Superstar (The Carpenters)

The other night at my show we were talking about some of the telegrammers past and present. Some were women who were shining stars while they were under my boss’s esteemed tutelage, and then decided for whatever reason to make the great exit. Yes, they decided to kill their dreams.

One was an assistant of my boss Bruce who was leaving as I was starting the job. Colette was a gorgeous triple threat and former pageant queen. Aspiring to Broadway, she worked for Bruce and was his resident Marilyn Monroe, naughty nurse, and sexy character gal. Basically me before there was a me at my job. However, she was good on the phones aka selling the product and I sucked during my short stint. Anyway, she was leaving the job because she was having a baby.

Now instead of being a triple threat in musical theatre, she is a triple threat in Westchester. She is a wife, mother, and has a job in real estate. Is she happy? I can’t answer that question because I have only spoken to her a total of three times in my life. But one thing is for sure, if she ever goes for a job interview they won’t ask her, “Headshot, resume, and best 16 bars.”

Another was Shoshanna, a nice Jewish girl from Long Island. A semi-successful Streisand impersonator, she had some high profile gigs in addition to assisting Bruce. Shoshanna was always searching for that nice Jewish husband. I remember her dating several men that I met, all whom I felt were beneath her that could only squawk about themselves and their small time show biz careers. However, she met one that wasn’t in show business. He was a civil servant of some sort. Basically Prince Semi-Charming told Shoshanna that she wasn’t making enough money as an actress, and had to get a more stable career. Not that he was rolling in bank. Shoshanna tried to go to school for Physical Therapy. That didn’t work. She talked about breaking up with him.

I remember telling Shoshanna that a man who wanted her to give up her career wasn’t worth it. Nonetheless she did, and married him. I think she wanted to be married and have a house more than she wanted to be the next Barbra Streisand. Some people are like that. Not everyone is a workaholic like me I suppose. Either way, she is married, has a house, and does some office thing. It’s all business without the show.

I have met a lot of brilliant and talented people who left show business for various reasons. Hell, a lot of the people I went to Tisch with are no longer doing theatre or in show business in any capacity. One girl I went to college with, who has a body I would die for, decided to change course and become a doctor. After spending the better part of a decade as an actress in LA, she’s doing a post bacc program and getting ready for medical school. Others have decided to become school teachers. That way they can use their creativity, change the world, and not worry about living in poverty. Some got an MBA, and others used their oratory gifts in different ways by becoming lawyers. Then there were those who started families, and live the boring 9-5 office life.

I understand why people would want to leave this career. It’s a life that is 99 percent rejection. Sometimes you will lose a role because you don’t have a look, aren’t sleeping with someone, etc. Sometimes you are denied spots because of politics, race, or some shitty booker doesn’t like women. Money is never consistent. If you want a family life, well nine times out of ten you can kiss that wish goodbye. This is a career where opportunity knocks once, and that means dropping everything to run for it. Partners and children don’t always understand it. Plus it is feast or famine. The workload is ridiculous when it is feast, which means no time for a personal life. Nine times out of ten you are the asshole friend or forgetful family member when this happens. I know, I’ve been there.

This past week I found myself tired and contemplating my life. For the better part of my twenties, I treaded the poverty line and fought hard for the career I have now. I showed up for a very long time. Often it was with no result. Often I was denied for being a woman, a ventriloquist, a loud mouth, having bad makeup, you name it.

However, as of late, the showing up has been paying off. The last three months have been nonstop work that I have loved, mannah from heaven in many ways. Additionally, the people I have worked with have all been wonderful, talented, dedicated, and kind. Money has not been an issue, and the rent has paid itself. Basically, I have been getting paid to do what I love. I filmed my DVD after a hellacious winter and everything has gone uphill from there. Also, my skills from my telegrammer past have made me able to handle any audience there is. Life is good.

The only downside is I am tired. I began to feel this way shortly before my big event Thursday. The night went off swimmingly, but then I felt like scrambled eggs afterwards, and thank God for my assistant. Shortly before my event, I was on the phone with my mother. Lately, she has been telling me how proud she is of me, and all the work I have been doing. In meltdown mode, I confessed to my mother that I was tired and started crying. My body hurt, my bones hurt, everything hurt. Not to mention I wanted to vomit that is how tired I was from how hard I had been working. In my little fussy fit, I told my mother all I had ever wanted was this career and now I was too tired to enjoy it.

