuff they know. With arias like Pamina (that you should never sing in auditions by the way, I've been told by a prestigious jury member), Mimi and the Count, it's more likely that you'll get many right notes and chords to support you, in approximately the right tempo.

3. Make the selection varied: Different languages, styles, and characters. Three slow Mozarts in Italian is boring - they heard from the first minute what they need to know about you and Mozart, so move on.

4. Vary styles, not fachs: Not a good idea to bring both tenor and mezzosoprano repertoire (though if you're a very flexible countertenor it might make sense to go for the gold). When you're trying to sell yourself in a short amount of time, it's better to make the story simple and memorable. It also helps if you...

5. ...Dress according to your fach. Basically, if you want to sing trouser roles, wear trousers. (Ta-dah!) Most importantly, please do wear clothes that are your size and shoes you can actually walk in. Smart casual is good, luxury escort maybe not so good.

6. Learn the songs by heart. It's really not okay to bring scores or to have the lyrics on your phone screen. Learning three songs by heart is possible, and it really is the minimum requirement - why on earth would they hire you to do a full opera production if you can't remember six minutes of music?

Now you know what songs to bring and what to wear. Let's take a closer look at the sheet music:

7. Always. Bring. The. Music. For. The. Pianist. Bring it in paper form, unless they specifically ask for a pdf. And if you are offered the chance to send them the music beforehand, ALWAYS TAKE IT. You never know, they might actually practice and make your life much easier. NEVER ASSUME THAT THE PIANIST KNOWS THE PIECE, because they may not, and who will be the loser in that equation? The pianist is hired to play through dozens of arias, and they'll be paid no matter how they scramble through them. You, on the other hand, might get seriously lost if you have to sing on top of wrong chords played at the wrong time, and it's your very own job interview you're messing with.

Personal anecdote: I was accompanying a violin masterclass where I got the repertoire list in advance. One violinist sent the first Brahms sonata, and I practiced it. When the course started, the violinist announced that they had switched the sonata, and are playing number two instead. I asked why they didn't let me know, since I'd practiced a whole sonata for no reason, and would now primavista my way through a second one - it was my first violin masterclass, so my repertoire was limited at best. Turned out the violinist had just assumed that since I'm accompanying a violin masterclass, I would know all the basic repertoire by heart.

The moral of the story: Please don't assume pianists are Gods. Many of them are, but also Gods have to start from somewhere. And in the end, you're the one who'll suffer from your assumption - like the violinist who ended up getting rubbish accompaniments to lessons they'd paid a lot of money for.

8. When printing the sheet music, make sure the paper doesn't have anything else printed on it already. I once had to play trough an aria that looked like it was either contemporary art or a very complex secret code. There was some kind of text file printed upside down on the same pages as the music was. Don't do that.

9. Tape the damn scores. One tape up, one tape down. NOT JUST ONE IN THE MIDDLE - when the pianist is turning the pages, it's much harder to avoid turning multiple ones when the bottom of the score is not taped together. Don't save tape, save the pianist's nerves.

10. Decide where you want to begin, and mark it extremely clearly. Preferably in colour. You do not want to spend four out of your six audition minutes trying to find a suitable spot for the pianist to begin. Even if there's a traditional place where Everybody Knows It Should Begin, just draw a mark. If the aria doesn't have a clear ending, mark that too. AND JUMPS - do not be vague with jumps. Sometimes singers draw just a slightly thicker black line on top of the barline, and then I'm trying to guess - while playing - whether I should be searching for a similar line somewhere or not. Make it red or green or whatever, but make it stand out! Use "VI-DE" or "CUT" and cross out the beginning of the cut big time. Basically mark things in a way that a 5-year-old would understand. Because what's the worst thing that could happen? Will the pianist refuse to play because your markings are too clear?

Last but not least:

11. Greet the pianist. It's weird when the singer makes no eye contact. A bit of basic kindness goes a long way - just look at the pianist, say hello, and after you've sung your stuff say thank you.

And that's it. You got the job.

How a Pianist Cheats

I cheat a lot. (There, I've said it.) Especially in Wagner, because Wagner piano scores are meant for something else than piano playing entirely. I know there are those pianists who play all the notes because they can, they have the time to learn them properly or their prima vista is just that amazing. This post isn't for them. It's for all the rest of us who need a couple of tricks to do recordings on a short notice.

My basic idea in this is that when recording with a singer, I should be as reliable as possible. I should minimize the possibility of playing wrong chords, muddling the pulse, not following - because usually studio time is expensive, the singer only has so many takes they can do until the voice is affected, and you as the helping hand don't want to be the reason for an otherwise perfect take ending in a discard bin.

Here I've dissected Fricka's aria from The Valkyrie: what shortcuts I use and where. I'm thinking of doing a couple of this kind of posts in the future, so please let me know what was helpful and what wasn't. If you have any questions or things to add, I'd be happy to hear from you! Feel free to suggest other dissectable arias as well.

Fricka: So ist es denn aus

The beginning I play just as it is. It's simple enough, and everything is within reach. The piano introduction is very short, which is a blessing.
 

Then I start not playing things. Because the tempo is quite fast, I keep just one line per hand. (When things could be played legato, playing wrong notes is less likely. The more you have to lift your hands from the keyboard, the more risky it becomes.) I do play the first interval on the right hand though, I don't know why I coloured that. It is necessary for the harmony.

 

Then it's just chords that need to be sharp. I can't reach all of them, so I've changed some notes around to be able to play them without breaking them. I wouldn't break chords in a place like this, because I think it doesn't suit the character of the music.

Ok this I'm not proud of. I basically only play the yellow stuff, and add some random D major stuff around it. If I'm not alert here, I might also skip the fanfare chords to be on the safe side. But I swear that when I listened to recordings of this, that was basically all you could hear - a strong horn melody and a big D major chord surrounding it. So sorry Wagner. (From the piano bar onwards I play as written.)

