Life, the Universe and . . . What?

So, now we come to the fourth installment of the increasingly ill-named Musician trilogy. Someone commented to me that it almost seems, based on some of my comments in the last few blogs, that I don't even like singers. And that since I am one, and I teach others how to sing. . . what gives?

Do I even like singers? I think that my gut reaction would have to be; "No." But, then too, asked if I like children, I'd also say no. Asked if I like people, the answer would be the same. "No." I like a lot of individual children, and a lot of individual people,  but taken as a whole ~ not so much. (I've been married to the Nameless Cynic far too long, I guess.)

Singers, taken as a whole ~ you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. . . oh, wait! That was Obi-Wan talking about the Mos Eisley Space Port. Wow, he could have been talking about some of the singers I've known. 

So, what is it? Why can some singers be self-centered, egotistical, swaggering, tin-plated dictators with delusions of godhood? 

Well, think about our instrument. With pianists, guitarists, violinist, whatever-ists, you can separate the instrument from the player.

F'r instance, I have 3 guitars. Irving, the oldest, was a present on my 11th birthday. I remember driving about 1 1/2 hours to the nearest music store, and picking out the guitar. I remember the sales clerk being very condescending. When I got him to actually hand me the instrument, a lovely Yamaha folk guitar, I first checked out the harmonics, and then I started playing House of the Rising Sun, with the guitar riff made famous by The Animals. (I had been playing since I was 5 or 6, this was my second guitar.) (A video version is provided here for your listening enjoyment. Nothing terribly exciting, although, I am impressed - I had no idea that wireless instruments existed in 1964!) Irving has gone on to travel the world with me. I would be devastated if something were to happen to him. But, ultimately, he's just a guitar. He is separate from me.

The second guitar lining my wall is a classical guitar. It was purchased either the same day as Irving or we went back the next day. It was my dad's guitar. He liked the wider neck that the classical style gave him, and he preferred the softer sound of the nylon strings. Dad only knew a few chords, but that was all he needed. We'd sit around some afternoons and he'd bring out his guitar, and we'd sing things like My Grandfather's Clock, The Crawdad Song, or The Wabash Cannonball. Whenever I play that guitar, I am reminded of Dad and how much fun we'd have. But, that guitar isn't him.

The third guitar was my big brother's. Hal gave me my first guitar, long lost to the rampages of time. He taught me how to play the aforementioned House of the Rising Sun. He was an amazing guitarist, capable of playing any style, all self-taught. When I play his guitar, I feel closer to him again. It's a nice feeling. But, once again, even though this was his instrument, it isn't him. 

I have a friend who is a violinist. She has many violins, but her favorite is called Frankenfiddle. It is made up of pieces of several broken violins, and is literally held together by duck tape. (It was DUCK tape before it was DUCT tape.) Frankenfiddle looks horrible, but had a glorious warm sound. People would laugh when they saw it, but once they heard her play it, they'd stop laughing. She never took the laughter seriously, because the violin was only her instrument, it wasn't her.

Think about what would happen if a woman who wasn't pretty, wasn't well-made-up, was obviously past her prime walked onto a stage to sing. You would immediately dismiss her. Don't argue, you probably would. Many people have. Think about the shock that Susan Boyle was in 2009. In case you've forgotten, or don't know who I'm talking about here's the shortest version of the video I could find. If she had come onstage carrying a flute, for instance, people would have taken her far more seriously at first glance. Since she, herself, is not the loveliest woman imaginable, people are surprised that her voice, her instrument, is so lovely. 

Other musicians, the instrumentalists, are able to separate themselves from their instrument. Singer can't. Our bodies area our instruments. When I'm teaching, I try to get my students to think of their voices, their vocal folds, as an instrument. That way, when I'm trying to get them change how they sing, they don't feel as if I am trying to change THEM. Once again, think about it. How can I, as a teacher, criticize their voice without criticizing the person. It's not easy. So, the more I can differentiate between you and your instrument, the better.

Going back to guitars. I can say that I don't like the sound that Eddy Van Halen gets out of his guitar. I think he's a very talented guitarist, but I don't like the distortion, or whatever he puts on the instrument. There. I have criticized his instrument, but not his talent, his ability, or him. When people gush at meeting him, they talk about how great his playing is, not how great he, as a human being, is.

