How Long to Practice?

Occasionally, a student (or a student's mother) will ask me how often they should practice. How many times a week, and for how long. They want, reasonably enough, a fairly cut-and-dried answer; something along the lines of: 4 times a week for 15 minutes a day. And I really wish that I could give them that kind of an answer. But, the truth isn't that easy.

I remember in 7th grade having a sleep-over. My friend, one of the few other Annettes I've known, brought a book, (one of the Nancy Drews) and announced as we were getting ready for bed, that she had promised her mother that she would read 10 pages every night before going to sleep. My first thought was that bringing a book to a sleep-over was a little rude, but I didn't say that. My second thought, which I did give voice to was this: "But what if you get to a really good part, and don't want to stop after just 10 pages?" That may have been the last sleep-over that Annette and I had. The concept that she might just possibly want to keep on reading had never occurred to her. I stayed up many nights long past my bedtime because I couldn't find a good stopping place in whatever book I was reading.

And similarly, it was never a fight to get me to practice, either piano, guitar or singing. Often, the hard part was to get me to stop. And, I recognize that that's not normal most people's experience. If parents are paying good money for these lessons, they want to know that they are getting their money's worth.

I have actually told a few students that I didn't want them to practice. One young man was practicing so long, and so late at night that he was not only keeping his family awake, he was doing himself serious damage. Sometimes, students are only relearning bad habits that I've just gotten them to stop doing. 

When I was in college, one of the piano professors was playing in a concert with a string quintet. He'd been practicing for weeks. Concert came and in the middle of a lengthy concerto he just stopped playing for several measures. He realized that he had no idea why he'd stopped, fortunately the quintet kept on playing and he quickly came back in. He was talking about it to his office mate, who knew exactly why he'd stopped playing there. Every single time he sat down to practice, he'd make the same mistake at the same place, stop, correct the mistake, and then go on with the piece. In the performance, he couldn't go back and correct, so eventually he went on. He had taught himself to always stop there. Think about that for just a moment. He had taught himself to always make the same mistake. Over and over. The same mistake.

He told every class that he taught that story, hoping that if he could teach us nothing else, we'd learn how not to practice. 

When I was taking piano lessons, my teacher was nuts. I mean, she really was. Lived in a huge Victorian house, 3 stories, plus attics and cellar. Just her, her mother, and her cat. (Just one cat at the time, but I haven't seen her in decades.) When they went on vacation, the cat went with them, and ate from room service. The living room had no furniture, just the 9-foot grand piano. Sometimes the cat slept inside the piano. You'd be playing along, and suddenly, instead of warm, lovely tones, you'd hear a soft thump as the piano hammers would impact on sleeping cat. While you played, the teacher would pace the perimeter of the room; never watching your fingering, never seeing possible trouble coming. When you made a mistake, she'd scream. You had to stop, correct the mistake, and then go on. In four years, I don't think I ever played a piece straight through.

When I switched to a different teacher, she had to force me to play songs without stopping, regardless of how many mistakes I made. It was a very long time before I unlearned that bad habit.

All of that taught me one very valuable lesson: how to practice. So, here are my steps for learning a new song. Necessary items: music - be it score, book, or sheet; piano, glass of water; tea (optional); pencil (Not optional).

1) I look over the music. Are there patterns? Yes, the song is 5 pages long, but how many of those measures are the same? Usually songs follow some sort of format, like poetry; ABA, AABA. Are there verses, choruses? Repeats? Obvious variations? This gives me a better chance of making fewer mistakes, and tells me where I need to pay more attention. (You don't have to be able to read music to notice patterns.) I also make sure that I know what all the words mean and how to pronounce them. 

2) I play and sing through the song a couple of times. If I make the same mistake, or have to pause to figure something out, I make a note of that.

3) I isolate the trouble spots, slowing them down - figuring out the timing, intonation, technique, whatever the problem is, and work carefully on just that problem. When I can make it through the first spot without any issues, I put it back into the song. I sing or play from an earlier section, through the first spot. If that problem is now fixed, I go on and apply the same procedure to the next problem. If it's not fixed, I continue to work on that same spot, but from a different point of view. Maybe the problem wasn't what I first thought it was, might there be something else wrong? When I was studying voice this would be the point where, if I still couldn't figure out what was wrong, I'd leave that spot, go on, finish the song, and ask my teacher's help on the real trouble spot. 

