Support

Have you ever sung in a choir, and had the director yell at you: "Support that tone!" and wondered what on earth they were going on about? Well, I'm going to try and make it a little less clear. (Yup, that's what I said.)

In earlier posts, I've spoken about the importance of stance and breathing. Support is related to both of these. You're going to have a very difficult time supporting a tone without good posture or breath control, but there is much more to it than that.

This is Sarah Brightman singing Henry Mancini's Moon River. There is SO much wrong with this that I almost don't know where to start. I could mention the stupid crowny-thing in her hair, or ask why her pants are see-through, or even wonder if she's working her abs sitting on the huge ball. But, instead, I'm going to talk about her complete and total lack of focus, breath control and support. 

Let's start with the breath control. She cannot sustain any phrasing at all. I happen to have sheet music for Moon River. (It's from when the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's came out. Cost a whopping $1.25, if you're interested.) She holds out nothing longer than 1 1/2 measures. Nothing. 5 notes is the longest phrase. And these don't make sense in the context of the song. It is simply that she cannot hold out anything longer. She's letting out huge amounts of air with each and every single note. You can hear the air escaping in the breathy quality of her voice. 

Focus. There is none. That can be heard, once again, in the air rushing out, the breathiness to her voice. The tones aren't clear, they are cloudy with all the air. The lack of focus can also be heard in the constant scooping.  She doesn't have the air for longer phrases, and this makes some of the notes a little bit more difficult to reach. To make up for that, she scoops. (Yes, I know. Scooping can be a stylistic thing, but should still be used sparingly. Not every other note! That's just sloppy.)

Support. Its very difficult to support anything sitting on a giant ball with your legs stuck out in front of you like that. (In some cultures, it is considered rude to show people the soles of your feet, even your shoes. Apparently, she's never heard that, as she's showing the soles of her boots to a multitude of people.) When singers think about support, we usually think of just the abdominal muscles. We pooch out the tummy, forcing the diaphragm to flatten. And, viola! support! (On a craft show on PBS, I recently  heard the host pronounce that vie-la. Just for the record - it is vwah-la. Don't complain to me - it's French.) Actually, there is a lot more to it than just the abdominal muscles, although they are vitally important to the process. 

Also involved are, the thigh muscles, inner thigh muscles and the gluteus maximus (Butt cheeks). All of these muscles need to be engaged. What do I mean by this? Check out this video. It's a coach showing how to free throw in basketball. He has a young volunteer demonstrating what he's talking about.

  Throughout this video, you can see the kid getting ready to make the shot. All of his muscles are ready, time and time again, to throw the ball, if only the plump coach would shut up and let him do it! Every muscle in his young body is ready. That's what a singer's muscles should feel like. Engaged, energized and ready for anything. Without that, it's difficult to support the tone properly. (Poor kid, he almost looks like he's performing the 'potty dance')

Another Sarah Brightman example. I found this and went there expecting another train wreck. And I was not disappointed. She has no idea what the lyrics are about. (Glancing at the lyrics, I'm not sure I know, but I'm not the one who chose to sing the song. Here's what Wikipedia had to say on the subject :The author of Procol Harum: beyond the pale, Claes Johansen, suggests that the song "deals in metaphorical form with a male/female relationship which after some negotiation ends in a sexual act." This is supported by Tim de Lisle in Lives of the Great Songs, who remarks that the lyrics concern a drunken seduction, which is described through references to sex as a form of travel, usually nautical, using mythical and literary journeys. And I am NOT going to talk about Chaucer's Miller's Tale!)

 
Pay close attention at 1:21. I'll wait while you make it to that point in the video. Her voice is breathy, unfocused, unsupported. Then when she's ready for the high note, on "was" her knees visibly push straight, and suddenly, her voice has power and clarity! (That's why she likes sheer skirts! Just for these teaching points! How thoughtful.) 

Now, for contrast, here's John Barrowman singing Moon River. (Yes, Cap't Jack Harkness can sing!) He has very good focus. And just listen to those clear tones! And the phrasing is beautiful. Those notes are all supported. (And I think he's better looking than Ms Brightman, too! And no stupid crowny-thing!)


I had planned on giving you Procul Harem singing A Whiter Shade of Pale.  But, they don't sing anywhere near as good as Mr. Barrowman, so if you want to hear them, you'll have to go to Youtube yourself. So there.


Next week?

How many voices do I have?

Each of us has at least 3 separate voices. And I'm not talking about the voices in your head, or the voices that tell you to not have that extra serving of lasagna. I'm talking about singing voices. But even calling them voices can be misleading. Some teachers prefer the term "registers." It all depends on who you talk to and who they studied with, and which side of the bed they got out of this morning. Which all boils down to: "It's complicated."

So what exactly am I talking about? Listen to "What's Up" by "4 Not-Blondes."

 Do you hear how full and rich her voice is   through most of the song? But then, at 1:01,  1:05, 1:15, 1:20 (I'm seeing a pattern) hear what happens. Do you hear how it almost sounds like someone else singing? (I love her hats, they are so cool!)