   

At the end of the first line I skip the yellow stuff for clarity (and because that's not so important), but the next bar I try to play as it is. Except the very last triplet octaves - there I tend to leave the lower octave out (B & C sharp) for legato's sake. And here I don't do the grace notes. For that there's no other reason than that I only noticed them now. They're so small I missed them. (Oops.)
When the singer comes in, I skip the middle part because it's a hassle to combine it to the melody. From here on I take quite a few shortcuts with the rhythm, because when this is played in tempo on a piano all those little notes easily start sounding very busy. On an orchestra the feeling is forward going but relatively calm, and I say to myself that I'm just trying to project that. Also I add an octave here and there for sound.

It's quite straightforward from then on. I leave the higher octaves out from the left hand to keep the dynamic lower and to make my life easier, skip the rhythm like before, and leave a note out of the left hand because I can't reach it.

Now we arrive to a beautiful B major section. I simplify the left a lot: Always keeping the bass even though I forgot to color it (always, always keep the bass!), I just play something chord-related in the middle. Here's one version in red of what I might play. To add sound, and to compensate for the left, I fill out some chords in the right hand. The yellow stuff I still leave out.

Then I cheat even more. I don't know why the middle stuff is so hard to play, but I leave out a lot (most) of it. Then in the last bar shit starts to happen. It's supposed to be very quiet, and what you can hear from the orchestra is the sharp ta-taa -rhythm in the yellow box. So. From there on I'm playing only that with the right hand, even though that rhythm isn't exactly anywhere in the score. I've added a third on top of the first right hand chord, to make both chords the same. (I'm playing C double sharp & E sharp in the fist box, and the second half of the bar would be D sharp & F sharp, possibly adding the lower note written or leaving it out, and I continue like this until the next page.)

Here I've skipped two rows, as they're uneventful from cheating perspective. Now the last climax starts building up, and I start making shortcuts again. I play the chord in red, and bring out the left more (plus the half-note B in the right hand), same when it modulates. Then I cut some corners in the left.

This is difficult to explain - here on the first row I come back to the ta-taa -rhythm that I've already used in the right hand. And on the second row I've highlighted the important stuff in red. I add the same rhythm to the right hand chords (my beautiful drawings), and add notes to the chords to fill them up. The same system applies to the beginning of the next page.

In the orchestra - at least in the recordings I heard - the right hand stuff doesn't sound as high as it's written here - so I play the yellow box an octave lower. Then I leave out octaves again (I do not completely hate octaves, guys, I promise!) and then the piece pretty much ends.

So that was Wagner's Fricka, cheated.

COVIDiaries 3 - Easter Edition

The Baroque Babes (and me) 

Two singer colleagues asked me to join them to make music in the time of corona, and yesterday we recorded Stabat mater by Pergolesi. We're publishing it on YouTube as an Easter offering. I'd never heard this Stabat mater before we started rehearsing (shocking, I know) and I thought it would be fun. It was. Here's what I learned in the process:

• When living through a crisis - this pandemic is arguably the biggest one so far in my lifetime - making music together becomes an act of hope, defiance, prayer even. Working on Stabat mater with Johanna and Elli has yet again reminded me of how much I love what I do. (Listen to 'Thank you for the music' by ABBA now and be grateful. Then continue reading.) 
• Stabat mater is an insanely beautiful piece when played by a baroque ensemble.
• A piano is not a baroque ensemble. It's important to understand all the implications of this - I didn't. I listened to recordings of ensembles, did my best to imitate them, and quickly discovered that things that sound good with a continuo aren't necessarily applicable to piano playing. Steady, heavy pulse? A robot playing slightly too slow. Walking bass all portato? Directionless shit. Trills together with singers? Not great.
• I understood just how little I had studied baroque - I have played the harpsichord, but pitiably little. I have basically learned enough to know how much out of my depth I am - and knowing this mainly helps in making me aware of how much I'm offending the baroque gods. Whatever I do, it's probably somehow wrong, and who plays baroque music on a piano anyway?
• When you have to baroque as a pianist, however, you've got to pay attention to staccatos. I always end up using them too much and too sharp everywhere, making everything sound light, bright and cheerful. Sometimes it works, but just as often the line and drama disappear, taking the oomph out of the music.
• Trills are hard. "Relax," you tell your fingers, "you've known how to do this since you were ten", but your muscles have already frozen, refusing to co-operate.
• Taping scores is even harder than the trills. This time I copied just some of the pages to avoid page turns, and taped the copies to the score. Well. Not only once but twice I actually managed to tape the upper and lower half of the same paper to different pages. Trying to detach the tape I tore some of the pages and essentially made a huge mess. Finally I managed to tape page 29 next to page 41. I have two masters degrees.
• Recording is energy-consuming business, so bring food. Bananas are the best.
• Buy new tights. If you think the old ones won't break when you start manouvering yourself into them, you're very much mistaken. Counting on a small tear not showing in the video? Of course it will. Forgot to check the colour? No worries, surely no-one will notice how weird your orange legs look compared to the deathlike white of your arms.
• It really is possible to cry so tragically over wrong notes and badly formed phrases that the person who you live with thinks someone has died. (In my defence, I was very tired and hungry, and that's when things get tragic.)
• Things might not sound as shit as they feel like when you play them. We're professionals, so in the end all the music we make sounds quite alright, even if it's not the greatest performance ever. All the embarrassing mistakes I bumbled through in this particular recording are just mistakes, after all. While they make me cringe, they will not destroy all the pleasure another listener gets from the performance. A messed up trill here, an ugly forte there - turns out I'm just human. Who would've thought.
• Looking at the video afterwards I realised that I still have the same mannerism I've had for years now - I tend to rotate in a circle, always counter-clockwise, with varying speed throughout a performance. There I was playing, going round and round. A couple of times I managed to pause the movement and sit still for a phrase or two before continuing my rounds, and that felt like a small victory. Baby steps.
• Concerts are fun. Okay, there was no audience and we didn't actually get paid, but who cares when the piece and the people you work with are awesome. Returning to ABBA I'm saying thank you for the music and wishing you all a happy Easter, while we wait for better times to come.

COVIDiaries 2 - Teaching

The perfect reason to Netflix.