I quickly discovered that by practicing this way, I could really make the most of my practice time. It was great. I would look at the song and then sing it once. Then spend a few minutes on whatever problems came up. Then to finish it off, sing through the whole song again. Then I could go on to the next piece. I became known as a very quick study. (A quick study or a fast study is what you call someone who learns a role quickly.) What I was was a smart study. It also made better use of my lesson time. Rather than waste time letting the teacher find those same problems, I could tell him up front, and we could get to work on them.

As I got older, and more experienced, I added a fourth step to the process. Listening.

4) I find recordings of other, more experienced singers, doing the same piece, and listen, very carefully, with the music in front of me. What do they do at my trouble spots? Can I hear exactly what vowel sound they are making? Is the voice placed forward or toward the back of their throat? How is their timing? Do I like what they are doing, or do I think it's rubbish?

I might listen to anywhere from three to ten different singers, making notes of what I like, and what I don't like. Then I go back to the piano, and sing through the song again. Often, the changes that come up are amazing. Now I can really start to learn what the composer might have been trying to convey. All that went before, that was the technical part of the song; the nuts and bolts. After all that, now I can work on the artistry of music. Admittedly, some songs don't really have all that much to them. After you find out that the  Good Ship Lollipop is actually about an airplane (airship) and work out the puns, there's really not much more to be gotten out of it. Other songs: Vissi d'arte, l'altra notte, All the Things You Are, The Rose, to name a very few, always offer new depths, new insights. They never get old. 

So, how long should you practice? For some singers, particularly the younger ones, sometimes all that's necessary is to do a warm-up, everyday, if possible, and run through whatever songs I've assigned. Songs are not going to be learned in one sitting. But, as a teacher, I would rather help with the learning process than the unlearning process. If there are problems, I would rather find a list of them, written out, than find that the student has been carefully learning the wrong words, or the wrong notes. And the list doesn't need to be technical. It can be something as simple as, "On the second verse, something just doesn't seem right." or as complex as, "On p.3, second system, third measure, I can't seem to get the timing on the rest," or a score with the problems circled in pencil. (I always have pencils with me when I practice. They are a vital part of the whole process.)

On a very personal note, as a teacher, I don't want to have to go over the words again, and again, and again. I'd like, more than anything for my students to learn the words at home. Not memorized. Unless the song is going to be performed, I don't really care about memorization. What I want is familiarity; knowing what the words are, which ones come next, that kind of thing. It makes actually learning the music much easier.

As the singer gets a little older, into the teenage years and on up, I'd like for them to practice as long as they comfortably can. Learning how to sing, or play any instrument is a process. You're never going to really learn a song - even the Good Ship Lollipop, in one run-through. (That may take two) But, some songs will take longer than others. Some may just not be right for your instrument, and that's fine. Never practice if it hurts. It means that you're doing something wrong, and we need to work on that at your lesson. (Or, perhaps you're ill, and need to see a doctor.) Make notes on what hurts and how. Really talk to your body, and listen to what it has to say. But, barring pain, practice as long as you want to. Some days, I practice for hours. Others, I'm lucky if I have time to warm-up. 

Always start a practice session with your strength. After the warm-up, do your favorite song. One that just makes you feel good to sing. Then, go on to something new, or something that you've been struggling with. Really work on it. Follow the steps from above, and isolate the trouble spots. Really think about how you're singing; are you raising the soft palate, supporting the tone, relaxing your throat? When you're getting tired, or frustrated, put it up for a moment. Go get a fresh glass of water, or a new cup of tea. Rest for a minute. Then you have a choice. To go back to work on that spot, or finish. If you decide to finish, then go back to your strength, that favorite song. End your practice session literally on a good note. 

(I just realized that there are no pictures and no videos with this blog. The only song I've mentioned more than once is the Good Ship Lollipop. I'm sure it's somewhere on YouTube, but I cannot bring myself to find it. You can look, if you want.)

How long to practice? As long as it takes.

Raise the What?

