You Should Take That Stage Combat Class. Here’s Why…

Coming from a Stage Combat teacher and Fight Choreographer, this probably sounds pretty self-serving on my part, but please hear me out.  What is our job as actors and performers?  That’s always my first question at any beginner Stage Combat workshop.  What is our job? At the end of the day, it has a relatively simple answer.  

We tell STORIES!  Stage Combat is PHYSICAL storytelling.

I’m going to take a quick moment to debunk, as it were, one of the common misunderstandings that I hear quite frequently before I delve into why I think Stage Combat is ESSENTIAL for any performer.

“Stage Combat just FEELS fake” or “I would never fight someone that way.”  

Well, that’s kind of the point.  Stage Combat isn’t so much a study of fighting as it is a study of SAFETY.  One of the mantras I heard over and over again when starting out was, “Safety first, safety last, safety always.” When all is said and done, especially when working Fight Choreography for stage, the most essential goal is to make sure everyone involved is safe and can repeat the choreography night after night.  If you ever watch a real fight, you’ll notice you can barely follow along with what’s happening.  That’s not what we want.  Again, we need to tell a story.  What feels unnatural is necessary for us to effectively communicate to an audience what’s going on.  In short, we’re not looking for something that looks “real”, reality is subjective.  You and I can witness the same event and have entirely different perspectives on it.  What we want is to tell a story that is BELIEVABLE within our given circumstances.

When you go to any kind of acting school, you are learning different techniques from different teachers with different schools of thought.  You have Meisner, Stanislavski, Viewpoints, etc.  Ultimately, every performer going through this process will eventually pick and choose the best tools for them and keep it in their acting toolbox.  With that in mind, I want to delve into all the different tools one can acquire from taking Stage Combat classes.

PARTNERING 

Success or failure in any branch of the performing arts is, for the most part, heavily reliant on partnering.  Collaboration is such an integral aspect in this business, where so many different departments must show up and bring their A game to create something truly spectacular. This is especially true in Stage Combat.  As one of my first teachers once said, “My job is to keep my partner safe and make them look good.  If my partner is doing the same, we have a successful partnership and are able to tell an exciting story, while keeping everyone safe.”  If listening and reacting to a scene partner is crucial to tell an effective story on stage, it is absolutely essential for our purposes in Stage Combat.  Studying this art form has helped me hone my receptive skills and assisted me in connecting with my partners on stage.  Since a lot of our cooperation with fights on stage has to be non-verbal, it helps to foment a kind of sixth sense with the rest of the cast and crew.

STAKES AND INTENTION

I don’t know about you but one of the most common notes I received in acting class was “Raise the stakes.”  As a person for whom English was a second language, the first couple of times had me worried I had somehow enrolled in a culinary school.  Stakes and Intention are paramount in telling our stories.  It’s what helps draw in the audience as it allows them to connect with the characters on a more emotional and visceral level.  Studying Stage Combat requires you to explore the ideas of breath and vocals.  A lot of times, what makes a fight interesting is not necessarily how cool or flashy the moves are, but the moments IN BETWEEN the moves.  How does Tybalt react to an angry Romeo hellbent on avenging his friend’s death?  What is Macbeth’s mental state when he finds out that Macduff was “from his mother’s womb untimely ripped?”  In musicals, characters burst out into song when their emotions reach a point where words are no longer enough; they HAVE to SING.  It is the same with Stage Combat.  Violence happens in our stories when words are no longer enough and the only recourse is to get PHYSICAL.

BODY AWARENESS

Whether you’re a performer who only does plays, or musicals, or both, performing requires a good amount of physical stamina, as well as body awareness.  It doesn’t matter whether you are working on multiple dance numbers or really specific blocking; having a good knowledge and relationship with your own body is crucial.  I have worked with students who arrive barely able to tell right from left (a slight exaggeration), and leave with a deeper connection with their bodies.  They are more specific in their movements, which in turn aids them in being able to tell a wide variety of stories with their bodies.

 DIRECTOR’S EYE

While not something you can necessarily master from just one Stage Combat class, one of the most helpful tools I walked away with was a better understanding of the Director’s Eye.  So much of what we do to keep each other safe and sell a fight sequence on stage relies heavily on angles and, you probably guessed it, marks. Being able to calculate and adjust your distance with your partner, how far Upstage Right you have to be, how long must you extend your arm, are just some of the aspects that come up when performing a fight onstage. Work on this art form long enough, and you start to develop a better sense of that outside eye, which can be invaluable for performing onstage, especially when we start dealing with a thrust stage or theater in the round.

