Finding Your Own Voice

Hollywood is notorious for casting celebrities who don’t have any singing training in movies that require them to sing. This usually happens when they make film versions of musicals, like Chicago (2002), Mamma Mia (2008), Les Misérables (2012), The Prom (2020), and many others. Rather than casting established musical theatre performers (who are often lesser known than movie stars), they go with a big-name actor and then give them weeks or months of singing training to help them prepare for the role. In some cases, this works out well. In other cases…not so much. 

One of the latest examples can be found in the new movie Maria, a biopic about the life of opera singer Maria Callas. Angelina Jolie was cast in the title role despite her lack of professional experience as a singer. In an interview for Variety, she describes some of her experiences during the seven months of voice lessons she was given for the role, including some unexpected emotions that surfaced during her first meeting with a voice teacher: 

“I walked into [the] room with the piano, and somebody said, ‘Ok, let’s see where you’re at.’ And I got really emotional. I took a big deep breath, and I let out a sound, and I started crying. I think we all don’t realize how much we hold inside our bodies, and how much we carry and how much that affects our sound and our voice and our ability to make sound. I’ve been holding a lot for a long time, and that beginning and that sound, and then when that sound would eventually come, it was the best therapy I’ve ever had. Honestly, I think I would tell a lot of people before you try therapy and spend too much time there, go to singing class.”

Once again, I should reiterate what I said in the last blog: singing is not therapy. People who need therapy should seek out people who have the proper education and certification to provide that. However, as I also said in that blog, singing can certainly be therapeutic. So, it’s not surprising that Jolie felt some powerful emotions during her singing training. 

She describes the experience further, as the article states: 

The unexpected therapeutic side of singing, Jolie said, had the power to heal. “It helped me a lot. There’s something primal about finding your own voice within your own body. It brings up certain emotions that you may have not wanted to confront, and there’s no way to sing at your full voice and your full emotion without confronting your feelings and your limitations.”

As we know, the voice is incredibly personal, in part because it is so revealing. Because of this, critiques of our vocal performances can feel like critiques of our souls. Of course, instruction designed to help us build our vocal skills (as you all have been engaged with) necessarily requires identifying areas where we are less skilled (where we are in the first stage of learning) and providing steps and strategies to develop those skills. All learning takes effort and can feel arduous at times—probably even more so when it relates to the voice. As Jolie says, most of us probably don’t realize how the emotions we carry around in our bodies affect our voices. 

As we head into your final performances of the semester, it can be good to reflect on what you may have accomplished over the last four months. Consider where you were in your vocal skill set (which includes your technique as well as your expressive capabilities) at the start of the semester and compare that to where you are now. Where have you gained skill? Where have you not progressed as much as you would have liked? This sort of assessment will help you set a plan forward to continue building these capabilities. 

In your last preparations, set all of that aside and sing from your heart. Feel the big feelings. Enjoy the experience of, as Jolie says, finding your own voice within your own body. Confront your feelings and your limitations. And then, as Jolie also recommends, "Go to singing class." 

It’s been a true joy working with all of you this semester. I’m looking forward to hearing your final performances. 

Much love,

-brian

Voice “Lessons” for Troubled Times

Part I: How singing training prepares us for troubled times

Often, in class and lessons, I talk about the differences between forced resonance and free resonance. To put it simply, free resonance is the sound that passes through our vocal tracts, which is what gives us each our unique vocal qualities. Forced resonance relates to the sensations we feel inside our bodies when we sing. Some singers notice vibrations in their cheekbones, on the tops of their heads, or in their chests. Some barely feel vibrations at all when they sing. These vibrations may vary in strength or location based on how loudly or softly or how high or low we’re singing. 

Of course, what you feel may be completely different from what someone else feels. Therefore, it is never wrong to feel what you feel. Actually, it can be beneficial to stop and acknowledge what you are feeling. No one has the right to tell you what you should be feeling just because it’s something they feel. And no one can tell you that you aren’t feeling something just because they aren’t feeling it. Go ahead and feel what you feel. 

Trauma is a topic that has been getting more and more attention in both society and in singing training. In the reading I’ve done, I have learned that pretty much all of us have experienced—and are carrying with us—some sort of trauma, whether that’s “Big T Trauma” (like car accidents or abuse) or “little t trauma” (like bullying, shaming, or harsh criticism). Trauma often manifests itself as stuck feelings. It seems that voicing our feelings may help get them unstuck. Of course, addressing trauma is way beyond the scope of practice for a voice teacher, and those looking to do such work should seek the services of licensed mental health professionals. The singing we do in voice lessons and in class is not therapy. That being said, singing can certainly be therapeutic at times. Rather than holding your feelings in, consider giving them a voice. 

During difficult times, there is a tendency for people to offer unhelpful advice, such as “You just need to toughen up!” or “Suck it up and move on.” Comments like this seem to be commanding us to be immediately resilient. What I’ve learned, however, is that resilience is best developed after safety has been established. We follow this process in singing training all the time. First we’ll work on a song in voice lessons. Then we’ll perform it in a studio class or a vocal workshop. Then we’ll sing it in vocal juries. Often at that point, we’ll feel secure taking the song into an audition or more public performance. So criticizing “safe spaces” is misguided. We all need safety in order to be brave. When we have practiced being brave by doing difficult things in safe situations, we are better able to be brave in less-safe or higher-stakes situations. In difficult times, we should turn to the communities where we feel safe so we can continue practicing resilience and being brave. We also have to continue providing safe spaces for others.  

As anyone who has gotten “stage fright” or experienced nervousness before a performance knows, we have a system in our bodies that ramps us up and one that calms us down. The sympathetic nervous system (SNS) ramps us up, getting us ready for “fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.” The parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) calms us down. One fascinating fact is that the SNS and PNS usually don't fully activate at the same time. Therefore, we have to turn off the system that is ramping us up before we can turn on the system that will calm us down. As it relates to singing, some things that might ramp you up include catastrophizing in your mind all the things that might go wrong in your performance or imagining all the criticisms that may be going through the minds of your audience members. Outside of singing, some things that ramp you up might include watching the news, scrolling through social media, or being around people who dwell on the negative. 

