Teacher advice

I recently finished reading a new book called So You Want to Sing Musical Theatre: A Guide for Performers, which is the latest volume in the So You Want to Sing series sponsored by the National Association of Teachers of Singing (NATS). It's written by Amanda Flynn, who is an NYC-based voice teacher, trained at the U's Summer Vocology Institute, and just happens to be married to Rob Rokicki (who wrote the music and lyrics for The Lightning Thief). 

Among the many wonderful features in the book, Flynn includes four interviews with current Broadway professionals. I was intrigued to see that one of the questions she asked was, "What advice would you give a musical theatre voice teacher?" Each person had something different but valuable to say. 

Telly Leung (Aladdin, Allegiance, Godspell) says, "My advice to both [musical theatre performers and voice teachers]...is to understand the science behind singing. Go get scoped. Find a great laryngologist that's going to scope you and explain exactly what's happening when you make sound. ... I learned so much when I would visit the doctor. ... That's when I really started to get it. I finally understood what I was doing." (p. 371) 

Justin Guarini (American Idol, American Idiot, In Transit) said, "One of the greatest gifts you can give your students (besides vocal technique) is the ability to understand what the black dots on the page mean. Music theory is vital as a musical theatre performer because when you are asked to learn a song in one day, two days, or three (if you're really lucky), it's much different learning that music when you're solely reliant on someone else to put in the work to play it for you and teach it to you. ... Music theory, in a way, allows you to have that little bit of an advantage over 99.9 percent of people who don't know anything about it. Incorporating music theory into your training is valuable. You will do your students a world of good and, ultimately, you will raise the musical intelligence of our entire community over time." (p. 354)

Megan Hilty (NBC's Smash, Wicked, 9 to 5: The Musical) says, "I would encourage any voice teacher to celebrate the uniqueness of your students and not try to make them into something that they're not. ... The most successful people that I have witnessed or worked with are people that are very solid in their own skin and their uniqueness. They find the things that really make them different. There are so many programs that turn out a lot of people who work, but the people who have longevity are the ones that are unique and are very solid in that uniqueness. For any teacher, I would really encourage them to seek out that uniqueness and foster it. Help your students shine through because that will only make them more confident." (p. 348)

Shakina Nayfack (NBC's Connecting, Amazon's Transparent Musicale Finale, Hulu's Difficult People) says, "[T]here's probably nothing more valuable than taking the time to get to know your students. You should see them as full human beings before the training begins. The voice is such a psychologically and spiritually intimate thing. To help someone unleash the full capacity of their voice, you really must see and understand the full capacity of their being. Even in a lesson, if you can make those first few minutes about grounding person to person and taking in the whole of that person, then when you get down to work, you're just coming at it from a place of wholeness rather than a narrow cross-section of who they are." (p. 361)

There's a lot in there for me to reflect on. In fact (note to self, and warning to all of you), each of those paragraphs probably deserves a blog of its own to explore the ideas more thoroughly. 

In the meantime, what are your thoughts on their advice? What advice would you offer to musical theatre voice teachers (either your own teacher or voice teachers in general)? 

Now go practice. 

Continued questioning

Continuing the "questioning" theme from the last blog, it's noteworthy how many musical theatre songs involve characters asking questions: "Do You Love Me?" (Fiddler on the Roof), "Shall We Dance?" (The King and I), "Whatever Happened To My Part?" (Spamalot), and "Who Am I?" (Les Mis). I guess the opposite of an "I am" song is a "Who am I?" song. Perhaps the most ridiculous—and unanswerable—musical theatre question of all time is "Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful [or are you beautiful because I love you]?" (Cinderella). 

For a different take on the topic of questions, I'm reminded of one of the international students I met in our Summer Vocology Institute last summer. This student would frequently raise her hand in class, but instead of saying, "I have a question," she would always say, "I have a doubt." 

At first, it could seem like she was challenging the professor, essentially saying, "I'm doubting what you're telling me. Prove that what you're saying is true." But, by definition, her phrasing was probably correct. According to Oxford Languages, a question is "a sentence worded or expressed so as to elicit information." A doubt is "a feeling of uncertainty or a lack of conviction."  

This student is incredibly bright and was always prepared in class. She didn't really need to "elicit information" from the professors—she had already gotten that from the assigned readings and from the lectures. When she raised her hand, it was because she was uncertain or unconvinced. Something that was presented in class didn't jibe with her previous knowledge or experience. As discussed in the last blog, teachers can respond to such "doubts" in unhelpful ways ("I don't understand what you're not understanding." [*an actual quote from one of my former professors*]) or they can attempt to reframe the material ("Let me see if I can explain things in a different way.").  