TRAINING DURING COVID

COVID-19 has affected every single aspect of our industry.  However, if there’s anything artists are universally known for, it’s adapting.  The Stage Combat community, like all other artistic communities, is lucky in that it has no shortage of creative and driven individuals.  Now, while it does present its own set of challenges, there are plenty of opportunities to start your journey.  You can visit the Society of American Fight Directors website and search teachers currently offering classes by regions at safd.org. While some of the benefits are limited in this virtual setting, it does offer you the opportunity to truly work on your specificity, preparing you for the day when you get to finally face off with a partner.

THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME

A Stage Combat Nerd such as myself can go down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, but these are some of the skills that a performer can hone from Stage Combat classes.  So, it doesn’t really matter if you want to become the next Jackie Chan or Jason Statham.  

You don’t have to walk away falling in love with Stage Combat like I did.  But I can assure you, if you are willing to take a Stage Combat class, perhaps 2 or 3, you will walk away with tools that will undoubtedly make you a more well-rounded and interesting performer.

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Gabriel Rosario

Advanced Actor Combatant, Stunt Performer and Fight Choreographer

Gabriel Rosario is a graduate from the American Musical and Dramatic Academy and is currently a Faculty Member in its Stage Combat Department.  He is an Advanced Actor Combatant, Stunt Performer and Fight Choreographer who has participated in plays such as Foggy Dew, The Adventures of Don Quijote, Follies, The Relationship Type, as well as being Fight Captain and Assistant Fight Choreographer for the World Premiere of Treasure Island at the Fulton Theatre and its East Coast Premiere at Maine State Music Theatre.  His film and TV credits include Dead@17: Rebirth, Tower of Silence, as well as the upcoming pilot, Dry Time, etc.   His credits as a Fight Choreographer include Romeo and Juliet, Faust on 147th Street, and Valor, Agravio y Mujer (HOLA Award Best Fight Choreography),  and La Paz Perpetua at Repertorio Español Rut and the short film Les Chienes.  Rosario is also an instructor at Swordplay in New York City.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Labors of the Creative Mind

I have been asked on more than one occasion to describe the most onerous aspect of being a writer. While the calling is certainly replete with all sorts of challenges that threaten one’s resolve every day, ultimately there is one truth of life as a writer that supersedes all others – the cruel and unforgiving reality that the creative mind never sleeps.  It systematically rejects the call of somnolence and with indefatigable vitality spins filaments of ideas that reside in every corner of the brain, where they await, with restless anticipation, the day they may emerge from the artistic womb for all to experience and enjoy. 

Alas, there is a reward for all of this restive toiling. When the labor is complete, there is certainly cause for joy and celebration. The discovery of new work by eager readers is a wonderful moment. 

But for the writer, any real jubilance yields almost instantly to the evanescence triggered by the conception and eventual birth of the next idea – and the next – and the next…

So, a writer must adapt, learn to accept the physical fatigue that results from this somewhat aberrant nature of his or her existence. It’s not so bad. Clearly there are worse ways to live your life. Still, challenges abound.  If a writer desires to also engage in the aspects of a conventional life, certain concessions have to be made in order to accommodate this alternative lifestyle. This requires a values triage – an assessment of those things that are essential to one’s well being and those which may be sacrificed for the greater good. 

This was not easy for me at first. 

I quit coaching the baseball team at the high school where I still teach when my older son, Nick, turned five years old. The reason? I didn’t want to miss anything that both my boys were doing. Thus, coaching both Nick and Anthony’s baseball teams, and attending every ice hockey game they played or any other event of which they were a part was non-negotiable. Also off the table was the time I spent every week with my parents, who were both ill for many years. They had done everything for me while I was growing up and I would not abandon them now. And of course, there was that whole teaching thing I was doing. Five classes of young minds who were counting on me to make their learning experience interesting or at the very least palatable had to remain a top priority. 

This presented quite a quandary. There wasn’t much time left to nurture my budding artistic offspring. 

Unable to resist the creative call, I carved out time from the remaining hours in my day. In addition to forgoing sleep, I often ate my meals on the run, resisted the allure of popular sitcoms and HBO dramas, and spent fewer hours with friends. Even my regular exercise routine had to be altered, something that resulted in the unintended acquisition of a few extra pounds. As I’m writing this I am smirking a bit over the somewhat delayed epiphany.

 At the risk of belaboring the motif, doesn’t every pregnancy result in a little weight gain?   

I first discovered this reality of life as a writer shortly after the publication of my first novel, ECHOES FROM THE INFANTRY. 

Before I could even savor my first appearance at Barnes and Noble or enjoy the thoughtful messages from readers I had received, I was caught up in the tumult of another idea – one that had completely consumed me. It was an idea for a story about a very special baseball player – Mickey Tussler. 

