This blog is dedicated to making sense of what we know about vocal technique. I invite posts from other singers and pedagogues who can provide an objective argument that will broaden our understanding of the issues at hand. The original scope of the blog now widens to include peripheral issues that directly impact vocal pedagogy, performance and the effect of the art form on the broader social discourse.
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Jean-Ronald LaFond is a singer and voice teacher based in New York and Berlin. He holds the Doctor of Musical Arts and Masters degrees from the University of Michigan and the Bachelor of Music degree from Westminster Choir College. He has presented over 300 recital programs, nearly 40 operatic roles and many oratorio and orchestra concerts throughout the North and Central America, Europe and Asia. He speaks six languages fluently and sings in ten. He taught in academia for 11 years, has written extensively about vocal pedagogy and interpretation. He was also trained as an orchestral conductor and composer and has had experience in most areas of music theater production. He has worked as a vocal coach for both actors and singers for close to 20 years. Toreadorssong is my username on www.nfcs.net (The New Forum for Classical Singers), where the idea for this blog began.
The idea of the "natural voice" is so froth with contradiction that it is almost foolhardy to address the many issues that contribute to the confusion. But that is the point of this blog: making sense of misconceptions and confusions. One of the issues that I find troublesome in the current pedagogy environment is the idea of singing with a closed mouth or nearly closed to be exact.
There is a reason why most vocalises are done of the [a] vowel and that most dramatic high notes are written on the [a] vowel. The baby's cry is produced on a vowel that fall on or near the [a] vowel spectrum. Both the dramatic high note and the baby's cry are meant to attract attention. They are both meant to be acoustically piercing; the high note piercing the orchestral texture and the baby's cry piercing through ambient noise and the lulling dullness of their parents' slumber.
The released jaw, consistent with a good [a] vowel releases the larynx to a lower position.
With the jaw closed touch the surface of the larynx at the thyroid cartilage (Adam's apple)
and while touching it release the jaw. The larynx automatically goes slightly lower.
The released jaw also promotes a palatal stretch without additional muscular activity. So why do many teachers promote the idea of a closed jaw or at least a closed mouth?
A well phonated tone produces important high harmonics that contribute to audibility and vowel intelligibility. Indeed those overtones are not possible if the tone is not properly phonated. In the case of improper phonation (breathy or pressed), those high overtones are not very strong. The resultant sound is then dull. To give the illusion of a "brighter" sound (not necessary a resonant sound) the singer will reduce the low harmonics. The easiest way to do this is closing the jaw, which brings the larynx up with it, thereby reducing the strength of the lower harmonics.
Another reasoning is adherence to the Italian axiom, "si canta come si parla" (one sings as s/he speaks). There is a problem with the axiom itself (already discussed on the blog). We do not speak with the intent of piercing through orchestral textures or our parent's lulling sleep, except as baby's and at parties. In other words, every day speech does not require peak acoustic output. This is particularly relevant to the production of the [i] vowel. Most of us produce an [i] with the jaw closed because it is easier to coordinate. The tongue, principal muscle of vowel formation does not need to be very active to produce an [i] when the jaw is closed. With the jaw released in the [a] position, the back of the tongue has to migrate considerably to form the [i] vowel. This is not easy for most singers. To make matters worse, the natural acoustics of the [i] vowel yield strong high partials even when the jaw is closed. Therefore there is little insentive to produce an [i] with the released jaw.
My argument is the following. The [i] vowel can yield strong high partials even when phonation is not ideal. In fact, when phonation is unbalanced, singing a closed jaw [i] vowel produces an acceptable sound. If however the jaw is released, the sound even on [i] often becomes dull. This can be confused to mean that a released jaw yields a dull sound. And this is precisely the conclusion that many teachers come to. However it is the opposite. What the release jaw does is that it reveals the nature of the phonation. If the phonation is breathy or pressed, when the jaw is released, the sound will be of poor quality. Therefore by maintaining a released jaw, we are able to uncover the inefficiency and then are required to address it. When the inefficienty is addressed, then good phonation will be the norm and be able to transfer from one vowel to the next without loss of quality.
The previous paragraph alludes to a common problem that is often discussed of discussion forums: "why is it that when I transition from [i] to [a], the [a] falls in my throat?" Because the [a] vowel requires a released jaw, the inefficiency inherent in the closed jaw [i] manifests when the jaw is released on [a].
Beyond revealing the glottal inefficiency, the released jaw makes for a better acoustical environment for vocal production. The lower laryngeal position is absolutely crucial to the operatic production (less so for Commercial Contemporary Music). A lower larynx (not depressed, but rather released when the jaw is released) promotes strong first formant resonance and gives strength to lower notes. The first formant also helps in the transition to the female middle voice and the male high voice. By maintaining the integrity of the first formant, as pitch rises, the dominance of the first formant is left behind and the influence of the second formant takes over. If however the larynx climbs (research shows that first formant values rise when the larynx rises) then the first formant will continue to follow the rising pitch and the acoustic transition from low register to high (middle for women) does not occur. Instead there would be a conflict for dominance between the two formants and the sung tone would be unstable. In fact this is the central argument for a double formant strategy. Not that both formants dominate, but that in order for one formant to dominate when it is appropriate, the other formant must not interfere.