Because of the attack by our otherwise peaceful porch swing last month, I've been going through physical therapy. This is not my first time in physical therapy, and it probably won't be my last, but this time has been different. I mentioned in an earlier blog that I was having trouble singing, and placed most of that blame on tension in my neck. While that was part of the problem, another part was that I had damaged the digastric muscles. These are small, seemingly insignificant muscles. But, they are hugely important in singing. The therapist was impressed at how much knowledge I had of how my body works, and the muscles involved in movement, even if I didn't know their names. As a singer, we utilize a lot of the muscles in our bodies in ways that most people would not even think of. 

If you look at the left side of this diagram, you'll find the digastric muscles on the same level as this sentence. They are very small muscles, that connect to the hyoid bone. When we just barely tilt the chin down, it is these muscles that are working. Not the sternocleidomastoid ( Shown cut on the left side to allow us to see everything else.) That is the big muscle that is standing out in Diana Ross' neck in the picture that I used for the blogs on Relaxation of the Vocal Mechanism and Proper Focus. Would you like to see it again? Oh. All right. Here it is:

Compare her sternocleidomastoid muscles to the ones in the upper diagram. Now you can really see how they are standing out. Ouch. Just looking at her hurts my throat.

I'm going to reuse another diagram from my blog on Proper Focus. We want the voice to feel like its resonating in the nasal cavity. Sound originates in the larynx (Voice box). Air passing through the vocal cords creates the sound that is carried with the air past the epiglottis into the pharynx. (Pharynx is from Ancient Greek φάρυγξ and basically means throat. Fancy, huh?) The pharynx is where we want to create more space. This is where those pesky little digastric muscles, and the chin tilt come into play. That is part of how we create space back there. The other part of the equation is provided when we raise the soft palate. In this diagram, you can see the palate bone. Where it is thickest, just behind the teeth, we have what we call the "hard palate". You can see the bone gets thinner, until finally, the tissue falls back into the uvula, the dangly thing at the back of your throat. Just before the uvula is the "soft palate". We want to raise this to create even more space for the voice to resonate. 


When we yawn, the soft palate automatically rises. Give it a try now. Yawn. That felt nice. Could you feel the soft palate raise up? Try it again, if you need to. I've got time. Good. Now all you have to do is to learn how to do that without yawning. Maybe you have already perfected the art of yawning with your mouth closed. I learned that one for class where the teacher got angry if he saw too many yawns, and would give pop quizzes. It's amazing how many of us very quickly learned to yawn with our mouths closed. (He really was very boring.) So try that. Work on yawning with your mouth closed. It's really only a short step then, to learn to raise the soft palate without yawning. It just take some practice. Don't worry, no one will be able to notice you doing anything odd. You can practice anytime you'd like. 


By raising the soft palate, we create the feeling that the voice has entered the nasal cavity, where it resonates. This is a very good thing, and gives the voice brilliancy, and the ringing tone that we love. It also helps with intonation, keeping the tone "up", preventing flatness. 


At the same time, the jaw needs to follow the chin tilt, and drop down and slightly back. We never, never want a gooseneck, where the jaw juts out and up. You'd think that would help create space, but it just closes everything off at the back of the throat.


The higher the note, the higher the soft palate needs to raise, even to feeling that it is hooking up and forward. And the deeper and stronger the support underneath needs to be. (That was last week's blog and an earlier one. Support, and More Support.) There really is a lot that has to be going on all the time we are singing. And it all has to become automatic so that we have time then to think about the music itself, and not the mechanics of singing. 


I thought this video was amazing. It shows the vocal cords or 4 singers. The soprano is on the far left, followed by the alto, bass, and then the tenor. They are singing in Latin, so don't worry if you can't understand the words. From the looks of the video, the tiny cameras were sent through their noses, down their throats so that they could sing with them there. Makes my nose hurt just to think about it. But watch. It really is fascinating!(The flap that kind of looks like a tongue at the base of the vocal cords is actually the epiglottis. The thingy that keeps our food from falling into our lungs while we eat.)

See you next week!