Paul McCartney: a musical legend, a musical genius, a Beatle, a god, has also been called one of the greatest songsmiths of our time. And I think that while he can continue to compose, and play guitar, his voice has gone from being a light tenor to being thin, reedy and quavering with age. Yup, I've said it. Paul should stop singing. I've insulted his voice, his instrument, and himself.

However, this doesn't explain why I don't like singers. When people meet Paul, or Lady Gaga, or Luciano Pavarotti (difficult, being as he died in 2007, but stay with me) they gush about how great the performer is. Not how wonderfully they play, but how great they are. Not separating the instrument from the performer. Part of the problem with this is that it can seriously mess with a person's priorities. If everyone thinks you are wonderful simply because of how you sing, then does it matter what kind of a human being you are? (I'm not saying that Paul McCartney, Lady Gaga or Pavarotti are/were not stellar human beings - I just used them as convenient examples.) 

How much easier is it to take Susan Boyle seriously in this video from 2010, just a year after her debut on Britain's Got Talent? She's now looking more like a singer, with an orchestra and backup singers. Same voice. Same person. Same song. Apparently had some sort of a breakdown following her loss on Britain's Got Talent. She seems to have recovered. I just hope that she's not letting her fame and fortune go to her head. I was with a singer who after ordering hot water to drink at a restaurant, and telling them specifically how to prepare it, then sent it back for not tasting right. They probably did something unseemly to her water in the kitchen. Can't say that I'd blame them, either, if they had. Hopefully, Ms Boyle isn't doing anything like that.

Let's be clear, if you are a singer, this is your instrument:

Pretty, isn't it? 

OK, most singers are fine, good people, and I really do like them. Kids, too. Just not sopranos.

A Piano in the Cantina

I seem to be writing a series. I think this is the last one in it. It is definitely the third in the trilogy. So, apparently, last week, Han Solo was frozen in carbonite, and this week, Leia will defrost him. Do you think the microwave defrost setting will help? 

Cheerful music for your listening pleasure: No video, just music. (This piece is actually rather difficult to play, by the way. Lots of odd rhythms and jumps. I've been practicing it, and it's beginning to come together.)

Anyway, I seem to have gotten slightly off track. But only slightly: remember that Star Wars can tell us a lot about music and singing. (So, I'll really be working to bring in this particular analogy before I'm done!)

If singers want to be taken seriously as musicians, they need to learn to play the piano. If all you want to do is sing more effectively at Karaoke night, then you probably don't need to add piano to your list of skills. Just about everybody else, though, needs a nodding acquaintance with the piano.

Why? 

Wow, that's a really broad question, with a lot of answers. Let's see how many reasons I can come up with.

• How can you be sure if you're singing the right note if you cannot check it on the piano?
• Only the piano teaches you how to play both staves: treble and bass clefs. (Some harps do, also, but, no offence to harpists out there, it's really not going to help you with singing)
• Piano teaches pitches in a way far more objective than voice. (Middle C is ALWAYS in the same place!)
• In a pinch, you can always accompany yourself. (And those tight situations happen a lot!)
• Piano teaches the mechanics of music; theory, chord structure in a way that is more effective than voice. (It's hard to teach chords when you only sing one note at a time. Not impossible, but hard.)
• Piano playing has been linked to better scores for student in schools.
• Piano playing has also been linked to increasing the memory-retention of Alzheimer's patients.
• Piano playing is good for your hands. It builds muscles and dexterity. I'm all-but ambidexterous, and you'll find that a lot of pianists are. (Leading to more whole-brain thinking!)
• And think what this manual dexterity will do for your video game scores! Playing video games is now linked to better laparoscopic surgery skills in doctors. So playing the piano could help your daughter or son become a surgeon!!!!! (No really, it could. Honest...)

And that list only took a few minutes. I'm sure I could come up with more reasons if I really worked on it. (But I wanted to get this to you today, not sometime next year.)

So, my point here is that while voice is my primary instrument, I also spent years studying the piano. And, yes, I also spent years playing the guitar, but I didn't learn how to read guitar music, either standard notation or TAB, until I had been playing for decades. I was quite happy playing chords, without really studying the form of the music. In piano, that comes with the territory.