One of my previous voice teachers once told me, "I want you to doubt everything that I'm telling you. My goal is to tell the truth, so I want you to question and verify that what I'm telling you is the truth. Don't be afraid to.” At the time, I wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. I was used to a different process in voice lessons. Step one, I would be told what to do. Step two, I would do as I was told. Step three, repeat. And somewhere in that process, I was supposed to learn how to be an independent artist. 

My teacher wasn't asking me to be defiant in our lessons, and he certainly wasn't expressing a lack of confidence in his teaching (trust me, he did not, in any way, suffer from a lack of confidence). He just wanted me to maintain a curious mind and to know that, if my knowledge and experience clashed with his, it was OK to bring it up so we could work things out together. Not only did that give me the chance to learn more from him, it also allowed for the possibility that he might even learn something from me. That really turned the master-apprentice model on its head, in my mind. 

You may have noticed that a lot of my teaching involves asking a lot of questions of all of you. "How did that feel?" "What did you notice?" "Can you explain how this time was different from last time?" "What are your actionable verbs?" "What does this song say about YOU?" 

I ask some of these questions because I'm truly curious to know the answer. I'll admit, though, that sometimes I ask questions knowing that it won't matter at all to me what your answers are. I can say, "What did you notice about that sound?" And you can respond, "When I sing like that, my sound feels purple." OK. That response means nothing to me. But if it means something to you as you are building your self-perception, then it's a valuable observation. 

My questions, then, are intended to serve as prompts to encourage you to self-analyze. Your answers don't need to make sense to me—they only need to make sense to you. Only by building your own self-awareness can you start to get a feel for what makes your singing click and what doesn't. Then you start to learn which choices are most likely to get you where you're intending to go and which may lead you elsewhere. 

Question. Doubt. Verify. Don't be afraid to. 

Now go practice. 

All I ask of you

"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." 

I think I was in junior high when I first heard the quote above—often attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but actually of unknown origin. I remember thinking it was amusing, and in the same genre of insults as, "Never engage in a battle of wits with someone who is unarmed." 

Whenever I'm in a class, lecture, workshop, or webinar, I tend to be the kind of student who sits quietly and tries to take it all in, as opposed to the students who are quick to raise their hands with questions. I often prefer to listen, observe, and thoughtfully consider what is being presented before I feel ready to verbally engage. By taking this approach, I often find that my questions get answered as I continue paying attention to what is being presented. When I do ask a question, however, I am usually at least a little bit self-conscious about not wanting to be "thought a fool." 

A lot of people think this is a generational characteristic ("These kids today are so afraid to ask questions in class!"), but I disagree. I remember my high school geometry teacher (in the early 1990s) complaining that we students were always so scared to raise our hands in class. She would say, "What's the worst that can happen? I'm not going to bite your heads off!" But then, when someone was courageous enough to answer one of her questions, she would often bluntly shout, "Wrong!" "Sorry!" or "Nope!" She grew up in New York, so I don't think she ever really understood how her brash, East Coast delivery pierced our thin, Midwestern, adolescent skins. 

As protection, I suppose, my classmates and I would preface our questions with qualifiers: "This may be a dumb question, but..." "This question may not make any sense, but..." "I'm sorry if I missed something obvious, but..." "This is probably wrong, but..." Sound familiar? 

Acknowledging the epidemic of not wanting to ask questions so as not to be thought a fool (which has infected many of us), I heard in a teacher workshop recently that we should consider replacing the ubiquitous, "Do you have any questions?" with, "What questions do you have?" By asking, "Do you have any questions?" we seem to be assuming that most people understood the material, and those who didn't should out themselves by raising their hands. But by asking, "What questions do you have?" the default expectation is that most students will need to ask some questions in order to truly comprehend things. This approach also flips the class power dynamic on its head. Instead of a perception of, "I am the master teacher. Which one of you lowly students did not understand my brilliant lecture?" it admits, "I'm presenting this material in the best way that I can, but that doesn't mean it's going to click for everyone. Which parts can I try explaining in a different way?"

I know of at least one teacher who has started saying, "Before we go on, ask me two questions about what we just covered." Sometimes he is stubborn about it, saying, "Seriously, I need two questions, no matter how basic you think they are, before I can go any further." This gives freedom and permission to ask whatever questions students may have—and, odds are, if you have a question, someone else in the class probably has that same question. I prefer this approach to a teacher announcing, "There are no dumb questions!" which always makes me second-guess whether my question will be the one that will finally make the teacher say, "OK, that was a dumb question." 

No one wants to be thought a fool. But, to quote Jedi master Obi-Wan Kenobi, “Who’s the more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him?” In other words, as explained on the website The Dork Side of the Force, it’s easy to fall to peer pressure. There is always the risk that asking a question will cause you to look foolish, at least to someone. It may be even more foolish, however, to sit in confused silence when clarification is potentially one question away. 