I've never used so much whatsapp in my life. Finland has been shut down, and all music schools have moved their teaching into Internet World. The past week has been a crash course on online teaching, and the biggest surprise for me has been just how much time it takes. "Normal" teaching doesn't actually require that much planning - of course you have to have a plan, find material etc, but it also very often happens that you just improvise on the lesson based on your gut instincts. For me, most of the ideas for a particular student come from being in the same space with them, talking, noticing what's going on. You might sense that the student is not really into a particular piece and you change it, you might notice that now we need something that is lighter, something that challenges the left hand, now we really should compose something, or maybe we need to sit down and draw some notes today. You're alive at the moment and try to sense how the student is reacting to what you throw at them. Figuratively. You should never throw objects at students, just so you know.

Online you Really Have To Have A Plan. You have to have all the material, so many videos, recordings, work sheets, ideas, and you have to explain everything without touching the student or guiding their movement in any way - often the connection is a bit late, so that's an extra concern - and the student should be getting something out of all this. Also, if you teach via whatsapp like me, you have to hold your damn phone in your hand All The Time, and look at the stupid little picture of your own face in the corner. One embarrassing detail I realised was that I don't have the books the students play from. I've just always looked at their books, so I never really had the need to buy them for myself - and now I found myself mumbling something about the song with the picture of the person with the thing on page something at the kind of end of the book, or maybe halfway, it was called cat something or maybe it was a mouse? Somehow I remember all the songs, but not their names or the pages they're on. Not great. Also I'm very used to writing instructions down to the students' notebooks, and stopping them while they play and showing something from the score. Now all the stopping amounts to is "what? what did you say? oh this bar? no that? what note? what?" - so helpful and productive.

I've discovered that I can't faultlessly play everything my students play, at least on the first attempt of recording, and I decided to embrace that. Let the students hear the Unedited Truth of "whoops, what was that". I'm very proud of myself for not swearing, not even once. And now I have an extensive collection of practicing tapes for all kinds of hands, with or without accompaniments, to completely random songs. My poor neighbours.

What's been fun to see is all the pianos of all the students. Most of them I've never seen before, and many were proud to introduce me to their home companions. Also a great opportunity to check how they sit - most of them too low. All in all it's weird, staring at the phone and the laptop, hoping your good intentions travel through bits and pixels.

Other things I've done apart from online teaching:

• Cooked food from an actual cookbook and expected praise from others living in the house. What they really said was "well, I'd never make this again".
• Tried to explain to a neighbour why they would have to protest play their electric guitar a bit less loud while I'm recording Itzy bitsy spider and Mary had a little lamb.
• Bought a long and complicated boardgame to take this relationship stress test to a whole new level.
• Looked at the intellectual books I borrowed from the library before it closed. Couldn't be bothered to openany of them.
• Almost finished knitting a sock.

On What Pianists Don't Like

Nope, don't like!

1) New Bärenreiter opera scores

The score wants to be closed. It has absolutely no interest in being open for you to see the notes inside, so you'll have to hold the score with one hand and play only with the other. That's a meaningful contribution to music, right? Don Giovanni, the left hand version? Bärenreiter folk, a friendly tip: do start developing new score technology - an EasyToTurn page system and an EasyToKeepOpen pianist edition of all your operas. And if you could deliver them before I get any more gray hairs that would be great. Thanks.

2) Being told how difficult a piece is

The scale starts from somewhere like "It's super easy, you'll sight read it in no time" and continues all the way to "This is very, very hard. It's better that someone else plays this, someone who already knows the stuff". It can put a pianist in a tricky situation - if you're told it's not that hard and for you it is, can you admit it? Or should you just smile and nod and try to hide the panic rising to your throat? And if you're told it's way too hard for you, should you try to prove them wrong or smile and nod and only burst into tears when you get home?

Singers are notoriously bad at estimating what is easy and what is not for a pianist, but this applies to pianists themselves, too. So many times I've been told how difficult a piece is to learn or sight read just to find that for me it's much easier or harder than what I've been led to believe. The truth is, and this should be obvious to everyone, that different things are difficult for different people. I'm really good at sightreading stuff, leaving out whatever I don't have time to deal with and bringing out the harmonies and the basic form of the piece. What I'm not so great at is accompanying with chords. I know how to read a score, but to invent something out of thin air using only my imagination? Let's set something straight here: I don't have an imagination, so please don't expect me to improvise on the spot just because the other pianist had no trouble with it. I'll work on it, ask friends for help and come back later with a tolerable version, but that's that. Also, I hate playing from handwritten scores and French editions with their minuscule print.

This works both ways now: pianists, do not believe any assesments of a piece but rather make your own, and you non-pianists expecting us all to be God knows what kind of monster geniuses - remember we're all individuals with different personalities and skillsets, just like barbies or cats.

3) Conducting and finger snapping

Snap at dogs, not at pianists, and if you're not an actual conductor, don't conduct. Don't wave your arms or try to guide the poor player into the correct tempo with any sort of gesticulating, thank you very much. It is seriously annoying and won't make you any friends. So what is a poor singer to do when the pianist has a wrong tempo? Either sing faster or slower and let them follow you, or just tell the pianist. With words. They'll love you for it.

I was performing once with a teacher turning the pages, and they started to conduct my intro to an aria because they felt my tempo was too slow. We were onstage and there was an actual spotlight on us so the whole audience could see the teacher's displeasure with my choice. Did I change the tempo accordingly? Hell no. Did I seriously contemplate setting their car on fire? Oh yes.

4) Not getting attention

Let's be honest here: pianists working with singers don't get their equal share of the limelight. Singers are interesting to the general public, and pianists - not so. This manifests itself in so many ways it would take a couple of blogposts to do justice to them all, but shortly and simply: it's not nice to hear that your contribution to a concert is irrelevant or uninteresting. Of course we know that a vocal recital with just the singer would in most cases be found wanting, but it's sad that we have to defend ourselves by pointing this out. No picture in the advertisement, no name in the program, requests to work for free or significantly cheaper than the vocal expert because it's "just accompanying" - I've encountered all of these and more. And why did we perform again? Because we're attention-seeking narcissists who want to be in the spotlight in fancy clothing. So you, singer, yes, I'm talking to you! - next time you're working with a pianist, make sure their name is out there and praise them a little. Tell them they are indeed important to you. And look, you've acquired an obedient, adoring piano slave who'll stay with you for life.