When I was a music major, I discovered something interesting. The singers were, as a whole, looked down upon by everyone else. The band or orchestra players had great rhythmic sense, and great intonation, but no idea how to perform. Meaning absolutely NO stage-presence. And they didn't know the first thing about interpreting a piece. Everything that they had done had been in ensembles, with the director ordering the interpretation. 

Pianists and singers were the ones who knew something about interpretation and performance. But, some of the singers could barely read music. And some of the pianists only knew about solo performing. The ones with the best musical training had played both a band or orchestra instrument, and piano, and could sing. I only knew one girl who fit that criteria. Out of hundreds of music students there was one. So, the rest of us floundered on something. 

But, I also discovered that my years of piano training really set me above most of the other singers (yes, years: I started piano when I was 5 or 6 and at that point, I was 23). The instrumentalists gained a bit of respect for me, and even some of the professors began to take me a little more seriously when they learned that I was proficient on the piano. And I began to look down a little at the poor singers who really didn't have a clue.

But, pianos are expensive! Yes, they are. And sadly, the days of everyone having a piano in the parlor have gone out of fashion. People rarely have a parlor anymore, either. But, if a piano is out of the question, there's no reason that a keyboard isn't. And, no offence to my friends who are actually pianists (I just play the piano, I am not a pianist), but not every piano student needs a piano. A decent keyboard will do for many, and especially if you're just out to play well enough to make sure you're on the right note. But, beware, piano playing can become addictive, you may find that somewhere down the road you need a better keyboard, and eventually you may long for a real 7 ft concert grand piano. And then you'll have to buy and new house to put it in. And that will mean that you'll need a new job, and . . . if you give a moose a muffin. . .  For right now, you'll be fine with a keyboard.

And who knows, maybe someday, you'll be able to pull a piece out of the carbonite freeze, defrost it, and find that now that you know a little more, it really wasn't that hard. With a little work, it'll start to come together. Like Han Solo at the Cantina. 

And yes, Han shot first!

Are Singers Musicians?

Several years ago, I belonged to a musical organization that was offering a scholarship for something or other. There were openings for many different instrumentalists, but no slot for voice. I asked if any of my voice students could apply. After a shocked silence, one woman looked down her glasses at me. "Oh, dear me, no. This is only for musicians."

I was still confused. "I'm sorry, but singers are musicians, too." When the laughter died down, I was firmly put in my place - wherever that was.

I thought a musician was someone who was skilled and had studied music. And it is. But all too often it is understood to apply only to instrumentalists - people who play an instrument. Why is this? A lot of singers just sing. They don't read music (last weeks' blog), they can't count, they have no concept of anything but singing as high and loud as they can. But, even singers who have studied music often aren't thought of as musicians. I think it has to do with attitude and level of study. You have to reach a certain level in your study to even think about being a musician. But you also have to be willing to place the needs of the music above your desire to show off.

I was very pleased a few months later when one of those same women said that I was more than a singer, I was a musician. What had I done? Played a Chopin piano concerto? Performed a Segovia sonatina on guitar? Composed a symphony? Nope. I sang the Bach-Gounod Ave Maria while she accompanied me on the harpsichord. (It turned out to be very difficult finding a good version of this that would show what I want. This is Kathleen Battle with Christopher Parkening on guitar. Notice about 2:09, he has to slow the tempo of the accompaniment down to accommodate her high note.)



This particular piece of music wasn't written by someone with a hyphenated name, but was written by two people. The accompaniment is Bach's Prelude in C from the Well-Tempered Clavier. Charles Gounod wrote a melody to go over the top of this previously existing composition. (Which was not originally intended for voice, or the Ave Maria, but that's another blog!) What had shocked my accompanist, in our first rehearsal, was that when the high note came, I hit it, and held it exactly as long as was written, and then continued the line, not requiring her to change the rhythm of the Prelude at all. (In fact, she started to pause, and had to catch up.) We finished the song, and she sat and stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. "Don't you want to hold onto that high note?" she asked.

"Under normal circumstances, yes. But, this song isn't quite normal."