If the larynx rises we also lose the efficiency in phonation provided by supra-glottal inertial reactance.
Each singer behaves differently and some very skilled singers are able to produce a very satisfying sound with a closed jaw. However, resonance is often weakened in a certain area of the range. Clever singers often preempt the loss of power by making an adjustment before the problems occur (e.g. bringing the chest voice higher, letting the larynx climb really high, etc). We are also willing to accept a certain loss of quality in parts of the range when the singer sings extraordinarily in the top voice. Such singers are often cited as examples of successfully singing with a closed jaw. It is crucial to give singers credit for their strengths and not for their weaknesses. A great singer can be great because of awesome stage presence, refined musicality, a strong vocal output, even while leaving much to be desired technically.
By following correct acoustic principles, it makes sense to maintain a released position on all vowels and to return to the released position after articulating consonants that require closure (fricatives in particular). Maintaining a flexibly released jaw promotes consistency in the resonance of the sound and gives an even quality from vowel to vowel. This is not easy to accomplish and requires a level of patience. When accomplished, this release reveals technical flaws that can then be addressed yielding a vocal instrument capable of maintaining stability thorugh the many changes required by the operatic repertoire.
I wish to pay tribute to Daniel Pratt, one of my early teachers who emphasized the importance of what he called "the tall [i]". Great principles stay with us through all our different stages of development.
Many musicians fall victim to the thought that great musical interpretation is spontaneously made manifest from the fertile soul of an inspired musician. Inspiration is the child of forgotten experiences. Musicality is the product of unconscious learning. With this I address a point (among many) of central importance to the interpretation of Schubert's Winterreise.
Performances of this cycle are spellbinding or painfully long. I have performed the cycle several times in my life, after many years of singing through it and researching it. My second performance was revelatory. After a well-sung first performance three months before, I was not satisfied with the fact that my very able pianist and I had decided on tempi established by others. That was never my approach to interpretation. Although that first performance was very well received, I felt something had been missing. During the three months that separated the first performance and the second, I discovered the inner pulse of the cycle. I had studied Beethoven Symphonies with Gustav Meier, who showed clearly how Beethoven's metronome markings represented metric relationships. This kind of inner pulse is also found in the music of Mozart and indeed many classical composers before and after. I thought it made sense to consider Schubert's cycles in the same manner.
Later in a conversation with one of my other masters, Dalton Baldwin, I learned that he disagreed with Hermann Prey who once told him that he felt there was a constant pulse that ran through all twenty-four songs of Winterreise. I agree with Prey. As Maestro Baldwin explained, the beat works for the first two songs but not throughout. This is however the problem! Prey meant that there was a steady pulse, not necessarily a steady beat. The former deals with a physical sensory perception related to metric values, while the latter with one exact metric value.
The pulse that Hermann Prey must have referred to, but perhaps could not articulate in theoretical terms, is based on metric values that link one song to the next, such as quarter note = dotted quarter note, or eighth-note = triplet sixteenth note, etc. Indeed there can be multiple choices for these metric relationships. In the case of Winterreise, Schubert provides tempo markings that would inform the metric relationships and provide the performers with modifiers that would allow for some flexibility relative to the exact tempo values. As will be obvious, metronome markings would have been superfluous.
A basic pulse can be made up of different subdivisions that can give the illusion of different speeds. This is the paradoxical principle that guides the steady pulse and the varying tempi in Winterreise. If the principle is followed, the chosen tempo for the first song determines the tempi for all of the songs in the cycle. Chosing the first tempo in this case is easy. The published score is marked Mässig (medium). Schubert's autograph score has in addition, In gehender Bewegung (in a walking movement). There is latitude as to the meaning of a walking tempo. Dieskau and Alfred Brendel take quarter note = circa 56, while Thomas Quasthoff and Daniel Barenboim takes quarter note = circa 50. From these values we can extrapolate the metronome markings based on the principles outlined above. Based on the opening tempi, these should be more or less the resultant tempi of the other songs:
Song/TempoDieskau /BrendelQuasthoff/Barenboim
1. Gute Nacht/Mässigquarter=56quarter=50
2. Die Wetterfahne/Ziemlich geschwinddotted quarter=56dotted quarter=50
3.Gefrorne Tränen/Nicht zu langsamhalf note=56half-note=50
23. Die Nebensonnen/Nicht zu langsam42 22 quarter note=23 eighth note 38
24. Der Leiermann/Etwas langsam56 23 triplet eighth note=24 eighth note*
Discussion
Any discussion on Winterreise requires profound considerations. I include the Dieskau/Brendel and Quasthoff/Barenboim performances for consideration because the two singers at least are generational icons relative to German Lieder. I will state upfront that I prefer the Dieskau/Brendel performance for the considerations that will be discussed in the next installments. The metric scheme is multi-layered and is a substantial part of Schubert's formal procedure. This part is an exposition of the metric considerations in the performance of this work. In the second installment I will discuss the metric scheme relative to Schubert's tempo markings and how the cycle proceeds naturally as a result. In the third installment I will discuss the two performances by Dieskau/Brendel and Quasthoff/Baremboim relative to the metric scheme discussed here.
