On Friday, June 18th, I had the honor of performing at the Joe Sugar Memorial concert at G.W. Hewlett High School. MY Alma mater! Joining me onstage were Leah Wool (shown in the picture), Seth Rudetsky, my former chorus teacher, my former band director, the former piano accompanist for the chorus, and many old friends and colleagues made up the Joe Sugar "All Star Band". The evening was hosted by two friends of mine who had played in the band- and interspersed throughout the night, were lovely tributes, a photographic montage, and general warm feelings for our Joe Sugar.
It's difficult to describe what I was feeling that night, singing on the HHS stage: the stage where I'd sung with the chorus, acted in the musicals, hosted a lip-sync fundraiser, and even received my letter for Varsity Volleyball. Kevin Bayen, our now District Head of Music for Hewlett-Woodmere Schools, the man who taught me to play clarinet, and the organizer of this concert, asked me to sing the Star Spangled Banner to open the concert. I had sung this piece at my own graduation, and share fond memories of this event with Mr. Bayen, so I thought, "sure, this will be great". However, mid "..by the dawn's early light..." I began to get choked up! Overwhelming nostalgia got to me, and I no longer felt like the professional opera singer that I am, but a nervous 18 year old, wanting to make a good impression on my friends, family, and music educators. I'm sure no one else noticed, but I had to WORK to gain control over a too-fast vibrato, and in a way, divorce myself from my surrounding- staring at the red neon "Exit" sign at the back of the auditorium. There's a fine line between wanting to express your emotions through song, and maintaining a safe emotional distance so you yourself don't fall apart mid-performance. A wise coach once told me "the audience doesn't want to see YOU cry, they want to see your character cry, and in turn, make us the audience cry with you". Our national anthem doesn't usually bring tears to my eyes (unless it's a particularly bad performance) but when it's combined with an all-too familiar setting, 20 years after I'd performed it, it almost got me.
What most affected me though, was seeing all my old friends- the adult versions of themselves, playing their respective instruments just as well if not BETTER than they played in high school. I made music my career, but most of my friends are now lawyers, doctors, or other corporate types, who could have easily let their musical selves go. Happily, each one of these amazing people dusted off their instruments and returned to their Alma mater to honor a great music educator. The jazz band was simply outstanding! I kept telling people- "I feel like my head is exploding"- from all the outstanding music making in the name of joy. It truly was an evening to remember and I'm certain Mr. Sugar would have approved. He was a swinging band-leader, and since I'd met him when I was in elementary school, I'd always looked up to him as a kind of larger-than-life teacher. Someone who I'd probably never perform with- he was just too far ahead of me, too important. But my 3rd grade self was proven wrong, when in high school, I WAS asked to sing with the jazz band!
It's amazing how life goes- you're a kid who loves music just because it's "fun", then you start to practice and it's sometimes a chore. As you get older, and your musical skills sharpen, it becomes easier, fun again- then, as you make it your career, pressure and travel make it feel like work. Then, an evening like this comes along, and you discover why you perform in the first place: because music is vital to your happiness. Thank you, all music teachers everywhere.
