Tone Deaf* and Stiffs

*Unable to perceive differences of musical pitch accurately.

It’s not a disease, though there are many of us (not me) who have it; some are frightfully impaired while others are merely limited to a small extent – dependent on what you think small means. It’s kind of like explaining what is, is.

I have a younger sister who happens to be completely tone deaf. She cannot carry a tune, albeit singing, whistling, or even her relentless attempts at humming. Playing a musical instrument would be hopeless at best, unless she was to use it as an implement of protection. She once tried to hit me over the head with my trumpet. Fortunately for me there is a nine-year age difference between us, and all it did was create uncontrollable laughter by our Mother and Father. (Yes, Mom and Dad did have a weird sense of humor. We all have to get what we get from a reliable source, don’t we? They were truly a reliable pair when it came to finding a thing or two to laugh at or about.)

By age six, my sister was well into a lifelong love affair with commercials. In her young era of life, there was a preponderance of singing commercials being constantly played day and night on both radio and television. She had the lyrics to all of them memorized. While she may have given up on her feeble attempts at crowning me with my own trumpet, her singing at the most inopportune times, never failed to take over whatever important moment in my life might have been revealing itself.  

As an example, on the rare moments when I thought it important enough to be studying for a school exam, Sis would enter my room on tip toes and then without warning, begin singing about how AJAX – the foaming cleanser – would float the dirt right down the drain. Then, as I began to giggle with pretend annoyance, she’d follow up with her version of the ever popular Doctor Ross Dog Food and, if the situation demanded an encore, there was nothing better to place the nail in my laughter coffin than the Chesterfield Cigarette theme song – how mild can a cigarette be.

Because I was the older brother, this then seven-year-old little girl would hopelessly take part in any theatrical scheme I came up with. She’d put on display a marvelous exuberance whenever I chose to be nice to her. It didn’t take much goading on my part to convince her to get up and entertain at a family get together. There we would be – aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered together, talking and having a great time, when I would call them to attention and announce they were in for a big treat. Sis would come up to center stage and without hesitation, begin singing her own rendering of the most readily heard commercials of the day. Without exception, all in attendance enjoyed having a break from whatever problems they might have. She may not have been able to carry a tune, but for sure my sister wasn’t an on-stage stiff. 

The Stiff

In voice over, I suppose the synonym for not being tone deaf would be having good diction. Both good pitch recognition and good diction are held in similar esteem when making other comparisons. As an example of my theory of working comparisons, I offer you a couple of interesting (at least to me) contradictions and questions to consider…

• What is there about the game of golf that makes it so difficult for most people? 
• What about the condition of stage fright?
• Why do most people desire to be first, but when given the chance to go first invariably turn it down?
• Why does a tone deaf little girl have the courage to step up center stage and perform?
• Why does a person with perfect diction, to go along with a beautiful voice, find it almost impossible to be hired as a professional actor in the field of voice over?

If you’re reading and questioning my premise of a skilled group of people displaying great ineptitude for success, then I presume you are not attending to any form of professional aptitudes requiring a display of creativity within the world of any subjective art forms.

At this point, I’ve lost about 62 percent of my readers. Why 62 percent, you may ask? Because, I say so. Now isn’t that subjective? The man who delivers such a statement regarding more than anything attributable to the mass population of average human beings, should earn their living in only one comparable world – live your life and times in search of success through striving in a creative art form structure. Short, and as sweetly stated as I can make it, only about 30 percent of humanity should ever attempt to “draw a straight line.”

Note: “Draw a straight line” is the Harvey Kalmenson definition of creative ability.

Although my little sister was tone deaf, she nevertheless has creative ability. She could step up onto whatever of life’s platforms it happened to be, and without total inhibitions, she would proceed to be. What you got was truth. Hers. She didn’t pretend to sing, she sang. My sister will never be a stiff.

Stiffs

Real wood has a look and feel to it, which will never be replaced by real plastic. Perhaps it’s because plastic will never be real.

Real Wood:  “See. Spot. Run.” 

Plastic:        “See…spot…run….”

It was during an acting workshop, many years ago…

I was fortunate enough to be in attendance as our guest Greer Garson demonstrated her interpretation of reality.

Miss Garson was aware of an interesting problem, which a lesser actor may not have been aware of; her unbelievable beauty was always a distraction. No audience was able to let it go without notice. 

Center stage, she hesitated for a moment, obviously in a display of truthfully deep thought. She appeared to be holding and petting a small animal in her arms as she began.

“The bandages will soon be off,” flowed from her in a stream of consciousness. She leaned forward and said gently as she appeared to be releasing the animal from her arms, “See spot run.”

Miss Garson had created her before, during, and after scenario in a matter of a moment or two. Yes her beauty remained, but it was no longer a distraction.

We learned from her disarming presence, the power of truth and focus. I heard statements delivered that day about the suppleness of pure thought – how suppleness and stiffness were at the opposite ends of communicating with a live audience. Then, add to the bearing suppleness had, not only having to do with delivery, but also with the understanding the actor is attempting to convey – either by sight, sound, movement, or by lack there of. 