If you have not been reading the blog: Once More With Feeling, you should. Susan Eichorn Young is a fabulous teacher that I am proud to call colleague. Her recent post called What is a Voice Teacher? is a must read. It is her own manifesto of teaching and it speaks to many of the principles that we as teachers of singing aspire to. Her post certainly made me reflect on what is important to me as a teacher, and far from contradicting her I hope that this post will complement her inspirational post.
As I am in the middle of three other posts (one on Winterreise, one on the importance of the released jaw, and one on the abdominal component of breathing), this will be somewhat brief. Indeed, I remember a conversation with Susan when we practically finished each other's thoughts. I believe as she does in the importance of challenging a student to live up to their talents, and that is a complex issue. In my opinion, the most challenging aspect of becoming a successful singer is to recognize the talent we have. In a world that is so driven by the bottom line, ageism, the fast track, entry through the backdoor or side door, I have been telling several of my students they need to slow down and wait until their package has been thoroughly prepared.
Unlike the average I do not give any worth to the obstacles that the business place before us. I firmly believe that all the isms (i.e. ageism, sexual orientation ism, religion ism, racism, height ism, size ism, you name it) are all obstacles placed there for those who need a reason to stop singing. I cannot help but be philosophical about singing. A singer will find his/her place in the firmament only by facing himself/herself. One can look at a singer and ask what is wrong. I prefer to look inside and see what is possible, and without exception, what is possible is beyond anything the singer himself/herself ever expected. But there is a catch! Is the singer willing to live up to what s/he see.
In academia, many singers were not happy with me when they were shown what they could do. I never forgot one brave, ridiculously talented young soprano who said to me: "You don't get it Dr. LaFond! I don't want to be a professional singer. I am waiting for my fiance to be ready so I can get married and become a mom." Inside myself, I was thinking: "then why are you wasting my time?" but I asked her calmly, "then why are you studying singing?" She replied because she likes it and it will be good to sing beautiful lullabies to her children. My feeling remains the same: "Why are you wasting my time then?" There is nothing wrong with a prospective mom studying music, but why aim for a degree in music if she is not going to commit the energy to be the best musician she could be? An amateur singer has the luxury of not having to worry about getting hired and therefore can be thoroughly committed to achieving the highest level possible for the love of the art form. A professional should not have to give up on this ideal in order to be marketable. Inferior quality is not compatible with professionalism.
My knowledge has grown over the years, as I would hope, but one aspect of my approach is constant and that is simply this: my instinct is to expose the student to the limitless possibilities of their talents. Their valor is determined by the degree to which they are willing to live up those possibilities. In the professional arena, the principle does not change. The working singers I teach face the same question: "Do I settle for what I can safely accomplish now, or do I reach for a higher level?" Last week, I taught a very experienced singer who knows more about the state of the operatic field than most people currently working. She is already committed to achieving her best level and so I did not have to do very much beyond showing her what was possible technically, or rather confirm what she already knew. What made that experience fun was that this singer knew herself intimately. She knew what she had accomplished but was not complacent. She felt something more was possible and sought my help. She could have gotten that help from any other competent technician. I am honored that she came to me.
In the end the answer to Susan's question, What is a Voice Teacher? might be different for every teacher and indeed every student. My answer is the following: I will show what is possible. How far you, the student go depends entirely on how far you are willing to go. Those who read my posts on the blog and on NFCS, know me superficially as a technician. But singing for me is a total journey. It is physical, it is mental, it is psychological, it is spiritual. Many would like to limit the teacher's role to what they define. The paradoxical nature of singing permits for an apparent contradiction. I am defined by the student's concept of his/her own needs. The student may also be redefined by my view of what they need to accomplish lasting success.
The process may be illustrated by the following difficult example:
A professional student came to me describing herself as a lyric and wonders what is missing in her technique. I tell her she is a coloratura and has to develop the rest of her top. This is the kind of difficult, challenging impasses we face as singers routinely. This is not just a technical challenge. It is an emotional, psychological and even spiritual challenge. Any opera singer knows how deeply we identify with our voice type. It is exponentially more difficult to make a Fach change after one has established a reputation in a different Fach. Few would understand this problem to the degree that I do. Many questions come to the mind of the singer in question:
1) Can I get those coloratura notes?
2) What coloratura roles are possible after age 30 in the current age-conscious atmosphere
3) Will my coaches and directors think I'm crazy?
4) Will my agent want to continue working with me?
These are all great questions. Why would I make a Fach recommendation in such a situation?
