Procrastinating Musician Syndrome

Sometimes I want to be living a different life. I wish that I had been a good enough singer back when I was young enough to enter competitions and things to actually have made a career as a performer. As it is, I didn’t blossom until it was already too late. I will never have the kind of singing career that I crave.

I didn’t go back to school to get my Masters, always using my kids as an excuse. Once they were old enough that I could have left them for a couple or three days a week, I felt that I didn’t really need that piece of paper anymore, that I was doing just fine without it. But it probably would have opened doors for me, given me more performing opportunities, and made me more employable. If Hubby decides to pull up roots here and move to another job elsewhere, let’s face it, even with all the experience I have from Bushop’s, I’ll never be able to teach at another post-secondary institution without a Masters.

My baritone has a low frustration threshold, and today was no exception. He was fine as we concentrated on the Mozart, because it’s classical music and it’s in German and he expects that I’m going to stop him every so often to fix mistakes and get him to sing it right. But in the Gershwin he wants to do different things, and resents the fact that he can’t do them. I try to remind him, as gently as I can, that you need to get a certain amount of technique under your belt first before you can do anything well, even jazz, and I recommended that he get some recordings of old Blue Eyes to listen to for an example of how one can sing popular music without compromising good vocal hygiene.

I think I’m just tired and suffering from PMS. Sorry.

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