In Part I of the "Sing the Process" blog, I discussed differences between the performing arts and other forms of visual art. Specifically, I talked about how statues and paintings don't change much over time, meaning everyone sees the exact same work of art over the years. This is in contrast to the performing arts, where no two performances of the same piece are ever exactly the same, even if we're trying our best to make them that way.
Of course, people can be moved by paintings and sculptures in different ways depending on who they are, what their perspectives are, and what mood or frame of mind they're in when they see the art. In this way, the same person can have a myriad of experiences taking in a piece of art if they see it on multiple occasions since they will have evolving perspectives and will likely be in different moods and frames of mind each time they see it.
The same can be said of performances. As I mentioned to some of you last semester, I have seen four different productions of Spring Awakening and had different experiences and different takeaways each time, partly because they all had different actors and creative teams. They all had the same songs and the same dialogue, but each production was unique and engaging in its own way.
I mentioned in the last blog that one exception to the "every performance is different" idea is when a performance is recorded. Unlike live performance, this is a situation where the same performance can be viewed multiple times without it ever changing. In this case, it falls more into the same category as other forms of visual art. Everyone who sees or listens to that recording will be seeing exactly the same performance. Even so, the same person can have different experiences with multiple viewings.
This semester, I brought up in a lesson how I think Sunday in the Park with George is just OK. I know lots of people who think it's one of Sondheim's best works (if not the best), but I've never been a big fan of it. I'll take Sweeney Todd or A Little Night Music any day of the week over Sunday (see what I did there?). I formed this opinion primarily from watching the 1986 PBS Great Performances broadcast of the original Broadway production, starring Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters. When I first saw it (I don't even remember how many years ago that was), I remember thinking that it was clever but that the musical language was strange and hard to get into. I didn't find George a very sympathetic character and I personally find some of Patinkin's odd vocal choices difficult to see past. (Clearly this is a minority opinion, given his success.)
I recently went back and watched that same recorded performance again. It's still not my favorite Sondheim piece, but this time I found it much more compelling. The musical language that seemed so strange to me before felt ideally suited to the story, to George's compulsive mindset, and to his obsessive devotion to his work. While I still don't adore Patinkin's vocal choices, I was better able to see the communicative intent behind them. My reaction to the production was significantly different this time around, not because the piece had changed but because I have changed—I have different perspectives, opinions, and expectations for the piece than I used to.
So, how does this relate to "sing the process"? I said in the last blog, knowing that no two of our performances of a piece will ever be the same (and, therefore, can never be "perfect" more than once), we can instead focus on singing—and reveling in—the process rather than obsessing over creating a perfect product.
This even holds true for "museum pieces" like recorded performances. Even if we are able to record what we feel is a perfect performance, we may change our minds over time as to what we feel makes that piece most effective. I remember hearing a radio interview with a classical pianist who was about to re-record the same work that he had recorded decades earlier, even though the first recording was still well-loved by audiences. He said in the interview that listening to the old recording just exposed to him how naive he was as a younger performer, so he felt compelled to record a more mature interpretation.
Just as we might change our perspectives about our own recorded performances, audiences will also receive our recordings differently over the years—as evidenced by my changing views on Sunday in the Park with George.
All the more reason to consider process paramount to product—so we can bring the best of who we are and what we know to each performance, with no expectation that we will ever create a definitive version.
How has your practicing been this week? What adjustments can you make to be the most productive in the last couple of weeks before spring break?
Now go practice.
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