Perceiving the truth is the very first step in order to convey it.

        

“I inwardly prayed for the little girl’s ability to see when the bandages were ultimately removed. I felt her anxiety as I said the words to myself, ‘God help her to see my puppy.’”

Then, one of us asked Miss Garson why she prayed for the little girl to see the puppy and not see her beautiful face as her first glance. Her answer was direct and simple. It brought our giggles to the surface.

“I believe my line was, ‘See spot run,’ not, ‘Look at my beautiful countenance.’”

All during this all too brief learning experience, Greer Garson never seemed to raise her voice. I’ve always wondered if what she taught and believed in was tailored entirely for our very young group of 16 year olds, or whether it would become my own belief through the ensuing years. 

Greer Garson donated millions for the construction of the Greer Garson Theatre at both the Santa Fe University of Art and Design and Southern Methodist University's Meadows School of the Arts.

The theatres were funded on three conditions: 1) the stages be circular, 2) the premiere production be William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, and 3) they have large ladies' rooms.

Oh, No! You Can't Say That!

They’ll think you mean something like _____* sex.

That’s what I did mean.

Well, you just can’t say that. People will think you’re thinking about it.

What people are you talking about? You mean the adults out there who are thinking about the same thing or things I happen to be thinking about? Did you ever see a guy walking down the street, and a rather attractive (or not so attractive) gal comes passing by and, because the guy happens to be with his wife, he steals a clandestine look at her – making sure not to be noticed by anyone, especially his wife?

Wake up, Mister! Everyone noticed you and besides, who are you hurting? Looking is good; touching depends on the timing. Mental touching is almost always good – as in “I was touched by a beautiful sentiment.”

To look and to touch are part of being alive.

da harv’s credo: “I don’t want to die until I’m dead!” If I happen to be looking, it’s because I am able to see. What a concept, don’t you think?

I remember once seeing a guy fall flat on his ass as he tried to avoid being noticed as he salaciously admired the human form of a pulchritudinous and delightfully graceful member of the distaff side. Some might say if he weren’t looking, he wouldn’t have taken the header. For me personally, I have learned to do a walk and look simultaneously. I don’t refer to my adroitness as multi-tasking, because enjoying really isn’t a task.

This entire mental wizardry does stir my curiosity.

A hypothetical: Suppose you are in a restaurant and the waiter or waitress comes up to your table and blithely (disregard for the rules of the road) announces, as she shows you her pad or whatever slip of paper she uses in taking an order, “Here’s what you will be having today.”

Alternate scenario: In your own place of business, an employee who you pay handsomely (or entry level, it doesn’t matter) listens to your request (order) and blithely responds with, “I’m not going to do what you ask.”

Your next words, in either case, would be, “Goodbye now.” For some, it would be accompanied by a Rose Queen type wave.

Do you ever wonder, as I do, if our elected officials ever think about how they’re all in the process of screwing us? Aren’t they, our elected officials, doing what the waitress or our employee is attempting to do in the example scenarios presented?

Can I ask that question – or is it similar in connotation to thoughts of any other sex act, or act of sex, to be determined by Congress after proper investigation? I seem to recall a high-ranking politician saying on network television, as he pointed his finger directly at the camera, how he had never had sex with that woman. It was later established how it must have been totally her fault – kind of like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

        

So what’s the point?

Exactly! I’ve been asking that question almost from the time I experienced my first slide of life. When a person the likes of my favorite man of the day, Greg Guttfeld, rattles away with his own series of abstract deliverances, the likes of which would make Picasso proud to know him – I feel, why not da harv? (Yeah.) Why not, damn it? Why do I have to watch what I say to these folks? Most of which live out there on the other side of my disturbing “blognarios” (there’s no such word, but it’s like a scenario) have little or no concerns over what I’m saying anyway.

Examine these facts of (my) life: with well over 30,000 hits, you’d assume I’d have received a torrential outpouring of encouragement – or discouragement – regarding my creative literary notions.

Oh, contraire! However, what I have done may be deemed quite scientific. My writing style leaves most people speechless. Think about the sheer magnitude of my discovery. Out of the 30,000 “blogaroos”’ (another of my words) only two responded. Two out of 30,000 proves beyond a shadow of a doubt da harv has been successful in finding a way to silence even the most heartiest of blowhards.

This particular missive will go down in history as the beginning of my new professional service. As of this moment a new company exists – taken from a group of our local Valley Girl Association – my new company is known as “Oh, Shut Up.”

Believe it or not, at first it wasn’t apparent to this da harv guy that “shut up” meant, “keep going.” Then came discovery, as my attorney friends would say, and I did discover (a lot, but not really) an almost incoherent way to converse.

But, what a marvelous bottom line to know and understand. Our future is in good hands, or would that be in good thumbs? Our leaders have taught the “youngins” well (they think). Pretend to listen, ignore, and tweet a friend with constant updates.

***

It was at lunch awhile back at the very posh country club of the well known. This day, we were being treated to anything you could possibly think of having for lunch with a group of the very well known. These were all people who took pride in being the founders and charter members of the Los Angeles Bull Shit Brigade.