1) The soprano was not getting roles
2) The competition with true lyrics, especially of a younger ilk is tough
3) The high notes can be acquired in a short time if the singer is dedicated and patient
4) The singer is a natural coloratura who got away through her considerable charm doing light lyric roles
5) I hear often from directors and agents whether I have a ready-to-go Lucia or Konstanze in my studio
This is not the story of one coloratura who started as a lyric, but of many. Regardless of what people think, success in opera is about vocal impact first. It is also about not giving casting directors a reason to consider other superficial criteria, but it is about voice first. Thus, I have to make sure that the principle weapon of the singer is in good order. The most exciting repertoire for a coloratura soprano is coloratura repertoire. If the singer can take the time to make the difficult technical, emotional, psychological, spiritual change, I believe she will become more viable and ultimately stronger.
Some of those singers that I have taught have made the change successfully and some others have remained true to their lyric past. The path is ultimately the singer's and that must be respected. Yet vocal philosophy cannot be ignored. I am most at peace as a teacher when the singer's journey is in keeping with his/her vocal nature. I believe the singer would be equally peaceful.
A dear friend who recently read my latest post, responded with "Gesundheit" when he saw the term, Kashudo. I had to explain that it was a concept that came to me spontaneously as I reevaluated my experiences with martial arts and most recently with Bikram Yoga. I feel a need to dedicate a post to the concept of Kashudo. The need to articulate this, as I am working on a book (a guide to the experience of studying singing), has become very important to me. In teaching I am experiencing a widening of horizons I knew could exist but that I have not really experienced to this extent during my many years as a student of singing. The one teacher who embodied this concept in a lasting way in my life is the late coach-accompanist Glenn Parker. We became particularly close while we were doing our doctorates together at the University of Michigan. But he was my greatest teacher during my undergraduate years at Westminster Choir College. Much of the philosophy of my teaching come from my experiences with him. Glenn Parker died in the late fall of 1995 (correction, February of 1996). I was in my first year of teaching at Utah State University and I remember cancelling classes for the day. It was the most devastating loss I had suffered up to that point. Because of duties at school I could not attend his memorial service in the east coast and it killed me. I never told him in just those words how much he meant to me. He asked me to sing his last doctoral recital at the U of Michigan. It was Brahms' Magelonelieder. He narrated from the piano and I sang those beautiful songs. A few years ago, in the process moving from North Carolina (yet another academic job that often feels like a waste of time in retrospect but taught me important lessons about the dark sides of human nature and the courage of a precious few), a friend from my undergraduate days took the drive with me from the South back to the Northeast where I grew up. Among the recordings in my car was a cassette of that performance with Glenn. She was also a student and friend of Maestro Parker and she was curious what our performance together might have been like. We both cried many tears, not only in solemn memory of that unique man, but also in gratitude for what he had instilled in us.
By his side, I was a fearless performer. Although my vocal technique left something to be desired, my spirit was bold and implacable. He instilled total confidence by making the music absolutely crystal-clear. Musical interpretation was not whimsical. It was a product of hours of considering musical issues objectively. He in fact was the one that taught me that the best way to perform a piece is by knowing it inside out, which made it possible to improvise in the moment without fear of going against the nature of the music. In early 1995 when we performed that cycle together, he had transformed me from being his pupil to being his colleague. He asked me questions about the piece because he knew I came completely prepared. He had seen me conduct opera and respected my musicianship. Little did he know that my entry into orchestral conducting had much to do with my desire to become as thorough a musician as he. He even shared his fears with me during that time. A kind of intimacy developed between us that I had wanted so dearly during my undergraduate years. Back then, I often felt as an outsider among the chosen few of the Westminster Choir (the smaller touring ensemble). When I finally had that joining of the spirit with him, he already had AIDS and was not to be long with us. He was only 40 years old.
Kashudo (歌手道),The Way of the Singer, is what I learned through martial arts, tennis, yoga and Glenn Parker. Those activities have nothing to do with arrival, but rather with a lifelong process of self-improvement relative to an ideal that is paradoxically attainable and fleeting. Glenn Parker in no uncertain terms made me feel that I was ready to sing now and simultaneously that on my best day I was not up to the ideal requirements of the music. I could be infinitely confident and humble at the same time.
After one year and three months of training to make the change from bass-baritone to tenor, I feel ever closer to my technical goals. I have felt limited to a full voice high B in context even though I could occasionally touch high C#. Recently, the lighter high voice that I've always had that made one teacher say I might be a Rossini tenor may years ago is now connecting to my fuller voice and becoming more substantial. The journey continues with absolute clarity. I am not in a hurry and that feels right and good.
The Way of the Singer however is not just about vocal technique. It is about musicianship at the highest level because the musical truths of a piece of music dictate what we need to accomplish technically. It is about mastery of languages because we are less complete when we do not have a total image of the complex package of information that accompanies every word; that the English word table is accompanied by different pictures in my mind when compared to the exact same word table in French. It is about a philosophy of people, how they interact in this life, and indeed what this life and the experiences therein (both emotionally subjective and empirically objective) mean to us as a collective of souls. It is about the obvious significance of art and artists in our lives and the paradoxical devaluation of them in our daily existence.
