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Health & Fitness

Sing Like You Think No One's Listening

As she prepares for her Oct. 29 recital, Chicago Heights native Michelle Gliottoni-Rodriguez shares the pressures, anxieties and empowering moments that taught her how to rule the stage.

I’m a singer.  I don’t know where it came from.  As a child, I was known for putting together little shows with the cousins for family Christmas parties and singing Madonna on tables with my light-up microphone in bangle bracelets. 

But most kids do that; it’s pretty ordinary. It was fun, but not something I would have expected would be my future passion.

At 14, I found my voice.  Most would think it would be wonderful to figure out that you’re talented at something you enjoy doing. What no one prepares you for is the reaction you get afterward.  Everyone assumes it is so easy to open one’s mouth and sing. They think because YOU are your instrument, you can just sing on command if they want to hear you. 

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Family is the worst when it comes to that sort of thinking.

“They’re probably going to ask you to sing…” That was my mother’s line, usually as we would be getting ready to attend any and every family function, as if it were sufficient warning.  That was typically followed by a “This could be (insert family relation)’s last (insert holiday).” 

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Ah, yes, the guilt! 

As a teenager, that always ended up working, and I’d sit through whatever family function just waiting for the call. It would always come near the end, way after I’d warmed up and after a big meal or dessert, or something you definitely don’t want to be singing on.

And then I’d be expected to get up and put on a one-girl show, singing something (preferably in English so everybody could understand it) and act like it was OK despite the fact that I didn’t want to be singing. I was not the same outgoing child ready to sing on tables; I was shy about my talent and hated the attention I got from my family for it.

I tell you from experience that it is so much easier to sing for a room full of strangers. When it’s family, it’s like a punishment! There’s too much “I wish (again, insert family relation) was here to hear you sing like that,” “she got her voice from MY side of the family," and “I can hardly wait to see you on the big opera stage.”

The best at being over-proud was my grandfather. I love the man and miss him so much since he died a few years ago, but he was exceptionally good at telling everyone he met (including perfect strangers) that his granddaughter was an opera singer. Oh, I do mean everyone!  The man could make conversation with the sales clerk, the waiter, the random person walking out of a store, ANYONE! It’s a talent I wish I had! 

When I was in college, I spent my spring breaks flying down to Florida to stay with him and my grandma. Because this was usually mid-term time, I needed to keep my voice in shape, so my grandfather got the managers of the country club to let me use their piano and their big room to practice in the mornings.

It was embarrassing enough because golfers would wander in and out, and I’d continuously have to stop and glare until they moved on. But then he’d insist we go to dinner at the club and ask the waiters and people at random nearby tables if they’d heard his granddaughter sing. Ducked head, red cheeks. I could barely mutter a reply!

And the one that takes the cake. 

I went out to dinner with my grandparents and a table full of their friends.  Imagine it: me at 19 years old and a table full of elderly people who were polishing off one wine bottle after another. We were at Macaroni’s Grill on a crowded Friday night, and then it started again with the waiter. 

“Did you know my granddaughter’s an opera singer? You should hear her sing.” 

Ducked head, red cheeks, and then came the part that had me ready to run out the door. 

“Why don’t you sing something for us?” 

A restaurant full of almost 100 people, loud with chatter, and he wanted me to sing?  And then all of the others at our table started with the subtle coercion. 

“We’ve never heard you sing before.”  “We might not see you again for a long time.” “Come on, just one song.” 

And I had to sing! In a restaurant full of people, who all silenced with the first few notes and stared. And it wasn’t fun at all! I am not good at being a prima donna; I never have been. I get too easily intimidated, and at college age, I still was having a hard time getting up my nerve to audition for solos let alone sing in full restaurants!

There is a scene in my phantom story “Untouchable” where Erik coerces Christine to sing in a café full of people even though she doesn’t want to. Ever wonder where the idea from that scene came from? That was as real as it gets! But Christine had more guts than I ever could. She sang purposely mediocre at first just to spite him and then proceeded to show off and be the diva. In my situation, I just wanted it over with as quickly as possible!

To those of you who know me, you know that I am not that same scared teenager, nervous to be put on the spot and forced to share her talent. I get anxious, of course; that’s natural, but I love to perform on MY terms. Warmed up, on a stage, with an accompanist to at least give me the key and a pitch. 

Being onstage is an exhilaration. I love every single moment and try to savor it for what it is. But it was those impromptu performances at family parties and restaurants that made me strong, that made me come out of my shell and be unafraid to leave it all on the stage. I love to let the music take me away and make something beautiful. I love high notes and the challenge in coloratura phrases.  I love not singing it perfectly in rehearsals and having that bit of fear that keeps me on my toes during the real show. I love seeing the audience and knowing that I have them in the palm of my hand from the moment I open my mouth. 

I have a lot of pressure on me all the time, mostly from myself, but I let it go when I’m onstage.  Of course, I know my mistakes, but I try to outshine them and make them inconsequential in the end.

There have been a few instances in my life due to health reasons that I’ve had to step away from singing. Every time I gave it up, it felt like I wasn’t myself anymore, like I was missing something crucial inside. 

I’ve put myself and my voice back together countless times now, and I spend so much time working on my technique and my art every single day.  I don’t regret a second of it. I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t singing. I AM the little opera singer my grandfather was always so proud of.

I don’t remember the last time my grandfather heard me sing before he died.  It was probably Sunday mass or another family wedding, but I know that he heard me afterward.  The hardest thing I ever had to do was sing his funeral, but I knew he’d want me to.

The proud grandfather. 

I heard time and time again that “no one sang better” than me.  Of course, he was partial, but I like knowing he truly believed that. To this day, before I step out onto the stage, I blow two kisses up into the air: one is for my Nonno Louis who died when I was a child and one is for my grandfather. I like to believe they listen to me sing even from heaven.

Being a performer, I’ve learned that family members are both your biggest fans and the biggest pains in the neck, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’ve learned that music is a blessing never to be taken for granted. Once it’s in your blood, it doesn’t come out again; it IS you.  And I’ve learned that if you have a gift, it’s your right to share it.  If you don’t, it’s like you don’t have a gift at all, and it goes wasted. 

Singing is one of my gifts, and I hope to always be able to share it with the world.

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