Teaching voice

There's a "new" phenomenon sweeping the world - the "American Idol" thing.  Not NEW, per se, but not time-tested, either.  It's an interesting thing, and obviously very pop-culture.  America's Got Talent's another one, and a little scarier, because they're not really looking for talent, they're looking for talent with a "hook," or a "back-story," or something to capture the fickle US audience attention.  We cannot be content with appreciating vocal beauty in a well-trained voice, or even the natural beauty of a well-trained singer.  We have to have the "wow" factor.

Unfortunately, it also shoots these folks right to the top of their 15 minutes of fame.

This means that parents are invested in having their children "study" voice earlier and earlier.

It also means that it looks "easy" to be a singer, and by extension, a voice teacher.

Voice is a tricky instrument.  When I start my new students, one of the questions I inevitably ask is "what makes voice different from other instruments?"  There are a number of answers, all of which are correct:  "Other than my piano which doubles as a filing cabinet, voice is the only instrument that's used for other purposes than making music," is my smart-alek answer.  How about: "It uses text."  Or "it changes throughout its lifetime?" Or "It's flesh-and blood."

All of those are right, and it's the last two that make one think.  Our voices are not the same throughout our lives.  They do change.  Our voices are made of organic material, and are used for much more than singing.  Damage to the vocal tract, whether by bad technique, bad luck, illness, or injury can be difficult to fix, sometimes even impossible.

And yet, parents want their children, who are working with an instrument that hasn't even begun the journey to maturity (this happens around puberty, folks, though it's a very individual thing) to "study" voice.  They want to make little pop-or-popera-or-opera idols of them.  They can't wait.

Some will succeed.  The odds are with that.  Others?  Disasters waiting to happen.

It's ok to sing when you're young, but true training of a voice should be taken on as a serious act.  The trainer should be someone who is aware of the different types of voices, the different phases of vocal growth, and the different things that might harm a voice, both organic, and active.  Said trainer should, in fact, be trained to teach voice.

I'm a singer.  I don't dispute that.  I'm not a "natural performer," but I am a singer.  I've had good luck with my voice, regardless of physical issues that have affected it.  I have good technique.  Better than that, I understand my technique.  I can teach my technique.  I have also studied how to teach voice - and have studied about illnesses, medications, damage, and growth.

I understand that muscles are trainable.  Muscle memory plays a great role in vocal technique.  Firmness in the larynx matters to vocal maturity.  Much older voices lose flexibility in the larynx due to increased firmness.  And so on.

So, please, tell me why it is that the people who do teach children are the ones who do NOT know these things, and the ones who know these things are generally those who won't train children?

Why is it ok for a music school to hire and promote (a community music school) a teacher who has only sung for ten years, and doesn't have a music degree?  Why is it ok for that person, who held a responsible job in another field, to think she can teach voice?  Why is she teaching the most vulnerable of students?   Money?  The American Idol/America's Got Talent push?  A way to fund a music school so they can focus on the things they find "more important" like piano, strings, winds?

Where do parents get the idea that their 4-year-olds need to train vocally?  Why do they have to be little belters at that age, and not experience the joy of singing just to sing, in a youth chorus?  Oh, that's right - because they are STARS.

When they're 30, and a number of them have vocal trouble, will they even remember that they had a teacher who really had no clue, or a community music school that really wanted their money?  Probably not - they'll just wonder why they have intermittent bouts of laryngitis.

I am going to yet another interview for a position with a place that has such a teacher, and in a position of authority.  As is the case with most of these types, she believes she knows "a lot."

I'm just glad that those folks don't decide to become brain surgeons mid-life, or that, if they do, they have to study, train and certify to practice the art.  It would be good if voice teachers had to be certified too.

Because we only have one voice, and it's changing all the time.  It's organic, it's vulnerable, and it's possible to do things to one's voice that are irreparable.

THAT's what makes voice different from other instruments.

Still learning

Ancora imparo:  I'm still learning.

I drove into Boston for my voice lesson today.  While it's true that I teach more students than my teacher (presently), it's also true that he's a master, and is my senior and better.  I don't say that lightly. There are many things that I would say I'm adequate with, things I'd say I do rather well, but the one thing I truly excel at is teaching voice.  He is better.   It is, dare I say, why I go to him.

He and I were a little too in-tune today.  He let me rant on something that I really shouldn't have ranted about, but in so doing, he actually got my brain turned in the right direction regarding the situation.  Prior to my time with D., I was sure that I was a loser, that there was no way that this could not be my fault.  I was sure that I deserved the mess*.

After leaving D., it became obvious that this is not my fault.  It's the fault of the situation - and the fault of the person who has chosen to make "power" a status symbol.  What's happening, though, isn't true power, it's merely abuse.   One might even call it bullying, something I know she's done before.

Power:  "The ability to do something, or act, the ability to accomplish something."  Even:  "Power is a measurement of an entity's ability to control its environment, including the behavior of other entities."

Ok - so she can, to some extent, control her own environment.  She CANNOT control me.  She can make my life a little more difficult, and she can ensure that I don't step foot in that building again as an employee, despite the fact that she can't hire me.  She can stop me from teaching in that location, and can deprive the students of that institution of my skills.  She can make sure that, if I choose to stay in the institution, I don't get as many hours as I need.

She cannot, however, control who I am. She can't change my mind.  She can't take away my knowledge, nor stop me from helping another organization to become competition for this organization, or from becoming competition for this organization on my own.  She cannot take away my abilities, something I believe is at the crux of the issue as a whole, due to past interactions.  And thus, her power, such as it is, is limited.

This is something D. helped me learn today.  I am grateful.  True power is the ability to actually change people, not merely to bully them into submission.

*The situation involves someone who controls my teaching schedule at one organization with which I am affiliated.  We are in a battle of wills - she is upset about my qualifications, and wishes me to teach young children voice (to bring in money, and, I think, to "put me in my place,") and frequently speaks of her "power" over people.

Intro to who?

It seems odd to start a new venture at the end of summer.  It's the time things are beginning to die, right?  The trees and grass all have that wilted, faded look, even in this summer of adequate rain.  The days are getting shorter.  There's a chill in the air on some mornings. 

Ever since I was a kid, I've loved autumn, and thought of it as a sort of new year.  It's the beginning of a new school year, something I always loved as a child, and don't mind much now that I'm a teacher.  Sure, I miss my long, lazy summer days, the much slower pace of life that summer brings.  Yet I love the new school year stretching in front of me like a blank canvas, full of promise, and looking for color.  As a student, I always thought each school year had so many possibilities, and I was both excited and frightened to see them.  The better I knew a place, the more it was excitement.  Transitions, of course, were harder. 

Who am I?  That is the question.  I am a sort-of singer, classically-trained.  I am a full-on teacher of voice.  

I struggle. I struggle with who I am, though I am definitely a full adult.  I struggle with weight, with my body, with my voice, with how others see me.  Am I the me I think I am, or am I the me I see (and others reflect) in the mirror?  I don't know. Mirror, or me?  That is the question. 

Look behind the mirror, and there I am, tap, tap, tapping my way out.  Do I invite you in?  That's a little bit of what this is, a tentative invitation into my world, the way I see things, decidedly different from others, so I've been told.  Maybe not as much as others think. 

Welcome.