Every artist has had many significant apprenticeships. I should honor each of my masters and probably will right here over time. My significance as an operatic artist, with all the disciplines I have had to experience, took shape in the presence of that magnificent teacher who inspires Love even though he has been physically gone for almost 15 years. We have all had such teachers. In a time when the operatic art form seems more precarious than ever, we need to be confident, bold and indeed humble before the art itself, in order to speak the truth as we see it, forgetting for a few moments the political fallout that might threaten our career aspirations. The careers of artists is about bringing light to the darkness, about investing our souls to bring out change in the narrow minds of those who value material goods over substantial humanity. The operatic art form maybe becoming a business first and an art last, but none of us need to take it lying down. That is the meaning of Kashudo. It is a means of changing our art form from within ourselves. By developing our inner potential, we dare our colleagues to meet us at that level. If each of us is true to himself and the depths of his/her potential, then all the managers will be compelled and happy to sell a substantial product as opposed to just one that can be packaged, the general managers can concentrate on making money since the artistic product is of such quality. In the end, we can change the art form to the ideals that we hold dear simply by holding ourselves to those ideals. That is the meaning of Kashudo. That is the eternal lesson of Maestro Glenn Parker.
None of this is new. It only seems new when we as artists have forgotten our calling. I do not have the luxury of forgetting because the spirit of Glenn Parker lives in me forever as it does all of his students, many of them very famous opera singers, and pianists and conductors.
A colleague/student of mine wrote to me recently requesting that I deal with the issue of coup de glotte, the controversial term coined by Manuel Garcia in the early 19th century. His statement goes as follows:
I had a pedagogy question that I wanted to ask you regarding the "coup de la glotte". Throughout my research of vocal pedagogy I've learned that there are (generally accepted) 3 basic mode of onset: a breathy, aspirate onset; the hard attack; and the balanced onset.
Richard Miller describes these three methods in his books and states that we should all be aiming for the balanced onset to assist in finding an efficient breath management system. His balanced onset coordinates the breath and the tone into one gesture. He recommends an "imaginary h" to assist in the onset of tone.
However, I just re-read and interesting book from my library by James Stark, entitled, "Bel Canto: A History of Vocal Pedagogy" and he posits that Garcia's "coup de la glotte" was in fact a very lighter version of the hard attack whereby the glottis is closed lightly before phonation begins. Stark acknowledges the "balanced onset" of Miller but denies that it is what Garcia meant when he taught the "coup de la glotte".
Is it your feeling that Garcia's "coup de la glotte" (per Stark) is the one that we should be striving to learn and teach? That fourth onset does provide a "firmer" sensation and sound due to the fact that the cords are being sealed before phonation begins. But I do understand how it could become an exaggerated and damaging exercise if taken to extremes.
My reply to this query is based on the posts already on the blog dealing with phonation.
The coup de glotte by definition is based on sensory feedback. In a sense we have to deal with it a a sensory issue. This I prefer to address one on one in a voice lesson. What language I use in such a situation depends on how the student processes information.
There is also a functional component to the query, which I will address here.
Finally there is a linguistic issue to be dealt with.
Let us first deal with the linguistic controversy that the term coup de glotte inspires. The word coup in French means both "blow" and "stroke" depending on context. The more violent "blow" is the one that is often taken by opponents of this technique. A singer and teacher of Garcia's reputation would never subscribe to violence in singing. His technique and that of his daughters, Malibran and Viardot are testament to the kind of singing that he must have advocated. The idea of the glottal stroke (an apt definition for the French terminoligy) is not foreign in vocal pedagogy of any period, whether we call it such, or balanced onset as more science-minded teachers like me would prefer. But what is a balanced onset?
Miller chose a practical approach to the issue. Most scientists of the time would go along with that. The desired result is somewhere between breathy phonation and pressed phonation. However, this is simplistic in light of what we know about phonation. It is not simply an issue of how close the vocal folds come together that produces this feeling of security and freedom (pressure/flow balance). It is also an issue of fold depth. (Please refer to the post: The distinction between weight and tension). Fold depth will have a strong effect on how breath flow is opposed by the glottal obstruction and therefore how firm the glottal closure feels to the singer. Fold depth is influenced by the singer's concept of his/her own sound. Developing a sense of the true vocal color will bring the instrument into balance. Likewise, dealing with issues of fold depth and fold closure as necessarily combined influences on phonation will yield the balanced sound that the singer should recognize as the true sound.
There is also an issue of continuous breath pressure. Breathing coordination/management must be organized such that the folds do not spontaneously squeeze from lack of adequate air pressure.
