Pericozzi 1

No Longer Hiding

I can do this. I can do this. I can’t do this.

I’m only 5’2”, a hundred and ten pounds, wearing a mother-approved dress that went

down past my knees with the highest neckline ever seen. I’m standing in front of what seems

like five hundred people. I’m breathing heavily, vibrating like a phone and my knees are

shaking. My hands are ice cold and I’m forcefully rolling the edges of my dress in between my

fingertips.

I’m biting my lip as I reach up to fix my hair, running my fingers through my bangs.

The first notes of the piano sound and I jump a little, not realizing that it was time to

sing.

I open my mouth and my voice cracks.

Uhoh.

There’s no escaping it now.

Getting that Yellow Paper

Less than .01% of people that audition for American Idol actually make it past the first

round.

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A study done in 2010 showed that in the United States, 18.08 million people play

musical instruments. That’s more than the population of New York City alone. Most people

start panicking if someone asks them to sing in front of someone other than their shower head.

Performance anxiety is normal. In fact, a study done on 48 orchestras in the US showed 1 out of

every 4 musicians said that stage fright was a problem for them. Me on the other hand, I

embrace my love for music and I jump right in... sometimes.

Before I choose the right song, I need to know that songs are composed of several basic

elements that all come together to function as a whole. Those elements are lyrics, melody,

chord structures, arrangements, lead vocals and vocal range.

Lyrics are incredibly important when choosing a song. A forty year old woman wouldn’t

want to sing “Part of your World” from the Little Mermaid. I love jamming out to it just as

much as the next Disney loving teenager, but that song is meant for a younger group because it

makes it more real. Lyrics have to mean something to the person singing, otherwise they are

just letters and sounds. The musician has to become the character of the song, step into that

character’s world and share that character’s thoughts and feelings.

The music, which consists of the melody, chord structures, arrangements and lead

vocals, is important because that’s what catches and traps the audience. If the audience

doesn’t find the tune catchy, no one will listen past the chorus. It has to invite them in. Nobody

can ever remember the second verse of “We Will Rock You” because it is not even close to

being as catchy as the first verse. In the words of Zac Brown Band, “You can jump right in, let

the music pull you in, you can jump right in, go and lose yourself again.” The audience wants to

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lose themselves in the piece. The piece should make them forget that they are listening to

someone perform.

Having a huge vocal range is the equivalent of being Stephen Curry in Basketball. He can

make pretty much every crazy insane shot. Guns N’ Roses lead singer Axl Rose has the largest

recorded vocal range. He can sing more than 75% of the keys on a piano.

Axl Rose’s range Axl Rose’s range Axl Rose’s range Axl Rose’s range Axl Rose’s range

Normal people do not have ranges that large.

I have been singing for 12 years, and this is my wimpy vocal range.

this is my range this is my range this is my range

Selecting the song is crucial and from watching years of American Idol auditions I’ve

learned that it is incredibly important. Song choice is repeatedly emphasized to contestants

that didn’t get that yellow piece of paper signifying that they would be moving on. My goal of

every performance is to get those compliments from my music teachers. I want to get that

yellow paper.

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For females there are multiple voice parts, but the two main parts are soprano and

alto. Sopranos sing the higher notes, and altos sing the lower notes. For males, tenors are the

higher notes, and basses are the lower notes.

My first time signing up to perform vocally, I did not do it voluntarily. Being a freshman

in high school, there was no way I would have gotten up on a stage in front of 300 people to

sing a Broadway show tune. I signed up because it was a requirement in order to continue with

the Academy of Visual and Performing Arts. Aside from performing ‘recitals’ for my parents in

our family room and singing in the shower, I had never performed a solo. At that point I had

done dozens of piano recitals before I turned 14, but at least when I play piano, I have

something to hide behind. When I’m singing, it is me, alone on a stage. I do not have any

physical stability, there is nothing a performer can lean on.

I thought I had chosen a song that was perfect for my vocal range. Boy was I wrong.

I thought I had chosen the song that I could relate to. Boy was I wrong.

I thought I had chosen the perfect song to make my first vocal debut. Boy was I wrong.

I thought I could do it. Boy was I wrong.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

Walking into school, I notice my friend Ryan walking ahead of me. I call out his name, and

for a split second, I have the fear that it may not have been Ryan and whoever turns around is

going to give me that awkward stare.

