Will you just listen?

"Listen my children and you shall hear. . . " 

"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!" 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and William Shakespeare were both talking about listening. In the Harry Dresden books, Jim Butcher introduces the concept of Listening (capital L) which he's not sure is a magical gift, or just a form of intense concentration. 

We went to a fabric store last weekend, and they were already piping in Christmas music. It started with a Celine Dion Christmas song. About three songs later was Paul McCartney's Wonderful Christmas Time. Now, as you may (or may not) have noticed, I am a huge McCartney fan. But I don't want to listen to Christmas music in the first week of November; I get annoyed by things like that. I wanted to leave. My husband (the Nameless Cynic) actually complained. The worker had no idea, having tuned the music out ages ago.

This was an example of the crime that background music has become:  it's used as a subliminal marketing ploy to tempt us to spend more money. It's used as white noise to block out the world, or sometimes to block out our own thoughts. It blasts through us, leaving very little memory of what we've heard. It's become ubiquitous: nowhere can you escape its nefarious sound.

Do you get the feeling that I dislike background music? For me, there is no background music.  I almost always notice it, and almost always find it distracting. I prefer silence.  

The Merriam-Webster dictionary gives three definitions for this intransitive verb "listen." 1) to pay attention to sound, 2) to hear something with thoughtful attention, and 3) to be alert to catch an unexpected sound. Various websites give anywhere from four to twenty-five different forms of "listening." Depending on whom you listen to, this type of listening is either "casual" or "inactive." In any case, no communication is accomplished, and the mind is not involved. That's what background music receives: the "in one ear and out the other" type of listening. 

Then there are amplified, ensemble-based concerts. You can call them rock concerts, jazz concerts, things along those lines. There might be thousands of people in the audience, and the music, though it might have a lead performer, will be ensemble based. 

I'm thinking of the Bob Seger concert I went to. Or Styx, Frampton, Cher. A different type of listening goes on here. I tend to wear earplugs when I go to these, wanting to protect my hearing, but I still listen. The mind is more engaged. The music is the purpose for the gathering, instead of just drifting through the air, ignored. Of course, we've also paid a lot of money to be there, so we WILL enjoy ourselves! But there's also a lot more going on. There's the spectacle (and let me tell you, Cher puts on quite an impressive spectacle).  There is also the emotional intensity of the crowd around you, that catches you up and brings on an adrenaline high.  

But, while your mind is actively engaged and you are enjoying yourself, at no moment does time stop to appreciate one perfect note. (Or at least it hasn't yet for me. But I'm also not a rock musician.) Time flies, certainly, because I'm having fun. But time doesn't stop, even if Cher can turn it back. I guess this would be a form of appreciative listening. Listening to be entertained, but with little critical intent.

At smaller concerts featuring acoustic, un-amplified performers, that's when time can stop. I'm thinking classical guitarists, and of course singers. Moments when you're listening so intently, and that one perfect note happens. 

Time stops. Nothing else in the world matters but that note. It is ineffably beautiful. 

I get goosebumbs just thinking about the times I've experienced that.  Frederica von Stade achieved that, singing Send in the Clowns. And to be honest, I think Send in the Clowns is a stupid song: it has the verses in the wrong order, and so it doesn't really make much sense. But when she sang it, it moved me.

This type of listening has a bit more discernment. Not only are you listening to enjoy (and once more, you probably forked over a lot of money to be there). But you are also expecting a very high level of artistry. And although I love Cher, I don't expect that level from her. This is not at all about the spectacle, and is all about the music. You expect each note to be flawless, and you look forward to those rare, perfect notes. (Yes, there is a difference between flawless and perfect. Somehow, perfect goes beyond flawless. I really can't explain it. Sorry.)

And then we have critical listening. In this type of listening, you can still experience those perfect notes, but the intent is not just to appreciate the beauty of the music, but to try and discern the technique that lies underneath the art. While I'm sure that this can apply to all instruments, I'm going to focus on the voice. That is the instrument I know best, after all! 

This is the type of listening that I want my students to acquire. And, I find this works best with recordings. It's easier to back up a recording and listen again. Singers get upset when you interrupt their song, and they get really cranky when you ask them to sing that note over and over so that you can figure out how they are doing it. 

Don't know why. Seems unreasonable of  them, but there you have it. Recordings are probably best for this. Sometimes it's best to close your eyes and really focus. Although, with YouTube, you can see them and try to analyse what they are doing physically. I even imagine my muscles going through the motions with them. (This harkens back to my blog on Proper Focus and visualization.)

As with so much of singing, it's hard to explain how to do this. I would start with a song or aria that you have printed music for. Listen to the song several times, paying attention to where they breathe. Do you like their choices in this? Do you think that a breath in a different part of the phrase would make more sense? Make notes on your music. (USE PENCIL! You may end up changing your mind, and if you've written in pen, you are doomed. Doomed, I tell you!)  

Practice the song at this point, trying to incorporate these ideas. This is where you may find that some of the places where they took a breath just don't work for you. 

Then start to notice their dynamics: where they get louder or softer, where they sped up or slowed down, where they got more or less intense. Do you agree with their choices? Once again, mark these in your music! If you don't write them down, you will forget them. Then go back to the keyboard, and practice again. 

Do you like how they are sounding on a particular note? Play that note over and over again. Try to hear how they are reaching it. Is the note placed forward? What vowel sound are they really singing? (As opposed to how you would think the word should be pronounced.) Are they raising the soft palate? (Yes, once you've learned how to listen, you really can hear that.) Write these notes in your music! (It may be getting hard to actually read the music notation, but that's OK, because you should have the song memorized by now, having heard and sung it so many times!)

Are you getting the idea that this process will take a while? Good! Because it will. Does every song need this kind of care? NO! 

Are operatic arias the only songs that are deserving of this amount of care and effort? NO! There is a lot of lovely music out there that deserves this kind of treatment. Yes, a lot of them are operatic, but not all. And not everything operatic really deserves all this work, either. 

Isn't this cheating, stealing artistry from other people? Ooo, good question! Yes, if all that you did was to take their ideas and not add anything to them. But that's not the idea. You take their ideas, their artistry, and learn from them. Then you add your own soul into the mix, and make it yours. Students learning how to paint will often copy the masters to learn about brush strokes, or the use of light and dark. This is the same idea. 

You also have to be careful of whom you listen to. for example, Pink might not be the best singing model. This is also a part of developing a discerning ear: learning whom you can learn from. 

Sometimes you might learn how not to do something. That can be important, too. Sarah Brightman can teach us a lot on how not to breathe. Cecilia Bartoli can teach a lot on how not to move your face. 

(Really. That's her over to the right. Just try and watch the woman without wanting to laugh at some point: I dare you. Sometimes, a bad example is the best example.)

You might have noticed that I haven't supplied you with any background music for this blog, as I sometimes to. A deliberate choice on my part. I will give you a closing video. Montserrat Caballe singing O mio babbino caro from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi, from 1990. 

Some critical comments first: Wow, but that woman's big! I'm sure that her health and voice were suffering because of all the excess weight. Her breath control certainly is suffering, some of the phrases in the early part of the aria are a little odd. BUT - her high notes are things of pure beauty. How does she do them? I'm still working on that one. Listen to how she hits them and then backs off the volume, making the notes just hang in the air. From the context, I gather that this is an encore. She tells the audience what the aria is, and assures them that it's not long but brief. 

Tommy, can you hear me?