THE LEGEND OF MICKEY TUSSLER went on to receive wonderful reviews from both readers and professional organizations. I even received a call from Jason Koornick, Executive Producer at Eye In The Sky Entertainment in Los Angeles, California, whose inquiry about a film adaptation of the Mickey Tussler story soon became a hit television film and Netflix favorite “A Mile in His Shoes,” starring Dean Cain and Luke Schroder. There were speaking engagements, including The National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, appearances at schools and libraries, radio interviews and many other unexpected accolades.

I was proud of Mickey, a feeling previously reserved only for Nick and Anthony. 

But I felt an uneasiness - an ineffable force imploring me to resist complacency and pursue that which had yet to be acknowledged.  I was pleased with all of the attention and praise for the book, but that pesky desire to just keep on writing would not allow for excessive celebration. What could I do but heed the call? I was already well into book two of the Mickey Tussler series and I was nurturing a handful of other ideas and projects. So I pressed on, unable to stop myself. The need to create was mastering, tantamount to the sweet song of the Sirens who would lure unwitting sailors to the jagged shoreline.  

I was tired. But there was no rest for the weary.      

I can still recall a family vacation to Hershey Park while I was in the midst of my creative tornado. It was before the age of portable electronic devices. I was enjoying the rides and other attractions with Nick and Anthony when without warning, I began having originative contractions. New ideas had risen to the surface without any discernible cause or provocation. I was seized by the terror of losing any of my unexpected inspiration. Unwilling to acquiesce to inconvenience, I raced frantically through the park, in search of something on which to record these ideas and of course a writing implement. The fact that I spent a good part of that same afternoon huddled behind the Cotton Candy/Funnel Cake booth scribbling on white napkins with a borrowed Bic pen was a testament to my affliction.  

My fertility was at an all-time high. But so were my labor pains. 

I was fully immersed in the sequel to the Mickey Tussler story, SOPHOMORE CAMPAIGN, as well as crafting a thriller NOBODY HAS TO KNOW, which were both released the same year. 

That meant missing a few family barbecues and birthday parties as well as some impromptu invitations to grab drinks or something to eat with friends. Not everyone understood. And I had a difficult time explaining it. Few could grasp the notion that my need to create had robbed me as well of things I love. I hadn’t been to the movies (one of my favorite pastimes) in months. I couldn’t recall the last time I had hiked at Robert Moses State Park and I had missed more than a few Mets and Islanders games. I was aware of just how consuming my writer life had become. I vowed to change. I think perhaps I did, for a short time. But then whispering to me, ever so softly from somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind, was the idea for a third Tussler book, WELCOME TO THE SHOW.  

There was no postpartum depression.  And the labors of love continued. 

One may even argue they have intensified since. In the fall of 2017, while vacationing in Montauk with my family, I was asked by one of the founders of indie music producers MP Music House if I ever thought about writing lyrics. The question was flattering and definitely intriguing as well. But I was well into the writing of a memoir called I BECAME AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL OUTLAW and playing with an idea for a prequel to the Mickey Tussler trilogy. My time was already stretched alarmingly thin. I said no. I was already carrying quite a litter. I didn’t have room for another. So I remained focused on my time with my family, enjoying the surf and sand of one of my favorite places. 

Then it happened. Again. 

While hiking up and through the dunes at Hither Hills State Park, something stirred inside me. Like a tiny kick. I ignored it. Then it happened again. Thoughts of my parents flooded my mind.  I found myself playing with words and arrangements while I walked. First came the chorus. Then the first verse. I was powerless to resist. In less than two hours, the first full song I had ever written, “Daddy Wrote The Music,” was born. 

I was a proud papa. But I knew what this meant. There would be more to follow. 

I cringed. This would require even more resolve now. I was going to have to try to navigate the creative waters that continued to swirl, a vortex of present and future projects that would undeniably leave me sleep deprived and inordinately time challenged and fatigued. It would not be easy. But I did not lament this latest challenge. 

The fact is you’ll rarely hear me complain because if I were to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The joy of bringing an idea from its conception, through its infancy and finally to fruition is unlike any other. Everybody can sleep or kick back and relax. But so few of us get to savor the sweet taste of the creative process. 

Some time ago, I heard an artist describe his talent as both “a blessing and a curse.” Initially, I found that to be a curious paradox. How could the force that brings you such joy also be the instrument of such vexation?  It is only years later that I fully appreciate the veracity of that sentiment

There’s a price to be paid for creative work.  

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Frank Nappi

Frank Nappi is an American author, lyricist and high school English teacher.