Of course, people experience anxiety (including performance anxiety) to varying degrees, which may require different approaches (including medical interventions or therapy). But if you are feeling anxious, try turning off (or turning away from) the things that may be ramping you up. Then turn to some of the strategies that are known to help calm you down. In singing, we often do extended breathing exercises to focus our intentions, to prepare the body for more robust use of the respiratory system (as is often needed in singing), and, yes, to calm us down from the stress of the outside world. Breathe. Deeply. 

A strategy that may help us turn on the PNS is to vocalize. I think we’ve all experienced a time when singing a song helped us work through overwhelming emotions. Ironically, singing a sad song when we’re sad often seems to make us less sad. I happened upon a research study that seemed to point to the same thing: 

Sefcik et al. (2020) performed a two-case observational study involving nursing home residents with advanced dementia to examine the impact of persistent vocalizations (PVs) on heart rate. PVs are repetitive vocal sounds that are a common behavioral symptom of dementia. Investigators found that subjects had lower heart rates on days when they did not exhibit PVs. On days when subjects did exhibit PVs, there was a drop in heart rate from before PVs to during PVs and a further drop in heart rate post-PVs. In other words, on days when the subjects were in a more relaxed state, there was no need to vocalize, since they were already relaxed. But on days when their heart rates were more elevated, vocalizing seemed to help them calm down. Maybe this is part of the emotional release we experience when we sing. 

So, keep singing. 

Part II: An argument for getting back to what we do (as you are ready and able)

During troubled times, it can be easy to think that dedicating ourselves to the performing arts is frivolous. Do we really need more actors, artists, dancers, and musicians? Would we have more to contribute if we were studying medicine, social work, or even political science? Although the world does need sincere, dedicated people in these fields (yes, dear God, even in politics), I believe that the skills you are developing in the performing arts are the exact skills needed (and somewhat absent) in society. For instance… 

Empathy: I once heard the advice, “You can’t judge a character you’re playing.” We sometimes have to portray characters on stage who make questionable decisions—perhaps even decisions we can’t imagine ever making ourselves. Our job, however, is to empathize with these characters. We have to do the work of understanding why they make the choices they do. We may never agree with them, but our portrayals of these characters will be more sincere if we can see things from their perspectives. 

Artists bring empathy to the world. 

Authentic communication: You’ve probably heard the phrase, “All acting is reacting.” In order to react with authenticity, we first have to hear and absorb what our scene partners are saying. We have to consider their words, process them, and thoughtfully respond. If we have pre-planned how we will deliver our next lines, we are no longer reacting and our “acting” may come off as wooden rather than as a spontaneous response. Even when we have rehearsed and rehearsed in order to find the most effective choices for a given scene, we still have to pay attention to the subtle nuances our fellow collaborators bring to their performances and respond accordingly. 

Artists bring authentic communication to the world. 

Willingness to be vulnerable: When we perform, we give the best that we have on any given day knowing that it may not be as good as yesterday or as good as it might be tomorrow. In the glory of live performance, there is always the possibility for mistakes that could open us up to criticism. It requires vulnerability to get up there and perform anyway. As author and researcher Brené Brown reminds us, there is no growth without vulnerability. When we put up the shields to keep ourselves safe, there is nothing at risk. Only when we are invested enough to risk failure can we reach our greatest potential. 

Artists bring a willingness to be vulnerable to the world. 

Seeing beauty in all its forms: Traditional assessments of what is deemed to be beautiful tends to be pretty narrow. Even in performance, spectacle is often valued more than substance. Admittedly, spectacle can be exciting. And it is easily digestible since it can be taken at face value—what you see is what you get. When communicating deeper emotions, however, such as telling stories that are not particularly pleasant, the right sound for the job may not be all that beautiful. Asking audiences to look beyond spectacle challenges them to be more discerning and reveals levels of beauty that may otherwise go unnoticed. 

Artists bring beauty, in all its forms, to the world. 

Recognizing strength in all its forms: There seems to be a prevalent prioritization of the appearance of strength rather than valuing actual strength. Posturing, bullying, and punching down are not acts of strength. Empathy, vulnerability, and resilience require actual strength. Resistance, standing for what you believe in, and pursuing your passions even (especially) when others don’t value what you’re doing (“What will you ever do with a performing arts degree?”) require more strength than the bullies will likely ever understand. 

Artists bring real strength to the world. 

I think many of us were first attracted to the performing arts because that’s where we received positive attention. We performed, people complimented us on our performance, and that made us feel good and want to keep performing. There was an element of “Hey, look at me!” to it. But, for the best artists I know, that approach necessarily shifted. Instead of a vehicle for self-aggrandizement, they view performance as a tremendous act of service. In my own life, the most powerful performances I’ve ever experienced have left me with overwhelming feelings of humility. Instead of thinking, “Wow, look what I just did!” I’m always left thinking, “I can’t believe I got to be part of that.” Knowing that not every performance instills those feelings, it is particularly gratifying when it does happen. 

Sometimes we hear the words “arts and entertainment” used together, but I don’t think they’re synonymous. Entertainment is lovely. I enjoy it and regularly consume it in a variety of media. It makes me feel good and, in the words of Billy Joel, allows me “to forget about life for a while.” But, when the entertainment is over, I go back to my life, which is the same as I left it. 

Art, however, has the potential to transform. Art can change our perspectives. After an artistic experience, I may go back to the same problems in my life, but I am not the same. Therefore, the perspective I bring to my problems is not the same, either. 

We are surrounded by entertainment. I think we need more opportunities to be transformed. 

So, in response to troubled times, I hope you’ll take the time you need to process, to feel, and to start to heal. I hope you breathe deeply, spend some time with your safe community, and sing. 

And then, I hope you’ll get back to your art. We need your voice. 

With love. 

-brian 

“This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.” —Leonard Bernstein 

Citations 

The language of forced resonance and free resonance comes from Scott McCoy’s “Singing and Voice Science” chapter in the So You Want to Sing book series by Rowman & Littlefield and NATS. 

The language on trauma and resilience comes from Trauma and the Voice: A guide for Singers, Teachers, and Other Practitioners edited by Emily Jaworski Koriath and Koriath’s quotes in “The Singer’s Library: Trauma and the Voice,” Classical Singer, May 2024, by Brian Manternach. 

