Good Mental Concept

I've often said that one of the jobs of a voice teacher is to learn how our students think. Sometimes, what a word means to me, and what it means to my student are very different things. I've had to learn how to present vocal ideas to a man who suffered 70% hearing loss as a child. I've had to learn how to speak so that a dancer can comprehend vocal imagery. I've had to learn how to follow a young woman who grew up speaking Mandarin Chinese. Sometimes I wish I could read minds; it would make the job so much easier.

Studying in Germany, I met a lot of singers; professional, successful, struggling, amateurs, you name it. I remember one day a tenor was coming in for his lesson as I was leaving. He was walking with a limp, and apologized for  even being there, since he knew he wasn't going to be able to sing that day. Our teacher, Mike Rhodes, asked him what was wrong, since there was no hint of hoarseness in his speaking voice. No, no, it wasn't his voice. He'd hurt his right foot, and so, couldn't sing. Asked what that had to do with singing, he replied that he sang with his right foot. I suggested that perhaps he could try singing with his left. And, while that made our teacher laugh, the tenor did not appreciate the comment.

Mike had an open studio. This meant that his students were allowed, even encouraged, to sit in on one another's lessons. You can learn a lot from someone else's problems. I was sitting in on a tenor's lesson. (Why is it always tenors?) He was really struggling with one note in an aria. Not a verse, not a phrase. One note.  It was a high note. As I recall, it was a B, just a half-step below the infamous high-C. This particular note needed to be very soft, and hang effortlessly in the air. 


Or that was the idea. After 20 minutes of struggling with this effortless note, the poor tenor was just about ready to give up. Either that or throw our teacher and his piano out the window. I felt for both of them. Mike had tried just about every technique he could think of to pull this note out of this tenor. And the tenor was failing, in front of an audience - me. Finally, in desperation, the man volunteered to try one last thing. He didn't care if it worked or not, they were going to finish the aria this time. I still remember how that note sounded: it was so soft, it hung on the air, as if it had always been there, just waiting for this man to pluck it out. It was effortless, it was beautiful. He finished the aria, and asked if that had been right. Reassured that it had been, he turned to Mike, and demanded: "Why didn't you just tell me it was a green note?"

These two stories have a couple of things in common. They both took place in the studio of my teacher in Germany, they both involve tenors, and most important for the moment: they both involve mental concept. 


Unless the singer knows where the note should be in their voice, and unless they know how it should sound, they are merely rolling the dice in the crap shoot of vocal production. A pianist has it easy. I can go to any piano in the world, and find middle-C. And provided that piano is in tune, it will always sound exactly the same. Voices are different. Middle-C may be out of reach for some basses, or bottoming out for some sopranos. And, to make things interesting, it will be in a slightly different place in your voice from one day to the next. All of this will depend on how much sleep you got, whether you had tea or coffee with your breakfast, what kind of green-growing-thing is currently blooming, and the relative humidity. All of this combines to make singing on pitch unbelievably complicated.


This can be dealt with simply by trial and error. And let me tell you, there's a lot of error! When I miss a note, the entire neighborhood knows about it! Fortunately, by this point, I don't miss that many. 


The singer also needs to know how much of the chest voice to carry up into each note, and how much of the head voice to carry down. This can not only change by day, but can be different in each song. Are you getting the feeling that this is a very difficult skill? 


Good. Because it is, and it needs to become automatic. Someone told me once that the number of computations that we accomplish each moment we are driving a car is literally mind-boggling:  speed, trajectories, Newton's laws, the list is almost endless. And, yet, we do it, day in, day out. The same for singing - except that hopefully, no one's life is endangered when we sing.


And on top of all that, there is the quality of the note: not just hitting it full out, but that elusive green note: the note that just hangs there, softly and effortlessly. And without a qualified teacher to tell you when you have found that note - to be your ears outside of your body - you can't be certain that you've found that quality.

Hmm. . . what shall I post about next week? Tune in and see!