"Its not?" Now she was confused. Where was I going?

"This accompaniment is a song in it's own right, and even came first. So, I think that takes precedence here, and so staying on the high note becomes completely inappropriate. 

She sat at her harpsichord, stunned. Then she got up, hugged me, shook my hand and proclaimed that I was not just a singer, I was a musician.

What had I done that was so earth-shattering? I'd put what I felt was the integrity of the music above my own aggrandizement. That apparently put me in a different category than most singers. That saddens me.

I was trying to get into the circuit of funeral home singers here in Albuquerque. I went around town with recordings of my singing, cards, brochures, the works. While I listed myself as "Soprano," I also called myself a musician, mentioning piano and guitar. The only phone call I ever got from any of the funeral parlors was one wanting an organist. I explained that I wasn't an organist, but a singer who could accompany herself on piano or guitar. "But I need an organist!" "I'm sorry, I don't play the organ." "Your brochure says that you're a musician!" "Yes, I am." "Good. I need an organist." "I'm sorry, I don't play the organ." We went around a few more times before he hung up in disgust. Apparently, in this man's mind, musician meant someone who could play the organ.

But, aside from him, why are singers often not considered to be musicians? There are some instrumentalists who don't read music. But, for the most part, if you have reached the level where people are willing to pay you to make music, if you play an instrument, you have studied that instrument for years, maybe even decades. And reading music goes without saying.

Instrumentalists, especially those who played in band or orchestra in school have an advantage the rest of us tend to lack: they can count. Counting in music is vital and is sadly overlooked by a lot of singers. Pianists, too, unless they've played in some sort of ensemble, can sometimes have rhythm issues. If all you've ever done is solo work, you might never have learned the skill of counting.

Solo work. What fun it is to sing alone and not have to worry about what anyone else is doing. Of course, to really not have to worry about what anyone else is doing, you have to sing a capella - with no accompaniment.  I've been to a few auditions where people show up intending to sing something a capella and sing their song in about 6 different keys. Unintentionally. I bet they wonder why they didn't get cast. I've had students who at first don't understand why I want a piece of paper with dots on it when I ask for their music. Those are times when I find myself understanding why singers have a reputation as poor musicians.

Music, as in reading music, is written on paper. It isn't played on your iPad. (See least week's blog) A capella is all well and good, but it is something to be approached with respect, after one has acquired an ear that is good enough to not switch keys every few words.

Sing in choirs. Sing in choirs in school, church, wherever you can find one. This tends to be the closest thing singers have to the experience of being in a high school band. You may even have to learn to count!

As a musician, one of the best things that ever happened to me was when I was taken off of first soprano and banished to second. I thought it was the end of the world! I was devastated. But, if I wanted to keep my scholarship, I had to sing in that particular choir. So, I sat down and learned how to harmonize. I had no idea it was so hard! Alto is relatively easy, I discovered. It's always easiest to sing the top note in any chord - tenors and first sops have it SO easy. The bottom note - alto and bass - is a little harder, but once you get the knack, it's a piece of cake. (Why is cake considered so easy? It's rather difficult if you bake from scratch. Of course, pie isn't easy either. . .) Anyway, baritone and second soprano is where true difficulty comes in. Hearing a note that is buried somewhere in the middle is not easy. It took a lot of work, but I learned how to do it. Now, I can sing any part you might feel like assigning me. But, that versatility took work. 

Instrumentalists have it easy when it comes to playing harmonies. They're often given music that only shows their notes. They neither know, nor care, what anyone else is doing. If they want to hit an "e," they press down the proper key, valve or string, and . . . there's an "e". Singing is very different. We have to be able to hear what we're singing. We have to constantly gauge our notes against the accompaniment, and all the other voices. Are we the proper distance from each of the other parts? Are we forming the vowel sounds in exactly the same way as the other voices around us? Are we adjusting our vibrato to match that of everyone else? Is the consonant strong enough to make the words intelligible while not too strong to disrupt the flow of the music? And that's just the beginning.

I realize that an accomplished instrumentalist has a lot going on in his or her head, too. Vibrato is an issue with string instruments, and some woodwind. Breathing is important for brass and woodwind. But, singers remain the only musicians who cannot see our instrument. And, unless you are planning on learning Peter Frampton's talk box, we are the only musicians who have to throw words into the mix. 