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Ryan turns around and relief rushes over me as he stops walking and smiles.

“Oh hey Maria, are you ready?” Ryan asked.

“I think so,” I pause as my nerves hit me. All that confidence I had just spent the last

three hours building up turned to dust and was blowing away in the wind. “I just don’t want to

mess up.”

“Maria you’re going to do fine, I wouldn’t worry one bit,” Ryan drops the topic and

starts to make small talk to distract me.

As we head into the choir room, our music teacher is there to welcome us with a big

smile on her face. I grab a seat in the back corner and take off my coat. Trying to build up my

confidence again, I repeat to myself, I can do this.

A little while passes and as I am going through my piece in my head, one of the stage

crew boys enters the room, looks around for a second and spots me.

“Maria you’re up next.” His voice pulls me out of my focused state, and I realize that I

have to open my mouth in front of 300 people and if I sound anything less than perfect, I’m

screwed.

I walk backstage and begin my deep breathing exercises. I’m already shaking from

nerves and playing with the edges of my lace dress. I hear the audience clap for the person

before me and I try to pull myself together. It is my time to go on stage and show the audience

that I can sing. I can do this. I can do this. I can’t do this.

I’m trembling as I walk towards center stage and I have a strong urge to turn around and

run. For a second, I actually consider it. But I feel like I would just make an even bigger fool of

myself.

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I look over at my accompanist who smiles and nods at me. My heart is beating so fast it

feels like I ran a marathon. I think of the three things any performer must remember to do

before they start to sing. I start by making sure my feet are about eight inches apart. Next, I roll

my shoulders back and finally I take three calming deep breaths.

I look at my accompanist again and nod. I am ready to begin.

The first notes sound from the piano and a chill is sent up my spine. I begin to sing the

song called, “On My Own” from the amazing musical, “Les Miserables”. Fitting, because on this

stage, I am on my own.

I had a terrible feeling that this three minute song was going to feel like ten minutes. I

begin to become the character and try to relate. Suddenly, I realize that I can’t relate at all. I’m

a freshman in high school and I believed what my older siblings told me, relationships are

stupid. I don’t love anybody besides my family and my best friends. Without “him” the world

around me doesn’t change because there is no “him” in the picture.

I begin to panic, but before I can get too far, it is my turn to start singing. The song

comes pouring out of me and at this point I don’t even know if I am singing the right lyrics. I get

to the chorus and my voice lets out an ugly crack and my confidence, if I even have any left, is

completely gone.

I want to run. I want to start sprinting and not look back. I’ll transfer schools, maybe

move to a different state. I just can’t show my face here ever again. I have no choice but to

finish my song, then I’ll talk about moving far away to my parents later.

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I continue on and I feel completely detached. Mentally, my performance is over.

Unfortunately, I still have a minute before I can find a corner to sulk in. I’m getting closer to the

part in the song where I have to hold a bizarrely long high note that I’ve only ever nailed once.

I don’t know if I can do this.

The scary note is slowly approaching and I have screwed up too many times to count. I

start playing with the hem of my dress again, rolling it between my fingers. My feet are stuck to

the ground and I’m leaning too far forward.

I’m almost there, I’m almost done, I just have to get through this line and I can leave. I

begin the line and my throat is dry causing my voice to be raspy and scratchy. I can feel tears

swelling up in my eyes and I don’t know if I can let another word out. My voice immediately

cracks and I painfully hold the note to give it the full value.

As the song comes to an end, the tears fall down my face. The audience claps and I turn

around and rush off the stage. I push past my friends on stage crew who are giving me

compliments and I start running.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

Music builds relationships

According to Aniruddh Patel at the Neurosciences Institute in San Diego, California,

monkeys can’t tap their feet to songs. Humans are the only primates who can move to the beat

of music.

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When a person plays music, multiple parts of the brain are stimulated. Motor systems in

the brain control the movements needed to produce the sound, the sound is processed by

auditory circuitry. Sensory information from the fingers, hands, and arms are sent to the brain

for processing, visual information is sent to the brain for processing and interpreting commands

for the motor centers. Not to mention the brain also processes emotional responses to the

music as well.