5) Badly copied scores and untaped ones

Scores that have the vocal line and plenty of space above but with most of the bass line missing from the lowest staff? Scores with the last bar missing from every line? Yay! How am I supposed to know what The Great Composer was thinking there? As mentioned above, pianists aren't evil monster geniuses that possess a hidden mental vault that includes all music ever written, so they cannot dip into that reserve when notes are missing from the page. Of course one can make an educated guess of what might logically come next, but that kind of exercise was aplenty on my theory lessons back in the days, and personally I'd rather not go back to that sorry time. I completed the courses and now I have zero interest in guessing what Schubert / Strauss / Grand Something had in mind for this particular passage. I'd rather be tempted to believe the composer had a brief Schönbergian period on that particular gap, and fill it with accordingly delightful sounds.

Untaped scores, however - let's see, how many here like taping scores? How many of you can't wait for the next intense session of you, sheets of paper and scotch tape? If there are any people passionate about this, please contact me at once; your passion will not go to waste. The rest of us just have to deal with it the best we can. On singing lessons these flyabout papers are a particular annoyance, because they will fall and they will be in the wrong order at some point and there will be chaos, wasted time, and tears of frustration. This could be avoided, I'm told, by buying an ipad - an expensive digital item that can contain all your scores forevermore. Well I don't trust machines. There has to be something deeply wrong with playing music from a screen instead of paper. I'd much rather tape and rant instead.

6) C sharp major

What can I say. It's a shit key.

A Ranting Pianists Christmas Wish List

Dear Santa, would you please send me... 

• The energy to Google whether it's pianists or pianist's... Bloody grammar...

• Finnish Tax System for Dummies and Freelancers. (Audiobook with free form-filling tutorials would be lovely.) 

• A nice long holiday, with the ability to enjoy it. (After two free days the thoughts start coming: Free means no money - Holiday means nobody needs you - Time off really is just a fancy way of saying unemployed - Aren't you such a failure and a disgrace.)

• A left hand technique improving night cream. (Apply a thick layer to clean skin, leave for the night. Play Chopin etudes in the morning with the ease and velocity of an Asian child prodigy, no practicing required.)

• A grant or two, or three. Preferably ones I don't have to apply for, or write reports about. (So if you'd just send me money, basically, that would be great. Or a millionaire sugar daddy could also work.) 

• A magic potion that erases stress from my life. (Feeling anxious, panicky, stressed, freaked out? No worries! Just take a sip of this and all of it magically goes away! Sounds a lot like alcoholism, doesn't it? Probably not a good idea to publish this one.) 

• The motivation to complete the Yoga with Adrienne 30 days of yoga challenge. (Last time I tried I managed to do five of them, and that took me four weeks or so. I know I'm better than this.) 

• Work, work, work, but not all at the same time. Could you spread it evenly throughout the year this time? With that stress-free holiday in the middle, thank you! 

• Joy and gratitude. About things big and small, every day. 

• 12 new blog post ideas. Please send the first one asap.

On Doing Great

"I. Said. I'm. Fine."

Hi! How are you?

Hi! I'm doing great! Super busy right now, so many interesting projects going on that I hardly have time to sleep! So inspiring!

(...and when I would have time to sleep I just can't because my to-do list keeps spinning around in my head getting longer and longer, I have no clean socks anymore and no time to wash them and every new work request makes me want to vomit the lunch I forgot to eat because it's just all too much and I want to die on a desert island with a book and a bottle of wine and never hear a second of music ever again.)

Hi! How are you?

I'm great, thanks! I'm working less nowadays and it feels awesome. I have so much more time to enjoy life and take care of myself. It's really important for a musician to have other things in their life as well, not just their career.

(I'm having a dry spell. Very little work coming this way, and I lie awake at night worrying about next month's rent and whether I should retrain as a shop assistant. I'm having so much me-time that I'm starting to thoroughly despise myself, and I'd pay to get a gig.)

Hi! How are you?

I'm good! So busy applying for all these grants that are due now - I've got such a cool concert idea I'm looking forward to creating!

(...but I'm pretty sure other people will get all the money I would've deserved. My confidence in the idea sails from high to low - one day I'm booking Carnegie Hall sure that the different foundations are dying to pour money into my brilliant scheme, and the next I'm burning my application papers because the idea is commonplace, outdated, and hopelessly naive.)

Hi! How are you?

Couldn't be better - I'm teaching so much these days, and my students give me so much energy. It's so inspiring to watch them learn!

(I have hand problems but I really don't want to talk about it. I'm afraid I'll never perform again if this doesn't heal, and I feel like I've lost half of my identity. Without my students I'd starve in a ditch. My cheeks hurt from all the encouraging smiling and my head is full of recent pop tunes spiced with some Für Elises and Walking in the airs, and the next time someone tells me they simply forgot to practice I'll retire for good.)

Hi! How are you?

Awesome, just awesome. I have more concerts than I can fit in my calendar, but I'm loving every minute of it.

(I would really love performing if I'd had the time to practice the stuff properly, which I now don't since there are all the other concerts and so many different programs and so much music and so little time. My performing outfit reeks of sweat, I have trouble sleeping and my personal life is falling apart. The apartment is full of dying flowers stuck in random bottles since the landlady refuses to accept grand flower arrangements as rent, and the fridge is empty since shops don't want the damn flowers either.)

Hi! How are you?

I'm great! I'm a freelancer, so my life is a permanent mess of either too much or too little work - I'm trying to keep either a burnout or financial ruin at bay. But as I'm a professional musician I market myself as a thriving, busy artist with heaps of confidence, gigs, plans, hope, and creative potential. A professional musician is not desperate or insecure, and they certainly don't have physical problems, injuries, or any mental issues for that matter.