If you plan on performing, and who doesn't? Then you also have to add in acting, movement, and that indefinable something called "Stage Presence." Sometimes, I wonder if the distinction between singer and musician isn't because we are something more than a mere musician. But, then I come back to reality as everybody else sees it. Many singers are not musicians. But I think it's something we should all strive to be. (But maybe, not organists. . .)

Should Singers Read Music?

A few years ago, I thought that was a given; something so basic that it shouldn't even come up in any conversation. Turns out I was mistaken. (On it not needing to come up in conversation, not on reading music.)

I try to be polite. I try to guard my tongue. It doesn't always work.
(Yesterday is for listening while you read on. It will become clear later.) (And by the way, Yesterday is the most recorded song in the world.)

While we were living in Germany, I had quite a few students. One was a young woman who sang in a band. Or wanted to. I was never quite clear on that. She was told by the band that she needed to take voice lessons before they's consider keeping her. So, she came to me.

Now, I don't require all of my students to become fluent in reading music, unless they are serious singers. What makes you a serious singer? Are you auditioning for All-State, college scholarships, Broadway or an opera company? If the answer is "Yes," then you are a serious singer. You need to be fluent in the language of music. If you sing in a church choir, with no real interest in solos, or sing at the nearest karoake bar, then a nodding acquaintance with the language will do. Meaning: I expect you to learn whether the notes are going up or down, how long to hold them out, and to have a pretty good idea of where each note falls in your voice. 

So, back to my young rock-star wanna-be. I tried to explain the importance of this to her. How could she expect to learn the songs for her band if when she looked at a piece of music all she saw were funny little dots and squiggles? One of her guitarists like to compose. She and I were spending a lot of time with me trying to teach her where the notes were.

I explained to her that the staff is like a ladder. When the notes are at the bottom of the ladder, they are lower than the notes at the middle of the ladder. The higher the notes on the ladder, the higher they were in her voice. You can easily learn to gauge how far a jump it is from one note to another by where it is on the ladder in comparison to the last one. Then, it is "simply" a matter of learning where these notes fall in your voice. I put simply in quotation marks, because where these notes are in your voice can change from one day to the next. Factors that can affect this include the weather, how well you slept the night before, what you had for breakfast; anything that affects you will affect your voice.

She resisted every effort I made in this direction. Out of an hour lesson, 10 minutes are devoted to warm-up. Ideally, the student has been practicing properly (See How Long To Practice, my post on proper practicing,) and we can spend most of the remaining 50 minutes on technique and interpretation. That time can fly and often feels like we've barely scratched the surface. 

Lessons for this problem student took a completely different track. Out of an hour lessons, 10 minutes were devoted to warm-up. Normally, I like to let a student song through a song once before interrupting them. Unless it's really a train wreck.  She never sang anything all the way through. I'd have to stop her, not only to correct the same mistakes from the week before, but the new ones she'd managed to acquire. The law of averages would lead one to believe that occasionally a person will sing the correct note, if only by chance. One would be wrong. It seemed that she was just singing notes at random with absolutely no idea of whether the notes were even going up or down.

So, most of the remaining 50 minutes were spent with me pounding out her notes on the piano. And I do mean pounding. I couldn't play anything else - no part of the accompaniment - nothing other than her notes, or it confused her.

Had her attitude been better, I like to think I would not have said what I did. I've had other students with problems with pitch, breathing, stance, focus, artistry, everything. But, usually when people have vocal problems they are aware of at least a few of them. Usually. Why else take lessons? And usually, they are not trying to sing with a band. And usually, they don't yell at me when the band is on the verge of kicking them out because they cannot carry a tune in a bucket. She did.

I suggested that if she would just spend a little time learning to read music, then we could spend more time in each lesson on technique; how to sing. I offered that going on the way we were was just wasting my time and her money.

And then she said it. I can still hear her arrogant tone. "Paul McCartney doesn't read music. And if Paul McCartney doesn't need to read music, neither do I!" 

