Sunday Night 24 Italian Song Marathon

Some followers of this blog may have been wondering what became of my 24 Italian Arias in 24 Weeks project in the event of my having had the little blog crisis (written about in the post Avocational Singer -- MIA)

Well, I'm sorry to say that at the time the blog flew out the window, the 24 Arias project kind of went with it.

It was a very sad thing for me, because, as you know, I was very attached to that project and very excited about it.  In fact, my pursuit of vocal arts was on the verge, for the first time in over 25 years, of being completely abandoned.

I let myself get out of vocal shape over several weeks, and could not even look at a song.  I could barely sing in choir.  It was a real crisis.

However, I did pick myself up and begin the discipline again of my daily practice.  It took a while to get my vocal cords responding well again -- a few weeks.  Once they were back in balance, I could resume my progress.

However, I couldn't bring myself to look at one of the 24 until this week.

Tonight, I decided to revisit the 9 songs I learned over those nine weeks when I was intensely working on the project.  I just sang through the songs to see if new vocal insights about breath pressure made a difference.  I have also had a breakthrough in understanding about vowel formation when the guest conductor for our choir -- Leonardo San Juan -- modeled the positions in a way that finally got through to me.  (see post about working with a living composer) With the combination the the new awareness of regulating the breath along with this new insight about forming vowels, I am headed in new directions and I'm excited about it.

Once I got going singing through the songs tonight,  I decided to just keep going and I had a little mini-marathon.  I took out some of the other of the 24 that I had worked on over the years before I started this 24 Arias in 24 Weeks project.

By the time I got finished, my voice was pretty shot -- heh heh! 

I'm laughing because even though I probably oversang tonight, I had a LOT of fun and I can feel that everything will be all right in the morning.

My cords are pretty strong.  I think I was ready for a marathon like this. In fact, some of the last few songs I did -- Caro mio ben, Se florindo, Nel cor, O del mio dolce ardor -- were actually sounding better than when I started.

There are so many wonderful musical advantages to knowing these 16 songs, but one of the best, I have been realizing, is that I have a set of pieces that I can take out and work and re-work as I discover new vocal ideas.  It is fantastic -- simply fantastic.  If I'm working on my "Eh" vowel, for example (written about in last post, "From "Ay" to "Eh"), I can whip out one of the learned songs and play around with the new ideas.  They are almost like song templates or something, where all the issue and problems of singing can be figured, configured, and reconfigured.

I can explain this to you in words, but it is an experiential thing, and one has to experience getting to know so many of these songs intimately to really understand what it is like to have them as tools in the background of one's singing life.

I could do well with these 16 songs.  Really, there's enough there to take me through so much.  However, I cam going to proceed with my project and learn the rest of the songs.  I may not do one a week.  I may go faster, or I may proceed more slowly, but I shall continue to familiarize myself with this wonderful set of teething rings for singers!  Stay with me for more.

In the meantime, you can hear all 16 songs I sang through tonight (if you can stand it) in Frescamari's Practice Room if you care to:  Click here for the Sunday Night 24 Italian Song Marathon

Moving from "Ay" to "Eh"

Today, while practicing singing, I became much more strongly aware that my failure to habitualize singing the "e" sound in Italian as a more open "eh" as opposed to my natural "ay" sound was of greater importance than I had realized.

Up until now, when teachers and mentors have corrected this faulty tendency to sing "e" like "ay" I have dutifully complied in the moment, and made a mental note to be more careful and make sure I do it.

However, I have not taken the drastic step of spending concentrated practice time with the specific goal to correct this problem of mine.  My approach thus far has been less focused, just trying to correct it if I think of it, or leaving it up to chance almost that it was going to fix itself eventually.

But as I discover more and more and am moving into more advanced territory with my singing, I am beginning to see how this more open "eh" shape is needed to facilitate the better singing.

In that book I mentioned yesterday, The Inner Athlete: Realizing Your Fullest Potential, by Dan Millman, he talks about the need for preparation and laying a good foundation.  If we don't prepare, he says, we risk developing bad or compensatory habits. Mr. Millman says, in fact, that "nearly every difficulty we face in our chosen form of training can be traced to skippnig steps in the past -- to weakness in our foundation. [emphasis mine]"

Today I came to recognize one of these weaknesses in my foundation, and before I proceed further, I want to tend to it.  I have come to realize today that a failure on my part to improve my faulty "e" vowel could lead to such a development of compensatory habits as I move into more advanced singing.  I decided to take some considerable time and effort today to work on the "e" problem.

Mr. Millman has quoted an anonymous person as having said,

"Champions in any field have made a habit of doing what others find boring or uncomfortable."