Hi! How are you?

What if next time I really answered the question instead of responding with marketing talk?

 

On Female Composers

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the history of classical music is a predominantly white male effort. I find it weird that I never questioned this until a few years ago. It wasn't a good or a bad thing, it was just a fact, like water being wet. A debate about whether female composers should be more present in concert programs has been going on in Finnish media this year, and this question has been circling in my own head for a while, too. A great summary on the different views can be heard - in Finnish - from Yle Areena: Kare Eskola has a radio program Välilevyjä in which he comments on the matter. (The other episodes are awesome, too.) My view is that yes, womens voices should be more present. Why, you might ask. What I'm wondering is - why not.

When I was 19, my vocal teacher wanted me to sing Er, der Herrlichste von Allen by Schumann. I disliked the song from the beginning and found it hard to relate to the poem. The woman seemed like such a submissive idiot, crawling in mud in front of a god-like hero lover. I still don't like the song - now I just have more reasons to find it problematic. For me the main issue is that both the music and the text are written by adult men trying to relate to the feelings of a young girl. The whole cycle, Frauenliebe und -leben, is built on this extremely common foundation: a woman being portrayed through the eyes of men. Whereas Winterreise and other big romantic song cycles deal with the deep and dark stuff going on in the philosophical mind of man, Frauenliebe und -leben is about finding a guy, getting married, and then dealing with his death. Six songs were enough to sum up a womans entire existence, focusing solely on how she feels about men. I do not object to men writing about women (or to women writing about men), but what I thoroughly despise is that this particular song cycle is still being presented as the female view of things. IT'S NOT THE FUCKING FEMALE VIEW - THE CREATORS WERE BOTH MALE. THE FEMALE VIEW IS MISSING FROM ALMOST THE ENTIRE CLASSICAL MUSIC CANON BECAUSE WE WEREN'T INVITED TO THE PARTY UNTIL YESTERDAY.

(Oops, got a bit upset there. It's just really hard to talk about this calmly because I'm so overwhelmingly angry at the entire Western Civilisation.)

My personal anger aside, here are some thoughts on why I think more female composers works should be a bigger part - or at least some kind of part - of our concert repertoire.

The people who think we're fine as we are often use the same argument: if we start adding female composers works to the programs for equality's sake, the quality of the music will diminish. The E in front of quality suddenly makes the latter disappear. The problem with this argument is that most of the music I'd like to perform is extremely hard to find. So how did we know it's shit again? We haven't even heard it. One answer to this is that if the music was good, it would've become famous already. For me this seems like horseshit - becoming famous depends on so many factors. And even Bach himself, the mighty God of Music, was quite unpopular at one time. I wonder what would've happened to the canon we hold so dear if the musicians who rediscovered his stuff had decided that since Bach was forgotten once, he should stay that way. I'm not saying that every unknown female composer is a forgotten genious, but one of them might be. Bach was. 

Got sidetracked, again. What I wanted to say earlier in the midst of my anger was that many Finnish female composers works from the 20th century have not been recorded or even published, so I would argue that these equality critics are not acquainted with even a fraction of the feminine music out there. It is disheartening that these compositions are cast aside as inferior and uninteresting before they're even given a chance.

I'm currently spending a lot of time researching and planning concerts with only female composers music. Why? Because I think it deserves to be heard, and the way to make it heard is to play it, not rant about it. (As satisfying as ranting might be.) I want to perform music created by women and composed to texts written by women because it's a viewpoint I'm interested in. Because it's so rare, unfamiliar and hard to find. Because I've spent most of my career studying the male stuff and I'd like to see what else is out there. The unquestionably great music written by men has always had plenty of attention, and I'm not suggesting it shouldn't. It could, however, make room for others too. In my concerts it will. 

On Posting Recordings On Facebook

I posted a recording on facebook.

I haven't done this in a long time because of the questions. Every time I think about making a recording public in facebook or on my website, these questions appear in my head like an army of very loud mosquitoes. You've probably never heard them since I'm the Only Musician On Earth With Issues, everyone else looking pretty sane and normal and calm from where I'm standing. If one day, however, you hear this strange buzzing sound approaching you from a distance, you should know what's coming. Here they are.

"Is it good enough?"

It could've been better, you know. The bassline could've been more distinct, better shaped. There was the pedal at the end that I'm not sure about - too much? Too obviously romantic?

"What would Ilmo say?"

Ilmo Ranta is a Finnish pianist and one of the best lied coaches on this planet. He has very high standards that are always just out of my reach. Surely he would cringe at the first bar and make me play it again in a far more imaginative way that made the music shine.

"What if people will think that I'm really proud of this recording and not aware of the shit things?"

I have the urge to post recordings with explanatory essays that detail everything I'm not happy with, so that people would know that I know: "To whom it may concern: I don't claim to be perfect or great by posting this recording. I know the beginning is really quite normal (as in 'not extraordinary in any way') and that the transition on page three is a bit clumsy. I'm also aware of all the unclear left hand stuff that appears throughout the piece. With these shortcomings, your humble servant still has the audacity to offer her recording for the world to hear. Sincerest apologies, Jenna"

"Is it any good?"

This question has a tendency of repeating itself a lot. Usually there are no answers.

"What does this say about me?"

What sort of message am I sending with this particular piece? Have I posted too many pieces like this before - will people think I can't do anything else?

"Can I say I love this piece?"

Admitting that a particular piece is close to my heart - that makes it even worse. If I care about a piece very deeply, I'm supposed to have a Super Interpretation of it. My recording should just Pour From The Heart like little drops of magic gold wisdom and love. Listening to it should be a transcendental experience because of all these emotions that drip from the speakers like nectar. Oh well.

"There are already millions of recordings out there - why would mine be needed?"

Of course it's mainly about advertising myself. I hate that, but it's how it is. The songs are musical calling cards I put out there so people would get curious.

"But why not?"

If I get to this question, I'll post the damn thing. Because why not, indeed. However it could be improved, it is me playing the piano to the best of my ability on that particular day, in that particular space. That is how the song shaped itself in front of me that day, and I felt happy and content travelling through its landscape.

