I'll pass over the tedious business of recovering my voice (read The Sound of Silence for a quick refresher. Or don't.) and tell you that the first third of 2011 was dominated by teaching (Literacy Through Music for Underserved Youth. Voice, piano and acting for Children of Privilege.) The second third has been eclipsed completely by the juggernaut known as The Burning Opera.
The Burning Opera is a most unlikely creation: an original musical/opera about that exercise in temporary utopia known as Burning Man that does not (as everyone expects it to) suck. Not only does it not suck, it may be the greatest piece of live art I've ever been involved with. Only time will tell...
I became aware of The Burning Opera last year when its composer asked me to record some vocals for the demo and gave me a cd to help me learn the songs. It stayed in my player long after the sessions were concluded, its hold on me growing stronger with repeated spins. Needless to say, I was over the moon to be offered a role in the new production - a concert/shadowplay/interactive art event being staged right in my own backyard, at a 10,000 square foot loft in the Fashion District.
I was hired for my movement theater experience (crucial to the shadowplay,) my vocal range and my skill with harmonies. The score is a beast and the composer one of those mad geniuses who keeps making adjustments until the last possible second, always pushing his people to get just a little closer to the magic playing in his head. So I was a bit daunted but completely energized at the first rehearsal, when Genius Composer asked if any of us had instrumental skills to lend to the production, at least until the rest of the band had been hired. I boldly offered up my primitive piano skills (hey, I teach it. I don't play it.) and my oh-so-elementary bass ability. I was put to work immediately.
It took a couple weeks for the callouses to return and my hands to remember how to make the necessary shapes (weeks I also spent getting back into dance theater condition and learning vocal music that would make a theory major cry.) Somehow the arrival of the promised musicians did not reduce my instrumental responsibilities at all. It was like realizing the summer gig you've accepted is actually a reality show called Rock Star Boot Camp. But whatever. I booted my butt into gear and now I'm a professional bass and piano player. My students like to place this massive divide between where they are and where they want to be. I assure them it's just a matter of a few steps taken everyday. Oh look - I proved it.
The Burning Opera is now up and running and the production team (a colorful ragtag collection of jaw-dropping talent, sultry swagger and varying levels of deviance in personal matters) has bonded into a single-cell organism (with a lot of sexy arms.) Since our opening, our ranks have swelled with the Burning supporters of Los Angeles, who have surrounded the show with a bubble of love while singing its praises from the enormous rooftop.
For a gal who's never been to the Burn, this has all been quite the eye-opener. My vocabulary has changed. (I say "participate," "expression" and "community" at least once a day.) My thinking has evolved. I have a bazillion new best friends and a fab new wardrobe. I'm on a blinky-light rollercoaster, smothered in glitter and gropes, careening toward a moment of inevitable sadness, when the ride comes to an end.
But it's so far from over...
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