My mom, being awesome, mentioned her whole life she had wanted a pool. A champion breast stroker, my mom had captained her Division I college squad and coached. My father however is not a swimmer at all. After years of begging and through the pains of empty nesting, my father gave in. After having the pool built and walking through the drama that was construction, she only got to use the pool at the end of last summer. Now this year, she confessed, she spends so much time with the cleaning and up keep that there are days when she is too tired to use it.

Then it hit me. There was another less obvious reason why people, talented people, drop the ball on this career. You spent so much time lusting for the spotlight and applause. You give up everything to get it. It wears you out. Then once you book the gig, your time is spent looking for the next gig and preparing for the next gig. And you barely can be where your feet are. Much energy is expended looking and preparing for what might not happen. And when it does happen, it happens at once and you have no time for yourself or a personal life. Madonna and Prince dedication is rare. Many people want a spouse, family, and friends. The demands and sacrifice become too much and they become drained. They have nothing left to give, and therefore they stop giving.

The day before my show I met a fan of mine in the salon. A young man from Texas, my friend Wyatt called me and said this dude had seen me on TV. I went to the salon, barely able to string together a sentence because my mind was so scattered from all the sleep I wasn’t getting. The man said I was incredibly gifted. I wanted to say, “Yes, but also incredibly tired.”

The day after my show, my boss called me to do a rapping chicken. I was indignant at the request. So tired I was getting migraine headaches and vomit was coming up my throat, I asked myself why I even said yes. It must be the German in me. While I basically failed the language the lone quarter I had it in 6^th grade, the genes are in my blood. Sure, I havent gone on a racist rant ever and don’t plan on it. But I am  a hard worker. Even my critics cannot detract from that no matter how many times they slander me. Germans work, and we don’t complain about it. We say yes to work.

I went and was a rapping chicken in Korea Town. Going to the gig, I felt a little better. The dude I did the gig for was a little resistant, and it took every ounce of energy to make him do what I wanted. My hat fell off, and the kindly Korean woman operating the restaurant got it for me. The people were nice enough to tip. I was praying they wouldn’t tell my boss I looked cracked out or that they hated me. But I got a nice applause afterwards. I gave it my best. I showed up despite my condition. I gave it my best. When I get tired, I like to beat myself up. I like to tell myself I am not enough and will never get where I want to go. If they tell my boss I sucked, great. I still did my best. Did I mention the German gives me my Type A personality, and at times I never feel I am enough?

Yesterday I was a complete disaster. I tried to do my Ranter job, and as my brain was shutting down I thought Brazil was playing again. Not to mention I was so sick I forgot I had a gig in Long Island because my body was cramping, vomiting, shitting and all that happy shit. They were nice enough to let me reschedule. My Ranter device was being crazy. It was God telling me to take a nap. In my dizziness I told myself perhaps it was time to throw in the towel. I had done what I needed/wanted to do in a way. Maybe it was time to move to Westchester, find a husband, and have a few babies. Sure, I have success and fans. But most of the time, I have no life.

Then I decided it was time to get some sleep.

I went to church this morning, my spiritual home. Being Catholic is like a crack habit, you never quite get rid of it. Then I remembered how miserable I was when my fiancé made me give up my puppet children, and how self destructive I was during that time. I also realized for as tired as I am, I am the happiest when I am working. Yeah, I was one tired bird in Korea Town, but when the people started laughing and clapping the tired went away. There is no better feeling than making someone laugh and smile, whether it is in a silly costume or behind a mic. In this ever maz’ed world where I feel like an awkward outsider, it’s where I feel most at home.

I also thought of my Nunni and Pop Pop. My Nunni had acted in local theatre, and was very proud of me for going to New York to chase rainbows. Pop Pop passed Thanksgiving Day, but his last big outing was my book signing in Pittsburgh. He was so proud of me for writing that book, and would brag every time I was on television. I also thought of my great-grandfather Brucker, a man I have never met. His whole life he had never been more than a roll turner in the steel mill of Pittsburgh. However, he had been a sports nut who listened to several games at once on different radios in each room of his house. He would be so stoked about my job at Ranter, just as he was proud every time he saw my dad sing a solo in his church choir.

