Yesterday I auditioned for a big chorus that was originally for gay men, and whose majority of singers still identify as such, but that is open to whoever can sing in the low vocal ranges (tenors, baritone, bass) regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression.
The layers of meanings that this audition had — and still has — for me is hard to put into words, hard to even parse.
The three strongest emotions I can feel battling within me are a burning desire, a craving to join this chorus, to be part of this group, part of this community; the fear of what that might actually entail if I do get in; and the fear of not getting in which would lead not only to disappointment and sadness around not being able to join a community that I so much want to be part of but also a blow to my gender identity.
That’s a lot. And as I write this here, now, I’m realizing that I might not be the only auditionee feeling this way, there may be others who also want to be accepted by this chorus because they need a sense of belonging and/or validation. I definitely do. And that’s why I put some much work (& hope) into this over the past couple months.
I’m trying to brace myself for Tuesday, when we’ll get the results, for the most probable outcome that I did not make it. Because realistically that is the most probable outcome for me. My nerves still get too much in the way when I sing in public, actually tensing and constricting my throat and thus reducing my singing range. So my range sounds narrower than it really is, I can do less than what I could really do when I’m relaxed, at ease, like singing by myself or surrounded by other people/voices in a choir. I don’t mean this as an excuse for myself, to let myself off the hook, but as a reality of my situation as a transguy: because part of the restriction of my singing range, the one involving higher notes, comes from a deep fear I still have of being misgendered. I’m still afraid that if I allow myself to sing higher notes (even if they are “high” only in a relative sense), I’ll sound like a woman. I’m still afraid that if I allow myself to sing higher notes, I’ll hear my old voice again and I don’t want that.
I said all this to the artistic director: I told him in our very first phone conversation in June and then again in a last-minute check-in call on Wednesday. On the one hand, I felt instinctively comfortable, at ease, and safe with him even in that first phone call; on the other, I figured I had nothing to lose by telling him. But still, I guess it took a good amount of faith in someone who’s basically a stranger and a willingness to be vulnerable on my part, which maybe is courage or maybe is just the only way I know how to be: “this is me, what you see is what you get”.
I was terrified yesterday. I was nervous like I hadn’t been maybe since major exams in college. I literally panicked at lunch time, at home, as I was practicing again and suddenly felt I couldn’t do it, just couldn’t do it, and for a minute or two really considered not auditioning as I felt the terror of showing up and not being able to get a sound out of me or getting the notes wrong— or, even worse, of sounding like a “woman”.
But I had to try, I couldn’t let this goal slide away, too. If nothing else, I’d learn. I told myself that even if I did get the notes wrong and make a mess of it, at least I would experience the first musical audition of my life and feel more relaxed the next time; I’d see what a musical audition is actually like (at least with this chorus); I’d get some feedback from a professional, who is also a very nice person with whom I feel safe and comfortable; and I could get confirmation of where my voice actually is in the musical range.
I calmed myself down enough to go and I sang in my car almost the whole way there. I was still a nervous wreck when I got there and didn’t bother too much to hide it — I couldn’t have anyway even if I tried. I don’t know if I passed the audition, I don’t even know if it was considered a “good audition” from the outside. All I can say is what actually happened and how it felt for me.
Once again, just as on the phone, the artistic director put me at ease, and quite wonderfully so. I was the first auditionee and in the general mess no one thought to bring up that I had prepared the part for bass voice; the artistic director began to play the song we had been given to prepare on the piano, humming some of the notes to me, and I just couldn’t do it, the notes were simply — physically — too high for me. And then, he realized he was paying the part for tenor voices! That little mishap at the beginning of my audition was a blessing for me and maybe one of the main things that actually allowed me to find my voice: I had the concrete proof that my voice was — is — in the bass range. And then I was able to sing. The artistic director played on the piano and hummed the part for bass, and I sang. I just sang. It started barely more than a whisper, but it shifted as I went along. Something in my brain, in my body, shifted. Most of the anxiety fell away, I forgot the details of where I was, I didn’t really see the third person in the room with us or even the artistic director anymore. I don’t even know if he stopped humming at a certain point and just played the piano as I sang. All I remember is that I found my voice and sang. I messed up a few notes a couple times, but I kept going, hearing my own voice clearly and faintly, in the background, the piano, registering it only as much as I needed to in order to keep time but not enough to distract me from my notes. It was only a couple minutes but it was like going through a little portal to another dimension for a short while. Then, I was asked if I had a song of my own that I wanted to sing, so I sang the first part of “Monsters” by CoCo & The Butterfields a cappella. And there again, it was like going into my own little world for a minute or two: eyes closed, keeping time by tapping my fingers on my stomach as I always do, just me and my voice.
As I said before, I don’t know if I passed the audition yesterday. Part of it doesn’t even depend on how well, or not, I did personally but rather on who else shows up and how they do, and the musical needs of the chorus in terms of voices & ranges. But I passed an “inner exam”, an exam for and with my own self. First of all, I got confirmation that I can sing. I guess I had already got this confirmation when I sang in different choirs and groups back in Europe, but that was a decade ago at this point and I had a different voice then, and I guess the impostor syndrome coming from being told as a child that I couldn’t sing (“your sister is the one with the singing voice”) is still there. But no, I can sing, I can hold a tune, I can get notes and tempo right, I can recognize and reproduce notes. Secondly, and maybe even more importantly, I got confirmation of really being a baritone: a confirmation that is more of an affirmation, a validation, that despite all my doubts and impostor syndrome around my gender identity and voice, I actually, technically do have a low voice, a voice that is typically a “male voice” and that is lower than many of my cis-guys’.
As much as I would be disappointed and sad if I did not get accepted into this chorus now, I want to try to focus on these facts, on these confirmations, affirmations, and validations that ultimately are little victories in my own journey.
Another step toward finding my own voice.
The Little Prince and the Fox 