Nothing says controversial like Hank Williams

A few nights ago our fearless leader, T. Laoshi, and his wife invited us over to their apartment for dinner. By dinner they meant Peking Duck, from the same recipe (and cook) as you'll find here. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever go to another dinner party that isn't at the home of an international super star with a gourmet meal (that was featured on tv) made by his wonderful wife... I've had a taste of the high life and I will never go back!

Apart from the floor to ceiling posters from the Met (featuring T. Laoshi with some other people your might have heard of*), and the copious amounts of whiskey being thrust upon us**, it was truly like any other evening with a group of singers.***

I'm honestly not writing this post to brag about my fabulous life in China, or to tell jokes. (Although both seem easy to do at this moment). I want to retell a story that Fearless Leader told us.

More than 30 some years ago, this type of cultural exchange between Eastern musicians and Western musicians would have been impossible. Fearless Leader told us that the first song in English he ever sang, he learned by listening to an illegal radio station and jotting down the chord structure and what sounds he made out of the words. Back then he was not the operatic sensation we know him as, but an indie guitar player. He performed the English song he learned on the radio and got into a great deal of trouble with the police. You might be thinking, was it Bob Dylan? John Lennon? Nope. It was Hank Williams "Jambayla on the Bayou".

I think about this story and am amazed to see how different life in China is now. I had a rather stinted view before I came here, which I think is part of the reason for the program. A few nights after hearing T. Laoshi's story, I went in search of more evidence that things had changed. I found a card for a music store on the internet, which sounds like the beginning of every great adventure! After taking a picture of it with my cell phone and showing that to the cab driver I ended up on a street with music shops abundant. (I'm not sure how I made it, but I did). Some store sold only brass instruments, there were 5 or 6 dedicated solely to violins. Some stores had ukuleles and guitars on one side and erhus and gu zhongs on the other. It was amazing. I'll share more on this adventure later, but I will leave you with some pictures.

The Chinese made ukulele I just had to buy... the company's name is Mo Li (my Chinese name, as well we the title of the song I sing in the Gala concert. It's meant to be. I also bought a metro tuner, mostly just for the name

This has nothing to do with the story above, I just needed to show my only option for bacon in this country.

Again, this does not go with today's blog. But I am sick and my fabulous room mate bought me flowers 

and put them in this ghettofied vase she made with an old water bottle. Love it.

*Pavorotti, Borodina, shoot me now...

** I was offered a glass of whiskey, which I wisely turned down. T Laoshi  then asked if I just wanted to try it, and I chose to oblige him by saying just a taste. I ended up with three fingers.We were all bullied into booze in this fashion, not that any of us were/are complaining!

*** Which of course means we ended the night around the piano singing Elton John and Billy Joel... I only wish I were kidding. Top it off with more than one wine glass being shattered and you have yourself a party. Thank God nobody suggested beer pong, as Maestro was there (another legend), and I'm quite sure the table we might have played on is worth more than my car.

I don't want a sad ending, but I really don't want a happy one!

Yesterday I auditioned for the National Center for the Performing Arts. The ISB faculty arranged for all the singers to audition, and even gave offered us extra coachings on our repertoire. (Our fearless leader is such a mensch!) If introducing ourselves and our pieces in Mandarin wasn't intimidating enough, we were also informed that this would be the first group of Westerner auditions the panel would have ever heard. So... no pressure or anything... you're only representing the entire country with this!

To eradicate some of our extreme stress, a soprano* and I decided to spend a the night before getting a massage. After asking a Chinese singer for directions on a good place to go, we headed out. (I should have known not to trust said singer as he lives in Boulder, Colorado and actually enjoys it. Nobody likes Boulder except for rich aging hippies and freaks. And Jennifer Garner, I remember reading somewhere that she likes Boulder. For goodness sakes, this is the city that brought us Celestial Seasonings and Crocs- gross).

After a nice 20 minute walk we found said spa. We asked for a menu of services. We found this.

True or false: we hightailed it out of there?

True. (And I am judging all of the people who wouldn't have done the same, or even considered that I wouldn't have immediately left!)

Soprano and I walked down a little ways and found a spa that didn't have anything questionable on the menu. And although we were a bit apprehensive, we asked for two massages. The woman clarified our meaning by pointing to her feet, pointing to her back, and then moving her hands back and forth with a massaging horse gallop-esque motion- what else could that mean but a foot and back massage? I sighed and pitied the poor soul who must always fail at game night charades.

 We got into the provided shortie pajamas, ever flattering...

What started as a foot massage ended with some one walking on my back. Apparently the front desk woman wasn't horrible at miming, I just saw what I wanted to see. I'm not mad at it, but I definitely had a man do a rain dance on my back. I even considered accompanying him with a song while he sashayed along my shoulders to my tailbone, but hesitated as I wasn't quite clear on the protocol.