The picture above is the hippocampus, which is the area of the brain that is involved

with memory and learning. The hippocampus on the left is a musicians and the hippocampus on

the right is a non-musicians. The blotches on the hippocampus show the activity in the brain.

The musician’s hippocampus shows significantly more activity than the non-musicians. Children

with one to five years of musical training are also able to remember 20% more vocabulary

words read to them off a list than children that haven’t had musical training. I wonder if that’s

why I’ve always been good at vocabulary.

There are a lot of effects that music can have that haven’t had scientific studies done.

One of them being that music brings people together.

Pericozzi 9

I’ve never had a good relationship with my brother closest to me in age. We constantly

argue and fight with each other. For years we’ve fought over the TV remote, who takes longer

in the bathroom in the morning, who my parents loved more and many other stupid pointless

things. The only time we ever had a good relationship was when I was in eighth grade. I was

one of the seven eighth graders that were invited to play in the high schools marching band. It

was a big deal. Eighth graders rarely were invited to play with our National Class Marching

Band. My brother was a senior in the marching band at the time and due to my parents working

until 6 p.m. on week nights, he was forced to drive me to rehearsals. For the first couple weeks,

this consisted of silent car rides where he would fiddle with the radio or drive straight ahead.

My brother hated the fact that I was soon to be friends with all of his friends. When I

was an eighth grader, I met so many incredible people through music and to my brother’s

dismay, we begun to have mutual friends. In the marching band, seniors were friends with

eighth graders and freshman, which may seem shocking to someone who wasn’t involved in

music. When someone thinks of seniors, they think of the cliché senior football players shoving

the little freshman in a locker. When I think of seniors, I think of the most incredible people I

met in high school that I looked up to. I guess I’m a little biased, I barely left the band room

throughout my four years of high school. I never saw a freshman get shoved into a locker.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

Pericozzi 10

As I’m looking out the bus window I see raindrops collecting at the bottom of the

window being swept away by the wind. Today was the day that we put over 200 hours of

practicing, rehearsals, competitions, blood, sweat and tears into. Today was States.

Every year, the top marching bands across the state meet at the Syracuse Carrier Dome

to compete and this was about to be my first performance.

I nervously bounce my knee as the bus pulls into the parking lot. I can feel the tension

on the bus rise as we see the white dome next to us. It doesn’t look so big on the outside. I

don’t understand why they were all saying that the size is going to take our breath away.

We all step off the bus and some of us start grabbing our hats from the booster moms

and the others start grabbing our instruments from under the bus. This is the most silent I have

ever heard the band. I follow their lead and keep my mouth shut. A guide from Syracuse

University meets us outside and points our 140 member band in the right direction to the warm

up area designated for the Lancaster Marching Redskins.

Once we walk down the long tunnel into the warm up room, small chatter can be heard

and the tension in the room dissipates. Susan, one of the visual staff, calls the band to attention

and tells us to get into stretch block. Stretch block helps us stretch out physically and also

mentally. It always calms us down before performances. My stretch block spot happens to be

right next to my brother and I try not to make eye contact as I walk towards my spot. I pretend

to be adjusting my jacket and my brother stops me. I prepared myself for listening to him yell at

me about something I did, but instead he held up a fist.

“Knock ‘em dead,” my brother says with a smiling face.

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I smile and fist bump him. For the first time for as long as I can remember, my brother

doesn’t say a snarky comment bashing me in some way, shape or form.

49,250.

That’s the number of seats in the carrier dome. Not all of them are filled, but the

amount of space and open air in the dome is overwhelming. There is no amount of pictures or

words that anyone can say to prepare someone for this feeling.

I can’t breathe.

My brother looks over at me and smiles.

While I am marching to my place, I am looking around the stadium, only about 25% of

the seats were filled. I can feel the bouncy bright green turf below my feet. The upperclassmen

warned us of the bounciness last week, I just don’t want to be known as the freshman that fell

because I didn’t take their warning seriously. I wiggle my toes which are currently restricted in

my marching band shoes with the weirdest name ever, dinkles. I blow warm air into my

instrument, trying to calm my nerves.

The judges announce that they are ready, and the judges that walk around the field

during the performance start to head over.

I’ve never been so nervous. I can do this.