In my mind entered Joe and Chacho, my dearly departed friends. Joe got me to write again, and convinced me I had the talent to make people laugh at a time my spirit was crushed. Chacho always wanted to be someone, and would talk about his “famous friend” whenever I was on TV.

Then I thought of my fans, and how much they mean to me. Yeah, I am only starting to get a following, but it’s pretty sweet I must admit. I also thought of the young people who write to me telling me about how they dream of being like me someday. And then my father’s words echoed through my mind, “It is your job to hoist the next generation on your shoulders and bring them to another level.”

I also thought of how, despite being tired, this was only temporary. I always felt good again when I stepped onstage and heard the laughter. Sleep and some me time could cure tired. Nothing could scratch the itch that the spotlight and applause cures. As I go to the next level, I am bringing those around me with me on my journey, whether they are coworkers, friends, or family. I love what I do, and am blessed to do it in the greatest city in the world. My journey is not only mine but their’s as well, and I have to remember that.

It’s easy to contemplate life in suburbia when I am tired with a husband who will less than sexually satisfy me. However, it is just a passing thought.

Truth: I will run towards my dreams even if my legs fall off in the process. I will run towards my dreams even if it kills me. And if the journey kills me, they will have to pry the stars out of my cold, dead fingers. 

The Importance of Being Happy For Others

The entertainment industry is competitive to say the least. You always have to be on top of your game. Someone is always prettier, younger, a better singer, a more skilled dancer, funnier, a more awesome wordsmith, you name it. That is why it is important to know who you are and have a good attitude. That brings me to another matter, the journey. You work for that moment in time. Sometimes it comes quickly, sometimes it comes slowly. As you sweat away at the odd jobs you wonder when will it happen?

As I said for some it happens quickly. Sometimes they are at the right place at the right time. Whether they have a certain look, are a part of the hottest ethnic trend (especially true in comedy), or just have the right connections it seems like it falls into their lap. Sometimes it happens slowly. There are people, especially character actors and comedians, who slave for years unknown in theatres and live on the poverty line until they are almost forty. Suddenly we talk about how awesome they are. Am I repeating myself? Yes. I am making a point.

When it happens quickly for some, or seemingly so, it can be easy to fall into the trap of jealousy. It not only denotes a lack of gratitude, but also takes away the focus from you and your goals. I remember several years ago, as it seemed everyone's career was taking off and mine was not, I found myself saying some awful things about others who were "making it" on comedian car trips. The convo started where someone brought up a guy who got something and we ragged on him as a good looking douche bag. We never talked about how we worked hard touring most of the year and was living out of his car. Or we talked about a hottie who wore next to nothing that was on TV a lot. We never spoke about her work ethic or the fact she never took no for an answer. We wanted to hate. It put the focus on them and took the focus off of us and our shortcomings.

Then things started to happen for me. Some of it was luck. Much of it was hard work. I found my fellows, people I once called friends, turn on me. Some showed their true colors by sharing their feelings about me anonymously online. Others would smile to my face but as soon as they believed I was out of ear shot they would gossip. Then there were those who stopped speaking to me in general. These were people I shared car rides with, or kvetched about how the business was giving us all the short end of the stick. Now they were strangers when they saw me. Finally, there were those who went right for the jugular. Once I came to an open mic and made an off the cuff comment and someone who had once been a friend bit my head off to the point where I was near tears. Another time I mentioned to someone I had too many facebook friends and she replied, "The more friends on facebook the less friends in real life." Another friend if you will. Suddenly I found myself alone, angry, and wondering why this was happening.

I got a worse dose of kharma. Someone who I had gossiped viciously about came to my defense and sought me out to tell me how proud she was of not only my career, but where I was going. Then it occurred to me. If I wanted people to be happy for me, I had to learn to be happy for others. Not only because it was good energy,  but I knew how it felt when people were mean and nasty in response to my success.

So here are some things you need to remember, and it will help you be happy for others.

1. You never know how hard someone had to work or what someone had to go through prior to what they achieved. Despite outward appearances, they may have a hellacious backstory. They may have escaped an abusive husband, terrible childhood, lived in a car. Or they might have worked hard, busting their behinds and working their fingers to the bone paying their dues in ways you could never imagine. So they might not just deserve this. They might triple deserve this. Envy is not only arrogant, but it shows a total lack of general awareness.

