I was asked to write about my most embarrassing moment. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I can’t recall my most embarrassing moment, but I do have one I can share.

During the second semester of my sophomore year of college, I was a part of a vocal pedagogy class. I wasn’t enroll in the class, but my friend Sierra was. Sierra was a Vocal Performance and Pedagogy major in the music department at my school; and the objective of the class, I think, was to learn how to teach people how to sing.

Each student enrolled in the class had to give voice lessons to two other students for the semester. The fruits of their labor would be manifested in the form of a recital for the music department at the end of the year.

That last part – the recital – made me nervous all semester. I have stage fright when it comes to any musical solo. Voice, violin, drums, whatever. No matter how talented I am or am not, my confidence for a musical solo is absolute trash.

The year before this, Sierra and I were choir-mates. We actually sat next to each other. So on one hand, I was excited that this BEAST of a first soprano was teaching me, but on the other hand, I was intimidated by the fact that I might not have reached the standard. Also, to add to my self-inflicted anxiety, Sierra’s other student was a freshman named Chad. Leave this post now. Go to YouTube and search “Chad Lupoe.” Watch the first video. You’re back. Did you watch? You now understand why I felt insecure. (Love you, Chad!) And again, let’s not forget the recital in front of the music department, in front of better singers, in front of students and professors who study, teach, know, and live everything and anything about music and how to do it right.

Anyway, every Monday, I worked one-on-one with Sierra. She was great. She encouraged me, inspired me, and helped me learn a lot about my voice, its capabilities, and how to maximize on all of that.

But let’s just skip to the end of the semester.

I remember that day very well. I’d been up for 36 hours straight, as I had a 20-paged research paper due on Egypt’s relationship with the U.S. and Israel through the reigns of Sadat, Mubarak, and Morsi. I procrastinated obviously, so I rushed to finish the paper before the recital’s call time because the paper was due during the recital.

I threw on a cobalt blue dress and black pumps and headed to the music department. Sierra, Chad, and I warmed up together. This was the first time Chad and I sang together, if singing scales counts. After a while, the two of us practiced with the accompanist, Dr. Contreras, for the first time. Chad blew me away, per usual. It’s cruel for me to have had to rehearse immediately after him.

Skipping.

The recital started. My name was on the program. Some people were really good. Some people were . . . um . . . brave. My turn came. My piece was “As I Went A-Roaming” by May H. Brahe. (Julie Andrews sang it. She was such a beast. I love and adore her. What big shoes to fill.) I strutted onto the stage (#TyraTaughtMe), flashed a fake smile, and waited for the claps to stop before I cued Dr. Contreras.

“As I went a-roaming one morning in spring time,” I sang. I was alternating between chest and head voice. Throughout my performance, I was praying not to screw up.

“Then he gave me a kiss…” I no longer heard the accompaniment. “…and I could not restrain him,” I continued. Still no piano. The show must go on, I thought. “His words were-“


“Hey. I don’t know where you are,” Contreras said.

“Oh, you don’t?” I replied.

Silence.

I went over to the piano. Contreras’ score went from page 2 to page 4. No one knew where page 3 was. Sometime between the run-through and the performance, the page got up and crawled away.

Awkward.

“Oh. Well . . . I suppose this is where I finish. Sorry, guys! Thank you!”

I bowed. I heard my conducting teacher Dany say, “It’s not your fault.” I walked off as the audience applauded.

The professor who taught the vocal pedagogy class asked if I wanted to go again at the end of the recital. I told her no because I had to turn in my research paper to my professor (and her husband) by the time the end would come around. I really declined because it took all of my God-given strength and then some to go up there once, and I couldn’t possibly muster anything else to try again.

I stayed for a few more songs, then left to turn in my paper.

And that’s it. Pretty anticlimactic. This was kind of a poor “embarrassing moment story,” but I really dislike when things aren’t executed perfectly – or at least completely – especially in public. Ugh. Thankfully, I didn’t tell my family or friends about the recital or even the semester-long voice lessons until after this whole ordeal; so even though I knew most of the people in the audience (face palm), at least my closest companions didn’t share the moment with me.

If I think of a better story, you’ll be the first to know.

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Me @theNiaLangley
Sierra @Sierra_H92
Chad @itsChaddington