More Support

I was asked by a student to revisit support. So, here we are. The concept is a very tricky one, no doubt about it. Once again, we end up with trying to use metaphors and examples, and sometimes none of it makes sense. For one student - I am not making this up - all I need to do now is tell her, in a really bad Pepe LePew French accent, that she needs more croissant, and she instantly provides more support, and the note is better. (What have I said about learning how each person thinks?)

But, sadly, for most people a shout of "Croissant" will not result in better singing. So here we go.

There are no videos in this blog. If you'd like some lovely, supported singing to listen to as you read. I offer this: Montserrat Caballe singing L'altra notte from Boito's opera Mefistophele. There's no pictures, (Which given the flowers she appears to be wearing, may not be a bad thing) just beautiful, well-supported singing to listen to.

Every house must have a foundation. That foundation must go down into the earth to a certain depth. My exhaustive research of the past 10 minutes tells me that most go down to a depth of at least 1 meter (roughly a yard). A house cannot be built just on the level of the ground. It has to have that deep foundation, or it will crack and fall over. The higher the house will be built - the more stories that are wanted - the deeper the foundation must be.

Voices are very similar to houses in this instance. Without a deep foundation, the voice will crack. The vocal equivalent to falling over. This is part of why it used to be thought that opera singers needed to be on the plump side. The thinking being that without the extra poundage, the voice simply could not have any volume. (SO not true, by the way!)

But, we cannot dig deep holes into the ground and sing out of them. (Although I can think of some singers who would be vastly improved if they would only sing from deep, deep holes in the ground!) Our foundation must come from somewhere else. And this is where the concept of support comes in. We must have the support from which to build the voice.

Which brings me back to the question: How do we support? I like to think of singing as a whole-body experience, not just something that involves the abdominal muscles. But that's a good place to start.

When we breathe, we need for the diaphragm to flatten. This allows the lungs to expand and air to rush in. We need to oppose the diaphragm's tendency to immediately return to its relaxed, dome-shaped condition. This is basic breath control, but it is also the beginnings of support. Often it helps to have a feeling of pushing against something in order to keep the diaphragm low for a longer period. Many female singers like to wear a corset or girdle to help with this feeling. (And it helps to hide any of that operatic plumpness!) The strong boning (that's what it's called!) in a corset assists in giving the singer something to push against. And that opposition - that pushing against something is an important part of support.

I've also likened it to wearing a weight-lifting belt.
My understanding of these belts is that it helps to support the back, while at the same time giving the lifter something to push against in the front. The same feeling of opposition that we need in singing.

But - along with that feeling of pushing down, or out, I also think that the legs have a part to play. The muscles in the thighs, inner thighs, and butt must be engaged. Just as an athlete or a dancer needs for all of their muscles to be involved anytime they are performing, so does a singer. By engaged, I mean that the muscles must feel so full of energy that they are ready for any movement at any moment. I still like the video of the boy getting ready to throw the basketball that I used in the earlier blog. I'll wait while you go back and review it.

I've heard that the sensation of pushing down actually balances the pressure of the air on the vocal cords. And while I'm not sure about the physiological truth in that, that does describe some of what I feel when singing.

Another way to keep the diaphragm flat and to increase support, is to lean into the back of a hard chair. Pressing down with your hands onto the back of a chair, can give that feeling of pushing down, since that's literally what you're doing. It's important to keep the back straight and not hunch over, or let the shoulders hike up, but to gently lean into the chair back. (Getting the right chair height is important!) It also diverts attention away from the voice, and provides a good counter-balance for what we're trying to accomplish.

The diaphragm is going to relax into it's contracted dome-shape. That's a given. And there is nothing that we can do to stop that, nor would we want to. If we could, we would stop breathing and die. Not what we're aiming for. It is even debatable whether by all of this work we are delaying that return or not. That's not really important, though, because it FEELS like we are, and those feelings are just about all we have to go on when it comes to singing. 

Feelings and the way each persons brain works. No one ever said this would be easy. Maybe we should all just try some croissants.

What is YOUR Song?