Though I think next time I go I will sing along, at least towards the end, so there is a pleasant ending!


*I know, I made friends with a soprano- I'm so proud of myself! I have made friends with a soprano since Rocitoes... and that girl is crazy.

I don't use the communal anything... except the communal blog!

The following is something I wrote for the I Sing Beijing blog. Each singer is taking a day and blogging it- is it any surprise that I wrote about food?


I SING BEIJING 2012: From the Rocky Mountains: Meet Mezzosporano Molly...: My day ended as all of our days in Beijing do… with some delicious Chinese food!!!  A blog from Molly..... When I saw l...

I don't know what's happening, but at least I can order a beer.

The first thing you should do when visiting any country is learn a few key phrases:

"Where are the bathrooms?" 

"Help! I'm on fire!" 

"I'd like a beer please"

I know how to order a beer in 7 languages, obviously something to be proud about. Unfortunately I need to keep working on my Mandarin because I have no idea how to ask for a pedicure, or even ask for my food to go*. Thankfully I have mastered the phrase "I am a singer!", which apparently means the same thing here as it does at home. (Crazy, happy, and interesting... and crazy).

With a rare few hours off from singing I decided to spend my afternoon with a peaceful pedicure at the shop near my apartment. I went in,  said my token hello and pointed at my toes, unsure of the word for pedicure. They seem to get the message as I was ushered to a comfortable chair and had my shoes removed. After a long paragraph from three women (of which I understood nothing) I responded with "I am a singer" accompanied by a large smile and nervous giggle. They either hated me or loved me, but I was serenaded throughout the afternoon as the following events occurred...

1. I was bathed in some form of gelatin and left to soak for an hour or so. I felt a deep connection to Bill Cosby and meditated on that. It was nice.

2. I was wrapped in saran wrap. Two women worked together, one hoisted me up while the other made me into leftovers. It was interesting.

3. The actual mummification. These terrifying devices on my feet sent shock waves to my wrap up jelly legs. I'm still unclear on the motivation, but I'm sure Spock would know.

You'd think that would be the end of it, but I ended up making friends during this strange torture** I was subjected to. The shop owner sang to me in Chinese, and I sang back. I even got a free coaching as she fixed my diction. (Everyone's a critic!)

The night ended with an evening of acrobatics thanks to my fabulous program! I can't believe how well we are being treated, they must not have realized yet that we are only a bunch of singers... bring on the mummification.

*I went out last night and thought I asked for my soup to go. What I got instead was a bowl of noodle soup and some vinegar in a tied-up plastic bag. No wonder the woman looked at me like I was a nut-job. Silly Americans...

**My old little L guessed correctly, I smiled and nodded the whole time. What else is one supposed to do during these experiences? Reject the cultural exchange that was going on? Just because something is different doesn't necessarily mean its bad! (But this was actually different and bad).

This is NOT the story of Saran wrap mummification...

Tomorrow or the next day* I am going to write about my recent trips to the Great Wall of China, an amazing acrobatics show, and even a lovely (if not terrifying) tale of my saran wrap mummification** while getting what I thought was a pedicure. For now, I will just throw in a short blurb of an unforgettable night and a few quick pictures of awesomeness.

The amazing people that I am singing with were kind enough to give us a night off so to go see a concert version of Aida at the Chinese National Center for the Performing Arts. I can't begin to describe all of the beauty I witnessed at this event. The glorious architecture of the complex, the beauty of meeting new friends (from the East and the West) and getting a quick peek at how other people/singers around the world live, and the wonderful voices of the Aida cast. Our fearless leader and program visionary was a part of the cast, but I would have been happy if he had pulled a Cher and sung all the parts, a must see. His booming voice shook me to the core with every note- it was such a thrill! The woman singing Aida was also other-worldly, check her sing the role later this year at the M. if you don't believe me!

As if the week of exposure to Mandarin, delightfully challenging coachings with extremely talented staff, and tickets to the opera weren't enough the most wonderful Super K. got us all backstage after the concert to see Fearless Leader and congratulate him on being awesome. (We clearly didn't have to tell him how wonderful he sang, surely you must be well aware of your own awesome if you are that good. The only thing to do is to congratulate one on one's awesomeness!)

As promised pics tonight, more (mis)adventures shared later!

*Of course you have all figured out by now that I am not the most timely poster. While I promise to write these stories, let's not pretend that I can commit to any kind of realistic timeline to when they will get posted.

**It's even better than it sounds, get excited.

I might be on the Real World, but I don't live in a whorehouse!!!