P.S. Us musicians, we face fear all the time. Fear of failure, fear of rejection. We find ways to cope with it and we learn to control it, but let's not fool ourselves by pretending it's not a part of our lives. One way I'm facing my own fears is writing them out for all of you to read - and with that writing process, letting them go. Another great way of letting go is simply focusing on the music. It is why we are what we are, after all.

On Loving a Musician

Are you in love with a musician? Perhaps even considering moving in together and sharing a life?
Congratulations! You have made an excellent choice. Before you commit, however, there's a couple of things you should know:

1. Musicians differ somewhat from a normal person. Living with them you'll notice they keep very different hours - not exactly your nine to five schedule. Most of the work happens in the evenings, so if you're hoping to have nice harmonious breakfasts together at seven, dream on. Your musician will be fast asleep at that point, and the most you'll get out of them early in the morning is a kick in the face for having tried to wake them up. In the evening they come home late, very hungry. You should always have some food ready, or at least a snack and a glass of wine. This is a safety measure you'll learn not to laugh at as the years go by.

2. After teaching it is impossible to smile and have a polite conversation. Do not be alarmed if your musician comes home grumpy and silent - it doesn't mean they hate their job. Teaching is very energy-consuming business, and it's quite normal not to be able to sparkle immediately after. The batteries need to be recharged before a normal level of communication can be achieved. (The aforementioned wine may speed up the process.)

3. The amount of work varies a lot, and the mood swings accordingly. One week your musician will be super busy, full of enthusiasm and excitement - and then there'll be days of Netflix, pure procrastination, and sighing over a career that has "passed them by". On the latter occasions you can try to be supportive, but your musician probably won't respond that well to phrases like "honey, if you actually practiced or tried to contact someone instead of watching Orange is the New Black and eating only cheese, things might improve". There will come a time when you'll be wise enough to save your breath and, seeing the first signs of a Netflix coma, go stay with friends for a week or book a hiking holiday just for yourself. A good relationship needs distance, you've heard.

4. Before concerts your musician can turn into different kinds of weird. Sulky, angry, weepy, deeply concentrated and quiet, overly cheerful and loud, obsessed with their hair... Again, the best advice you can get is to ignore them and remember that the concerts pay their share of the bills.
Another thing to know about concerts is that you'll need to attend. Your musician might say that you don't have to go, it's not that important, but they don't mean it. You do have to go. After the concert there will be either ecstatic rambling about touching people's souls, or angry muttering about how nobody appreciates art anymore. Agree with everything that's being said and whatever you do, do not try to be reasonable. Reasonable doesn't go well with a post-concert adrenaline rush.

5. If you expect your significant other to be mainly making music, practicing and performing, you're so mistaken. Your musician will spend way more time writing stuff - concert advertisements, program notes, emails and texts to students, emails and texts to colleagues, invoices, grant applications, tax return forms, unemployment benefit applications, blogs, biography updates, website updates, and so on. The music is the icing on the cake, and the cake itself is other things.

6. If your musician is a pianist, they'll spend an equal amount of time attaching sheet music together with scotch tape. (Like this: Put two sheets of music next to each other - put tape up, down, and center - realize the papers aren't in the right order - swear - repeat.) You'll feel sorry for your musician and to help them you'll buy them an ipad for their birthday. They'll use it to play solitaire, keep taping their scores like they've always done, and next year you'll just buy them more scotch tape.

7. Music is not a sport, you say? Think again. As your musician gets older, the amount of money spent on physiotherapy, massages and the like grows exponentially. Saving for a trip to Thailand? Not in a million years. Saving for a Tempur motor bed? Yep, already opened an account. You think you don't have to worry about these things before your musician is 60+ but you're fooling yourself. The moment a musician hits 30, they start going on and on about the benefits of yoga and ergonomic pillows - and all they'll want for Christmas will be gift cards to chiropractors.

8. You will not choose a single piece of music for your wedding. That's for sure...

9. ...but you'll be the one buying the house.

How to Be A Succesful Musician (in 10 easy steps)

Succeeding as a musician requires two things: first, you need to be taken seriously, and then people need to remember who you are. I've received plenty of advice on how to succeed, and all of it comes down to these two essentials. Most of this advice I've got completely free of charge from colleagues who want to help a friend out and show the true path to greatness - and now I'll share these nuggets of wisdom with you, spreading the love. All you need to do is follow these 10 simple steps, and you'll succeed in no time.

You're welcome.

1. Wear make-up. Nobody will take you seriously without it. (You'll be surprised to know that a soprano told me this. I assumed it only applies to women, but hey, what do I know - a little mascara never hurt anyone.)

2. If you live in Finland, be in the Sibelius Academy. In the bachelor program, doing your masters or doctoral studies, teaching, as a janitor, just get in. Because if you're not in the Sibelius Academy, your career is as good as over - people will forget you in a flash. (Sorry, majority of Finnish musicians. Apparently everyone forgot about you.)

3. Win competitions. That's the true way towards greatness. If you just can't win, then at least (4.) have CDs to your name. Nobody buys them or listens to them, but you've got to have them to look like a pro.

5. It's easier to win competitions if you look artistic when you're playing, because then everyone will know you're a serious musician. (This nugget comes from a competition jury member.) Looking artistic means waving your arms around a lot, making faces, closing your eyes for emphasis, and keeping it visually interesting in general. The only people allowed to just sit there and play are 60+ male pianists whose CVs are longer than them. Everyone else must keep moving.

6. Build and nurture a strong online presence: facebook, instagram, twitter, youtube, soundcloud, blog, vlog... - update them regularly and curate your content so that it resonates with your target audience. Then make millions from ads and sponsor deals.

7. Have a teaching method, it's the new black. (This is forward-thinking news from Continental Europe - Finland is always years behind, but this is our chance to catch up.) I've launched the Color Star Shiny Pumpkin method that makes every child play like Lang Lang in just six weeks. It's part video game, part coloring book, and I'm selling the material on- and offline for 1.600$ per student.