I stared at her, stunned. She had just put herself at the same level as Paul McCartney, a musical legend, a musical genius, a Beatle, a god. And that did it. The words came tripping out before I even knew what I was saying. "Honey, if you had a fraction of Paul McCartney's talent, that would be fine. As it is, let's sit down and work on reading music."

Odd thing. I never saw her after that. I do hope she kept on singing. In my own past is the music professor who told me I had no talent and should get out of music. In my youth and arrogance, I had a lot of probably inflated ideas of my own worth. I felt that all I needed was for a teacher to have the ears to hear what I could become. Maybe I didn't have the right ears for her. And that does make me sad. 

Should singers read music? YES! I know there are lots of stories of amazing musicians who cannot read music. I always wonder what more they could have accomplished had they also possessed that skill. Even Paul McCartney.

May the Force Be With You

What can Star Wars possibly have to do with singing? Actually, quite a lot. Am I out of my mind? Possibly. Well. . . probably, but bear with me, and hopefully this will all make sense.

One of my favorite things to say to students is: "There is no try, young Jedi, there is only do." Which is a misquote, I know, but it gets the idea across.
What do I mean by this? It's both very simple and very difficult. It means exactly what Yoda was trying to explain to Luke. There are times when trying just won't hack it. You can try all you want, but eventually, you just have to throw yourself into it and DO it. I tell young actors this a lot. If you are worried about looking like an idiot, then you probably will. If you put everything you've got into your role, and go over-the-top, then, yes, people might laugh (in fact, hopefully they will, if you're trying to be funny) but you won't look like an idiot. Sometimes, we need to set our fears aside, and give ourselves completely to whatever it is we're doing. And that includes singing. 

Yoda may not have been speaking directly to singers, but I think the message is clear. You've been trying that new concept in technique, and it's almost there, but somehow you just can't quite break through. Your voice still sounds like it's behind the curtain. Or that high note is still a little strained. Well, it is just possible that you are too busy trying to actually do anything! (See, very simple and amazingly difficult at the same time! Yoda would be proud!)


(Listen to the above sound bite. There will be a test later.) I know that anger is one of the paths to the Dark Side, but as a singer, I think we can use our anger. Sometimes, I find that channeling the anger, and frustration that we often feel into my singing, does give me more power and more raw emotion. This is not always a good thing. Singing a lullaby and channeling anger into it would be wrong. But pouring anger into the final phrases of "Vissi d'arte" as Tosca is asking God why he is allowing these things to happen to her, seems quite appropriate. 

Obi-Wan gave Luke a quick introduction into the ways of the Force, in what I still refer to as "the first movie". I know, I know, it's "The New Hope", but, I'm getting old and set in my ways. (And I don't like to admit that Episode One, whatever it's name is, even exists.)  This was followed up in "The Empire Strikes Back" by a more in-depth explanation by Yoda. What possible bearing can the Force have on singing? Well, way, way back in my second blog: Element 1: Good Posture, I gave an exercise. Reprinted here for the first time! Stand in the proper position and close your eyes. Imagine that there are roots growing out the soles of your feet. (We are leaving science far, far behind. Try not to let that bother you.) These roots reach through the floor and into the warm soil. (No, I don't care that there's snow on the ground! We are leaving reality behind, too.) These roots go all the way to the center of the earth, where, for our purpose, there is a huge pocket of warm air. The air comes back up to you through the roots. Your body is now supported by this column of warm air. It fills you. Standing is now effortless, and there is more than enough air to support the longest phrases. Does any of this sound even vaguely like Yoda's explanation of the Force? Singing should involve your entire body. It should encompass your chi, your core, your soul, however you want to put it. 

Perhaps Chewie said it best: 

You Want Me to Perform, Too?

Why do we do all of the hours, months, years of vocal studies? Do we do it for the sheer fun of the struggle? Because it is a struggle. Everyone has something that is hard for them. It might be breathing properly. It might be standing up straight. It might be raising the soft palate. It might be something as seemingly simple and yet hard to explain as finding the right note. Why do we do it? So that we can sing for other people and they won't run screaming from the room. We do it so we can perform. Don't misunderstand: I think the struggle is fun. I enjoy it. But, if I don't perform, I allow myself to get lazy. There really is a lot of work that goes into this, and without an ultimate reason for it, it is very easy to slack off.