The information on SNS and PNS come from The Musician’s Mind: Teaching, Learning, and Performance in the Age of Brain Science by Lynn Helding (p.217). 

The language on vulnerability comes from Dare to Lead by Brené Brown. 

Research study on persistent vocalizations: Justine S. Sefcik, Mary Ersek, Joseph R. Libonati, Sasha C. Hartnett, Nancy A. Hodgson, and Pamela Z. Cacchione, “Heart rate of nursing home residents with advanced dementia and persistent vocalizations,” Health and technology 10 (2020): 827-831.

Peaks and valleys

For the next ten minutes

Back in 2018, I wrote a blog about "distributed practice" versus "massed practice" based on an article by voice pedagogue John Nix. For the article, Nix took a look at research in exercise physiology and motor learning to see if there are any parallels with voice training. In his conclusions, he highlighted that long practice sessions (massed practice) are needed when we are building stamina for a long performance. On the daily, however, multiple short practice sessions (as short as 10 minutes) that are spaced throughout the day will generally have more benefits to our skill-building. Shorter sessions are also less likely to cause fatigue or injury than one long practice session. 

This is one of the reasons why it's better to practice a little bit every day throughout the week rather than a huge practice session the day before your voice lesson or before you have to perform in class. Besides the risk of injury, you don't really have the same opportunity to embed skills in one practice session (even a long session) as you do when you spread that practice out over multiple sessions. 

There is another fascinating element of shorter versus longer practice sessions that is worth exploring. Like Nix, performance psychologist Noa Kageyama took a look at existing research for possible tie-ins to music practice. In his blog, titled "The Bulletproof Musician," Kageyama looked at a 2009 study where subjects engaged in “spaced learning” versus “massed learning” when studying vocabulary words with flashcards. Go figure, spacing was more effective than both massing and “cramming” (defined as massing study on the last day before the test), even though all subjects studied for approximately the same cumulative number of minutes. But he also revealed the following: 

“[T]he spaced group underestimated how much they had learned from their study session, while the massed group overestimated how much they had gained from their study session. So something about massed practice led to the illusion of effective learning. Whereas spaced practice led to more actual learning—even if it didn’t feel like it at the time.”

So, we may be conditioned to believe that massed practice is the most effective. Of course, we should be most interested in what Kageyama describes as actual learning rather than the illusion of effective learning. 

As many of you may know, in Jason Robert Brown’s The Last Five Years, the character of Jamie is hesitant to jump into a full-blown marriage proposal. Instead of asking Cathy for a life together, he asks for only 10 minutes of commitment, in the hopes that it will lead to a second, equal interval: 

“Will you share your life with me for the next ten minutes? For the next ten minutes: we can handle that. We could watch the waves, we could watch the sky, or just sit and wait as the time ticks by, and if we make it ‘till then, can I ask you again for another ten?”

Now, things don't end all that happily for this doomed couple. Still, as it relates to practice, Jamie may have been on to something (at least in THIS case). Instead of thinking of long-term commitments of extended practice sessions, maybe all we need to do is dedicate 10 minutes to practice. And then, later in the day, another 10. And then another. 

How has your practice been going? Would shorter, more frequent practice sessions work with your schedule? 

Now go practice. 

Efficiency, Inherent Laziness, and Patient Persistence

One of the goals of singing training is to identify and eliminate inefficiencies. Oxford Languages defines efficiency as "maximum productivity with minimum wasted effort or expense." As I sometimes describe it, we want to use the fewest number of muscles doing the least amount of work possible for any given task when it comes to physical efficiency in the voice studio. For instance, if it takes two muscles to do something and we are using five muscles, we are not being as efficient as we could. The result is that we're working harder than we need to because we're giving energy to three muscles that are not needed for the task. In addition, those unnecessary muscles may start to interfere with the job that the two primary muscles are trying to accomplish. 

In a recent Journal of Singing column (Sept/Oct 2024), voice professor Lynn Helding presents a quote by psychologist and author Daniel Kahneman from his book Thinking Fast and Slow. Kahneman expands the idea of efficiency to include our brains and not just our bodies: 

"A general law of least effort applies to cognitive as well as physical exertion. The law asserts that if there are several ways of achieving the same goal, people will eventually gravitate to the least demanding course of action. In the economy of action, effort is a cost, and the acquisition of skill is driven by the balance of benefits and costs. Laziness is built deep into our nature." (p.35)

I guess it makes sense that, if we are always trying to find less effortful ways to do things, it could indicate we are all inherently lazy. Whether we refer to this inclination as laziness or simply seeking efficiency, it's good to acknowledge that it is in our nature to choose the path of least resistance and to look for the easier way of doing things. 

Of course, effort is a key requirement for deep learning and skill building. If we want to become better singers, we need to log lots of hours of meaningful practice—there is no easier way around this reality. That understanding, however, can be overwhelming, since there is always more we can do. At no point will we ever reach the pinnacle where our voices are perfectly capable of executing everything we could possibly want. And even when we do reach a high level of accomplishment, it still takes a lot of practice to maintain those skills. It's sort of like exercise for general health. None of us will ever be able to say, "I've finally exercised enough to last for the rest of my life." If we want to continue reaping the health benefits of exercise, we have to keep doing it (especially as we get older). 

But, that realization can actually paralyze us in our practicing, since there is no easier path (and we are programmed to look for the easy route). At times, we may conclude that there is just too much to do, so we might as well not even bother. To address this feeling, Helding encourages what she describes as an attitude of "patient persistence." Instead of being intimidated into inaction (knowing that "Laziness is built deep into our nature"), or taking the opposite approach of trying to do too much at once, she offers an alternative: "Choose a patiently persistent mode of acquiring new habits by starting with small, yet feasible steps" (JOS p.10). 

Consistently choosing to do just a bit of work—through patient persistence—can lead to big gains over time. 

How do you encourage yourself to take small steps toward improvement? How do you motivate yourself to be more persistent in your practicing? 

Now go practice. 