The introduction starts as the other marching band members seamlessly weave in-

between each other.

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Crap! I am supposed to be moving. I catch up to my line and pretend nothing happened.

I just hope nobody saw. I march in formation and play all the correct notes, at least I think I am.

Before I know it, the audience is clapping and we are walking off the field.

After all of the performances, we line the field and wait for the awards ceremony. We

line up and the whole group starts to hold hands. They start to announce all the way from

seventh place to third. Our name hasn’t been called yet so we are all freaking out thinking that

we may have won.

My friend Adam is on my left, squeezing my hand so hard I feel like it is going to break in

half and my best friend Amanda is on my right, with tears streaming down her face. The

announcer clears his throat.

“And in second place,” he pauses. He pauses for the longest time.

“The Lancaster High School Marching Redskins!” The entire marching band starts

jumping up and down, screaming and hugging each other. Who knew second place could be so

exciting. This was the highest place our band has ever gotten.

My brother comes up to me and gives me a huge hug, lifting me off the ground. He hugs

me so tight I feel like my back is going to break.

“We did it,” I could see tears coming from my brother’s eyes, but I knew better than to

comment. “The best brother/sister duo there is.”

He gave me another hug and walked away.

I can’t believe he just said that. That’s the nicest thing he has ever said.

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♪ ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Duets are one of the greatest experiences someone can have. Practicing and performing

with someone else gives you a new look on things. It is a game changer, because before you

know it, you can learn some new techniques and see someone else’s way of doing things.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

I walk into the practice room and am instantly hit with a rush of cold air. The piano keys

are chipped off and stray pencil marks are on the wood.

Ryan pushes open the door and walks in.

“Maria!” he says while smiling. “Ready to warm up?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I reply as I think about how lucky I am to be performing with

Zoe. She’s been studying voice since she could talk and her mother was on Broadway. She

never lets anyone forget that.

Zoe is a 5’6” dangerously skinny girl with perfect brown curls. She always wanted to be

on Broadway like her mother. She’s the show off girl in the choir.

Zoe and I are standing in the choir room an arm’s length apart, shoulders rolled back,

breathing deeply, concentrating on our audition. The first notes from the piano sound and I am

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instantly absorbing the music. Zoe starts to sing her opening lines of “For Good” from Wicked

and instantly there are smiles on our music teachers faces.

Flawless. I’m lucky to be singing with someone so talented.

I begin my line and instantly I start to shake.

The audition is only in front of three people. I can do this. I can do this. I just want to curl

up in a ball and crawl into bed. Why couldn’t I choose art? It would be so easy to just work on

my artwork in peace and let it hang in a gallery. I don’t have to do anything in front of people.

A few days later, the list is posted. That single sheet of paper decides whether or not we

will be able to sing in the concert. Zoe and I agreed to look at the list together after eighth

period, so I shut off my phone and put it in my backpack. I don’t want any congratulations texts

spoiling the moment we find out that we get the spot in the concert.

Eighth and ninth period went slow and as I walk toward the choir room, I see a crowd of

people around the choir room door, where the lists are normally posted. I see Zoe standing in

the hallway biting her nails nervously and I walk up to her.

“Are you ready?” I say as I start walking toward the list. The students gathered around

the list part the red sea.

Slowly, I scan the list and my heart drops.

I turn around and briskly walk towards the choir room. I need to find a corner in the

choir room to sit in. I can imagine their faces, the students in the hallway, watching me look at

the list and not see my name. The humiliation. I can’t do this.

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♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

Is there such thing as a perfect performance?

All of my preparation was about to pay off. I have been studying music for so long and

this is about to be my perfect performance. It was all coming down to this moment. Have I

learned anything since I started studying voice? This is my senior performance, the last

performance I would do in high school. Every technique I’ve learned, every single scale I’ve

sung, every riff I have perfected, all comes down to this.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

I walk out from backstage, looking down at my new high heeled shoes. Reaching center

stage I stand in place, very rehearsed, with my feet a certain distance apart, my shoulders rolled

back the perfect amount and taking deep breaths from my stomach.

Looking over at my accompanist, I nod, letting her know I am ready to begin.

I can do this.

As the first note sounds from the piano, I can feel chills being sent up my spine.