Earlier this week, a friend posted this on Facebook, and I reposted it. What Kurt Vonegut says in this picture, captures almost everything I feel about the arts. Except for the fact that I am making a living through them. Or trying to. And we need people who do, we need people who excel in the arts, or we would lose something essential in our lives.
Later this week, another friend posted this:

"When a woman of the Ubuntu African tribe knows she is pregnant, she goes to the jungle with other women, and together they pray and meditate until you get to "The song of the child." When a child is born, the community gets together and they sing the child's song. When the child begins his education, people get together and he sings his song. When they become an adult, they get together again and sing it. When it comes to your wedding, the person hears his song. Finally, when their soul is going from this world, family and friends are approaching and, like his birth, sing their song to accompany it in the "journey".

"In the Ubuntu tribe, there is another occasion when men sing the song. If at some point the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, they take him to the center of town and the people of the community form a circle around her. Then they sing "your song." The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment, but is the love and memory of his true identity. When we recognize our own song, we have no desire or need to hurt anyone.

"Your friends know "your song". And sing when you forget it. Those who love you can not be fooled by mistakes you have committed, or dark images you show to others. They remember your beauty as you feel ugly, your total when you're broke, your innocence when you feel guilty and your purpose when you're confused." Tolba Phanem, African poet

Reading this, I got to thinking (always a dangerous thing, I know). What is MY song? Bill and I have a song - Happy Together. People usually think of the Turtles version, and while I do really love that one, this is our favorite. (Although I do kind of miss the "How is the weather?" lyric in the Turtles version) 


But, that is OUR song. What's MY song? What song could bring me back to myself if I needed the reminder? Think about it. 
In an episode of Ally McBeal (for those of you who might remember the series), her therapist told her to find a song. And when she was feeling stressed or afraid, she should hear that song, and it would bring her back to herself. I've tried and looked and I cannot remember what her song was, but I do remember her walking down the street, with her song playing in the background, and all the strange looks she got dancing down the street to HER song.

When I was a teenager, I had a song. When I was hurt, or scared, upset at how the world was treating me, it made me feel better, and centered. Perhaps not the most positive song out there, but it worked for me.  Simon & Garfunkel's I Am a Rock.(Looking at them, all I can think, beyond how talented they are and how well they sing together, is that they would never have had a career today. They look too odd. Not the typical boy-band that we've sadly come to expect.) But, back to my topic. Is this MY song now? NO. It worked for the teenaged me. But not now.


Then, for a time there was Barry Manilow's All the Time. But that was for Melissa, and later Bill. It was about my relationships with each of my dearest friends. (I even married one of them!) Would this song call me back to myself if I got lost? No, not really. It brings me back to a time when I felt very alone, and as the lyrics say: "All the time I thought that I was wrong. Wanting to be me but needing to belong. If I'd've just believed in all I had, If someone would have said 'You're not so bad'." That was just barely post I Am a Rock.


For a time, I really called on Carly Simon's I haven't Got Time for the Pain, but that was mostly for the lyrics of the chorus: "Now I haven't got time for the pain, I haven't got room for the pain, I haven't the need of the pain." But the rest of the song didn't really fit what I needed the chorus for. Still not MY song.

Maybe if I look into the world of opera. I love opera. Hmm. . . Vissi d'arte. (Puccini - Tosca) One of my all-time favorite arias. Here's Renata Tebaldi singing it. Going over the translation, I was thinking that maybe I had a winner. The beginning was going pretty well. But, when the mood of the music changes, it ceases to be what I'm looking for here. (I picked this version, because a translation is offered on-screen.) Most of the rest of the arias that I can think of have to do with leaving your love, dying, killing someone, dying, getting ready to die ~ I'm thinking that opera is sadly not where I'm going to find MY song. 


I love the Beatles. Maybe there? Yellow Submarine? (I posted that video a few blogs ago.) No. My favorite Beatles song? While My Guitar Gently Weeps. No, not even close. 


I googled "songs of affirmation" and got a lot of what Bill calls "whistle-boing-boing" music. New Age-y stuff. Not what I'm looking for. That did net me We Are the Champions by Queen. A great song. And, yes, a very strong, positive affirmation, but not what I'm looking for, either. I'm not really looking for affirmation, I'm looking for a song that defines me. Rules out I am Woman by Helen Reddy, too. When we recognize our own song, we have no desire or need to hurt anyone. This is proving to be harder than I thought.