Perceived Abilities

Last fall, I wrote a blog highlighting some of the work of the late Professor Stephen Demorest of Northwestern University. In particular, I discussed his research study that compared the singing accuracy of kindergarteners, sixth graders, and college students. The investigators found there was a significant improvement in students' singing skills from kindergarten to sixth grade, which aligns with the time when most students are getting consistent musical instruction in school. 

From sixth grade to college, however, students regressed in their abilities and were only singing as accurately as the kindergarteners in the study. This aligns with the statistic that, by eighth grade, only 34% of children in the United States are participating in elective music instruction—a number that declines even more by the time students reach high school graduation. 

In other words, singing is a "use it or lose it" skill. When you stop doing it, your skills degrade.  

Another noteworthy Demorest study was published in the Journal of Research in Music Education and was summarized in Northwestern Now. In this study, researchers surveyed more than 300 sixth graders, asking them questions about their family background, their peer influences, their attitudes toward music, and their beliefs about themselves as musicians. Then they analyzed what classes those students signed up for when they later went into junior high. 

Using the information from the survey, researchers were able to predict with reliable accuracy which students would sign up for junior high music classes. Surprisingly, the main indicator for whether or not they continued their musical studies was not how much the students liked music. Instead, it was based on their perceived ability level. As Demorest said, “Children who believe themselves to be musically talented are more inclined to continue to participate in music, and subsequently they get better and better. Conversely, children with a poor musical self-concept were inclined to quit, a decision people often grow to regret as adults.” 

In part two of the study, the researchers measured the singing accuracy of those same students: both those who continued in music classes and those who dropped out. Ironically, they found no significant differences in singing accuracy between the two groups. In other words, the students who chose not to continue with music did not actually have lower abilities than the students who chose to continue. They just thought they had lower abilities, and this perception caused them to quit singing. 

Once again, as Demorest said, “The decisions people make as a child could have lifelong consequences for their relationship with music as an adult. ... This decision seems to be rooted in our mistaken belief that musical ability is a talent rather than a skill.” 

This research seems to highlight a self-fulfilling prophecy: We know that the way to get better at singing is to actually SING and, ideally, to take voice lessons or a singing class. But, if you think you're bad at singing, you won't take singing classes and, therefore, won't progress in your ability to sing, seemingly confirming your belief that you're not good at singing. 

In one sense, this research is encouraging. It reinforces the idea that we can all get better at singing if we keep pursuing it! In another sense, it makes me really sad that so many people decide at such a young age that singing is just something they shouldn't do. It's terrifying to me to think that anyone would lock into long-term life decisions based on what they think they're good at or not good at when they're in elementary or middle school. 

At any rate, the more we understand that singing is a skill that can be developed, the more we can get down to the work of developing and enjoying that skill. 

What skills have you been working on this week? How well have you been sticking to your regular practice sessions? 

Now go practice. 

Silent Singing

Like clockwork, this is the time of year when a lot of people start to get sick. Maybe it's partly because the excitement of the new semester has worn off, and the workload (and lack of sleep) over the last few weeks is starting to catch up. It's natural that your immune systems may start to lower their shields long enough for viruses to sneak in. And illness catches all of us eventually. 

Of course, when we acquire upper respiratory infections that impact the throat, our voices just won't work the same way as when we're healthy. Pushing the voice too hard during these times may risk long-term harm, so we have to be judicious about how much we're vocalizing—this obviously includes doing less singing, but it also means less talking, laughing, and any other activity that involves the voice. We can think of this sort of illness as having a temporary vocal injury. Just like you wouldn't put your full body weight on a sprained ankle, you shouldn't sing full out when your voice is compromised due to illness. And, just like you will gradually be able to put more weight on your ankle as it heals, you will gradually be able to add more vocal activities back into your day as your body and voice recover from the illness. 

This situation does not, however, give you a free pass to skip all of your practice sessions. But it does mean you'll have to make some adjustments. As I list on the syllabus for voice lessons, there are a lot of things you can do that count as practice time that don't require vocalizing (or only involve light vocalizing). This includes speaking through the text of your songs as a poem (softly or silently); speaking through the text of your songs in the musical rhythm; listening to multiple versions of your songs for interpretive ideas; listening to sections of your recorded lessons or class to reinforce musical and technical procedures; highlighting your music to take note of dynamics, tempo changes, and other musical/expressive directions; and, of course, memorizing, memorizing, MEMORIZING!!!

There is another way to practice that won't tax your voice. I call it "silent singing." As we know, singing involves many different systems within the body: lungs, larynx, articulators, etc. Silent singing is essentially going through a practice run of a song the same way you normally do, engaging all of those systems except the vocal folds. You breathe in the same way (and in the same places in the song), you shape your vowels and consonants the same way, you make the same interpretive choices to tell the story with your facial expressions and physical gestures. You just do it without the vocal folds ever coming together to make a sound. You can even do this while playing a recording of the accompaniment of one of your songs, which will help keep the pacing of your silent performance aligned with the music. It's like lip-syncing a song, except you are still engaging the whole body, not just the mouth and face. 

Give silent singing a try if you are sick, if your voice is tired, or if you just want to shake up your practice routine a bit.  

How has your practice been these last couple of weeks? What is your plan for staying on task all the way up to (and hopefully even through) fall break? 

Now go practice. 

Specific Goals and Strategic Practice

Here we go, 2024/25! 

A couple of years ago, I wrote a blog advocating that we should all aim to give "average performances." I wasn't trying to say that our singing should be dull or uninteresting. I was just pointing out that, most of the time, our singing will be representative of what we normally do—it will reflect our average. 

Of course, we love it when the stars align and everything seems to go perfectly or like it never has before. And we love it when that happens in front of an audience or at an audition. 

But, I'm sorry to say, that usually doesn't happen. 

In statistics, we call this phenomenon "regression to the mean." For singers, this allows for the fact that certain performances will be outliers: either way better than usual or way worse than usual. But most of the time we settle into what we do most of the time. 

The goal, then, is not to hope that whenever we perform, it will be one of the outstanding outliers. A more reliable approach is to methodically work to raise our average—to improve the quality of what we do most of the time. We accomplish this by identifying specific goals and engaging in strategic practice. 