Proper Focus

Herr Weinsinger used to say that in order to really practice these elements, we needed to memorize them. And not just memorize for a test, but really know them. He wanted to be able to call us in the middle of the night, waking us out of a sound sleep, ask, "What are the 5 basic elements of singing?" and have each of us rattle them off in our sleep. He also felt that the elements that you had the most trouble remembering were the ones that needed the most work.There were those at the university who thought he was nuts, and he may have been, but that doesn't mean he wasn't right.

My posture was always pretty good. Relaxation of the vocal mechanism was a bear; in my early days, I was a very tense singer. Breathing was easy: I'm lucky in that I've always breathed properly. Proper focus, though, was always another bear.

This is also where the basic elements get more subjective. The first 3 are physical, and even though they can be very difficult, they are pretty much "cut-and-dried." You are either doing them right, or you're not. But proper focus is all caught up in how we think.

Let's start with this: your tone needs to be in the facial masque, or sinus cavities. This is also known as putting a spin in the voice. And how do we do this? I'm going to reuse a picture from my blog on Element 2. See the soft palate? That needs to raise. (To find out how to do this, go back to that blog. It's all there.)

By raising the soft palate, we can "place" the voice in the facial masque. At any rate, we think we can; it feels like we have. The problem is that the voice hasn't actually moved anywhere. What we're doing is changing the shape of our resonator. What's a resonator?

* sigh *

I was afraid you'd ask that. Are you ready? A resonator may be defined as a secondary vibrator which is set into motion by the main vibrator and which adds its own characteristics to the generated sound waves." (I stole that from the Wikipedia article Vocal Resonation. Whoever said that singers were stupid? Oh yeah: I said that. Oops!) What that means for us is this: our main vibrators are the vocal cords, which set in motion our secondary vibrator, the nasal cavity.

This is where having a qualified teacher becomes vital. A teacher provides ears outside of your own body to tell you when you have achieved the right sound. Internally, it can actually sound like there is a grating, raspy edge to the voice. But, externally, it sounds full, and gives the voice the ringing quality that we want in the voiceIt helps the voice carry over longer distances, and even over orchestras. While this often seems like it's giving the voice more volume, I think it also raises the frequencies the voice produces. You get another story.

Not terribly long ago, I was a music director for several services at the Kirtland Air Force Base Chapel. While I was there, a brand new sound board was installed. I didn't really have much to do with it, but I was expected to begin to use the microphones that dotted the raised altar area. I tried to explain to the chaplains that no one wanted me near a mic. They ignored me, and reminded me to work with the sound guys on the settings for me. I tried to explain to the sound guys. They told me that Britney Spears couldn't blow out the sound board, and so I didn't need to worry.

Britney Spears.

Really. I wish I was making that up.

The following Sunday, I stood at the podium to sing the Psalm for the Catholic Mass. I promise, I wasn't singing loudly. Aware of the microphone a foot away from my mouth, I was singing very softly. But, my voice is properly focused. After the first verse, the mic went dead. And then there was a very loud popping sound. I noticed the sound man in the balcony motioning me to go on.

I could tell that my mic was dead, so I sang a little louder to finish the Psalm. I found out later that I had over-powered my microphone, and caused a cascade that red-lined every mic up there, including the lapel-mics attached to the chaplain's shirt. I hadn't done that with volume, but with frequency.

We call this focus because it can feel like you are focusing the voice behind your cheeks. Sometimes it also helps to visualize a cone projecting from your mouth, coming to a point somewhere in front of you. The farther you want your voice to project, the longer your cone needs to be.

Often, for the beginning singer, the voice will come into focus on one note in one song. The trick is to keep that feeling for longer than the one note. This can take months. You work, and work, and struggle, and fight, and one day, it happens. And it's easy, and it's fun, and feels really good. That's usually when it's right. (You knew there had to be a reason for all this work, right? When it's right, it is so much fun!)

The second point in Proper Focus tells us that on high notes, the focus becomes even tighter, as is put right on the bridge of the nose. The focus moves from the facial masque, even more forward and up. Dramatic soprano Eileen Farrell once likened hitting a high-C to feeling like she was going to throw up. It's possible she was referring to how open the throat needs to be. Hopefully, she wasn't throwing up on the bridge of her nose, 'cause that would have been gross.

