“Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song
again.”
“O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice/To
slander music any more than once.”
(Don Pedro
and Balthasar, Much Ado About Nothing,
2.3.37-9)
_____________________________________________________________________
I never would have believed that the crescendo of my Saratoga Shakespeare experience last summer would come down to a song.
But there it
was. The first day that the intern ensemble read through our play, Much Ado About Nothing, we reached
Balthasar’s “Sigh No More” song, except there was no Balthasar in our
stripped-down version of the play.
“Let’s have
… Antonio lead us in this song,” director’s instigator Doug Seldin said.
Wait, what? I’m Antonio. And while our ensemble
includes many talented trained singers, I’m certainly not one of them. But I
recalled how I wanted to immerse myself in this experience, not just be a passive
observer. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was probably like Will Ferrell’s Elf singing to his dad. “Sigh no more,
ladies. Sigh no more…”
“No,” Doug
interrupted. “I want it in four-part harmony.”
I don’t even
know what that means. But I continued, “Men were deceivers ever…,” trying my
best to lead the group through to the end of the song. Fortunately, Doug
assigned the play’s other song to Brett, a much better choice with an angelic
voice that fit that heart-breaking
romantic scene of Claudio over the
supposedly-dead Hero.
But I guess
I did okay. Or Doug really wanted to make me uncomfortable. (He actually did
give that specific direction to a flirtatious Ursula during a party scene.)
After that
rehearsal, I kept trying to find a more proper rhythm to the song, fully
expecting to have the song continue as my responsibility. I had fun as I experimented
with a way to match the beat of the song to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies”; even
imagining my cast mates and me imitating the bouncy leotard-clad dancing from
the video. (I guess I can be thankful that never saw the light of day!) I also found
a way to singing it to the tune of a John Denver song and conclude with “Thank
God I’m a Shakespeare boy!” Finally, in
keeping with the audience interactive tone that Doug and director Tim Dugan were
shooting for, I sent an email suggestion that I sing it to the tune of AC/DC’s
thumping “We Will Rock You.”
Tim had
other ideas. “You know Bill Murray’s lounge singer character from Saturday
Night Live. Try it like that.”
He sent me
the video to watch and it was obvious he wanted me to ham it up. Singing talent
not really required.
The next day
I tried it Tim’s way. The first verse. “More,” he said. Then the second. “More.”
Then, I don’t know exactly what came over me. I stopped the song between the
second and the final verse, threw one hand in the air, and started counting off,
“One, two, three…” before switching to heavy metal rocker mode, complete with
gruff head-banging tone. “Sing no more ditties, sign no mooooooooo. Of dumps so
dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so, since summer first was leafy.”
And then encouraged the audience to follow, “Sigh no more,” to stage left.
“Sign no more,” to center stage. “Sign no mo-----------re,” to stage right.
Then once more to each section before ending with “Big finish! Hey … non----ny,
non---nyyyyyyyyyyyy” with Pete Townsend one-armed windmill flourish punctuated
with a fist shake.
I was
breathless. I was dumbfounded. I was exhilarated. My cast mates’ applause and
my own laughter surprised me. “I don’t know where that came from,” I said.
It was the
first time I felt truly a part of this brilliant young cast, and felt truly accepted
as part of the ensemble. Even if the only one I had to convince was myself.
Over the
next few days, I worked on Tim’s directions to add even more. It was a
challenge. It was fun.
Our
costumer, Gaby, found a velvety blue and purple smoking jacket to wear. They
gave me Arielle and Amanda as backup singers. They threw me a mic to catch to
open my song. By the time we were practicing the play outside behind the
Canfield Casino at Congress Park, I challenged my vocal projection to get the farthest
weekend picnickers to look over.
By the time we
started performing, I was taking Tim’s direction to move into the audience during
the song and involve them. I delighted when, as my song came up in a boiling
100-plus degree day, a mother in the audience bit on my setup question if my
jacket made me look warm. “You look hot,” she said. “You hear that? She called
me hot!” I winked. (The setup didn’t work as well when we hit the big stage in
Congress Park, forcing me to ad lib something different.)
After that
fourth and final performance, Tim congratulated me on making the song my own
and making it stand out.
“But why did
you guys select me for the song?”
“Just an
instinct.”
It’s exactly
what they were teaching us to do. Listen to your instincts. Find yourself in
the character. Trust yourself to make decisions and changes. Even if it looks,
and sounds, goofy.
I never
expected to sing this summer. But looking back now, I can’t imagine the summer
without it.
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