Meet Roch Bordenave | Voice Actor, Professional Valve Trombonist and Professional Disc Golfer

Establishing, and maintaining, a work-life balance is at the heart of everything I do. Part of that equation is “What exactly is ‘work’ – and what exactly is ‘life’?” I think, first, we have to agree that ‘life’ is the ‘fun part’…and ‘work’ is the harder / no-wiggle-room / you have to do this / like-it-or-not part… that allows you to enjoy the ‘fun part’.

To me, given my chosen pursuits, there is no obvious distinction here, unless we define the “life’ part as simply family/friends/travel. Take Disc Golf, for example…it was once in the life category for me; getting out with friends on the weekend and throwing some plastic followed by energetic laugh riots with a few beers and vibrant reminiscing. Then I started competing in disc golf’s pro divisions and, as time went on, became more serious in my approach to the sport, wanting to notch some wins. Putting in the practice necessary to compete against the other fellas in these pro divisions almost automatically takes disc golf out of the ‘life’ category and lands it solidly in the ‘work’ category. Because, to do it right, it takes hours of on-your-own dedicated practice and field work. When those efforts result in a few “W”s, you realize that even more of that routine will equate to even more victories. Then, at some point, thefriends that you used to hang with every weekend don’t see you as much – then you realize, you made a sacrifice, shifting ‘fun’ into a more work-related pursuit.

As a valve trombonist, I’m a former touring vet whospent the first part of hislife practicing like that…4-6 hours a day, wanting to be the best I possibly could and wanting to see how high I could climb in the entertainment business. It’s work. Hard, focused work done alone in practice rooms. Making rehearsals. Missing important family functions and holiday weekends to rather take part in gigs, performing for other people. When my daughter Nichola was born, both her Mom and I had full-time jobs and it quickly became obvious to me that doing that job – well – and being an attentive Dad were going to become strained if I continued to give music that kind of dedicated focus. So, I backed off. Stopped practicing so much, stopped making the rehearsals and gigs around town. The phone stopped ringing so much. And, after awhile, it became something I did to have fun, a release of sorts…dropping out of the ‘work’ category and slipping eerily into the ‘life’ category. Something that I’d made a decent living at for a decade had now become a ‘fun’ hobby.

The problem with all of this is, being good…and staying good. When you achieve a certain level of success, be it the WIN at a professional disc golf tournament or a high-profile music tour or gig, you’re performing at a level of expertise that, when in it, feels magical / almost effortless. Because…you put in the ‘work’. When you’re not putting in the work, that edge falters. In disc golf, the short game is the first to fall apart; missed approach shots and putts…because you’re no longer treating it like ‘work’. Somehow, you’re just into it to ‘have fun’ because it’s a release or chance to hang out with friends. The problem with this is, when you start missing those shots that used to be routine…are you really having fun anymore? That goes for the music business as well. Any top musician will tell you that to get there – and stay there – takes constant dedicated work. Take a few weeks off (or even days) and your chops start to wane. And I’ll tell you, once you’ve enjoyed that level of musicality – being immersed in groups playing for big excited audiences at such a high level of performance – it’s hard to let that go, and if you’re not working every day to maintain it and grow, you’re chasing it.

One of my oldest friends and I have this funny scale that we share with each other. Mine is “disc golf / music”. He too is a musician of incredibly high caliber and knows well what it takes. He’ll joke with me; “Roch, what’s the disc golf / music ratio THIS week?” In 2022, my answer would be, “90/10”. I’d hear his gasp on the other end of the phone, in disbelief that I’d “buried music” on so distant a back-burner. Because he, like me, knew what that meant. It meant Disc Golf had become work. And music had become life.

For those whose pursuits don’t require dedicated practice, it’s difficult to understand. Some would say; “Isn’t it all just plain fun?” But for those who understand the value of practice – of hard, dedicated repeatable things that drive spouses crazy – like blues patterns and scales in all keys / or the sound of discs slamming into chains in your practice basket in the backyard over and over and over again….we know. It’s life (fun) and work blurred together in ways that only we can know.

Valve Trombone and Voice Acting. (Roch makes his way to the podium up after being announced as the award recipient for whatever) “Fellow Humans, I’d like to thank REJECTION for this award.”

Being told “no.” Be it by your agent, your Mom or Dad, your audience, your friends, your potential new client or bandmates. It’s powerful. “Sorry, we’re not interested.” “No. You just don’t have what we’re looking for on this project.” Or the dreaded being flat-out ghosted. Challenging the axiom that ‘no news is good news’. Auditioning (voice acting) or sitting in (music) – when that’s followed by no news, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s not good news. It’s rejection. It’s that unwanted character dressed in black standing up in the back of the room with both thumbs down yelling to the stage; “We don’t want you!” I’ve seen much of it in my life. Sometimes I grew from it. Others, not. (there’s exactly zero opportunity for growth after you’ve been ghosted.) Which is why I’m thankful for the bravery and candor of those not selecting me for whatever it is to tell me the truth. We all deserve that. We all deserve the opportunity to grow.

I mention all this mostly for those fellow creatives reading this that understand The Process. Tell the story of rejection to any of them and they’ll usually smile, pat you on the back and say something like; ‘Yup.” All that to say, it’s what can inspire us to work harder and be better. And, certainly, to get back on the horse again following a big rejection. That’s what it’s been for me.

Sure, success is sweet. Beyond belief. It’s important to learn from those beat-downs though. It’s easy to want to forget themI believe that’s a mistake.