2. Say they did just get lucky. Luck eventually runs out. Just remember every dog has their day. And just as that dog is having their day, you will too soon enough.

3. Everyone's path is different. The way I explain this to young people is during the race everyone starts at the same place. However, eventually everyone goes to different lanes in the race. Some people continue performing. Others work behind the scenes. Some become writers. Then there are those who become managers and club owners. The beautiful part is, if you continue to run the race and focus on your own game, everyone who finishes the race ends up working together.

4. They may have worked for this particular thing. Yes, sometimes people get breaks and we are like, what! Well if they have been singing since they were little and get a record contract, they worked for it. If they have been auditioning for years for a Broadway show and book a role, they worked for that. If they have been slaving away in the comedy clubs for years and book a TV special. They worked for that. Yes, they earned it. This was their gift. Get over it and move on.

5. Not Every Break Is For You. While it would be awesome to be right for every job that comes your way, it just ain't going to happen. A few years ago a classmate of mine from college was in a Tyler Perry flick. It was cool to see her on screen. But also, there was no way in hell I was even going to be scouted for that job. Another classmate of mine did a stunt job. Wasn't getting that one either. Just as they probably weren't going to be called for the puppet stuff. So concentrate on who you are and what you are good at.

6. This Might Be It For Them. Back in the day a girl I knew graduated high school early and got a national tour. I was pissed. Why not me? My mom told me that I should be happy, because this girl was probably reaching her peak. Yes, my mom was right. Soon after that tour, she worked in Disney, met her husband and got married. While she now sings in a corporate wedding band with her husband, she did not have the big Broadway career she was touted to have. So be happy for them, this might be their first and last.

7. Hocus Pocus Keep The Focus. Yes, focus on your own damn game. The more time you spend grinding your teeth and wishing for them to break both legs in a car crash in time taken away from achieving your goals and reaching where you need to be. Their game is their game. Yours is yours. Focus on yours. That is the only way to win.

8. It's A Marathon. Several years ago, it seemed like several people got things handed to them. Well when things got hard they decided this wasn't for them and quit. I also ran into several women who decided the path was to be a wife and mother instead of an artist. Bottom line, while someone might run out of the gate quick it doesn't mean they finish the race. Part of success is staying in the game. When you continue to show up and play, it will pay off.

9. Use Their Success To Inspire You. After writing my book, I remember seeing at Brown I was on the bookself next to Junot Diaz. At NYU I was next to Ophira Eisenberg. One won a MacArthur Fellowship. The other has a movie deal. In the old days I would have said, "Screw them both." Now I flip the script and say, "Look at who I am blessed to share shelf space with. Maybe I could do these amazing things too if I keep up the good work."

10. Jealousy Doesn't Have The Outcome You Want. Yes, bad mouthing that jiggle bunny in the low cut dress feels good. Or spreading the rumor that she got her record contract because she blew some dude feels better. But you also look like a total tool. Or doing something to ruin someone's efforts blows up in your face. Bottom line, jealousy is a terrible color and makes you look like a vicious troll that lives under a bridge.

Hope I helped

Follow your dreams and your heart

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Talking Funny

When I was younger I always got made fun of for the way I spoke. I sounded squeaky. The words I used were too big. The my tone was too high. It was just another stone mean kids threw. Nevermind I struggled with my weight. My mother also dressed me. I had cystic acne. Things were not going well. What I had going for me were my dreams, my love of writing, my love of creativity, and my skill to nose dive no matter how much of a fool it made me look.

When college came around, I was in New York. I asked someone for a gumband. In Pittsburgh, we say gumbands and mean rubber bands. So I asked for a gumband. These kids who were weaned on Prozac with doctor parents and went to private schools laughed at me. They didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. I already hated the way I talked and felt like a redneck who had hopelessly wandered into a Metropolis. Then there was the incident in the speech class where my sounds were hopelessly being corrected. That is when one of my teachers who was from Pittsburgh said, “It’s your accent coming out.”

The kids in my class said, “April isnt just weird.”