Frank Nappi has taught high school English and Creative Writing for over thirty years. His debut novel, ECHOES FROM THE INFANTRY, received national attention, including MWSA’s silver medal for outstanding fiction. His follow-up novel, THE LEGEND OF MICKEY TUSSLER, garnered rave reviews as well, including a movie adaptation of the touching story “A Mile in His Shoes,” starring Dean Cain and Luke Schroder. Nappi continues to produce quality work, including SOPHOMORE CAMPAIGN, the intriguing sequel to the much-heralded original story, and the thriller, NOBODY HAS TO KNOW, which received an endorsement from #1 New York Times bestselling author Nelson DeMille. The third installment of Nappi’s Mickey Tussler series, WELCOME TO THE SHOW, was released in April 2016 and led to a musical adaptation of the award-winning series. “Buckle Up and Dig In” was released by MP Music House in September of 2017. Nappi collaborated on the writing of the song and after signing with MP Music House, has written the lyrics for several original songs, including multiple pieces for breakout artists Atticus Jones and Tom Petrone.  Nappi’s latest work, I BECAME AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL OUTLAW is a poignant, humorous memoir that chronicles Nappi’s elementary school days and the impact they still have on him many years later. Nappi makes his home on Long Island, where he has lived his entire life. For more information about Frank Nappi and his work, please visit the author’s website – www.franknappi.com  

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

A Bedroom Star Is Born

“The neighbors are complaining again about the loud talking at night.”

In the before times, I’d have been utterly humiliated if anyone had heard me speaking, much less acting out scenes from the various characters I imagine myself to be playing. The fare varies with the day – maybe it’s a classic like the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks….” Or maybe I’m feeling especially Skywalker and it’s, “I am a Jedi, like my father before me…” There are even musical interludes every now and then like, “Two Player Game” from Be More Chill. Whatever the material, though, I dive in with a wholeheartedness that would make a cosplayer at comic con jealous and when everything lines up just exactly right, I can begin to visualize the scene that’s taking place around me. Be it a Verona balcony, Death Star Emperor Chamber or Broadway stage, those are the nights that my audience, or as they call themselves, “neighbors,” get the Full Monty – the very best of my vaudevillian potpourri performances du jour. 

Why can’t they just be happy with the free entertainment? I should be charging them for tickets, and besides if you didn’t want to hear an ever-changing playlist of whatever strikes my fancy then you should close your windows. Did I mention I live in a house?

You might ask, why do I do it? Why can’t I confine my impromptu performances and ersatz awards acceptance speeches to the shower stall like a normal human being? Well, after a long period of introspection and self-examination I have discovered the cause of the issue – I am a lunatic. Or, if you prefer the archaic spelling, a-c-t-o-r.

Daniel P. Malito

Author, columnist, disability-advocate, aspiring actor and raconteur.

If I’m being honest, some part of me always yearned to strut my stuff.  Unfortunately, back when I was but a wee babe, lost in the forest of college and the world of “real jobs,” acting wasn’t on the list of viable choices come career day. If you asked my grandfather what he thought of the profession, well, let’s just say he was a one-man trigger warning that could make a no-mask protestor go running for a safe space. God, do I miss him… but I digress – the point is that I had convinced myself it wasn’t an option. So, in order to quell any disappointment I said to myself, “Meh, I’d probably stink at it anyway,” and it would have stayed exactly like that if not for a bitch-slap from the surprisingly soft hand of fate that forced me to re-examine just what the Hell really matters in this deceivingly short life.

Since I was young, I had suffered with rheumatoid arthritis. I know, it sounds innocuous, but it is anything but – it eats away at joints, yes, but it also affects the heart, lungs, and just about any other bit of meat that comes with the standard edition human action figure. I was working an office job like a good little drone when suddenly and without warning, my illness dropped a Wile-E-Coyote Acme-sized anvil right on my head and left me spinning. No more nine to five work. No more left shoulder. No more “normal.” Within the span of a few months my entire life was upended, and I found myself at home, no longer able to do the things I thought I was supposed to. I never could sit around doing nothing… for too long, so I started to write. And I wrote. A lot. I ended up with a book. And a podcast. And talk about developing a TV show. And a new perspective.

When your entire way of life is taken away from you virtually overnight it makes you, no, it forces you to re-examine just what’s important to you and what isn’t, especially when you only have a limited pool of energy to draw from each day. If you have to make every bit count then you either learn how to jettison the crap, and fast, or you end up with a life filled with fluff, and not the delicious marshmallow kind. The bright red boa kind that sheds all over your black sweater and people think Elmo just felt you up in a particularly frisky game of seven minutes in heaven. 

So I drilled down and decided real fast what was important to me, what I enjoyed doing more than anything, what my brain knew I desired without a moment’s conscious thought – and lo and behold it was the thing I had always known but never had the confidence to send to the front of the line. Acting. Performing. Theater. A bedroom star was born.