Just ask. 

Now go practice. 

How and how often to watch your videos

Last semester, we talked about how important self-evaluation can be, especially by watching yourself on video. Here, we'll talk more specifically about how to do that effectively. 

When watching your videos (whether clips of your practicing, self-tapes for auditions, or Dem Lab performances), you should ask the same questions you would consider whenever evaluating anyone else's singing performance. What works about this performance? What do I like? What is making this effective? What is not working? What is getting in the way of more authentic communication? What could be done differently to make it more successful? Any amateur observer can say "I like this," or "I don't like this." But, as theatre artists, we should be curious as to the why. 

When evaluating your practice clips, I'd recommend watching the videos soon (if not immediately) after you record them. That way you can see and hear what you are doing while you still have a tactile memory of how you created the sounds. If you liked what you saw on the video, try the same thing a few more times to solidify what you did. You can even use this tactic to record yourself singing a phrase of music two or three times in a row but in different ways. Then you can watch to see which version you prefer and, once again, recreate that sound while it's still fresh in your mental and physical memory. If you watch these videos for the first time even a day later, you won't have the same visceral memory and it will be more difficult to recreate those sounds in the same way. 

For performances, like Dem Lab videos, I'd recommend the opposite and instead allow more time to elapse before watching the videos (days, if not weeks). That way, you won't have such strong memory of the feelings and sensations you were experiencing in the moment. This will allow you to evaluate the video more as an outside observer. When you aren't watching with the same physical memory from having just sung, you're better able to give yourself an overview of your performance instead of being more focused on a single element of your singing, like with the practice videos. 

Notice that I'm using the words "evaluate" or"criticize" when it comes to watching yourself. And I absolutely didn't use the words "tear down" or "obsess over" either. You can observe and evaluate by asking the questions above with a true sense of curiosity in order to identify what you are doing well and to strategize about how to improve upon the less effective elements. As I've said previously, feel free to tell your inner critic to shut the hell up!

Remember, the flip side of being your own worst critic is that you can also be our own best evaluator. No one will be able to watch your own performances with as much insight as you. You know what you were thinking at the time. You know what it feels like inside to make those sounds. You have the best idea of how you might recreate or tweak those sounds. The rest of us can guess or make assumptions, but you're the only one who knows. Use that information to your advantage. 

Now go practice. 

Nothing but time

Time stops when suddenly you see her

Time stops and what you thought you knew changes

And life beyond this moment is better, bigger... 

    -"Time Stops" from Tuck Everlasting 

I've always found it fascinating how differently we can perceive time. When I was a kid, sitting through an hour of church seemed to take forever, but one hour of watching cartoons was over in no time. As an adult, I've noticed that Saturday and Sunday seem to move faster than any other days of the week, for some reason. 

One of the most common phrases I hear from seniors in their first voice lesson of the school year is, "I can't believe I'm a senior already!" Despite taking classes for three years, it always comes as a bit of a surprise looking back and realizing how quickly that time has passed. But many of those same students have also expressed that time feels like it's crawling by when they're in the thick of a semester with long days of classes and rehearsals. 

I sometimes hear ads on the radio for a company called 3 Day Kitchen & Bath. Their pledge to customers is that they can do an entire renovation of a kitchen or bathroom in three days or less—a job that can typically take weeks. I'm no contractor, but that seems really fast. I wonder if those workers feel like time is moving more quickly as their deadlines approach than it does when they're at the start of a project. 

The beginning of the semester presents a good opportunity to reflect on how we use our time. In a previous blog, we talked about how time can be viewed as a commodity, evidenced by the phrase "spending time." Regardless of whether we invest our time or waste our time, we all experience the same number of hours in the day. 

I decided to do a bit of math when it comes to our time together. Each of you receive 12 voice lessons per semester at 45 minutes each, adding up to 540 minutes of lesson time per semester. This means there are 1,080 minutes of lessons in each two-semester school year and 4,320 minutes over the eight semesters of a four-year degree. Divide that by 60 minutes per hour and it adds up to exactly 72 hours, or the equivalent of three days. All of our weekly lessons in all the semesters of an entire degree, when all is said and done, only amount to three days of time. 

How are we spending that time? Three days is apparently enough time to completely demolish, renovate, and rebuild an entire kitchen. Is it enough time to build the vocal skills and artistry you want for yourself? Are we both doing all we can to maximize our time together? 

As we get going in the new semester, let's consider how we're using our lesson time. If we make the most of our time together, you will be better able to make the most of your practice time when we're apart. Review this blog from 2019 about establishing effective goals. Then let's decide how we can best prioritize our three days of time to get you where you want to be. 

