I.D Essay Book - I met 'Les Mis'... (part 3 of 6)

Here's the next part of the essay from 'I.D' I've been working on. Maaya recounts her experience of working on Les Mis from the beginning. Third part out of six, although the next three parts aren't so long at all. For this essay I've been translating by hand into a notebook and I can't believe I didn't do this before! It means I actually have a hand to hold the book open! The only problem is my poor copy of 'I.D' is starting to fall apart at the spine from useage. It's already pretty dirty...boo.

I've also FINALLY ordered 'from everywhere' after umm-ing and aa-ing over which online store to buy it from. Yesasia and CDJapan were both pretty even, as one had an expensive book but free shipping and the other had a cheap book but expensive shipping. However, then I found the used book section on Amazon.co.jp and bought a second hand copy for about 850yen and even though the shipping was included it was still cheaper than a brand new book and shipping from the other stores. Intresting...

EDIT: I've actually just stumbled upon this Youtube clip of Maaya talking to an audience about her time at Les Mis and she gets quite teary when she says that she when she had so much trouble she never thought she'd still be here seven years later. Just some more context for you all ^^


Read the previous part here. Or go back to the beginning.


I.D Essay Book - I met 'Les Mis'... (part 3 of 6)

I cried...

I definitely did something wrong. These words echoed around my head every day. Or rather, I knowingly began to lead myself straight down the road of negative thinking.

Sickness comes from the spirit, everything flows from your feelings: it really is that way. I was completely overwhelmed by my feelings. If I tried to sing my throat would suddenly close up and my legs would start to shake. I worried about what everyone was thinking so I was unable to act normally. Then I would lose any confidence I had left because I couldn’t display my full abilities, becoming even more wound up until my voice would not come out at all. It was a vicious circle.
Up until that point I’d also never had any formal vocal training. I had no experience of someone teaching singing technique or telling me the correct way to produce sound.

For Les Mis there was a music director and a singing instructor who would give out very detailed instructions and orders. Unlike singing pop music it was important that we sang while staying in character, and obviously hitting your notes and staying in key is important, but above all the expressiveness of your voice and your power of expression is critical. In order to put emotion into the voice when singing we were often required apply specific techniques, for example ‘for this bar, use vibrato from the third beat’ or ‘this note is falsetto, followed by your natural voice from the next one’.

But for me, who had never thought about how I used vibrato, or my falsetto or natural voice, it was somehow impossible. I couldn’t remember how the mechanisms within my body worked when I had sung in the past up until this point. I would get confused from over-thinking and could not longer do the things that I had always been able to do. I agonised over it. I began to sing in a voice that no longer sounded like my own.

But this wasn’t just a lack of technique or the condition of my throat, the bottom line was that the fragility of my mental state was the root of the problem. I couldn’t do it because I was thinking ‘I can’t do this’.

But you’ve been releasing CDs and giving concerts for years, you are a singer! You’re not some amateur, you look so uncool making excuses. Even if you make them no one is going to say ‘Oh I see, I see, well it can’t be helped then’. There are three other actresses here to play Eponine. And they are all so impressive. So why is it just you who’s snivelling, eh? But even though I scolded myself I couldn’t escape from the whirlpool of lost confidence that I had fallen into. I rapidly lost weight; I couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t eat; whether I was awake or dreaming I was suffering from ‘Les Mis-itis’. Lord, is this a trial to help me grow? Or is it simply a punishment? Are you saying ‘You can overcome this!’ or ‘You should remember your place!’ Which is it? Tell me!!

With my useless grief the unrewarding days continued. It was excruciating. It was endless. Countless times on my way home from rehearsals I completely despaired, thinking ‘shall I just continue on to somewhere far away?’ There were also times when my feet would suddenly stop moving on the train platform and I would just sit there for hours. I had no idea how I could give anymore. I had given everything, squeezing out every last drop, so there was nothing left inside me. Despite that, that I still couldn’t even see any light ahead…

As I continued to rehearse burdened by these cowardly feelings, everyone else taking part in the rehearsals began to look like a panel of judges. I wonder what they are all thinking…And gradually even looking at my co-stars became difficult. Even when they said good bye, smiling as they said ‘good job’, my mental state had fallen into the illusion that they were actually saying ‘give up already!’ That’s how anxious I had become.

It was only natural that everyone worried about me. Well, they weren’t actually worried about me personally; they were worried about whether I would put the show in danger if I were to go on stage like this. Is she really ok? Even I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it. It was universally acknowledged that I was a complete drop-out.

Then one day some members of staff who could no longer sit by and watch what was happening asked me to stay behind after rehearsals had finished. I am happy that I was able to get an individual lesson as it was a great honour but at the time all I could feel was how sorry I was to be causing them trouble. They’re definitely regretting that they picked someone with such poor performance. I’m causing them so much inconvenience by making them take time out just for me.

After the individual lesson had finished and I had returned to the locker room there were still people in the midst of getting ready to go home. I clenched my teeth, trying to wait until I was alone but couldn’t hold it in whatsoever and I cried for the first time in a long while. When I was a kid I used to cry so much that I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t think I would cry this way as an adult!

It’s not sadness. It’s frustration. It’s just too frustrating. I hate myself.

It was embarrassing and unattractive but I was in such a state that I was no longer able to control myself. The people next to me as I wailed were surprised too. Please, don’t say anything, ignore me. I don’t want anyone to see me like this…

But someone said the following to me. Making an awful face as I sobbed, Marcia said these words to me, not encouragement or comfort, simply in a strong-willed voice:

“That frustration is something to treasure. Because it is a feeling felt by those who are undeniably strong.”

From that time onwards these words from Marcia have appeared in the back of my mind countless times, supporting me.

Like this, the words from my co-stars have always been what have saved me. Everyone is fighting. To me everyone might seem calm and composed but each of them are always fighting within themselves, every day they are standing to face a difficult question with no answer to be found. It is not just me who anxious, nervous or under pressure.

The people who passed me tissues that day without saying a word, the people who held my hand until we had talked it out, the people who rehearsed with me; these people gave me strength and taught me that ‘we are comrades’.

Read the next part here