Coming up with specific goals requires some honest reflection about your current skill level. What do you like about your voice? What does it do well? What are some vocal elements you would like to preserve throughout your vocal training? 

Then you can reflect on what areas you'd like to build or strengthen. Where do you find your voice sometimes falling short? What are some skills you admire in other singers that you would like to develop in your own voice? What skills will help you sing the songs you love most? 

After that, we can come up with a plan for strategic practice. What exercises can we use that will target the skills you want to develop? What exercises will help continue to solidify the parts of your voice you want to preserve? How can you set up a regular schedule of practice so that you can devote consistent time and effort to building these skills? 

As Aristotle said, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” If we want our average performances to be excellent, setting specific goals and consistently engaging in strategic practice sessions are the most certain ways to get there. 

What goals do you have for this semester? What parts of your vocal technique and performance do you most want to preserve and improve?

Now go practice. 

Proud of your boy

I have a confession to make. I have a hard time saying, "I'm proud of you." 

This doesn't stem from some deep emotional baggage (at least, I don't think it does) or from any resentment that I never heard those words enough from my parents, teachers, coaches, or anyone else whose approval I was seeking. I just don't always like to say it because of what it could be construed to mean. 

The Cambridge Dictionary defines "proud" as "feeling pleasure and satisfaction because you or people connected with you have done or gotten something good." When it comes to all of you, my dear students, I absolutely feel tremendous pleasure and satisfaction when you have done or gotten something good. That might be something big, like a contract for a professional gig, or something more everyday, like a small but significant step forward in your technique. It could also be a personal victory, like you had to do something difficult and just went ahead and did it despite your fears (regardless of the outcome). Witnessing those things definitely makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So that part of the definition holds true. 

As the definition also states, the pleasure and satisfaction of feeling proud comes because of our connection to another person. If you meet an actor for the first time after seeing a show, you might say, "I really enjoyed your performance," but you probably wouldn't say, "I'm really proud of you for giving such a great performance." Without a connection to that person, that phrase seems out of place. When I was discussing this in a masterclass this semester, Julie said that her dentist tells her he is proud of her for doing such a good job flossing—which feels just a little weird. 

Here's where I balk: If my being proud of someone is dependent on a connection with that person, in a teacher-to-student scenario, it can feel like I'm trying to accept some of the credit for your success. "I'm proud of you for giving such a great performance" could read as "This is my accomplishment, too." 

Now, I can fully acknowledge my role as teacher and the influence that exists in any teacher-student relationship. But, as my thoughts on this role continue to evolve, I know that I am not here to mold you, shape you, form you, or in any other way infuse my technique, artistry, or expressive preferences into you. (I hope you all understand that.)

My role is to facilitate your vocal and artistic development, flexibility, and independence. My job is to co-explore ways to allow your skills to serve your expressive ideas. My goal is to help identify your goals and investigate the many paths that may allow you to reach them (even as those goals shift or change). We work on all of that in micro ways in the studio so that you can do it in macro ways in your life outside the studio. If you leave our lessons more capable and more confident in making a variety of choices, then our collaborative studio research has been a success. 

The other part of "I'm proud of you" that troubles me is that there can be a sense that you have to do something for me to be proud of you. If I only say "I'm proud of you" when you accomplish something, that could start to feel like your accomplishments are what make you worthy, valued, or loved. That's conditional love, which, I would argue, isn't really love. I would rather never use the phrase "I'm proud of you" than give any of you the impression that your significance as a person is measured by your accomplishments. That's something I simply cannot and will not risk. 

This is stated particularly well by voice professor, operatic countertenor, and finalist on The Voice, John Holiday. In an interview for Classical Singer by Peter Thoresen, he shares what he tells every student in his studio: 

"You don't have to do anything to gain my love and you don't have to do anything to gain me being proud. I'm already proud of you. Now let's work, because everything else is just going to be building on top of that. And you're not doing it for me. You're doing it for yourself. And you're doing it for your ancestors, and you're doing it for your family—and for you, hopefully." 

Here's one way these ideas have played out in my own life. In 2011, one of my mentors from my doctoral studies, Professor Paul Kiesgen, died of a terminal illness. To help my own grieving process, I wrote a memorial essay that focused on the lessons I learned from him, and Classical Singer published it. Here's an excerpt: 

In the years since I finished school and left campus, I hadn’t stayed in touch with Professor Kiesgen the way I had planned. As a teacher myself, I didn’t want to intrude on his attention and deprive his new students of the opportunity to learn from him as I had. So I would check in on occasion and always enjoy our brief but pleasant exchanges, picking up where we left off. I know that part of me was also waiting to land a big and splashy job or to have some other monumental career opportunity that I could share with him to confirm the confidence he had in my abilities, which always seemed to surpass my own.

Sadly, his passing has reminded me of yet another important lesson...

Music, and musicians, must communicate.

If we’re not communicating, if we’re focused too much on accomplishment, or if we’re too caught up in the minutiae of our own lives to stay in touch with others, we’re missing the point. 

I'm sure Prof. Kiesgen would be proud of what I'm doing with my career. I'm also sure that, way back then, when I was wanting to do something to make him proud, he was already proud of me. 

Seniors, we're about to wrap up the current version of our school-sponsored co-explorations. As you move on from here, if you ever stop to think, "I wonder if Brian is proud of me?" let me answer that for you right now, despite any misgivings I may have just articulated. 

I am proud of what you have done over these four years (starting with a year of online lessons, no less!). 

I am proud of who you were, how you have changed, and who you are becoming. 

I am excited to see where you are headed, whether that remains in theatre or pivots to an entirely different field. 

But mostly, I am just so proud of YOU (and my connection to you allows me to say that). I hope you're proud of you, too. 

Thanks for allowing me to be part of your journey. Do stay in touch.

Much love,

-brian

Safe spaces

As I continue to glean insights from Trauma and the Voice: A Guide for Singers, Teachers, and Other Practitioners by Emily Jaworksi Koriath (previously discussed here), I wanted to share some additional thoughts explored in the book regarding how environment impacts learning. 