How am I supposed to do this?

What if I screw up?

What if I mess up and everybody laughs?

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How am I supposed to do this?

It is near my time to start singing, but it doesn’t seem quite right. I take a deep breath,

and freeze. Did I miss my entrance?

I start in panic mode and I look over at my accompanist and I see her nod at me. A wave

of relief rushes over me. I know when I am ready to come in, she will follow me.

She creates a smooth transition and begins to play the introduction again, giving me a

second chance. It gives me a moment to take a few deep breaths and think. I am ready.

I start to sing the first line and I can feel my head begin to spin.

I look out into the audience and see a bunch of dark shapes, some of them moving. I see

three lights coming from the back of the auditorium. That must be where the music teachers

are all sitting with their clipboards, pen in hand, waiting to catch every little mistake.

I make it through the first line without messing up. Maybe I can do this. I begin to sweat

and I start playing with the edge of my dress. No, stop it. Stop distracting the audience by

playing with the edge of your dress, you have to sing and give them everything you got.

I could hear my voice teacher in the back of my head, telling me that I would be fine, like

she did earlier that week.

***

I had come into voice lessons with Elizabeth crying, due to pre-performance nerves. She

tried to get me to realize that it was no big deal, but I couldn’t believe her.

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“You can do it, you sing in front of me all the time and don’t get nervous anymore.”

Somehow hearing that didn’t make my nerves disappear.

“Pretend it’s just me in the audience or that you’re singing in an empty hall.”

That wasn’t working either.

“Absorb the music. Pretend you’re in an enormous hall with a beautifully painted

ceiling, and acoustics like you couldn’t believe. Pretend you’re alone. Take a deep breath, and

absorb the music. Hear the piano, and just let everything go on the stage.”

***

As I continue with my performance, I imagine myself in a beautifully painted hall, with

amazing acoustics. I continue into the first verse, and don’t miss a single note.

Does everybody in the audience know that I am shaking?

I glance upward and see a beautifully painted cathedral in my mind, with angels on the

wall, clouds and a bright blue sky and a heaven of some sort painted on the ceiling. My heavy

breathing slows as I begin to calm down.

As I approach the chorus, I start to panic. My mouth is extremely dry and I have a

feeling, the one that comes from your deepest insides that this wasn’t going to end very well.

I start to realize that no matter what was about to happen, how badly I would mess up,

that there is no way I could leave the stage before my accompanist played the last note,

without suffering from embarrassment.

I swallow a nearly impossible gulp, and get ready to sing again.

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Every music teacher from the district is in the audience, looking up at me, making

judgements about my musical abilities.

I think about my dad. How proud he was after my first shitty performance. How he’s told

me every single time that I did wonderful, even if I didn’t. Then, something in me switches.

I begin to sing from the heart.

I fall inside of the music, every pitch, every rhythm, and begin to give it my all.

I imagine a sixty person orchestra behind me, accompanying me.

I hear every note from every player in my head.

I imagine myself in a beautiful hall belting out every note.

I imagine myself sounding incredible.

Suddenly, I am Elphaba, from Wicked. Standing center stage, belting out the final notes

of the powerful piece, The Wizard and I.

Suddenly I am Christine, from Phantom, singing the final very high atmospheric notes of

The Phantom of the Opera.

Suddenly I am Eponine, from Les Miserables, singing On My Own.

In reality, I am on my own. There’s no turning back now.

I am by myself, on a stage performing for three hundred complete strangers.

But for the first time, I am confident.

For the first time since I stepped on the stage, I know I can do it.

I belt out the final notes and pause.

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Time freezes, and I think back to my first performance, four years ago. This auditorium

was pitch black, but I could imagine their faces after that performance. I wouldn’t be talked

about, at least not in a good way.

I can imagine their faces now. Their faces don’t matter.

I did my best.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

There is no such thing as a natural, perfect performance. It took me six vocal

performances, five years of private vocal lessons and countless hours practicing for me to

realize that. Nobody is perfect.

After my senior year performance, I walked the halls standing taller than ever. I didn’t

walk into a class and sit in the back, I sit in the front. I wasn’t afraid to raise my hand and

answer a question. I stepped out of my comfort zone. Music changed me.

I stopped hiding.