My sense is that many of you reading this will identify with the sentiments I’m sharing. As I said to my illustrious and wise acting teacher, “I’m screwed because it’s in me now. It’s inside and it’s gotta come out.” Maybe that means someone decides the show developed around my writing is worth producing. Or maybe that means a community theater production of Streetcar except it’s set on an alien planet and Stanley Kowalski has seven eyes and four arms. Sounds like heaven to me, and Hell for my neighbors.

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Daniel P. Malito is an author, columnist (for several prominent websites such as Creaky Joints and The Huffington Post), disability-advocate, aspiring actor and raconteur. He also writes, hosts and produces the award-nominated web series, Chronic Briefs, which highlights the poignant absurdity of living with chronic illness and disability in modern America. Over the past 15 years, Daniel has been honored for his work by The Arthritis Foundation, The Autoimmune Collective, WEGO Health, and is currently working to produce a show based on his writings.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Music Composer Aaron Paul Low Gives the Gift of Meaningful Advice 🎁

There is a fundamental conundrum for any professional musician who wants to offer advice on the music industry: the true "secrets" of their success are too precious to give away and the advice that's leftover is mostly cliché and common sense. 

In my twenty-some years as a composer, I honestly haven't acquired that many secrets. I won't tell you who my clients are or how I got them. I won't share my methodology for networking. I also won't share my musical influences... for legal reasons!

That just leaves the clichés. But somewhere in those clichés is meaningful advice that I would have liked to know before beginning my career. So let's examine the facts and the fictions of the most common pieces of advice. 

Cliché #1: It's Who You Know, Not What You Know

I was recently on a career panel at a music college where the entire discussion devolved into a repeated iteration on the theme of making connections: how to make connections, where to make connections, and who to make connections with. This one is a cliché for a reason, but maybe not for the reasons you think.

If there's one mantra you need to internalize, it's this: talent is common. Very common. Let's play a thought experiment. Every year there are ten or more violinists graduating from Juilliard. There are also ten graduating from New England Conservatory. And Manhattan School of Music. And every university, community college, and conservatory in the United States. Imagine the numbers when we extrapolate this to the whole world! We could do this for every instrument or art. Yes, even composing. And these are all extremely highly talented, educated, technically proficient individuals just like you. This is your competition.

A misconception I often hear is that the cream rises to the top, but this is simply not true. If we created a graph of the whole spectrum of violinists with a person who doesn't know violin at the bottom and Joshua Bell at the top, you'd find that the gap between the best grad in the world and the worst isn't actually that wide. When you're hiring a violinist to play whole notes, does it matter if you hire the best of the best?

I know it sucks, but the likelihood that anyone is going to hire you purely on how good your stuff is...is unlikely. It’s the old dream of the garage rock band waiting for a producer to hear their sound and sign them on the spot. It just doesn't work that way. You have to be proactive. You get hired because of your reel, because of your work ethic, because of your personality, and because people trust you to get the job done.

I wasn't the most talented composer in my undergrad or grad classes. Not even close, in fact. I'd put myself somewhere at the bottom! This is the truth of why cultivating your connections is important: people hire you for you, because you are the product, not just the music you write.

Cliché #2: Believe in Yourself

One of the best pieces of advice I was ever given was from Pierre Boulez in the words, "Find yourself." If it had been anyone else it would have come off as cheesy and reeking of insincerity. But from him it felt like a rallying cry. Yet here we are as professionals, still trying to find our identities, not just as artists but as human beings.      When a deer is born, the newborn fawn drops out of its mother’s womb and gets up, ready to take on the world. Often, we humans reach our mid-30's still searching for who we are and maybe, more importantly, who we are not. Finding your voice takes time but finding the confidence to believe in your voice can take even longer.

On paper, the advice believe in yourself seems painfully obvious and yet more often than not I find it completely misinterpreted by artists. It's time to come to terms with what your identity means in relation to your career.

The most important factor in your artistic identity is to understand your limits. You, like any talented individual, have strengths and weaknesses. This means being disciplined in taking the gigs where you can lend your strengths to the job while maximizing connections for the jobs that fit your strengths. This also means working on the weaknesses that are keeping you from getting the jobs you want. There's no shame in admitting that you simply don't enjoy writing a certain genre of music. I have never enjoyed writing electronic dance music (EDM) despite having playlists full of dance tracks. It might even be my favorite genre to listen to! Sometimes the music we excel at as musicians isn’t at all the same music we enjoy listening to.

The most difficult part is trusting your voice. Deep down there is a true-you that comes out in your most passionate – and vulnerable – moments. This may be the scariest part of being an artist. Baring your soul to an audience can be no different than standing naked in front of your classmates. You are completely exposed and there is nothing to hide or mask the intimate details in your work that are so personal. I think back to when I was an adolescent and wrote music for fun; there was nothing to hide. I would write whatever came to mind! Somehow, as I grew into a professional, I'd often find myself over-orchestrating my music as a way of hiding my more personal ideas, as if uncovering them exposed me to potential ridicule or criticism that I couldn't take.