On college campuses, there has been a lot of talk in recent years about creating "safe spaces." After some criticism that safe spaces can become passive bubbles where everyone is comforted and never challenged, the conversation seems to have shifted toward building "brave spaces." Instead of allowing students to cocoon in safety, a brave space is designed for risk-taking and big leaps, but within an environment where such actions will be supported. 

As Koriath points out, however, safety is a crucial requirement for learning. She writes, "The type of environment we need to strive to create and protect is one of psychological safety." This term, first coined by Harvard organizational and behavioral scientist Amy Edmondson, indicates a setting "where one can show oneself without fear of consequences to their self-image or career, and where the climate is characterized by trust and mutual respect." 

Teachers who work to establish this sort of learning environment (in the classroom or the voice studio) understand that some truths or criticisms are difficult to hear and can inspire negative reactions from students. Therefore, when we share our assessments, we have to do so with compassion and empathy. As Koriath says, "We can't shield students from the truth, but we also can't ignore that some truths are painful and take time to digest." 

In certain teaching models (notably the Master-Apprentice approach), some teachers prioritize handing out blunt truths, regardless of how they may be received. They believe their job is to get right to the issue, sometimes bombarding students with criticisms regardless of how they might impact a student's psyche. There is plenty of research about how ineffective that is as an overall teaching strategy (which I may share in another blog), but it also seems to be, at best, a bit clueless and, at worst, unnecessarily mean. As the saying goes, people who pride themselves on being "brutally honest" are often more interested in the brutality than the honesty.  

Another problem with such an approach is that criticisms can easily morph into abusive behaviors. As Koriath flatly states, "Verbally abusing students with the aim of 'toughening them up' is harmful. Telling students that they will never succeed is harmful." She admits that the performing arts industry can be cruel at times, and that it could be considered negligent not to let students know about the potential difficulties they may face as they move into the professional world. Still, for too long, some teachers have used borderline abusive language with students while hiding behind the excuse that it's "for their own good." 

As I noted, there has been some criticism of safe spaces, brave spaces, or any other efforts designed to change traditional learning environments. Some people (usually legislators or media figures, not actual educators) think those environments coddle students and will end up turning everyone into snowflakes. To this point, Koriath highlights an important element that sometimes gets lost in this discussion: "resilience skills come after safety and stability are established." In other words, if you want students to actually "toughen up," to have greater tenacity, to be able to bounce back from failures, to take criticism without crumbling, that is developed most effectively in an environment where they feel psychologically safe. Once those skills are in place, they can be implemented in less friendly (or even in hostile) environments. 

Given all of this, here are some questions to ask yourself about the environments you create for yourselves and the environments you step into. When you practice your singing, do you do so in a place where you feel psychologically safe? (Not in a place where you feel others may hear you and harshly judge you.) Do your voice lessons feel like psychologically safe spaces? (If not, let's talk about how we can change that.) Do you create performance environments (small audiences of friends, classmates, loved ones) where you can feel psychologically safe before you go into more high-stakes performance settings? What else might you be able to do in order to allow yourself these important opportunities to develop resiliency? 

Also worth considering, are you allowing psychologically safe spaces for others? Do you clear out of the house (or put on headphones) when your roommates needs to practice? Do you encourage your classmates to speak up if their voice lessons don't feel psychologically safe? Are you a psychologically safe audience member for classmates (either in your classes together or in impromptu meetings)? 

Safety first, then resilience. 

Now go practice. 

Rest

I've been catching up on some reading during spring break, going back to the books, magazines, and journals that have been piling up since the start of the school year. I'm also catching up on the online articles I've been saving, which means I've now closed about half of the tabs that have been open on my computer. (Hallelujah!) 

One noteworthy article I came across, written by Maria-Cristina Necula, features an interview with opera singer Latonia Moore and was published in the September/October issue of Classical Singer magazine. Moore brings up several important topics, like how her training in jazz and gospel singing enriched her operatic singing, and how much her knowledge of music theory has benefited her career. But when asked, "How do you keep your voice in such incredible shape?" one of the main things she highlights is rest.

"There have been times when I needed rest, and rest has been forced upon me. For instance, at the beginning of last season I did Il trovatore in Washington, and when I came to the Met to do Aida, I was not well vocally and physically because I did a very bad thing. I did not take a break. I had gone straight from January to December and my voice said, 'No, you won't!' So, I sang one performance of Aida, and it was just so hard—I was already sick and feeling so run down that I withdrew."

Even though management was understanding, and actually encouraged her to take time off, deciding to step away from a production at the Metropolitan Opera was not easy to do. But she knew it was the right call. 

"It was necessary and I'm so glad I did, because now I feel good again and I know to remind myself: Latonia, take breaks when you know you need them. Lesson learned." 

Those of us who work on an academic calendar know that several breaks are built into our schedule. We get fall break, Thanksgiving break, long weekends for Labor Day, MLK Day, and Presidents Day, spring break, and summer break. Because of that, we sometimes push through when we are tired, knowing that the next time off is just around the corner. Outside of academia, however, breaks may not be so conveniently spaced throughout someone's schedule. In those situations, we may need to be proactive about scheduling (and protecting) our periods of rest. 

I have written previously about the importance of sleep for physical and vocal efficiency as well as it being a prerequisite for learning to occur. In both of those blogs, I cite some of the research that has been done in this area. 

I'm sure there is also research that supports the importance of rest for our mental and emotional health. I could look that up so I could quote it in this blog...but I'm on break. 

I hope you enjoyed your time off and that you were able to rest in all the most enjoyable and meaningful ways. The second half of spring semester always feels like a sprint to the finish. Make sure, as you are completing your work, that you are giving yourself time to rest, as well. 

Assuming you've been able to rest this past week, now go practice. 

Trauma and the Voice

I recently read (and am now re-reading) a book called Trauma and the Voice: A Guide for Singers, Teachers, and Other Practitioners by Emily Jaworksi Koriath. One statistic it highlights is that people are more likely to have experienced abuse or neglect than they are to be left-handed. Therefore, most of us are carrying around some degree of trauma. 

Koriath outlines the recent understanding that places traumatic experiences into two broad categories. The first is shock trauma, where we experience events that overwhelm our system's capacity to respond to threat in real time, such as the speed and danger of a car accident, violent attack, or a sudden fall. The second category is developmental trauma, which refers to the long-term effects and psychological issues that result from abuse and/or inadequate care during critical periods of development. 