Finally, there is the issue of supraglottal inertial reactance (let us call it SIR for short). We have dealt with this issue in several posts. The importance of supraglottal inertial reactance (googling this term will yield results both on the blog and elsewhere on the internet that would be beneficial to read). In short under correct acoustical conditions (e.g. correct laryngeal depth and vowel choice), SIR provides a state of the vocal tract whereby the air above the the folds acts as a sealing mechanism. In such a case, the folds do not need to be totally touching during entire length of the close phase. Yet by this acoustic phenomenon, the glottis is indeed totally sealed for that fraction of time, enough to encourage a kind of easier flow that does not fatigue the phonation muscles from increased subglottic pressure as would be the case when the folds completely touch or squeeze.
Considering the many factors that come into play to achieve a balanced onset, the coup de glotte as described by Garcia constitute a sensory feedback experience once a coordination has been achieved between fold depth, fold closure, breath management and acoustic adjustment. The Bel Canto schools of singing were in fact based upon sensory experiences that may or may not yield the conditions necessary for balanced singing, because the teacher's own physical experience as passed on to the student might not contain a complete conception of the several issues pertaining to balanced singing. I am more apt to entertain the thought that Garcia's experience was that of a complete vocal concept. Yet, he faced a great obstacle from linguistics already, let alone the explanation of the concept.
Such are the eternal issues of vocal pedagogy. The dangers lie in attempting to express total vocal function in terms of a single sensation. Indeed, when the voice is balanced, all we sense is a flow of sound. However, to achieve such a state, the singer must become aware of the sensations associated with imbalance in specific areas. These sensations are froth with contradictions. The sensation of chest voice (anchoring in the chest) for example, does yield greater fold depth, and increased opposition to the air stream. If this is added to a voice that was pressed from inadequate depth, the result could be disastrous. Yet, adequate depth is necessary. In such a case it is important to address flow simultaneously to ascertain that the student is releasing the glottal squeeze before greater fold depth is added.
In adressing balanced onset, it is my recommendation that a teacher deals with all the elements that could have an effect on phonation. Guide the student to pay attention to all the elements until s/he accomplishes a personal sensation associated with balance as confirmed by the teacher's feedback and a recording for the student's personal gratification (for the balanced voice always sounds inadequate to the student the first time).
Garcia's experience was sensory. Miller's directive in his books was theoretical and logical, James Stark's proposition was practical relative to his own vocal taste. The idea of closing the glottis first has been discounted resoundly. Starting with a closed glottis yields a snowball effect of greater medial tension forced apart by increased subglottal pressure. Theoretically, I would have to disagree with Stark. Yet he may get good results with this approach. The tone might be somewhat tense at the beginning, and he would probably correct the tension over time. What I do not agree with is that the final product requires a mild glottal onset.
What does seem plausible however is the paradoxical nature of SIR. At the moment of onset, it is possible that the vocal tract is in an inertial state, which could be the condition necessary for a sealed glottis by way of inertial loading. In such a system, the entire process is breath driven and the singer would feel a combination of resistence and flow with little effort. This could be what Stark is advocating. However, without taking SIR into consideration, his only option based on sensory feedback would have to be that there some glottal resistence. The only other option would have to be that the folds are closed at onset.
In the end, the final product is indeed based on the individual singer's voice, and it changes over time. Some are lucky enough to maintain a natural, balanced voice from childhood. We other mortals, must find that golden fleece again and keep our sights on it. It is fleeting and requires time in order to truly own it. In other words, balanced onset or indeed the experience of Garcia's coup de glotte is a process. The moment we experience a balanced onset, we think we have discovered something brand new, when in fact the principles that lead us to balance have been in use for months before resulting into that magical sensation of pressure-flow equilibrium. Knowledge can be immediate. Coordination takes time.
After my laptop was stolen in NY (car break-in, long story) I have been a little handicapped relative to computer access. The problem is being worked on and I anticipate being fully active again in a couple of days. Lots to share! Thank you for your many positive responses to the last couple of posts.
I have always equated singing with figure-skating. In the sport, it is very transparent that grace depends very much on strength, and the skillful management thereof. Skaters like Michelle Kwan and Brian Boitano are considered masters for all time. They embody the values of a sport that like opera has seen standards drop for the sake of audience consumption. Quadruple Axles are considered more important than the graceful footwork (figures) for which the sport was named. The difficult figures are not even part of competitive figure skating anymore. Perhaps very much like scales no longer form a part of the teaching of many teachers.A recent, entertaining New York Times article lampoons a voice teacher who has his students do scales and the unsuspecting neighbor who becomes unnerved by the incessant vocalizations and begs for a song to be sung all the way through. This reveals very much the poor understanding of not only the opera-going public, but also questions whether the teachers who are supposed to be the custodians of the technique of opera know any better or even care. Well some do. Many don’t.
The either/or simplicity of a world culture bent on fast foods and immediate gratification cannot conceive that an “and” ideology has the potential of greater entertainment value. It is perfectly possible to build a modern opera for consumption while preserving the values of tradition.
This is a pedagogical question because those who run the business of classical singing dictate for better or for worse (I think mostly for worse these days) the way teachers prepare their students. I am rather ideological with a practical bent, so I aim to prepare the students with traditional values in mind but fully prepared to meet the changing landscape of this complex field.