My hero in this regard has always been Erik Satie. In a time just before the French were obsessed with pushing the limits of tonality and orchestration, his music crashed through the gates with as few notes as possible. Not a single unnecessary doubling. Not a single note out of place. I can't imagine having the confidence to do what he did, but I aspire to. This is from the 1880's.

Now, let's make something clear: to "believe in yourself" doesn't mean you don't have a backup plan; it doesn't mean you don't take criticism seriously; it doesn't mean you lack humility. You don't need to become a diva to believe in yourself and as we discussed in the previous section, attitude problems can be a career killer. I'm reminded of mediocre auditions on American Idol where the judges offer criticism only to be met with screams of, "You don't know what you're talking about! I'm a great singer!" Their parents probably told them to believe in themselves and now they do so to the point where they are no longer able to take critiques and improve their crafts.

Many artists interpret "believe in yourself" to mean expressing their emotions at any costs, imposing their will on the projects on which they work. This is the most dangerous game you can play in the music industry, where following instructions and being a team player are held at such a premium. In the next section we'll discuss why you need to shake these ideas from your head for good. 

Cliché #3: If You Do What You Love, You'll Never Work a Day in Your Life

 Even if you're a trust fund kid with nothing to occupy your time but chasing Pulitzers, this cliché is still, most likely, not true. And if you're reading this, I'm guessing you're not in such a fortunate position anyhow! The fact is that if you are trying to make money with your work, then this is a job and you need to treat it as such.

The first thing you need to get out of your head is that what you're doing is "high art." It's not high art. It's barely art at all! It's more of a craft and the quicker you internalize this, the more money you're going to make during your career. Your job as a composer is not to express yourself; it's to deliver what your client wants. Sometimes your client gives you some artistic freedom, but at the end of the day your job is to realize the creative vision of your director and/or producer. To use a baseball analogy, I am the pitcher and the producer is the catcher. The catcher’s job is to create a game plan and call the signs. My job, especially as a “rookie,” isn't to decide what pitch to throw; it's to execute the game plan. And maybe in time, as I become a veteran, I'll have more input into the game plan and the pitch selection. But the final say, at the beginning of a career, goes to the catcher. To shake him off would be a sign of bad faith. 

Even Alexandre Desplat, one of the great film scorers of our time, couldn't shake this reality when he was fired from Rogue One: A Star Wars Story for not realizing the director's vision. Peter Jackson fired Howard Shore, the musical genius behind The Lord of the Rings trilogy, when the director was helming his King Kong remake despite their previous collaborations, which earned two Academy Awards for Best Original Score.

The most infamous story of all is the tragic tale of Alex North whose score for Stanley Kubrick's 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey was never even used. Not a single note, in fact. He couldn't impress the great Kubrick despite an incredible work of composition and was instead replaced by a collection of classical pieces such as Richard Strauss’ iconic Also Sprach Zarathustra. Tough break.

Furthermore, there are many aspects to the job that don't involve your creative process in the slightest! If you're going to make money, you're going to be doing a lot of networking, sending emails, making reels, building websites, working on your social media presence, bookkeeping, reading and discussing briefings, fielding conference calls, organizing your library, and researching.

Despite all of this, I still love what I do. Getting paid to write music is a blessing and I try my best to appreciate it. But I'll be damned if there aren't days I wish I had just gotten an MBA and took the first job on Wall Street I could find.

Cliché #4: There Is No "Big Break"

Professionals will often tell you that there wasn't a single catalyst that propelled their career. Many of my closest colleagues attest that their careers were a gradual climb with tens or hundreds of individual milestones. What they say is true: there will not be a single moment where you go from unknown, undiscovered, and an unpaid amateur to a respected professional. You're not going to suddenly land a Hollywood gig because some producer liked your reel. You're probably not even going to be hired as a staff composer at a music house straight out of college.

 However, there will be a singular moment or singular moments in your life that will make or break your career, and if you're not prepared for them, you will not succeed.

If you're the reading type, pick up Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. In it, Gladwell examines the idiosyncratic experiences that make high-achievers different. What strikes me as especially relevant is his analysis of iconoclasts such as Bill Gates and The Beatles. It's not just that they were smart or talented or in the right place at the right time - when the chance of a lifetime came to them, they were ready. They already had 10,000 hours of experience. 