Like I said before, it's all how you think.

Next time: Good Mental Concept

Proper Breathing: Part Deux

Here's the second part in the history-making two-part post on proper breathing. We stopped with the story about the idiot radiologist. We now get to pick up the subject of proper breathing with the concept of settling the breath. This is a rather subtle concept. And just to give you something to listen to, here's Frankie's version of Fly me to the Moon. There's nothing interesting going on visually, so you can listen and keep reading.

Here's what often happens when a singer takes a breath at the beginning of Fly Me to the Moon. The introduction is playing. Just before his first note, the singer takes a carefully timed breath, mindful to expand the lower ribs in a barrel-like fashion. He is nervous, and the audience knows it. His pulse is racing. The first word is "Fly." On that first note, all the jealously hoarded air rushes out like kindergarteners kept inside for too long on a sunny day, and the singer wonders why he has no air for the rest of the phrase.

This poor breathless singer has fallen victim to one of the classic blunders - the most famous of which is "never get involved in a land war in Asia" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "settle the breath before singing."

A different singer comes to the front. She, too, is going to sing Fly Me to the Moon. The introduction is playing. At the beginning of the last measure, the singer takes a carefully timed breath, mindful to expand the ribs in a barrel-like fashion. Unlike the first singer, she has given enough time for the breath to settle. Her fears are put to rout. As they watch, the audience knows, even before she has sung her first note, that this singer will be good. She sings a long phrase; "Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars, let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars" before she takes another deep breath.

The main difference between our two hypothetical singers is that one has allowed the breath to settle and the other has not. Letting your breath settle is different from holding your breath. Holding the breath has tension, and keeps respiration from happening. Letting the breath settle is much gentler than that. It takes just a brief moment. But in that moment, many things have happened.

When you are nervous, your respiration speeds up and becomes shallow. That makes your heart race, feeding the nervousness, making the breath even more shallow. It becomes is never-ending cycle. When, however, you allow the breath to settle, it breaks that cycle, hopefully before it's really had time to start, and calms you down.

Letting the breath settle is also a way for you to tell your body that you are now in control of this automatic bodily function. Once again, you must trick your body into doing something that it might not want to do. You need to be firm with it, or it won't listen.

And, by taking that moment, it also tells the audience that you have something worth listening to. Combined with good posture, it gives you a commanding stage presence. Many people think that I'm much taller than I really am, simply based on how I stand and breathe on stage.

This brings me to the final sub-point in Proper Breathing: Breaths should not be great gasps for air, but controlled intake as well as controlled outflow. You should be a miser with your breath, making each molecule work for you. Herr Weinsinger used to tell us to imagine we'd just eaten a pastrami sandwich with extra garlic and onions, with an order of sauerkraut on the side. (I will admit, this sounds horrible to me, but that's part of the point) You don't want to breathe this stinky breath on anyone else, and so you keep as much breath inside as you possibly can. Suddenly, you are being a miser with your air.

This woman gets a little scary on the topic of breathing, but that doesn't mean that she isn't right. Who knew breathing was THIS important?

Element 3: Proper Breathing

Everybody breathes. You've been doing it your entire life, how can you need to learn how to breathe?

The sad truth is that very few people breathe properly. Yeah, I know, how stupid does that sound? But, it's true. Most people breathe very shallowly, using only the top part of their lungs, when they should be breathing from their diaphragms and utilizing much more of the lungs' capacity.

Once again the first sub-point is: (drum roll, please!) Good Posture! How you stand matters!

I'm going to keep harping on this. Get used to it.

The second point is: Take small breaths, down low, expanding the lower ribs in a barrel-like fashion. (This is called "breathing from the diaphragm." Take notes; there'll be a test later.)

Let's take a moment to look at what happens when we breathe.