Performing. There is nothing more frightening, or more fulfilling that I can think of. Well, OK, raising children was kind of frightening, and very fulfilling, so besides that. . . OK, yeah, being married to the Nameless Cynic for 24 years can also be frightening and . . . you get the idea. But performing ranks right up there! And performing is more in the moment. Let me try to explain - 

Sometimes when I am singing I realize that the audience and I are both existing strictly in the moment. Nothing else matters but the current note. The past is done and gone. The future will come on its own. Outside events, worries, joys, whatever, are outside and don't matter. The only thing that matters is the note that is currently being sung. It's an amazing feeling. Most of our lives are spent worrying about the future or regretting the past, to let all of that go and exist in the moment is an almost unbearable gift.

But, performing has it's downside, too. Stage fright, jitters, butterflies in the tummy, whatever you want to call it, it can be scary standing up in front of a group of people and singing. I've played in piano recitals, and that's scary. I've played in guitar recitals, and that's scary, too. But singing is in a whole category by itself. When you're playing another instrument, if you mess up, you can lay part of the blame on the instrument. "I'd never played that piano before; the action was too stiff, and it threw me!" "My guitar string broke in the middle of the performance, it almost hit me in the eye!" That kind of thing. When you mess up while singing; it's all you. It's hard to get more personal than singing. And, It's hard to find something scarier than singing in front of a group of people. (OK, maybe bungie jumping off the Empire State Building, but that's another blog.)

How do we do it? There are a lot of ways, tricks, if you will.

1) Know your music. Do not neglect practice time because you think it's not cool, or not professional. It may seem like the pros don't practice all the time, but we do. And we've worked very hard to get to the level where it seems fast and easy. Hours and hours should go into whatever you are singing. The better prepared you are, the less reason you'll have to be nervous.

2) Keep in mind that chances are no one in the audience has your music. If you flub a word here or there or sing a note that isn't quite the right length, no one out there will have a clue. So long as you don't let them know! This means no grimacing, no head shakes, no frowns, nothing to let them know that you sang the wrong word. 

This one backfired on me once, though. I hadn't sung in public for a few years, and was singing in a huge church choir in Sacramento. It was Christmas Eve, I had a solo in the oratorio. There were about 150 people in the choir, plus a 50 piece orchestra. Several of the choir members were lead singers with the Sacramento opera. As an aside, I was 7 months pregnant. (This becomes important later.) I was a nervous wreck. I knew my solo quite well, but, I was still a mess. I tried to tell myself that the congregation didn't have my music, and that was true. But the choir did. And they were the ones I wanted desperately to impress. It ended up being a good thing I was so pregnant, because the only way I could see my music clearly was to balance the folder on my preggo belly. My hands were shaking so badly, I couldn't hold it still! (The solo went just fine, and everyone loved it, but I was asked not to come back until after the baby was born. I was so big they were afraid I'd give birth right there in the choir loft!)

3) If you wear glasses - try singing without them. When I was younger I'd take my glasses off. I could still see my music, and still see the people, but they were fuzzy. It's hard to be scared of people who are fuzzy. This is a variation of the "imagine everyone is sitting in their underwear" ploy. That one never worked for me. It was just too silly and distracting. Nowadays, if you see me performing without my glasses, it's for one of several reasons: they don't fit the character; they're annoying me; or I'd like to see the music. Often I keep them on so I CAN see the audience. It is easier to connect with people when you can see them.

4) Visualize your performance. Don't dwell on the possible negatives, focus your mind on the best performance you can possibly give. This one needs to be done well in advance of the performance itself. Pick a quiet spot and close your eyes. Imagine every aspect of the performance; what the venue is like, how your voice sounds in the space. See the audience smiling, settling in to hear your song. Imagine singing the song, flawlessly. Hear how effortless the top note is, it's clear and ringing. Feel the energy flowing through your body as you sing the final note. There is a moment of silence. No one wants to disturb the shared experience, but then everyone bursts into applause. 

But - also visualize things going wrong, here's the important part - see yourself dealing with it in a positive, creative, and fun way. Don't let the many things that can and do go wrong throw you for a loop. See them simply becoming another aspect of the overall performance.