Now go practice.

Musicking

Every field has its deep, philosophical questions. It can be worth the time, when we are engrossed in the details of our practice and our performances, to stop for a moment and ponder some of the more existential questions related to our art. 

In a book titled Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening, author and scholar Christopher Small asks two such questions: "What is the meaning of music?" and "What is the function of music in human life?" Before offering a response, however, he recommends a shift in our thinking. In particular, he suggests we entertain the idea that "music is not a thing at all but an activity, something that people do."

Small explains how, in the Western music tradition, we often equate the word "music" with "works of music" (songs, symphonies, musicals, etc.). Under this understanding, what is most valued is the "created art object" (the song) instead of "the action of art" (singing, playing, listening). This has led to a belief that the goal of performing is to honor, uphold, or serve the music (the created art object) instead of the people "musicking" (singer, player, listener). Small turns this idea on its head, stating, "Performance does not exist in order to present musical works, but rather, musical works exist in order to give performers something to perform." Therefore, as he says, music's "primary meanings" are social. 

With this mindset, the goal of performance shifts away from singing a piece "properly" or "correctly." Instead, we give primacy to how the act of singing a particular song may impact you (the performer) and the people you are singing for. In other words, rather than placing the focus so intensely on the music itself and how perfectly those notes and rhythms are being executed, we can prioritize the communal aspect of the performance. Small writes, "The act of musicking establishes...a set of relationships, and it is in those relationships that the meaning of the act lies. They are to be found...between the people who are taking part, in whatever capacity, in the performance." These relationships between all those who are "musicking" become actual (experienced in the moment) and aspirational, as they serve to represent—or serve as a metaphor for—every ideal relationship we hope to have in life: "relationships between person and person, between individual and society, between humanity and the natural world and even perhaps the supernatural world." 

There is a Swedish proverb that reads, "Those who wish to sing always find a song." Considering the thoughts above, if we have a wish or a desire to sing, it is likely because we have a desire to be in relationship with each other. When that is our wish, the "music" we choose to sing is a secondary concern. Instead, we prioritize the people who are invited "to music" together. 

I'm looking forward to musicking once more with you all during vocal juries and class finals. Thanks for a wonderful semester. 

Watch Yourself! (and invite your inner critics along)

Part of theatre education involves learning how to fairly evaluate performances. In order to do this well, we have to pay attention, thoughtfully take in what we are seeing, and then identify what elements are contributing to, or detracting from, the success of the performance. When doing this, you may imagine what you might do differently if you were the director of the scene or if you were speaking the same text or singing the same notes as the person you're observing. 

Analyzing performances in this way doesn't have to be done with any mean-spiritedness or  schadenfreude. When done with a curious mind, it helps develop the crucial evaluation skills we all need as artists. 

Those same skills can be used for self-evaluation, which takes practice and honing in order to be productive. We all know that we can be our own worst critics. But we can turn that around and use the same observation skills to be our own best evaluators. 

One of the most useful ways to self-evaluate is to video record yourself singing and then watch it as if you are an outside observer. If you're not used to doing that (or have never really tried it), it can be uncomfortable at first since we seem to be conditioned to zero in on our flaws. But honest observation involves identifying areas that can be improved and strategizing ways to work on those parts of your performances. It also, importantly, means identifying the aspects of your performance that are going well that you want to keep or build upon. It takes some conscious effort, but these evaluations can be done without judging yourself or beating yourself up over not being perfect.

In the last blog, I shared some thoughts related to avoidance from The Empowered Performer by Sharon L. Stohrer. The book also has a chapter called "Tell Your Inner Critic to Shut the H*ll Up!" in which Stohrer suggests actually inviting your inner critics to sit with you when you view your videos of practice sessions. As she writes, "The Inner Critics and Judges are part of us. They can help us evaluate our rehearsals and performances, giving us useful feedback. The trick is to harness their wisdom, but avoid giving them power." (p.133)

Once we get to performance time, however, those critics no longer get to speak up. Stohrer once again quotes author Brené Brown, who suggests speaking directly to our inner critics before performances, saying, "I see you, I hear you, but I'm going to show up and do this anyway. I've got a seat for you and you're welcome to come, but I'm not interested in your feedback." (p.134)

As we get closer to end-of-the-semester juries and class performances, try video recording some run-throughs of your songs. Then sit down with your inner critics and put your observation skills to work. Just like theatre critics who write reviews, we can rave about the highlights and take note of the areas for improvement. Then, as performance time nears, we can politely but forcefully remind those critics that it's time to shut the hell up. 

Now go practice.