She also highlights how some writers have begun to differentiate between what they call "Big T Trauma" (life-altering events) and "little t trauma" (instances of cruelty, silencing, bullying, or shaming that leave their imprints on us). Neuroscientist and researcher Dr. Stephen Porges refers to trauma as "a chronic disruption of connectedness." Author and activist Staci Haines calls trauma "an experience, series of experiences, and/or impacts from social conditions that break or betray our inherent need for safety, belonging, and dignity." 

As you can see, there are many forms and degrees of trauma. Koriath presents her own working definition of trauma, paraphrased from Resmaa Menakem, as something that occurs in the body when the nervous system encounters more than it can process in real time. That “more,” she says, could be light, noise, violence, shame, or any number of other things. The in-the-moment response to this overwhelm is generally to shut down or “numb out.” As a self-protective measure, the mind fights to forget trauma. But, Koriath points out, the body remembers. 

Koriath also cites psychologist Peter Levine who indicates that trauma is not in an event itself, but in the nervous system’s response to the event. Each of us has a different threshold for what events are tolerable and which may result in trauma in the system. As Koriath emphasizes, “Even identical twins can live through the exact same circumstance, and one will experience the event as traumatic and the other may not.” 

It is not, therefore, up to outside observers to decide if someone has been “legitimately traumatized,” since we all process events differently. As Koriath states, “If there is stuck energy in the nervous system, it’s real trauma to that person.” Significantly for singers, if this emotional energy is stored in the body, it can inhibit our best singing and storytelling, which comes from free and unrestrained bodies. 

As a voice teacher, it is way beyond my expertise and scope of practice to try to identify trauma, point it out to my students, or attempt to help them work through it. Instead, as Koriath states, “Our responsibility is to be aware of the prevalence of trauma, and to adopt practices that contribute to nervous system care.” 

Luckily, she gives some specifics. For instance, when singers are in performance studies (like a degree program in musical theatre), they are constantly moving in and out of states of “fight, flight, and freeze.” Because bodies react differently to the feelings of overwhelm that come from perceived threats, our individual systems find ways to keep us safe that Koriath calls “innately brilliant and unique.” What we experience in those moments of stage fright or performance anxiety is the natural response of a healthy and adaptive nervous system. You are not wrong, bad, or "not cut out for this business" if you experience any of these normal, healthy anxieties. Koriath believes we should be better about normalizing the body’s response to the heightened state of performance. Once singers learn to recognize this process as not only healthy but necessary, they can choose to cooperate with it for more freedom onstage. 

How has your practice been this week? How can you stay focused in these last weeks before spring break? 

Now go practice.

Sondheim did the work for you.

I wrote a blog back in 2016 about when it's OK to deviate from the score or change the notes of a piece of music. I think it was inspired by hearing someone in the MTP say, only somewhat jokingly, "Opt up or opt out!" 

Unsurprisingly, I don't agree with that philosophy. That being said, although I am generally a "stick to the score" kind of guy, I do think there are times when it's appropriate to sing something that isn't on the page, which I outline in that previous blog. (Read it here if you're curious!) 

My teacher at Indiana University, Dr. Robert Harrison, often reminded his students that the text, pitches, and rhythms in a piece of music represent the innermost thoughts of a composer and poet (or lyricist). Our first duty as performers, he would say, is to accurately reflect those thoughts. If we feel license to change those notes, it's almost like we're saying we know this piece of music, and the thoughts that inspired it, better than the person who thought those thoughts and turned them into a song (Oh the thinks you can think!). To this line of thinking, Dr. Harrison would sometimes say, "Go write your own damn song! Stop recomposing this one!"

One instance when Dr. Harrison and I both agree it may be warranted to change the notes and rhythms of a song is if it is with the primary intention of enhancing the communication of the text. A great example is text that is set to four quarter notes with one syllable per note. If we were to speak a phrase in such a strict rhythm, it would probably sound monotonous. As singers, it's likely that we would make the emphasized syllables in that text a bit louder and the de-emphasized syllables a bit softer. We may also dot the rhythms, giving the emphasized syllables a bit more rhythmic duration and the de-emphasized ones a shorter duration. In this way, we're helping the audience understand the text by putting them into more of a speech-like rhythm. 

This is the opposite of the "Opt up or opt out" philosophy (singing a higher note than what is written), whose primary intention seems to be to show off something that the voice can do rather than enhancing the communication of the text. 

In my mind, there are certain composers whose music needs very few adjustments, primary among them Stephen Sondheim and Jason Robert Brown. Unsurprisingly, both of them served as composer AND lyricist in most of the music they have written.  When that's the case, I pay particularly close attention to the way they merge text and musical phrases, assuming that every detail was chosen intentionally. 

I still believe this even though there are some incredibly famous singers who have incredibly well-known recordings of the songs of these incredibly well-recognized composers where they (incredibly) take a lot of liberties with the incredibly well-written notes and rhythms. (Case in point: You folks doing Into the Woods right now, have you compared your part the way you learned it to the original Broadway cast recording?)

How did they get away with such shenanigans? Well, I wasn't there, so I don't know. But, in some ways, trying to reinvent this music makes your job harder as the performer. As David Eggers said in Dem Lab recently, "Sondheim did the work for you." If we just focus on presenting his music the way he has written it, more often than not, the message will probably come across. 

How has your singing been? How have you been negotiating your practicing and vocal progress amidst your show schedule? (I think my entire studio is rehearsing a show right now—or just finished one, or is about to start one.)

Now go practice. 

O Holy Vibrato

One of the best things about the break between semesters is that it affords us the time to do things we enjoy that we don't always have time for during the school year, like watching movies, hanging out with friends and family, or analyzing the vibrato rate and extent of pop singers. 

OK, maybe I was the only one who did that last one. Let me give you some background. 

At one point during the holidays, I was listening to an all-Christmas music radio station and they played songs performed by Aaron Neville ("O Holy Night") and Josh Groban ("Believe") back to back. If you don't know who Aaron Neville is, this duet he sang with Linda Ronstadt in 1990 was one of the big pop love songs when I was growing up. Although, to hear his unique vibrato, you only need to listen to the first few seconds of his rendition of Schubert's "Ave Maria." 