Note: no cameras were ever allowed within these confines.

With the exception of yours truly, those present for lunch were the people synonymous with power and control. What I noticed immediately was the lack of sound. Aside from a public library, or the quiet room of a spa, this could have only been rivaled by the entrée of a funeral home. Talk about sedate…this was irate sedate. I had never been around people who could eat as quietly as they did. The gentleman, who brought me as his guest, will remain incognito because he is still alive and prominent.

After entering the main dinning room, we were escorted to our table in the furthest end of the room away from the entry and up against the glass window looking out at the golf course. After being seated, my host whispered to me, “It’s not what it seems, they don’t mean what they say. Only a few know and understand what transpires right under the noses of the uninformed.”

If a tort was a tart

And a tart was a tort

How could a heart determine

When or what to abort

If an instant was a feeling

And a feeling prompted an instant

Would guile demand my smile?

Does a sly smile depict guile?

If a thing is cherished

Then only the abstract is the thing

Speaking of and in the abstract

Happens to be my thing

The quiet lunch was revealing. They ordered in ways that said more than could possibly be deemed by me as secretive. It was pointed out by my host, that the maître d’ happens to be an extremely influential and powerful influence peddler. If something of importance is going on in this town, he’ll know and have a handle on it.

The three short paragraphs of prose did have an ulterior message other than what one might think they’ve discerned for themselves. What I was left with was a final and simple statement; whether or not it bears truth within its meaning is yours to decide for yourself.

“What will be is and has always been predetermined.”

Author unknown (not really).

* This was a compromise. I really said something else. 

How to Fail

Guarantee: Don’t practice your craft and you will have failure all wrapped up in a neat little package. 

My surprise is never ending – endless. The novice always comes forth with ignorance constantly enhanced by inactivity of the mind. In other words, if you think you have a chance to hit the ball without the benefit of regular (every day for most) batting practice, then you really have another think coming. You might as well stay at home as you fit perfectly under the marquee verifying your stature within the voice over community – Rank Amateur. Perhaps I am being somewhat harsh; novice could suffice as the proper marquee descriptive.

It must have been five years ago when an actor, suitably described by me as a rude, crude dude, had completed his audition and, when I asked him to please fill out a registration form for our files, he looked at me like I was crazy. You’d think most actors with any brains might want their name and whereabouts firmly ensconced in the database of a reasonably prominent casting director. (I’m being modest, make that prominent. On third thought, make that very prominent!)

The end result was that it only took this guy a few seconds to hand the form back to me. I wondered how he could have completed the form so quickly. When I glanced at the so-called completed registration form, I was taken aback by his lack of interest in having anything to do with complying to another man’s instructions. When I asked him why all that he found necessary was to print his name at the top of the form, he curtly replied with how we already knew who represented him.

“Isn’t that enough information for you?” He asked on his way out.

“Much more than enough,” I replied.

The rude, crude dude is most likely out of whatever business he thought he was in. For certain, his agent dumped him. It is too bad that I can’t say his removal from our craft cuts down some of the competition true journeyman actors experience as their daily requiem, but the only thing this guy could possibly challenge is his couch – the dumb bastard. Oh, did I mention I thought of him as being ignorant?

***

Advice to the Lovelorn*

*Any actor who isn’t getting work.

Complaining vociferously to anyone or no one in particular, or contemplation of opening a vein will, in fact, reduce your chances of success, or even continuing with a mere existence in our subjective world. Damn, that was a long sentence, don’t you think?

I actually have experienced, first hand, a well-known personage who I can’t recall ever stumbling or dropping a word during an audition. This is, of course, almost impossibility. If you’re human, stumbles will occur. But this individual comes across as the Michael Jordan of voice over.

As a reminder, I’ve talked about him many times in the past. Michael Jordan, on many shoots, would ask and have a basketball half court set up in order for him to practice foul shots during downtime. Imagine, the greatest player of his time practicing his craft almost always. And, he never found anything to complain about.

Nothing I’ve ever seen or experienced while working as a professional will ever rival the earliest days of little theater right here in Los Angeles. Yes, it is a bygone era, but memories remain emblazoned.

It was on one of those frequent days, while cutting class, and functioning as a gofer at (I believe it was called “The Players Ring”) a little 40-seat theater on Santa Monica Boulevard that without warning, I found myself side by side with the one and only esteemed character actor, Peter Lorre.

The hunched-over actor on stage was rehearsing a scene where he portrayed a bent-over street peddler, grimacing in pain as he struggled forward inch by inch in his attempt to make a living. When the scene was completed, Mr. Lorre moved forward, extended his hand, and then hugged and personally congratulated the young, 23-year-old Harvard graduate, Jack Lemmon.

Note:  Neither of them was being paid for being there. Neither of them ever stopped practicing their craft. Both men made a lasting imprint on the society around them, giving back and taking part in a never-ending quest for education in and the betterment of themselves and the craft they both adored.

The words rude, crude, or dude could never become part of any narrative describing either of these momentous personalities.