One of the last emails that was sent out by the program I'm singing with said that cameras might meet us at the gate when we land. (Which really means I don't care that you've been traveling for 22 hours, put some damn make-up on and don't look a hot mess). What they didn't warn us was that the same camera crew would be with us at all times to document everything. You're drinking coffee? Let me film you. You're laughing at a joke? Let me film you. You're scratching your bum? Let me film you. It is a bit overwhelming. Plus, the kid carrying the boom has hit me in the head twice. (We may come to blows).  I'm just waiting for them to set up the confessional somewhere so I can start talking smack about these complete strangers. They all seem lovely, but you never know about those sopranos and tenors!

The film crew watched is amusement as I sought out an old comfort from home/the only thing that I could tell what was in it... Lay's Potato Chips. They giggled as they watched me realize that my options were between "Hot and Sour Fish Lay's", "Spicy Prawn Lay's", "French Chicken Lay's", and "Italian Red Meat Lay's". It's like the Lay's potato chip company can see into my soul. A.) Everything tastes better in chip form, and B.) I can say I've had a balanced meal between all of the variety's of tater chips I'm noshing! I eventually chose the blueberry chips, and they were so good I can't wait to try others.

Italian Red Meat

French Chicken

Blueberry

I'm exactly 12 hours different than my EST usual, so you know I have a nasty case of jet lag. (Why else would I ever be up and writing at 5am?) Luckily I have wifi in my apartment and my VPN makes it possible to share my stories with you my lovely readers!* A note about the apartment? Why, I have a spacious 2 bedroom 1 1/2 bath complete with a terrace, kitchen and living room! I'm so incredibly grateful, particularly since I have seen the other side of what these programs can do to you.**

Yesterday, on top of Mandarin lessons and coachings, we had an hour long discussion with P. (As in, been a stage director at the best opera house in the country for the past 20+ years, P). I can't wait to work with him, as I've heard he is an absolute genius. On top of that, he is the anti-name dropper, and it is beautiful. Every time he opened his mouth to share a story about his work at the M, he would say "a singer I've worked with...", or "I know a singer who..." and then continued with his story. We all know that the singers he has worked with are the powerhouses of the industry, but he simply finishes his thought. It makes him slightly more, and slightly less intimidating. As long as I don't vomit my Hot and Sour Fish Soup Lay's on his shoes I think we may get along just fine!


*Last time I checked I was up to 33, but that was 3 weeks ago and I can't remember how to check how many readers I have. Since I'm not sure, I've decided to estimate it is somewhere in the 1,000s...

**Before I left the country I had the opportunity to visit a friend from college at his summer program. He was in an abandoned whorehouse with 10 other men. Yep, 11 people in one bordello. So- we may not have any pots and pans... but I am so thankful it is just me and my roommate!

How I ended up wearing my mom's panties on my chest.

If you look at the picture at the top of this blog you will see a picture of me (Molly the mezzo, the one with all the misadventures), and my gorgeous, supportive, creative, and slightly crazy mother. I say slightly crazy as a term of endearment, and as an understatement. Fact: that woman is nutso and I love her.

I flew into Denver last night to visit my parents before I go sing in Beijing. This is going to come as no surprise when I say my parents are ... different. People expect after meeting me that the ones who raised me will be just as obscure, and they would be correct. I could write a novel on my father's exploits into uranium mining and my mother's life in the convent, but for now I think I'll just focus on one itty bitty story.

My mother, has this quirky habit of buying me twenty dresses every time I need one. They are always lovely and classy as heck, but seeing as I have the body (boobs) I have they take a little extra work for me than for other people. One dress needs to be taken in, one let out, one have straps made for it... welcome to how I have spent my morning. (Not that I'm complaining, I'm sitting on a comfy armchair on my computer while she and our friend Ann work like little Russian ladies in a sweatshop in LA. I don't even have to get dressed, just put on a robe in between fittings of various dresses. Tres chic).

The unconventional celebrity treatment was going well, until I put on a dress that was too low cut and needed "something to be more modest"*. Having warned her of this issue the evening before she presented me with the best of fixes.

"Hold out your arm", said she

"Here tis", said I

"Oh joy, they match most splendidly", said she

"What is this flesh toned contraption on my arm?", asked I

"Why, tis my drawers!" exclaimed she**. 

Apparently her plan was to put the nude panties as a panel in the v-neck. She is rather brilliant because she actually went from this:

Gross, I know... To this: 

And when I complained there was too much skin she finally went to this: 

AKA the lace from the undies with the non lace part under it.

This pair of nude undies is now going to be in one of my most glamorous, classiest performance gowns.

And that's how I ended up wearing my mom's panties on my chest. On stage.


*This royal blue beautiful dress was perfect other than the fact that there was so much cleavage I felt as though I were mooning others from the front. Not pretty.

**To be fair, that woman had actually bought the undies brand new that morning. They had not been worn, by her or anyone (hopefully).