However, you won't know which moment was the important one until years and years later so it's best to treat every opportunity as if it's “the big one.” I may not be able to pinpoint an individual moment that made my career (perhaps because I hope that the greatest career-defining moment of my career is yet to come) but the individual successes came because I was ready and I knew what to do with them. For example, as a music house intern (I was paid $50 a week to get coffee, clean, and digitize the company's cd collection) I was given a chance to write on a pharmaceutical spot. We all hope we're ready for these moments as you only get one shot at it. I was able to impress my boss as well as the agency producers who wanted to hear more of my music. I wasn't exactly handed a job on the spot, but it was a major hurdle that I successfully leapt over.

Regrettably, this advice comes with a depressing caveat: you will often do everything right as an artist and you will still fail. As the wise Captain Picard once said, "It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life." This is doubly true in the arts. You can write and submit the greatest dubstep track of all time to a producer who says, "Thanks, but we're going with a jazz track instead."

Some of your greatest works will go unrecognized, and some of your lousiest phoned-in lazy compositions will pay your rent. If just 10% of the music I write and/or submit was licensed, I'd be rich beyond my dreams. And even then, a 90% failure rate can be devastating.

This is an industry where you must be able to treat every opportunity as an important one while simultaneously shrugging off the failure and rejection that is often the result. As we discussed earlier, even Desplat, Shore, North, and many others at the top of their field have faced failure and rejection. You will too. 

Conclusion

If there's one piece of parting wisdom I'd like to leave you with it's this: always be careful where you get your advice. Your teachers can bestow you with critique and analytical knowledge, but would you take career advice from a teacher who has never performed professionally? I certainly wouldn't. Worse yet, there is an entire industry preying upon the desperate: offering workshops, books, and PDF's on how to break into the industry. One shyster I know wrote a book claiming to teach you how to make 30 grand in 30 minutes as a commercial composer. He offers a subscription service. If these people know so much about this subject, why are they selling books and not making money as an artist? I sure don't have time to be selling books or organizing YouTube workshops! I'm busy writing!

And just like the teachers and the hucksters, I deserve the same scrutiny, as you can only trust me with advice on subjects I have experience with. I can offer advice on the commercial, TV, and video game industries. But I can't offer you any advice for film. John Williams may be the greatest film scorer of all time, but I doubt he can offer you advice about commercials! Take that, Johnny.

Each industry is wildly different. You might be tempted to say that composing is composing, but that would be like saying throwing a ball is throwing a ball. Despite the similarities, you wouldn't exactly trust Tom Brady to pitch for the Red Sox. In fact, my closest film scoring friend stresses that he doesn't work in the music industry; he works in the film industry.

At the end of the day, if you work hard you always have something to be proud of (even in failure). You can take solace in your work ethic, as you know you did the best job you could. If your work is rejected, the fault lies in them and not in you. I always told myself I would keep trying and trying as a composer until I finally failed so miserably that I would be forced to move back in with my parents and start over and get a new job. It hasn't happened yet, despite all the failure. I'd call that a success.

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Aaron Paul Low

Award-winning composer, producer, orchestrator and conductor from New York City.

Aaron Paul Low is an award-winning composer, producer, orchestrator and conductor from New York City. A Juilliard-educated composer, APL gained prominence writing for advertising through his years at Sacred Noise, a music house in Manhattan. In his career as a freelance composer, his work has spanned from television shows to film festivals such as Cannes and TriBeCa; from arrangements and compositions for major pop artists to commercials that have aired on the Super Bowl, Olympics, World Cup, and World Series.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Dead Like Me

I’m not an Opera lover, but I go.  It is a great night out, you hear wonderful music, you have a nice nap, and you get to walk out feeling pretty damn sophisticated. Provided you didn’t audibly snore.   

I know the readers of this blog are theater people and are probably aghast that someone would fall asleep during any live performance but, come on, if you’re sitting in the dress circle at the Met and the only thing illuminated is Tristan’s miniature head amidst that enormous blackened stage while the Wagnerian German verse slowly emits from the poor Tenor’s throat, you can’t help but nod off.  In fact, you almost just nodded off reading that run-on sentence. 

Long operas are not my favorite.  Nor are the real serious ones.  No Ring Cycle for me!  I like the one-acts.  A couple of arias, a love story coupled with a tragic death and boom—I’m home in my robe sipping bourbon and eating Cheez-Its right out of the box. 

One of my favorites is Gianni Schicchi.  It’s fast, it’s amusing, it has a great story and it’s Puccini.  Which means it’s fun.  When I was around 19 years old I had volunteered at a local community theater to do “follow spot” for a production of it--that’s when I learned opera could be enjoyable. 