8. Get your concerts right. A succesful musician only does two types of concerts: conceptual and market-friendly.

Conceptual concerts get shitloads of funding because they're innovative and new. They take classical music out of dusty concert halls and into the real world: to shopping malls, swimming pools, forests, and fire trucks. It's important to add new layers to the musical experience: at least you have to have an app for the audience, preferably an interactive video game, or then just make the audience build their own kites and fly them in an abandoned factory while you play Bach fugues on a guitar made from potatoes.

If you can't get funding, you have to make the audience buy tickets. The audience doesn't like difficult music (I've heard this from a few different singer sources), so stick to the golden hits of opera, throw in some relaxing piano classics and finish off with a musical number or two. You will get rich and then die of brain explosion during the 19.576th performance of Meine Lippen Sie Küssen So Heiss. May you rest in peace.

9. Have a company. (This I've heard from everyone who has one.) Nobody wants to employ a musician these days - they don't want to take care of all that legal hassle. Have a company and just send them the bill, that's how it's done these days. If you don't, they'll never hire you and you'll starve to death in the gutter.

10. Have attractive (and slightly suggestive) PR photos because sex sells and that's what everyone does these days.

...and that's it. Needless to say I've ignored most of this feedback. I want to believe that the work we do speaks for itself, and we will get by if we respect our colleagues, audiences, and the music itself. What more is there than performing and teaching from our hearts sincerely and honestly? Sharing music with others in a way that is true to ourselves, coming from our unique point of view? No matter how you define success, take a moment to appreciate and admire the career you have right now. Whatever it looks like, obscure or brilliant, love it. It's your very own. 

On Saying Yes

It's great when people ask you to a gig, recording, rehearsal, anything. It's nice to be asked. It becomes a problem when you already have quite a lot of work, but you think you can manage just this one thing more. And that other thing. And surely you have time for the third if you skip lunch.

It really is very nice to be asked, so yes.

Yes, I'll play the thing.

Yes, I'll learn this in two days.

Yes, of course I'll travel 18 hours for the gig.

Yes, I'll tap dance while playing. Yes, sure.

You have to say yes, or otherwise they will never ask you again and you will die alone and unhappy. You have to say yes, because musicians are supposed to work all day, every day teaching, practicing, performing, marketing, networking, improving, smiling. This is what it is to be a freelancer, it's hard work. If you stop, if you don't keep pushing, you'll be cast aside, forgotten. You're supposed to be stressed all the time and burn out before you're 30.

How great, guys, being a musician is so cool.

The reason I'm ranting about this yes-business is that I am a person who needs holidays. I need time for other things than music Every Single Week in order to remain a functioning human being. I get tired, both of music and of people, and I want to have a life that includes peace and quiet, and things that are not work. So this year I'm learning to say no.

No, I can't come.

No, I need the time to learn all the other things that I've said yes to.

No, I can't transpose this a tritone down just because the key better suits your mood today.

No, I can't do this for so little money. If I spend all my time working for free or for a pittance, I can't pay my rent or buy food.

No, I can't play for a hundred hours without break because my hands and brain need to rest every once in a while. I have already injured my hand once because I didn't have the courage to say when I wanted a break, everyone else seeming fine with the workload.

When I say that I can't/won't do something, I'm often told about all the other pianists who can and will do the thing I've said no to. They can play twenty three hours without stopping - they play every single note from the piece you think requires five hands (and they can do it with just seven fingers) - they never complain about money because they don't care about material comfort, and they sure as hell can sightread every vocal music piece on the planet. And transpose them to any key they like. While reciting a poem in Latin.

I'd love to meet these people. They sound awesome.

To those of you that aren't superheroes, a word of advice: Work the amount that feels right for you, and don't compare. You have to know how much you can cope with, what you're willing to do and for what price, and once you've set your limits, stick with them no matter what other people say. Then go and have days off. Breathe and notice the life outside music - it's worth seeing, I promise you.

On Better People

Better People^TM can play the piano really well. They know all the quick things and the slow things and the flashy things. But they're not just playing machines - they've soldiered through intense drama with a broken wrist/family/relationship, so now their musical interpretation has depths you can't even begin to grasp. To support these yogic guru -depth emotions, Better People^TM read a lot of serious books and watch serious series. This helps them be better than the people who read and watch the normal shit. The serious stuff has helped them grow as persons, and by now they've reached towering heights.

Better People^TM have their own chamber music festival, a concert series or at least an opera house. They know how to write grant applications in ways that make cultural foundations send truckloads of money to their direction - the projects Better People^TM do are so new, so now, so inspiring that the foundations compete for their support. Press is charmed to write lovely things, and the festival/concert/thing will continue next year with more money and prestige.

Better People^TM also practice regularly and take care of their physical and mental health. They have a balanced diet, but in parties they can be relaxed about food because they're not uptight, just annoyingly Better. Probably they shit rainbows. And because they're balanced, they don't burn out. They have a lot of work, but not too much, and they don't stress and worry and panic because music is really about being in harmony with your soul. Somehow they're in harmony with their wallets as well, and they make a decent living out of music while you starve.

Look around you. They're everywhere, these Better People^TM, taking over the world while you struggle in the dark and envy their things. They're your colleagues, your friends, and oops, it looks like you're one of them. Because there's someone somewhere thinking, oh how can she get all those nice things - her life looks so easy and polished and lovely. I wish I had that.

'I wish I had that' is good because it makes you aspire to things, it makes you work and hope and reach for something new. But it turns toxic when envy gets involved. In the music world - this tiny bubble we all try to work in - it's so easy to see others doing great, and so, so easy to see the jobs other people got and you didn't. And it's easy to forget the jobs you already have. The gigs you got, the projects you did. How proud you could be of this corner you've cleaned for yourself, this career that you've nurtured and fretted over. 'I wish I had that' could be replaced with 'I'm glad I've got this' and the Better People^TM would start looking more like normal ones.

Of course I might be wrong - there might really be people out there who shit rainbows.

Well. I'd pay to see that.