Maybe a song that I wrote? But, I'm not much of a songwriter. Dad & I once wrote a song. I remember sitting in his lap as we wrote: I should have kept my mouth shut. I shouldn't ought to've told. I should have kept my lip zipped up till I'm a hundred years old. I should have kept my mouth shut, I shouldn't have opened it wide. 'Cause when I opened my mouth up, a fly flew inside. Hey, at 5, that was high art!


But, I'm still no closer to finding MY song. Suggestions? And while you're thinking about it - what's YOUR song?

Popra?

A student sent me this video of Danielle de Niese singing V'adoro, pupille from Handel's Giulio Cesare. Her question dealt with one of the comments: "She's beautiful, but I'm sorry to say her singing is vulgar and inconsistent. She is not an opera singer, but a "popra" singer. No subtlety. Also,the arm-flailing was just horrible. She was like those inflatable-arm flailing advertising things."

Another comment:

"The costume is the biggest issue here. There is no way that anyone could fall in love with a woman wearing this.
Pah!
I saw this brilliant production, one of the most memorable nights I have ever spent in the theatre, and both of the subsequent revivals. I don't think you would find a single audience member of either sex who was not beguiled by Miss de Niese. . . And the crazy Bollywood dancing was part of the magic of this show too.

(The 'crazy Bollywood dancing' has some historical validity:  Rome, Egypt and Greece all traded with India, by the way.)

Now, I've spent the last few hours listening to many, many versions of V'adoro, pupille (sadly, never one of my favorite arias to begin with) and have arrived at a few conclusions.

A friend has said that opera is broken. And I think that this may be part of what he means. Ms de Niese is not a bad singer. Her singing is neither vulgar or inconsistent. What she is, or was when this was recorded was very young. 24 to be exact. An opera singer performing leading roles at 24. Yes, she's lovely and fills the costume very nicely, without overflowing in any direction. Her operatic debut was at the age of 15, in Los Angeles, where I would have thought they knew better.

For contrast; here is Montserrat Caballe singing the same role. (Ignore the fact that the first Cesare is a woman, and the one here is a man - that's a whole 'nother blog.)
Ms Caballe would probably never be cast today. In 1982, she was relatively thin, but even then, would be considered far too fat to have the role today. She also would never have consented to that much movement. The more you move, the harder producing beautiful sounds becomes. Ms de Niese has not only the arm movements to contend with, but she begins singing in a kneeling position, bending and scooping with her arms.

And while it makes for interesting theatre, it doesn't necessarily make for good opera. Yes, opera is about the spectacle, and hopefully, it's also now about good acting, but primarily what makes it "opera" is the singing. And singing at this level takes years to develop.

A concept that is often difficult for students to understand is that their voice is an instrument. And at the age of 15, the instrument is still growing and changing, just as a 15 year old's body is still growing and changing. An acoustic guitar must age before it reaches it richest tones. Why can we not allow the same for young singers?


As a vocal instructor, I am very careful with young voices, not wanting them to develop too much, too quickly. It is so easy to cause damage. While Ms de Niese obviously has a lovely instrument, it needed to grow up some more before it was put to such strain.

Operas were written for older, more trained, seasoned performers. But, in our youth and beauty oriented society, we are putting microphones in the ceilings of theatres so that younger and smaller voices can take on roles that were never meant for them. Opera has become more about how it looks than how it sounds. And for that, opera is broken. 

To me, "popra" has to do with some of the groups that are making opera more approachable and popular: Amici, il Divo. I actually like some of these, although I mentioned il Divo negatively last week, it was for their performance of that particular song. 

But "popra" can also mean this: Luciano Pavarotti was scheduled to sing Nessun dorma at the Grammy's in 1998. He got sick, and had to cancel at the last minute. Aretha Franklin bravely stepped up to the plate. I won't gripe about all the things she did wrong. She was in a very unfortunate position and did what she could. I can only imagine the shock of the orchestra and chorus, however when they found out who they would be backing up! 

But this, also, is part of what is wrong with opera today; the feeling that anyone can do it. I have worked with a singer who primarily does jazz. She reads not a lick of music, and has never had a lesson in her life, and she has told me that she doesn't see why opera singers make such a fuss about training. She can do everything that we do without all the wasted expense. 

And, that, my friends, is popra.