The diaphragm is an oddly-spelled muscle that has a dome-shape, and hangs out underneath the lungs, keeping them from falling into the stomach, colon and some of the other stuff down there.

(I'm serious - which idiot spelled it D I A P H R A G M? It's pronounced dye a fram, not dye a fragum - English can be stupid.)

When you need to breathe, the brain sends a signal down to the diaphragm, and it flattens. When this happens, suddenly there is more room for the lungs, and they expand to fill it. Air rushes in. You don't need to suck it in, or gasp, or really do anything but flatten your diaphragm. Ah, but there's the rub: how do we do that? I can fill in for my brain and tell my diaphragm to flatten. But does it listen to me? No - it's a diaphragm, it doesn't need to listen to anybody. Once again, we have the problem of not being able to see the item we're working with. "And," you may ask, "how can we possibly get it to flatten if we can't see it and it won't listen when we talk?" We trick it. (Remember? We started tricking our bodies last week. There will be more.)

You can trick it by pooching out your stomach. When you do that, the diaphragm is forced to flatten.

Now, I know, if you pooch out your stomach, you're going to look fat. We are constantly told to suck our tummies in. And that's the problem. If your tummy is always sucked in, then you simply cannot breathe properly. Look at runners. They are breathing from the diaphragm. Check out this video: this is a man talking to runners, not singers; but the technique is the same. He even talks about posture!

One of the many ways to experience abdonimal breathing, is to lie down on the floor, flat on your back. Place a hand on your stomach. Relax, and just breathe. With any luck at all, you’ll feel your abdomen rise and fall as you breath in and out.

While this has so far talked about the frontal part of proper breathing, Herr Weinsinger did stress the "barrel-like fashion" part. Because, as you might have noticed in the first video, the ribs should expand all around. I have students put their hands on my lower back, to either side of my spine, and feel the expansion when I breathe. The easiest way to feel this for yourself is to stand up and bend forward at the waist. Place your hands on your back, roughly where your kidneys hopefully are. While you are in that position, inhale; you should feel the expansion for yourself.

(Do it now. I can wait.)

Once when he was being interviewed, Placido Domingo was asked what he felt was the most difficult thing about singing. With no hesitation, he responded, "Breathing properly." (Of course, he said it with a strong Spanish accent.)

(I'm going to pretend that all of you know who Placido Domingo is. If you don’t: take the time to look him up on Wikipedia or YouTube.)

With this in mind, I’m going to spend two posts talking about breathing.

I do have a story for you. Since I have been singing since I was a baby, I have been very lucky in that I have always breathed from my diaphragm. (Yes, even when I was a teenager and didn’t want to look fat.) This has had many benefits for me as a singer. And I have medical proof of how much this can increase your lung function.

I was in my mid-20’s, and had a horrible upper respiratory infection. I couldn't talk, couldn't sing, could barely breathe without setting off a coughing fit. The doctor wanted to rule out pneumonia. So he ordered a chest x-ray. The tech lined me up with the markings on the wall, and told me to take a deep breath. I knew exactly how much air I could take before the coughing fit would start. So I carefully inhaled as much as I was able to, feeling my rib cage expand to roughly half of what it usually could.

Pictures taken, my husband and I were told to wait while the radiologist looked over the x-rays. After a little while, the doctor came out, and asked how long I had had asthma. I immediately panicked, imagining scar tissue on my lungs. But I really could not do more than croak. So Bill calmed me down, and asked the doctor why he thought I had asthma.

The man held up my ex-ray, and pointed out that my lungs were hyper-extended; apparently, a clear sign of asthma. It is also the sign of someone who routinely uses more of their lung capacity. Bill tried to explain to the man that I am a classically trained singer, who has always breathed from the diaphragm. The ignorant sack of snot looked down his nose at me (25 years ago, I was 50 pounds lighter - keep this firmly in mind) and said:”We occasionally see this type of lung usage in long-distance runners, which your wife is obviously not. She has asthma.” And he turned and walked off.

What that man was seeing was the full utilization of my lung capacity. The result of proper breathing.

Next week: Proper Breathing, Part 2