 She starts out singing in her chest voice. We call it that because it feels like it is resonating in the chest. But then, for just a note or two, it almost sounds like a little girl singing. She's gone into her head voice, so called because it feels like it's resonating in the head. Between the two extremes is the middle voice. It tends to feel like it's in your throat, where you would think that we want the voice to always be, but you'd be wrong. 

Some more examples of the different qualities of the voices:

Jewel yodeling (you don't need to watch more than a few seconds, unless you're a glutton for punishment).  Why am I making you listen to yodeling? Let me refer you to Wikipedia again: Yodeling,yodelling,jodeling) is a form of singing that involves singing an extended note which rapidly and repeatedly changes in pitch from the vocal or chest register(or "chest voice") to the head register; making a high-low-high-low sound. The English wordyodel is derived from a German word jodeln(originally Austro-Bavarian language) meaning "to utter the syllablejo" (pronounced "yo" in English). This vocal technique is used in many cultures throughout the world. (And I am not the only person to not be enthralled with the art form. Sir Walter Scott wrote in his June 4, 1830 journal entry that "Anne wants me to go hear the Tyrolese Minstrels but...I cannot but think their yodeling...is a variation upon the tones of a jackass.

 Cranberries - Zombie:  first at 1:20 on the first syllable of "Fighting" (Gold dress does nothing for her, but I love the chain wig! - it's probably wrong to critique fashion on a really very serious song…)

 This abrupt switch from chest to head voices is what gives yodeling its characteristic sound, it an important part of Celtic music (hence the Cranberries song - plus, my husband loves that one). It's also a part of the music of many other cultures. Since much of my training has been to bridge the expanses of my voice seamlessly, I find the obvious differences in tone annoying. And, since classical Western training endeavors to do that, we will assume that you want to do the same, and not sound like any of these examples.

The chest voice has some admirable qualities. As you can hear in 4 Non-Blondes, it has volume and richness. The head voice has lightness and an almost angelic sound. (Are you tired of videos yet? Hopefully not, because here's one more: the Von Trapp Children singing.  In Carol of the Bells - the first song, everything is sung in lovely, pure head tones. You can hear hints of the breathy quality to their amplified voices. They are light, angelic: it really is lovely. Then, at 1:33, as they are beginning Doe, a deer, (I kid you not - they sing Doe, a deer!) the soloist gives us our first hint of chest voice. She is also the oldest looking of the 4. But it is a lovely young voice, smooth from the bottom all the way to the top. You can hear the richness of her voice, and it sounds far less breathy than the others'.

So, the trick is to keep the richness of the chest, while also keeping the ringing, angelic quality of the head. The first step is often to find all of those voices in you. Just about everyone manages to find their mid-range. Many untrained singers find the chest voice pretty easily. The head range is often the tricky one. (Although many young sopranos are frightened of what they think of as the rough qualities of the chest. Each voice is different. Not good or bad, just different.)

Then it becomes a matter of learning where each and every single note should fall: in your voice and in each and every single song. How much depth to carry up from the chest into the highest notes, and how much of the ringing head tones to carry down into the lowest, deepest notes you are capable of. And this will differ in each song, every day. It can be affected by how much sleep you got the night before, the pollen count, the relative humidity, you name it, it can probably affect your voice. (Does that sound mind-bogglingly difficult? With practice, it becomes so automatic that you don't even think about it.)

There is a diagram that gets used a lot. I call it the hourglass. If we put the head voice at the top of the diagram and the chest voice at the bottom, you have a visual of what we're trying to accomplish. Without this concept, you end up with what is called a break in the voice, when you just cannot carry up anymore weight or carry down anymore of the lightness.

My mother had an analogy that always made sense to me. (Sorry - but it went with a story) When she was a student teacher, they went on a field trip from her school in Louisville, KY, to New York City. (Quite the field trip - right?) She went shopping in Saks 5^th Avenue, and bought everyone back home a gift. Paperweights. About 2 dozen of them. 
(Maybe like this)

After shopping, they all went to the Empire State Building, where they found that the elevators were out of order, and they had to walk up all the stairs: all 1860 of them. It wasn't long before she was wishing she hadn't gotten all those paperweights. She was wishing that she could leave a trail of paperweights on the stairs, kind of like Hansel & Gretel leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, waiting for her to pick up again on her way back down. Sometimes I still think about leaving paperweights behind when I'm trying to lighten up my voice for a particular passage.

Have you gotten the idea that this is not necessarily easy? Good. Can it be fun? Yes! Should you go it alone? No. You can really do some damage to yourself, depending on your age, experience and health. For example: I never do much with the chest when I'm working with kids before they hit puberty. Their voices, just like their bodies, are undergoing so many changes that it's just not a good idea to push either end of the voice (chest or head). Do I teach kids before puberty? Yes. I'm just very careful of what we do. But, this is still just a part of why I liken vocal training to an adventure.

Next week: Support!