Not long ago, in a performance of La Traviata, one of the party guests in the first act dropped a glass and it broke. There was now glass all over a part of the stage. My son, Chris, in the role of the butler, calmly went off stage, got a broom and dustpan, and swept up the mess, while the scene continued around him. They could have ignored the glass, but then there was a risk of someone getting cut. Some people in the audience thought that this was a planned part of the action. He didn't let this accident become a problem, he dealt with it in a very practical and creative way.

This type of visualization training is widely used in sports. Many highly successful business people use visualization on a daily basis. Listen to Dr. JoAnn Dahlkoetter talk about sports visualization. 

Now, visualization will not take the place of practicing! The only thing that will take the place of practicing is MORE practicing! But, visualization helps athletes perform at a higher level. Why not use it to help you perform your song at a higher level? Are you getting the idea that singing and sports have a lot in common? Good!

5) Practice the whole performance, not just your song. Just before a performance or audition, I lead my students through what they'll be saying, and doing, even to leaving their seat and walking to the stage area. This is related to visualization, but is more physical. Anything you can do to make this process more familiar is probably a good idea.

6) Breathe! Dr. Dahlkoetter talks about it in the video, too. When you are standing in front of your audience, take a slow, deep breath, and let it settle. Don't hold your breath, just let it rest for a moment. I've talked about this before. It helps to calm you by breaking the cycle of shallow breathing that accompanies nervousness. It tells your body that you are taking control of this automatic function. And, it tells your audience that you have something worth listening to.

7) Smile! Everyone likes to see a smile. It makes us want to smile in return. But a smile can also reduce stress. When we smile the brain releases endorphins, natural pain killers, that help to slow you heart rate and make the tummy butterflies go away.

8) Embrace your fear. "What? Are you crazy?" I can hear you shouting. But, it's true. Stage fright isn't always a bad thing. A little bit of nervousness, a little bit of excitement, that can be what takes a performance to the next level. If you were completely comfortable, you wouldn't necessarily care if you were any good or not. How boring that would be to watch. But, a little fear keeps us all on our toes. 

9) Know that if you do flub up, it's not the end of the world. Ralph Terry, a former major league baseball pitcher, and then professional golfer (See, more sports!) said this: "When you go out on the mound today, kid, just remember one thing. No matter what happens, win or lose, five hundred million Chinese don't care." (Expletive deleted.) Perhaps a tad brutal, but nonetheless true. 

10) And finally, the best cure for stage fright is do get up and do it again, and again, and again. The more you perform, the easier it becomes. With more experience, comes more poise and confidence.

So, to all of my students performing next Sunday - have fun, practice, and breathe!

Huh?

So, Minnich Music is having an open house/recital  on the 19th, (1-4, if you're in the neighborhood) and I foolishly decided to finish/refinish some furniture for this event. (I must be an idiot!) When I began this process, I thought I'd have lots of help. Sigh. My daughter has opted out. My older son is still a Marine in Hawaii. My husband has work from the office that must get finished - I understand that. He gets paid for this work to be done. My younger son, who I thought would be a great help, is still recovering from pneumonia and is of little use. My soon-to-be daughter-in-law is busy working the night shift. So, the score currently stand at: 2 end tables - one sanded, painted - done; one sanded stained and coated with polyurethane - done. One stool - sanded, stained and coated with polyurethane - done. One chair - painstakingly stripped, sanded painted (2 coats), and reupholstered - done. One breakfast nook - table, supports, two benches with backs, one bench without a back, and one corner unit - stripped. Still to be done - breakfast nook, scraping, sanding, staining, and coated with 3 layers of rub-on polyurethane. Tomorrow. We won't even talk about the reupholstering. . . 


I have the beginnings of a blog on performing. But it will have to wait till next week. 


In the meantime; please watch and listen to this video of Placido Domingo, Anna Nebrebko, and Rolando Villazon singing Dein is mein ganzes Herz from Franz Lehar's Das Land des Laechelns (The Land of Smiles). Normally this is a solo, but this was filmed in a trio recital, so they did it as a trio. Why not?

See you next week!