“No,” My teacher explained. “There is a whole city of people who talk just like this.” Awestruck and fascinated, my classmates went to a website where regional dialects were listed. That semester, our section at The Lee Strasberg Institute became obsessed with my accent and my slanguage. For the first time ever, I was alright with the way I talked.

The serenity would be short lived. During my junior year, I managed to get into a relationship with someone that was abusive. I have written about him. He made me give up my puppets and that was just the tip of the iceberg. When things were heating up between us, I was set to hang out with his friends. We were sipping coffee at Starbucks and my ex said, “When you hang out with my friends, just…..play it cool.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked confused.

“Look, my friends don’t like the way you talk.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they say you sound like a chipmunk.” My confidence was shot. It was an arrow. My ex wasn’t defending me against his friends and now I had to compromise. I sent the session with him and his boys silent as a mime. I soon tried to change the way I talked which just made me feel like a fraud. I swore a lot which made me feel fake. I tried to drop my voice which made me feel like a man. It didn’t work. I became a phony mute about a lot of things, like the extent of the abuse I was facing. I don’t know what was worse about that part of my life, the fact I had to endure it or the fact I chose to put up with it.

When the relationship ended, I was left a self-loathing mess. I remember doing a set where someone told me the way I spoke was distinct. I thought it was their way of saying annoying. When my ex and his friends began their relentless campaign of harassment, one thing they aimed at was the way I spoke. I remember thinking that I was smarter and better than they were, and one day I had the guts to realize it and that’s how I was able to escape. That is when I realized I had let him take away my sense of self-worth. The way I spoke was okay. It was alright. And anyone who didn’t like it could go to hell.

Slowly I began to embrace the way I spoke. It not only became a part of the new, confident me. As I became more confident in my speaking voice, my singing voice began to take a better shape. Granted, it was always it’s own animal, but I better understood how to make it more pleasing to the ear. I wasn’t afraid of what people would say about me. If they didn’t like the way I spoke we didn’t have to be friends, plain and simple.

This past winter/spring Metrophonic and Mercy Sound became a second home to me. My old college classmate and sound engineer Archie Ekong explained my fans would want to hear me reading my book. Archie told me it would have a unique flavor with me narrating. Then he said, “April, you are the only one with your voice. It’s pretty distinct.”

“Yeah, that’s what people tell me. I don’t think I will get away with prank calling anyone soon.” I said.

Archie looked at me dead in the eye and said, “No.” And we both burst out laughing. At that moment I realized that it was pretty cool that I was the only one who spoke like I did.

These past few years have also seen success not only in the realms of writing but also comedy getting me television time. Sometimes fans recognize me when armed with my puppets. Other times, I will get recognized by the way I speak. The other day, I was at a meeting for a pilot I am shooting. We were deeply emerged in a discussion when the waitress came over. She asked me, “Excuse me, I have a question for you.”

“Yes.” I asked.

“Are you a comedian?”

“Yes.”

“The guy who works with you in the back thinks he saw you on TV.” My jaw dropped open. He was in the back. There was no way in hell he could have seen me.

“How did he know it was me?” I asked.

“Oh, he recognized your voice and says you are very funny.” She replied. My jaw dropped open. This was awesome!!!! I made a new fan and friend. Something like this is double awesome when it happens at a pilot pitch meeting. My co-host and co-producer thought it was pretty cool as well.

Later that evening, I was running errands and heard two kids talking. They were taking fun of this young woman in their class at school and the way she spoke. These two mean girls mimicked her. It made me think of some of the people who gave me the same “star treatment” back in the day that now have the audacity to write me a facebook letter to congratulate me when things go well with the career. Actually, it was disgusting as it brought back a flood of hellacious memories.

Then I passed the theatre where Kinky Boots played. I remember when Cyndi Lauper did an interview where she spoke about being bullied for the way she spoke and dressed. She remarked in her Betty Boop-eque twang, “They used to throw rocks at me for my clothes, now they want to know where I get them.”

For the longest time my voice was like Rudolph’s nose. People made fun of me for having it, now it part of the package that is beginning to make me successful. Cyndi Lauper’s, it is part of the package that has made her a legend. Hopefully the young lady they were making fun of will just realize that those two are idiots who need to be ignored and won’t feed in.

Hopefully she won’t care and will always use her voice.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com