I’m a working actor that mostly does Film, TV and Commercials.  You might have seen me.  I’m most know for a commercial for Ancestry.com that ran nationally more than 22,000 times over 4 years.  I’m the guy who traded his lederhosen for a kilt.  If you haven’t seen it, ask your parents.  It often ran during 60 Minutes, Jeopardy, the National News, and, inexplicably, Madam Secretary.

I also appear in numerous TV series and movies on channels like Amazon, Investigation Discover, the History Channel, A&E and Lifetime.  I’ve done short films, feature films, and web series.  My Commercial work includes household names like Accuweather, Canon, DeLonghi and Sotheby’s.  I even filmed 3 additional commercials for Ancestry DNA.  I work often.  Or at least I did before Covid-19. 

Actors usually play a couple of “Types”.  For example, I’m often cast as a Priest, Lawyer, Doctor, Father of the Bride, young Grandfather, Businessman, and even your local, friendly neighborhood Racist.  I get these a lot.  But I also seem to have a new type: Cadaver.  Before the pandemic hit, I was cast in three feature films shooting this summer, and I was dead in two of them.  Not the whole time, but dead nonetheless. 

Yes, my new type seems to be “Dead Body.”   

My Ancestry commercial was still running hot when I was cast in G&E Productions’ Cold Porridge playing the complicated role of Albert Jones.  I jest. The role is not complicated. The curtain opens as he dies.  Then he spends the good part of the next hour dead.  They move his body around, hiding it here and there, until he falls out of the linen closet at an inopportune moment. 

So: If I’m doing so well playing people who actually have a pulse, why would I take a gig playing a dead body? 

I’ve been asked this question more than once and I’ve pondered it a bit.  What in my genetic make-up allowed me to be proud of my performance of not moving?  In the films I had lined up this summer I was at least alive for part of the film.  But to be dead for an hour on stage?  To endure hours of rehearsal, just to lie around?  And what about research?  Don’t worry; I studied up by reading a book about cadavers.  I’m no slouch, even when I’m playing a stiff. 

A couple of things you should know. I love theater, and I wanted to be involved in this production.  I work a lot in other media, but stage has been somewhat elusive to me and I was dying to get on stage.  Cold Porridge was an opportunity to be involved in a full production.  To rub shoulders with extremely talented people. But mostly: To learn.  That was my goal.

Kyle & the cast of Cold Porridge on stage with G&E Productions

Frankly, it’s my goal in every step I take in this crazy world of acting.  I don’t go to an audition with the mindset of “I need to land this!” I go in with the mindset “I need to get something out of this audition”.  When I go to set, I watch and listen.  I soak up every bit of information that floats my way.  It makes me a better actor, it makes me a better artist, it makes me better at marketing myself, and it makes me a better person.   

I’ve taken flack for some of the roles I’ve played.  Racist “You’re portraying white people as bad” or Rice Queen “You’re making gay people seem depraved”.  Relax, people, it’s acting.  And if it disturbs you, that’s on you, not me.  Story telling is not all rainbows and unicorns.  

Some people have even launched careers playing dead.  Terry Kiser was perfectly cast in the title role in Weekend at Bernie’s, and Kevin Costner famously played a stiff in The Big Chill.  Many soap actors find out their contract isn’t being renewed when they find themselves in a coffin after a brief hospital stay.  I’m OK with it. 

But the question still remains—what would motivate me to audition for and make the extreme time commitment to play a corpse in a stage play?  The answer brings us back to…wait for it…Gianni Schicchi.  

When little 19-year-old Kyle had volunteered to work follow spot for Gianni Schicchi, he was very impressed with the actor who played Buoso Donati.  As the curtain opens--as it rises into the air and disappears--Buoso Donati almost sits up in his sickbed, seemingly following the curtain, as if to catch it.  And then he dies.  He hits the bed, dead.  And there he lies for quite a long time as the opera takes shape around him.  Eventually they hide the body, assume his identity, and rewrite his will.  I was mesmerized.   

And that’s what I saw in Albert Jones.  Curtain up: He dies.  But Albert was my link. My link to feed my life-long need to do difficult things and to learn.  My link to the stage.  My link to connecting with an audience.  My link to opera. And my link to my younger self. 

Acting is challenging on many levels, but it fulfills me.  I’m going to vigorously pursue it as long as I’m able.  I’ll continue to take on any role that suits me, no matter what people may think.  Even if that character has rigor mortis.  Because someday I really will be dead.  Until then, I’m having the time of my life.

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Kyle Merker

New York native and actor.

Kyle Merker is a New York native who studied acting at HB Studios, Studio Four and Michael Warner Studio. His most recent project was Remembering When I Used to Remember by Patrick Riviere (A Zoom Performance on 8/30/20) and next up is Coolsville (shooting 2021).  Visit him on IMDB or Actor’s Access, and follow him on Instagram @kylemerker.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.