I want the world to know (about my brand) that it’s been hand-crafted through not giving up. Through not taking “no” as The Answer. Through persistence and a reasonably good sense of humor. I’m not saying I always respond well (immediately) to rejection but, in the end, I try my best to see it as a lesson, not a failure.

If they’re a friend of mine, they have to love music. I would find a concert in the park featuring some of the amazing bands here in Los Angeles. Primarily, the one I am part of. The Doctor Wu Band, playing the music of Steely Dan. I’d make sure that my visiting friend catch us in concert.

I’d take them for a long drive up Pacific Coast Highway. At least from Redondo to Pt. Mugu. Making critical stops along the way including my favorite restaurant – Malibu Seafood on PCH just north of Pepperdin. That little shack has been in operation since at least the early 80s. Maybe longer. My friends and I used to hit it back in the day when they still sold Fosters’ Lager Oil Cans. Far and away the best Oyster Sandwiches, Clam Chowder and Fish & Chips anywhere. Period.

I’d take them to a throwback movie ROOFTOP CINEMA event. Probably in Downtown L.A – my wife and I like that location a lot.

We’d hit our favorite beach – El Porto in El Segundo. Plop down on our beach chairs with good books, sunscreen, hats, Jersey Mike’s subs, drinks and chips at the ready and maybe my boogie board and fins if there’s reasonable surf.

We’d spend time on our patio by the fire table.

If they’re disc golfers, you can bet we’d hit Oak Grove, Sapwi Trails and El Dorado Park.

If they’re just flying in to LAX we might hit Truxton’s on Manchester.

If it’s not too hot, we’d hike Runyon Canyon. That one’s a must for my daughter Nichola & I whenever she’s in town.

There are two clear mentors that made all the difference: Richard “Slyde” Hyde – low brass virtuoso and studio legend. And Chris Rathaus, The Audio God. (as he was known in the Radio/TV industry).

Both have passed on. We lost Slyde recently and Chris “Der Curmudgeon” (as he was always affectionately referred to), left this world over 20 years ago. Both of those losses still sting.

It’s that moment when someone takes you under their wing. Gives you the bad news that being good, like really good, isn’t easy. Being told, hammered into you, that it takes practice, repetition, self-evaluation, introspection, brutal honesty and a whole lotta risk to eventually become the person you were meant to be.

With both Slyde and Chris, it was something they saw in me that I was incapable of seeing in myself. In Slyde’s case, it was deciding to take on a student, despite having never had one before. In Chris’s case, it was similar, him taking me into the studio to listen to my commercial reads (voice over) and pick them apart, ridicule my disregard for the message being conveyed…the telling of the story. (every ad, narration, PSA, trailer or what-have-you, believe it or not, has a story).

Because here’s the thing; I believe that all people have a ‘natural talent’ for something. Some discover it. Others don’t. And some find a mentor that sees that in another person and helps them dial it in. But natural talent is nothing but a curse if unacted upon. I had ‘natural ability’ as a trombonist; I could get around on the horn and read music pretty well. But I never did the work. I was lazy. I wanted to do other things and sitting in a practice room for hours a day wasn’t sparkly-attractive to me. That natural ability would take me far enough – just barely enough – to be invited to sit in with some big bands in town. A solo opportunity would come up and, if I was lucky, it would have easy changes (something in Bb, C, F). But if it was even slightly more complex, I’d be hung out to dry. In short, despite all those natural abilities, I sucked. And in this case, out loud. (grin) Because I didn’t do the work? Sure, to an extent. But moreso, it was because I didn’t believe. I didn’t believe in myself; that I could actually be someone relevant in that world. I wasn’t giving myself the opportunity. It took someone else to see that in me.

And, look, I’d be horribly remiss not mentioning my true champion, my father. Roch Bordenave, Sr. He was always there for me, seeing that talent in me, advising me to value myself more…to believe in myself. He was the one that really gave me life, breath, a heartbeat…in the interactive/tangible world. But focusing on the more specific professional aspects of my lifeit was Slyde and Chris…

Slyde was that man in my world of music. He saw the spark. We grew together as student-teacher and through it all he challenged me to do the work. And, most importantly, to believe. It’s not unlike that scene in The Matrix – Part 1 when Neo (spoiler alert) watches Agent Smith’s bullets bounce off him and he realizes Morpheus was right…he was it; he had it within him all along. His only failing was that he didn’t believe. Sometimes it takes getting your ass kicked to truly see.

In my voice acting world, this is where Chris Rathaus stepped in. I was born with (cursed with? / blessed with? ) a low voice. I’ve had it since I was a kid. I was ridiculed for it by classmates. I was ‘punished’ for it by being forced to sit in a practice room at a young age singing along to Mario freakin’ Lanza and Tennessee Ernie Ford records. Eventually, I pursued a career in radio because of it. The Prize, for me, was becoming a voice actor. But my low voice…NATURAL ABILITY, could carry me only so far. As any top VO talent will tell you, it’s not about the voice…it’s about the acting…telling the story. My dear dear departed neighbor / friend, SAG Actress Bonnie Fisher once told me the secret; “Roch, acting is simple. It’s living honestly within imaginary circumstances.” But once again, I was lazy. I was content with allowing my ‘natural ability’ take me where it could, not realizing that there would be a fizzle-out point dead ahead. It was Chris Rathaus that showed me the way. Showed me that having a low voice meant nothing in “the voice industry”. It was about telling the story.

Shoutout to My Three Kings for seeing the things in me that I couldn’t: My Dad, Slyde Hyde and Chris Rathaus