I was in the second grade when I had my first theater performance. My mom had forced me to join the local children's theater troupe in hopes that my knack for singing pop songs in key would be refined into something a little more...marketable. Unfortunately, her plan backfired when I failed my audition for the role of Violet Beauregarde from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Jr. and lost the part to a fifth grader. Instead, it was decided that my round and pudgy seven year old figure would be better suited for the part of an Oompa Loompa. I was so upset being casted as an extra along with the rest of the untalented "little kids" that I cried during our first three rehearsals. Even during our performances of the infantilized show, I couldn't help but look around at the rest of the orange painted children surrounding me and feel like a complete disappointment. That one failure scared me away from auditioning for better parts for several years afterwards. I went on to be an unnamed Who in Horton Hears a Who and Goat #2 in Three of a Kind, a story about the different triads in nursery rhymes that focused on the story of the three little bears. I took on these insignificant roles defeatedly, accepting that the role our theater director assigned to me was what she thought was best suited for me. I saw these parts as insignificant and unimportant, a waste of my time.
Two years into my auditioning dry-spell, my theater troupe's music director began offering singing lessons. My mom immediately signed me up for weekly lessons hoping that this little bolster to my confidence would be the ticket to getting me bigger and better roles. What she didn't expect was for me to start singing opera at the startling age of nine. The first operatic piece I ever performed was Giuseppe Giordani's "Caro Mio Ben", and I completely butchered it. I respired at random intervals, phrasing the last thing on my mind. I was given the sheet music by Mrs. Albright, who thought my youthful soprano voice might be well suited to opera. Unfortunately, the only thing I knew about written music was how the duration of the notes themselves worked and nothing about the pitches on the staff. I was an inexperienced singer to say the least. Despite my concerns about performing such a challenging piece, to my surprise I impressed the audience of soccer moms and wrinkled grandparents. People I didn't even know came up to me afterwards and congratulated me on what they considered to be an outstanding performance. Although I continued to participate in theater productions, I shifted most of my attention to opera from that point on.
Immediately following my Oompa Loompa debacle, I thought I wasn't meant to perform. I saw theater, acting, and singing as just a chore. Performing was something that had to be done rather than something I wanted to do. It wasn't until I experienced this failure that I was able to find my true niche: opera. I stopped worrying about what part I would get during my audition and instead focused on singing the music and in turn ended up getting better roles. I went from being an unnamed Who to being Lily St. Regis in the troupe's production of Annie Jr., and I gained a confidence in my abilities as a performer that I had never had before. If I hadn't failed that first audition, I would never have discovered my passion for opera. Although I've stopped performing in musicals and plays, I've continued taking opera lessons, and I owe it all to my humble beginnings as an unhappy Oompa Loompa.
Two years into my auditioning dry-spell, my theater troupe's music director began offering singing lessons. My mom immediately signed me up for weekly lessons hoping that this little bolster to my confidence would be the ticket to getting me bigger and better roles. What she didn't expect was for me to start singing opera at the startling age of nine. The first operatic piece I ever performed was Giuseppe Giordani's "Caro Mio Ben", and I completely butchered it. I respired at random intervals, phrasing the last thing on my mind. I was given the sheet music by Mrs. Albright, who thought my youthful soprano voice might be well suited to opera. Unfortunately, the only thing I knew about written music was how the duration of the notes themselves worked and nothing about the pitches on the staff. I was an inexperienced singer to say the least. Despite my concerns about performing such a challenging piece, to my surprise I impressed the audience of soccer moms and wrinkled grandparents. People I didn't even know came up to me afterwards and congratulated me on what they considered to be an outstanding performance. Although I continued to participate in theater productions, I shifted most of my attention to opera from that point on.
Immediately following my Oompa Loompa debacle, I thought I wasn't meant to perform. I saw theater, acting, and singing as just a chore. Performing was something that had to be done rather than something I wanted to do. It wasn't until I experienced this failure that I was able to find my true niche: opera. I stopped worrying about what part I would get during my audition and instead focused on singing the music and in turn ended up getting better roles. I went from being an unnamed Who to being Lily St. Regis in the troupe's production of Annie Jr., and I gained a confidence in my abilities as a performer that I had never had before. If I hadn't failed that first audition, I would never have discovered my passion for opera. Although I've stopped performing in musicals and plays, I've continued taking opera lessons, and I owe it all to my humble beginnings as an unhappy Oompa Loompa.
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