Although I'm not exactly ready to describe myself as a "champion",  the work I did today on the "e" vowel today was tedious, boring, and uncomfortable.  It took a lot of patience.  I put the recordings of my work up in the practice room, but most people will probably find them as boring and tedious to listen to as they were to execute and will not bother to continue to listen after a few seconds.

However, this is the work that is building the right foundation, and after I was done, the good stuff that it did to my singing is undeniable.  So the time and patience it took to belabor the "e" was worth while.  There is a payoff, and once the student recognizes that payoff, the motivation to get through the tedious steps becomes much greater and patience increases!

After having worked this way today, I have come to the conclusion that correcting this "e" is not a mere cosmetic or aesthetic correction.  The more open "eh" sound is actually foundational, physically, to getting the instrument working properly.  A better "eh" shape helps the vocal line and the flow of air, and is important in lining up the whole technique.

Here is the manner in which I proceeded:  First, I went through the text of the song and wrote "eh" above every place there was an "e" vowel.  I decided to do this because my physical reaction to seeing the "e" vowel on a page was to connect with my habitual regional more closed "ay" sound, so I had to break the visual-physical hold that was so strong.  By writing "eh" I had a new visual to connect with.  I had hoped to reprogram myself to respond to the written "e" in a new physical way, but it obviously wasn't happening.  In  humility, I realized I needed to help myself by writing "eh" over and over again.

What better song for this then the very first of the 24 Italian songs I've worked on recently,  Sebben crudele?

The next thing I did was read through the words, exaggerating the places where there was an "eh."

And finally, I sang through the songs with this new "eh" awareness.  Besides Sebben crudele, I used O cessate di piagarmi, and also Pieta Signore.  It was very fortunate that I have learned these songs, because I now find I have vehicles for these kinds of exercises all ready for work.

In the past, I have skipped over many foundational basics, but from now on I shall keep the following of  Mr. Millman's words in mind as I approach the work of mastering singing:

"... Few of us act on the basis of our understanding in our haste to achieve flashy skills, because preparation isn't as exciting, or because we don't understand how to build a foundation ..."

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Click here to observe and listen to "e" vowel work in Frescamari's Practice Room:  (working on "Eh" vowel shape)
Click here for an interesting research paper on vowel formation in singers:  "An Investigation of the Acoustic Vowel Space of Singing" by Evan Bradley
Click here to read a subsequent post with evolved understanding of the [e] vowel:  "The Tongue and the [e] Vowel"

Me and High Notes

No matter what you imagine your limitations to be -- no matter what your body looks or feels like now, even if you've been in a slump for a year -- if you're willing to undergo the initiation necessary to develop your talent, you will become a natural athlete.  All the qualities are within you native to you. You may have to direct more energy and time than someone else in order to bring out the proper qualities, but you certainly have the capacity to do it.

Dan Millman

from the book The Inner Athlete: Realizing Your Fullest Potential 

When I read that quote this morning from the book mentioned above, I definitely thought of my quest to develop the higher range of my voice.

It has taken me a long long time to be able to sing anything like a high note.

And it is taking me even longer, now that I can make some noise "up there" to create any kind of sound that is at all musical.

My relationship with high notes has been complex.  Originally, they were a great mystery to me.  As a child, I would open my  mouth and try to sing a high note and a kind of ugly squawk would come out.  I just didn't get it at all.  I didn't even know how to begin.  I decided that it was simply something that was not in my repertoire of things I could do.

But when I first started taking voice lessons over 25 years ago, my teacher said that I was a soprano.  Well, as they say, you could have blowed me over with a feather!  Me?  A soprano?

But how could she possibly say that when I couldn't sing any high notes?  She just didn't seem to notice that I couldn't sing any high notes.  Aren't sopranoes supposed to sing high notes?

So, for a while, I tried to believe that  I was going to be able to sing high notes.

After a time of having little success with this, however, I did reach a point where I finally decided I just did not have the physiology for it, and resigned myself to the limited voice I had been endowed with by nature.

Now here, however, is an example where vocal science and a little knowledge of physiology can contribute to the development of a singer.  When I studied the way the whole thing worked, it seemed to me that based on what I was understanding -- based on the way the thing was designed, and based on the way muscles worked -- that I ought to be able to develop high notes.  So, I became determined to find out, once and for all, whether I indeed could or not sing high notes.  I made a decision to dedicate myself to the project of developing the higher range of my voice.  Something inside me believed that my inability with high notes was not a natural physical limitation, but something else, and I wanted to find out.

In the same book mentioned above -- The Inner Athlete: Realizing Your Fullest Potential, by Dan Millman -- the author tells the story of his friend's 4-year-old daughter who looked at the birds flying and decided she might be able to do that.  His friend allowed his daughter to repeatedly jump off the couch flapping her arms, trying and trying to fly.  The author asked his friend why he just didn't save her all that time and trouble and tell her that humans couldn't fly and the friend said that he didn't want to tell her that humans couldn't fly because he might be wrong.  The father of the little girl had the wisdom to allow her to explore her abilities and discover the natural limitations of her physical powers on her own.

