Why I Sing


Why I Sing
By Gretchen Retka

I sing because I breathe. Breathing and singing go hand in hand. I inhale and I sing, inhale and sing. I’m always singing wherever I go. It’s my passion. It’s a gift that I choose to share with as many people as I can. I endure the challenges because I love it—and not in the sense of romanticized love, but in the form of pure and spiritual love.

I once heard about love described in terms of a relationship: When two lovers first meet they are wild, attracted to one another, passionate, all full of kissing and lust—“in love” and crazy! But once (to put it plainly) the period of insanity wears off, the two people are forced to look at what is left and decide whether or not it’s worth it to continue. After it all, if you couldn’t even imagine going through the rest of your life without that person, then you know: it’s true love.

I feel this way about singing. At first it was crazy childhood fascination, singing everywhere I went, entertaining the family and friends but without any formal training—just crazy about music. Later, after having some letdowns, reality set in and then I had to ask myself: Do I love singing this much? I know I can’t go the rest of my life without singing, having found a love like this.

So I stay, I endure whatever comes—happiness and heartbreak—and I grow. My life is forever changed because I love so deeply. I didn’t ask for this voice, but I’ve chosen to cultivate it because I can’t imagine another way.

Gretchen Retka is currently studying music and theater arts at the University of Minnesota Morris. In addition to being an active performer, Retka also teaches yoga and voice lessons.

Why I Sing
By Karen Lundry

Singing has been my constant companion for my entire life. As an Italian voice teacher of mine once said, “Lo strumento, siamo noi” (We are the instrument). Without a performance to look forward to and practice for, I feel bereft. Singing makes the drabness and drudgery of everyday life bearable. It takes us outside the ordinariness of life and connects us with others through sound and emotion.

I have never made much money from singing (except for a few years early on), but I have always sung. I hate the word “hobby” because to me it implies a lack of professionalism. I have an avocation with a devotion and sense of purpose as if it were my vocation. I’ve experienced lots of rejections, but I feel energized as I continue to study, perform, and look for more singing opportunities.

As I grew older and continued studying and going to auditions, I felt I should justify spending so much for voice lessons, coaches, and a website. I joked to myself that I was preparing for my next life, but I finally realized that I can’t live without this pursuit, with or without a “justification.” The pros definitely outweigh the cons.

I have a husband, two daughters, and a career in information technology, so I have looked for local venues for sharing my joy. Working with a director and my pianist, I created a classical cabaret, mixing art songs, arias, and musical theatre repertoire. In the past several years, we have performed versions with different unifying themes (such as the vicissitudes of love) in a cabaret space, on a local concert series, and at a retirement community. In the recent past, we have added projected translations, making the program more accessible to a broader audience. A recent performance of my classical cabaret was filled with laughter and warmth and it brought the audience to its feet. It was clear from the energy in the hall and the feedback afterward that we had all enjoyed the music and each other’s company.

And so, though it’s not a career in the sense of making a living, and it’s certainly not singing at the Met, it is a passion and a devotion and something I cannot live without.

Soprano Karen Lundry lives in Montclair, New Jersey. She performs regularly in the New York City area with her one-woman classical cabaret show and as an oratorio and church soloist. Visit her at www.karenlundry.com.

Why I Sing
By Daniel McGrew

I sing because I must. I sing because I have a song within me that I cannot silence. It’s a part of who I am. Like someone blinks or breaths—that’s how I sing. It’s involuntary. And if one stops the eye from blinking or the breath from cycling in and out, the urge will build and build—and despite one’s most earnest attempts against it, the eye will blink, the breath will assume its familiar rhythm. I will sing again!

And so here I stand, 17 years old, dreaming of a career that is, very apparently, full of obstacles, brutal disappointments, hurdles, and difficulties galore. Why? Why not something else? Something that is far more stable and secure? Because I am determined to live the life that I feel I am being called to live.

As singers, part of what we do is based upon our own enjoyment. I am never happier than when beautiful music surrounds me and fills me up—the joy of song is a thrill that never fades or dulls. This personal enjoyment is an important motivation within me—but even bigger, I feel, is the need to share what I’ve been blessed with. What is a song if nobody but the singer gets to experience it? I love to make people feel things through my music, make them think, make them laugh, and make them cry. It’s all about the music—getting inside the heart of the listener and stretching it, making them bigger inside. And suddenly, if only for a fleeting moment, they see themselves and the world in a new way. They remember something. They discover something. They are changed.

I cannot miss out on the opportunity to really affect people through the power of music in the name of fear or sloth. I’ll face the fear. I’ll conquer the seemingly impossible tasks. Because if I can touch lives with the talents I’ve been blessed with, then I have not lived in vain.

I must sing. And because I must, I will!

Daniel McGrew is currently a high school senior and took first place in the Classical Singer High School Competition last May. He wowed convention attendees with his performance of Roger Quilter’s “My Life’s Delight” at the Convention Closing Session.