Photoshoot, a Recipe

Smile, the photographer said.

Preparation time: Hours - Years

Cooking time: A couple of hours

Ingredients:

• One pianist
• One photographer
• 2 - 3 outfits ...of which you'll end up using only one. You took the others with you because you thought that's what models do. (You have absolutely no idea of what models do.)

• Shoes
• Bunch of jewelery - you've seen singers carry a selection wherever they go. After the shoot you'll wonder why.

• Stuff for the face and the hair - the amount of products depends on your personal level of dedication and enthusiasm. (I envy people who know how to do things with products, and who can be bothered to spend time on their face in the morning. I can't even find the motivation to put butter on my toast every time, but that's just me.)

• A piano
• A camera
• A couple of bright lights - you have to look at them without blinking, the photographer tells you. In 174 pictures you will blink.

• Wine

Instructions:

1. Panic and worry, preferably years in advance to build up a good amount of adrenaline.
2. Pack your things, paint your face and meet the photographer at an inspiring location.
3. Forget to shave your armpits and be crazy scared to move your arms.
4. Articulate your artistic vision of what you'd like the outcome to be, and then listen to the photographer list all the reasons why it won't work.
5. Insist it worked for Alicia Keyes.
6. Drink half of the wine for courage. (Also works as instant blush, if you forgot your makeup.)
7. Listen carefully to the instructions of the photographer, then look like a deranged otter trying to live up to his expectations.
8. Laugh. It's not that serious.
9. Go through the first batch of pictures and realize your hair looks all funny. Take a sip of wine, forget to smile, and start over.
10. Try to look professional this time and end up looking desperate and exhausted, which is kind of the same thing.
11. Look through the second batch of pictures. Realize that if you're not smiling, everyone will see the psychopath you really are.
12. Repeat phases 7 - 11 ad nauseam until the photographer tells you to go away, or until the wine has run out.

Later:

Going through the pictures you'll notice that towards the end of the shoot you start looking more and more relaxed, but also drunk. In the end you'll settle with a picture in the happy middle of somewhat stiff and somewhat sober.

On Things That Never Will Be Music

Emails

There are so many emails. Imagine you're trying to arrange concerts, for example. First you have to email the possible venues to ask if they want you. Most don't. Staring at the negative answers you curse the day people stopped appreciating music and wallow in self-pity - and then send more emails. The venues that do want you require a lot more emailing back and forth. Agreeing on the details takes time, typing, and scanning.

Pro tip: If you don't have a printer/scanner at home, find friends who do, and then ruthlessly abuse their patience and machinery.

Texts, Messenger, Whatsapp...

Booking rehearsals. Booking meetings in which to discuss future projects. Booking rehearsals for aforementioned future projects. Endless group chats in which there's always 1) A person who doesn't use the app in question and has to be informed via smoke signals 2) Another who never answers anything, except to tell they're unavailable at the exact time everyone else has laboriously managed to agree on 3) A member who'll post all sorts of unrelated spam that you have to read every time the phone beeps because the one time you didn't it was real news. 

You send pictures of outfits to match them to others, you send cvs and biographies, promotional pictures, scores, tax cards, id numbers, bank details, drafts for program notes and grant applications and hundreds of thousands of things that are not and never will be music. You just sit in front of your computer and/or phone and click, click away while your life passes you by and all your creativity slowly withers and dies in the corner. Then the phone rings:

Calls

It's a gig! ...not. It is a salesman offering you a magazine subscription, an insurance, or cheaper electricity. Every week someone vomits their sales pitch on your hopes and dreams. You have to answer, because every call from an unknown number is like that lottery ticket you bought in order to win gazillion euros. And who knows? Next time it really could be work. 

Pro tip: Always, always when the electricity guy calls gasp in bewilderment: "Electricity? For me? What on earth would I need that for?"

Facebook

Leaving Facebook is a thing, because Facebook is evil. I'm not disagreeing, but I'm not leaving either. I follow a couple of groups that actively post things about work - people looking for substitutes,  links to new job openings and grants to apply for, events looking for music and students looking for teachers. 97% of the posts are not relevant to me, but it's the 3% that I'm interested in. I've actually got work like that, by reacting to a post, so I know it can happen. You just have to spend some time scrolling through stuff including cute animals and your friends' doings. (Okay, things could be worse.)

Websites

"What if they google me? They won't, but what if they will?" You have a website because of this. There might be other reasons, but this is the real one. When someone somewhere wants to know who you are, they'll find information you yourself have edited and polished, instead of mildly embarrassing ancient facebook history or random concert posts and articles. It takes time to maintain, however - unless you want people to see only the concerts from before 2014, you've got to keep regularly updating the site. You will not want to do this, but you'll force yourself. You will develop whole new ranges of methods of procrastination during the process.

Instagram

You should have Instagram because "everyone's there". As a pianist working with singers the important thing is not to let the singers forget you exist, so you should try to post something every once in a while. You're not really into Instagram, you're just using it as a tool. Only when someone confronts you about the relevance of seagulls or food to your work, you notice the machine is now controlling you - you've already been tagged, you've been caught in the net of arbitrary gratification, and not knowing how it happened you find yourself compulsively checking for likes and scrolling through air in your sleep - walking around seeing not objects and events but a continuous stream of hashtags and filters.

Pro tip: Watch out. It's scary business.

Teaching

A whole new world of more messages. A concert time change? No big deal. Just 22 texts. Then the replies: "What concert? Where? We have a soccer game and jazz ballet and could it be 47,6 minutes later and earlier and at the same time? Maybe on another planet? Could it have subtitles in Sanskrit?" The answers to these questions: 138 more texts. Sick on a Monday? 10 texts. A teachers' meeting? 17 texts. Students playing together with other students? What a lovely idea. 58 texts. Students playing together with other students in a concert? 18.229 texts and possible carpal tunnel syndrome.

Conclusion

Being a freelance person and teacher means you are your own pr manager and secretary, and that is a lot of work. Know it. Accept it. Embrace it. 

Pro tip: Rant about it to colleagues. Always helps.