Consider the Metropolitan Opera! The bastion of operatic conservatism has loosened its dogmatic approach in the person of Peter Gelb, the new General Manager who has been a subject on opera forums as popular as President Obama is in the political forums. It has not been all good, but it is certainly not all bad. Personally, I am a proud subscriber of Met Player. With the same high standards that brought Met Titles, the Metropolitan Opera’s web designers have created a gorgeously high quality product that boasts the smoothest video streaming on the Internet. Customer Service at all levels of the Met is top notch. Yet the operatic product for which this house is known has been terribly compromised. Yes we have the beautiful triumvirate of German-rooted singers, Diana Damrau, Rene Pape and the Polish tenor Piotr Bezcala. Yes we have the mighty Stephanie Blythe who makes an opera singer proud to be American. Still, most of the performances I have attended at the Met recently left me completely cold, to such a point that I have had to leave after the first act of three performances after shelling over $100 for a ticket.
Why is the ratio of good to bad performances at the Met so dismally tipped to the bad?
Opera aficionados agree on the idea that the Met has become a business first and an art institution last. Consider this paradigm! The Met seats nearly 4000! On an average Saturday matinee it is probably full, but 4000 is probably peanuts compared to the numbers represented worldwide in movie theaters through a satellite simulcast. This strategy is fantastic on the one hand. Many more people are experiencing Met productions visually the way many of us did aurally through radio in generations past. On the other hand, are they really experiencing opera: that gladiator-art where singers take advantage of acoustic law to do battle with a 100-piece orchestra and win, all the while defying gravity with top notes that threaten to shatter crystal chandeliers and low notes that resonate in the chests of audience-members, and all the while dealing with philosophy and poetry and life at quite possibly the highest level possible in art? More than likely, not! With broadcast microphones turned up to rival the soundtrack of the latest X-Men flick in Dolby Sound Surround, the battle with the orchestra is no longer part of the equation. And the philosophy and poetry is too often not grasped by the people performing because the jaded operatic businessman and the sheepish artists who often follow think that the audience will not get it anyway.
This is the grave error that the opera business people (i.e. general managers, agents, directors, etc) are making. They seem to think that the defining qualities of opera are no longer relevant; that the only way to sell tickets in a visually stimulated world is to have size zero pseudo-divas whose frail forms can barely support their clothing let alone the rigors of singing a full-length opera. I have nothing against a size zero Carmen if I can hear her. I have no problem with a Don Giovanni with a ripped six-pack if his voice is authoritative enough to make me believe he can defy the elemental figure of a stone statue come to life.
Three years ago, I found myself in a touristy little bar in the Kreuzberg section of Berlin. I was enjoying my beer, when the bartender came out and said: “I heard you are an opera-singer!” I said yes! He said that they were having a Karaoke night and he wanted me to sing something. I told him I could not. There is nothing worse than a professional singer crashing a Karaoke party. It’s bad taste. He said he already announced that I would sing and that he would not serve me if I did not come down to the cellar where this was taking place. It was his way of being friendly, so I went expecting to find a Sinatra tune I would do. The list was rather thin, so I decided to sing a Neapolitan song a cappella, sans microphone (as any self-respecting opera singer would). The rowdy crowd was still talking when I broke into O paese d’o sole. Suddenly the place was dead silent and with a Toreador-like gesture a la Carreras-Domingo, I finished with the climactic top note. The place roared with approval. I was not even in good voice, but it is not so difficult for a trained singer to vibrate the walls of a relatively small room. Several genuinely stunned people told me they could not believe the human voice could make such a big sound (on a tangential note, it should have been the clue that I was in fact a tenor, for I sang the piece in the original key).
That experience in Kreuzberg was followed a couple of years later by a production of Macbeth, which I directed for the Berlin International Opera, a group of international singers who got together in Berlin to create singing opportunities for themselves. The production received wonderful reviews, even though our budget was probably 1/10000 that of the Metropolitan opera’s average for a production. The values were classic: great, resonant voices in a small space that truly stunned people; modern costumes (i.e. soldiers in modern German Army fatigues, etc), a witch ceremony during the overture, coupled with thunder and battle sounds to set the scene, a light show during the apparitions scene, and a loud gun-battle during the final battle music. Duncan was killed visibly on stage and we saw the reactions of Lady and Macbeth to the various sounds they heard, all of it created the basis for a variation during the sleepwalking scene. All the extraneous ballet music and some of the witches’ choruses that slowed the progress of the play were cut. As a result, the story was brought closer to the Shakespeare original.
Opera is not rocket science. It has intrinsic values that are spine-tingling, hair-raising, tear-jerking and heart-warming. One does not need to do traditional productions in the sense of period costumes, but one can bring clarity, a new perspective, and yes absolute relevance by understanding the impact of a logical musical phrase, especially when produced by a healthy strong human voice with a clear understanding of the language of music.
