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.