signing | Guy Verville
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Articles found containing the term “signing” (27)

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My teacher is currently imposing on me the study of the aria In Fernem Land, an archival aria of the Wagnerian opera Lohengrin. There are many interpretations on the Internet, from the honeyed Kaufmann to the imposing Windgassen. It is an tune that can play in the romantic pathos of Germanic or become more human, almost approaching the American musical. It's probably a little like that, I guess, Wagner. — 2019/06/13

A tenor cries

There are these melodies that seem to explain everything, these tunes that, even in a foreign language, seize us by the throat, pierce time and hearts. Some times galvanize memories and feelings like the romantic period. — 2018/01/28

The fog, my goodness, is fading

The fog, my goodness, is fading. I will be laughed at if I say that Neptune is moving away from my Sun. Anyway, I am in control of my destiny, at least of its interpretation. — 2017/10/14

The sound

Je parle souvent de mon chant sans que personne, vraiment, ne l’entende. Aujourd’hui, à la suggestion de mon professeur, je me suis enregistré. Ô douleur de déceler tout ce qui ne va pas. — 2017/08/19

My singing, my voice

Last January, a post on singing, then nothing more on this theme. I make myself frugal in everything, silently questioning myself about the meaning of doing as much this as that. 2017 has its surprises in store for me. — 2017/07/01

Singing between the legs and synapses

It's very windy tonight. It looks like a sudden storm that meteorologists will not have seen coming. I had fallen asleep after my workday and the squalls against my window woke me up. I then sat down at the piano, played a few chords and, as I had been doing for the past few weeks, I made jumps from fifths. From C to B, two octaves higher. — 2017/01/10

The chaos of all of us

Twilight already, autumn already. When walking with the clock in the sky, the ordering of things seems normal to us without being disturbing or pacifying. I was coming out of my singing class, I looked at the sun, which was already only a glow on a throbbing cloud, perhaps a harbinger of rain. — 2016/09/25

My "O Holy Night"

He took out of his library what I thought was an old and thick missal. "It will be a special class today. They're Christmas tunes." I smiled and said to myself, "Why not?" — 2013/12/26

Ah... oh...

I want you to sing with satisfaction in mind. Do it on "ah". I did what I had to do. My teacher played a little higher on the piano. I did it again. "I can hear you, but I can't see anything in your eyes. Where is your happiness in singing?" Pitted in the spotlight, I let myself go by pretending to be happy. It is so difficult to exult. The sound coming out of my body seemed to satisfy Vincent. — 2013/11/16

Accordion singing

Where is my life going, on these rainy and sunny days? Kind of like that changing weather of 2013. In me, as much the calm of an old lake as the splashes of a river fed by a distant peak. — 2013/08/03

Slightly, the pain

Entire days to live. Huge hours to fill. My mind, happy, but tormented, opens its hands wide. I have difficulty describing my feelings, my sensations as if a cyclone would fall on the few certainties that serve as my conscience. I am just finishing a reading on Nietzsche's thinking and getting ready to start an introduction to existentialism. I want to know where the thinking stands on this point. — 2013/06/24

Daring high sounds

I have to constantly travel in the symmetry of the octaves during my singing lessons. After having tamed a little bit the low sounds, I the whisperer, my teacher is telling me to attack the A-flat, B-flat, B-flat, etc. He seems to know where he's going and I'm letting myself be led frighteningly. — 2013/05/24

Shades of "è"

The learning of singing continues, and the results are sometimes good, sometimes ok, sometimes to be forgotten. In each lesson, I find the same requirements differently explained, the same exercises uniquely reconstructed. We explore my sickly grave register, atrophied by many years of oblivion. — 2013/02/02

I'm moving forward.

I'm certainly moving forward. I am less sure of this when I arrive at night and go to bed. If I close my eyes too quickly, my body and heart fight for the last moments of consciousness. — 2013/02/01

Calm, with an empty mind

Calm, with an empty mind, it seems to me, with all its willpower. My days are like that: I have plans, expectations, some hopes. But it's only Monday, and I don't have a job to do. — 2013/01/28

Singing. Between the oak and the reed.

To sing is also to dance internally with your body, at the very least. You project the rib cage towards an invisible intention. I tend to raise my arms, which could seem like unnecessary grandiloquence. — 2012/12/16

The richness of the moment

I keep singing, went out last night, happy with my class. I don't know if I'm really making progress, but this learning is in the air of my time, fitting very well in this season of my life. — 2012/12/13

Of the cicada and the ant

I spent part of the afternoon singing, trying, at least, to sing. I feel like I'm moving forward as much as I'm moving back. Sometimes the high notes seem to me to be well placed, sometimes they sound like whale song moaning. As for the low notes, I seem to lose them suddenly. And if my teacher were at my side, he would probably only see sounds and no music. — 2012/11/29

I could be nothing.

I dozed off for two hours this afternoon to wake up with a start, tired. When I returned to my office, I received emails from clients. I forgot to do this, there are problems there, I have to get back to work. Then I dive into the subway to go to my singing class. — 2012/11/22

Don't forget the butt.

Singing has become difficult for me, and that's normal. I don't know how to place myself anymore. If I have to unfold my back, lift it up, stretch the neck, move the mouth forward like a beta, I must not forget the butt that came out too much and that I must go home as if I had a dime to hold on to with the bottom line. And, the icing on the cake, I have to sing freely! — 2012/10/05

The ocean where we sing

It was a difficult rehearsal last night at Ganymède. We are embarking on a marathon of learning a pivotal work from the male choral repertoire, Shostakovich's Symphony No. 13. — 2012/09/26

For this glorious luxury of admiring you

Tonight, I have my singing lesson. Like any passion that sets in, I think only of that, even if, in reality, I face many obstacles, including this second one that I have to learn. Per la Gloria d'adorarvi (For the glory of loving you) is a beautiful ritornello from Giovanni Battista Bononcini's opera Griselda. — 2012/09/13

Like a cobra

The discovery of singing continues. Just yesterday, at the end of my class, serene energy invaded me. I know that the road is long, but I don't look that much at this horizon, because singing is in itself energizing, beyond simple relaxation. — 2012/09/09

This is a rest

What is the name of this symbol? asks Vincent. — A silence? He smiles, politely at me. — 2012/09/02

Unlearning choral singing

Second singing lesson yesterday. I was certainly going with a lot of enthusiasm, even if some fears were coming up. A first experience often comes close to the epiphany, a revelation that ignites a fire that is often asleep for a long time. But when it comes time to continue the first effort, the pitfalls, the problems may call you to order. If it is easy to launch the first primary sounds, it must then be possible to be able to go beyond them. — 2012/08/25

Learning to sing

I am sweating, my body is straight, not stiff as a soldier, but, at my teacher's suggestion, as if my head were held by a thin thread stretched to the infinity of the sky and my coccyx stowed on the ground. The position is comfortable, and yet I become clammy. — 2012/08/21

The voice

I closed my eyes, swelled my stomach to store the air firmly, and sang. We were still only at the so-called global warming stage. The director is at the piano and leads us, from half a step to half step, to sing higher and higher. As I was still struggling with the last jolts of my cold, my voice clung to the cluttered walls of my larynx. — 2012/01/19

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