Most of you are probably familiar with Josh Groban, given his stardom in both pop and Broadway spheres. His ever-present, quick vibrato is part of what I believe makes it difficult to categorize where he best fits, genre-wise. 

Regardless, hearing these two singers back to back, I was really struck by how different their vibrato rates are. So, I pulled out the spectrogram (VoceVista Video Pro) to see if I could measure the differences. Those of you who were in "Vocology Day" at Dem Lab (or who just had Voice Pedagogy with me) may remember a bit about VoceVista. As a research tool, it's tremendously useful for voice analysis. But, for my purposes, I kept it pretty simple and just gave it the eyeball test. 

I looked up recordings of both Neville and Groban singing their own versions of "O Holy Night." This first picture is from Neville singing the climactic note on the word "night." 

In the middle of the screen, the wiggly lines show his vibrato. The number of wiggles per second indicates his vibrato rate. How far above and below the pitch each wiggle travels indicates his vibrato extent. In the picture above, we can see that his rate is about 4.5 cycles per second and his extent is not that extensive. 

Earlier in the song, Neville sustained a less climactic note, which looks like this: 

Here, the rate is almost exactly the same as in the other example (about 4.5 cycles per second). But, looking again at the middle of the screen, you can see that the extent (the size of each bump) is much greater. This means that he is singing much further above and below the pitch. 

In Groban's rendition, his climactic note is on the second syllable of the word "Noel," which looks like this: 

His vibrato rate is roughly 5.5 cycles per second, which is an entire cycle faster per second than Neville's. We can also see that his extent seems to be somewhere between Neville's two examples—wider than Neville's climactic note but not as wide as his second example. Groban's extent also seems to be more consistent in this one-second selection than Neville's, especially in the second example where the peaks and valleys had more variability. 

So, what does all of this mean? For starters, it would seem to confirm what my ears had already told me, that these two singers use their vibrato quite differently from each other. But it also zeros in on how they are different. My suspicion was that Neville uses an unusually slow and wide vibrato. Though it is somewhat slow, it is sometimes wide in extent and sometimes quite narrow. My suspicion for Groban was that his vibrato is faster and wider than most other pop singers. We see in these selections that it is faster than Neville's, but in extent it's somewhere between Neville's two examples. 

I think there is a natural follow-up question to all of this analysis: Which vibrato is better? Well, it depends on what we mean by "better," I suppose. Both singers have made major careers singing the way they do. Neville, who is now 82 years old, has four platinum albums and four top-10 hits as an R&B and soul singer. Groban, who is now 42 years old, has four multi-platinum albums in styles that have been classified as everything from easy listening to pop rock to operatic rock (better known as "popera"). He's also played two leading roles on Broadway. Have these two singers been so successful because of their unique uses of vibrato or despite them? It's probably impossible to say. 

One thing we know about musical theatre singing is that a variety of vibrato rates and extents are used, depending on what era or style of musical theatre is being performed. That can range from a wide and fast vibrato to no vibrato at all to a note that starts with no vibrato and then ends with lots of it! What is "better" may depend on the style, the situation, the emotion of what is being expressed, and what works best in the voices of individual singers. 

How has your singing been this week? 

Now go practice.

Tiny victories

Happy New Year! 

New semesters and new calendar years are great opportunities to evaluate our big-picture trajectories and then zero in on the day-to-day routines that will help us get where we want to be. I came across some wisdom on this topic on The Mental Game of Musical Theatre podcast by our friend David Eggers. There is a lot of outstanding advice in this podcast coming from David's interviews with Broadway professionals. I recently listened to the episode with actor, singer, and songwriter Gavin Creel and was struck by the way he describes the importance of seeking small, daily joys—what he call "tiny victories." (The two-part episode with Creel is available here and here.).

Essentially, Creel believes that storing up regular tiny victories gives us balance and perspective that allows us to better handle the aspects of life that do not work in our favor. For him, a tiny victory sometimes comes from trimming his hydrangea bushes, or engaging in conversations with the server ("Emma") at his local deli, or committing to regular meditation sessions. By amassing these sorts of small joys, he feels more grounded when challenges arise related to his work ("like walking into that audition room, or weathering that call, 'I'm sorry, Gavin, it's not going your way'") or when faced with one of life's inescapable, larger disappointments ("those breakups, those losses, those deaths"). As he says,

"Those big, big, big things that seem insurmountable are coming for you, for me, for all of us. If I don't have a practice in place for me to be able to weather those things, you'll get through it, but it makes it makes it a lot harder."

While this is powerful advice for big-picture life events, I think the same philosophy can be applied to small-scale events like vocal practice. When we are practicing difficult material, or working to develop complicated techniques, each practice session has the potential to accumulate "tiny losses" or even (to be a bit dramatic) "tiny tragedies." Does the world stop spinning if you crack on a high note? Of course not, but it doesn't feel good when it happens. As we have discussed previously, incorporating "desirable difficulties" that take focus and effort to overcome is an important part of meaningful practice. As singer and voice teacher Aubrey Adams-McMillan posted recently, "Making mistakes is a sign of effort," and both mistakes and effort are necessary for progress. [Consider revisiting "Failure is the only option"]

So, maybe what our practice sessions need in 2024 are intentional tiny victories in order to offset the inevitable tiny tragedies that are part of effortful practice. Maybe every practice session needs to include time when you sing something you love just because you love it. Maybe in every session you should stop at some point to recognize, "Hey, that's something I couldn't do two years ago!" Maybe when you notice the bad feelings that come along with tiny tragedies, you can say, "I'm feeling frustrated by this because I'm a sensitive person, and being a sensitive person is a big part of what makes me a great artist." 

I would guess that, in some sessions, there may seem to be more tragedies than victories (tiny or otherwise). But, if we follow Creel's advice and look for more tiny victories to recognize, the balance may swing in a more positive direction. 

What are some goals you have for this semester in the voice studio? What are some tangible tiny victories you can bring into your singing? 

Now go practice.