Strong is a tenor singing a full-bodied (not just full-throated) high C. It is a completely different thing when that high C is crooned in some reinforced falsetto called head-voice by those who have never sung an unamplified note with a large orchestra. Strong is a ballet dancer balancing on her toes, and the male partner who carries her seemingly effortlessly over his head. Strong is Diana Damrau sustaining a full-voice high Eb (not a flute-voice faux top note). It is Johann Botha singing the prize song and making that punishing tessitura sound easy, while every audience member feels his very bones vibrate in sympathy because the sound is that visceral and primal. It is James Morris even at his advance age singing the Villains in Hoffmann with thundering sound and acting mastery. It is Stephanie Blythe making Orfeo relevant again, because such a voice would make any opera worth hearing. It is Kim Begley making Herod a lead role as opposed to a mere character part because his secure, beautiful voice reflects the strengthening that comes with years of proper singing. It is not about big voices or small voices, but rather about substantial, supported voices coupled with musical and dramatic intelligence.
Yesterday, in a German opera house, I met a 30-something lyric baritone who sings in the chorus. He approached me about a voice lesson because he had to sing Carmina Burana solos soon. He was gifted with a beautiful voice, was musically impeccable (even singing the baritone solos from memory) and a handsome lad besides. We worked to help him support his voice more completely and suddenly with a little tweaking he was the equal of some of his leading colleagues at the opera house. I know because I heard them. The voices are not lacking. As a lyric baritone, that excellent singer would have been viable in our current system 10 years ago before he knows how to support his voice. Now more than likely, some other baritone 10 years his junior who cannot yet support his voice but cuts a dashing figure will fill the requirements for some coveted young artist program at a major A-house, and will have fulfilled his worth, which is to fill small roles that are less expensive when done by a young artist rather than a bona fide character singer. Then five years from now, most likely we will not hear about this young singer because he could not move forward for lack of a viable technique. Then fully supported lyrical voices will undertake dramatic roles because no one wants to wait for real dramatic voices to develop and more lyric voices will bite the dust before their 40th birthdays. We all know the story.
Opera is the vocal equivalent of ballet and of figure-skating. Grace and poetry require strength and intelligence and above all the patience to learn how. I remember one rare moment of original wisdom: a young colleague was disappointed when all the attention was given to another singer who had a naturally strong voice, although she had the intelligence and grace of a porcupine. On that wonderful spring day in Ann Arbor, Michigan, I told her to uproot one blade of grass. She accomplished it on her first try. Then I told her to try to uproot three blades of grass simultaneously. She failed four times in a row. I then told her that the first task was what her colleague had accomplished—a one-dimensional challenge. Then I told her that she had failed at what she was attempting to accomplish (i.e. a combination of vocal balance, conscious musicianship, linguistic mastery and professional stagecraft), which requires patience, skill, balanced strength and faith. Just as the young pianist who gets attention is the trained monkey who can play all the notes too fast, the young singer who gets attention is often the one that has a level of strength and coordination that came from accidently being brought up in a good speaking environment and around someone who recognized the vocal potential. The establishment believes that this basic muscular coordination constitutes a potential artist. In truth it is rather the musically sensitive, intelligent singer who has the potential to become the great artist. Intelligence and musical sensitivity must be fostered early on to become substantially viable. That means a house where music of high quality and variety is at least listened to if not actively performed, whether it be a father singing his daughter to sleep or a grandmother humming a simple tune with feeling and perfect intonation.
Without this accidental or consciously prepared environment the seed of musical sensitivity might not be sewn. Hence, there is no guarantee that the vocal or pianistic monkey will graduate to become an artist. YET, THE VOCAL INSTRUMENT CAN BE COORDINATED AND STRENGTHENED TO PROFESSIONAL QUALITY AT ANY TIME PROVIDED THERE IS A TEACHER WHO UNDERSTANDS HOW TO GET IT FROM POINT ZERO TO POINT PERFECT AND A STUDENT WHO IS NOT AFRAID TO SWEAT.
At very least there was a time when the vocal monkey had chops. A voice that thrilled right away with its power! Now the acceptable vocal show-monkey only needs to sound pretty and even. Pretty is not operatic! Beautiful is operatic. And beauty requires substance. Beauty is strong and primal and elemental. Beauty grips one with power. Pretty simply does not offend, and that is not enough! Leontyne Price sang a visceral pianissimo that vibrated the heart itself. I was fortunate enough to hear that pianissimo live in 1989 at Hill Auditorium in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Nowadays singers are being taught to release a flute voice sound or a falsetto and it is considered singing. And the impresarios do not really care, as long as tickets are being sold. And thus I conclude with this thought: the audience may not know when it is not being thrilled, but it certainly knows when it is being thrilled. I recommend that we custodians of the art form aim for the noble pursuits of the latter situation rather than bank on the ignorant precepts of the former. In order to do that we must cherish the intrinsic value of our art form and not apologize for it.
Most of all, it seems every one involved is playing the victim, saying that opera is moving in a new direction and there is nothing we can do about it. Opera in the movies is not going to rival The Fast and the Furious. Opera can thrive if it is sold for what it is and not what it appears to be superficially.