Sometimes in my quest to develop high notes, I have wondered if I am, like the little girl, trying to learn to do something that is not possible for me.  I have wondered if I will waste a lot of time working to develop a skill that I don't necessarily need, and that in the end I will find out that it was something that I never was going to be able to do after all.

Yet, this journey of believing that it is possible and that I will be able to do it is so interesting and wonderful.  I have made more progress than I would have believed before I started.  And as long as I am still making progress, I must continue.  I will continue until it is very clear to me that I am limited in this way and just will not be able to do it.  Until that day comes, I must keep trying.

Some motivation came my way in recent months.  It was a beautiful piece of music.  Maybe -- just maybe --this is the best motivation of all to inspire one to acquire better skill.  The desire to put voice to a beautiful vocal line.  A vocal line that beckons to be sung.

In our recent choir concert, we performed the premier of the Magnificat of Argentinian composer, Leonardo San Juan.  The Et Misericordia that he wrote as a solo for a soprano is one of the most beautiful songs that I have ever heard.  There is one line in particular that soars up to a high A and tumbles back down again in such a graceful manner and it tugs at my heartstrings and makes me want to experience it in my voice.

Yet, alas, the tessitura is beyond my reach.  When I took a look at the song in my practice studio, and attempted to sing the lines, the tension and discomfort was unbelievable.  And it sounded as bad as it felt.

Still, I made a little challenge for myself to try to use the song as an exercise -- to see if I couldn't get it to the point where I could sing it.

Well, I've been singing this Et Misericordia for weeks. There has been progress and little incremental improvements, but overall, it was not anything fit for consumption.  In fact, a few times I wanted to post the work I did on it in my practice room, but withdrew it from embarrassment.

Until today.  I had a little breakthrough with my understanding today of the way I was using breath pressure.  I realized something that freed it up a little bit and I think I'm on to something that is going to payoff before too long.  I managed to catch the moment on one of my recordings and I'll post it in Frescamari's Practice Room a little later.

If things go the way I would like, and you stick with me on this journey, you may yet get to hear me do "a little something" with high notes before the end of my blogging days.  I shall definitely keep you posted.

Working With a Living Composer

This week my choir has been engaged in the very exciting experience of premiering in North America a gorgeous piece of music by a contemporary Argentinian composer. We are presenting Magnificat, by Leonardo San Juan.

When it was announced that this composer was going to come here from his native land to conduct our choir, it sounded like a good thing, but I did not realize how special the experience would be.

The way that the composer knows the music seems very deep to me, because it originated within him. There is something about that connection, being at the source, that makes the music feel alive for me in a way that I did not foresee or expect. If I may make a weak analogy, it is something like the difference between having a bottle of spring water, and taking a canteen and dipping it right into the spring where the water comes from. Not exactly ... but a little like that.

We have already had our first very successful concert event -- this past Saturday in Hoboken, NJ -- and will have another one in Manhattan this Wednesday, May 26. For details you can click the link on the sidebar of this blog or click here: Cantigas Women's Choir.

I hope some of you will be able to come, because this Magnificat is very beautiful and you will be enriched by it as I have been.

"Rose-in-the-Teeth Panache"

While reviewing the many pieces of music we are preparing for our choir's impending concert, I got distracted by reading some very lengthy instruction notes in the front of our score for the huapango-styled song Las Amarillas.by Stephen Hatfield.

I came to this instruction:

"Keep in mind that the most important thing about the words in Las Amarillas is the rose-in-your-teeth panache of the diction"

Now I was not sure what "rose-in-your-teeth panache" was exactly.  In a vague kind of way I knew what the editor meant, but the phrase stimulated my curiosity to know precisely, so I decided to google the phrase to deepen my understanding of the meaning of the notion of  "rose- in-the-teeth panache."

I found all kinds of curious things.

The first site to lay out a definition of the expression was a line of bras called Panache Bras.

Panache Bras had this to say:

"The dictionary defines "panache" as "flamboyant, stylish elegance." There could be no more appropriate description for the line of Panache bras about to be laid at your feet, so to speak. Add to those wonderful attributes those of comfort, support, and an indefinable something. You'll soon realize you don't need a dictionary to describe magic in lingerie."

"You'll want to dance the night away in the Panache Tango Plunge Bra. Slip a rose between your teeth and discover the true meaning of "flamboyant" when you slip on this bra."

Next stop was a site selling some sheet music for "Habanera" from Carmen. The description of the sheet music read:

"Played with panache, this transcription of Carmen’s opening aria will stop any show – especially with the addition of some simple costuming or a rose in your teeth."

Next, I found a kindred soul-seeker asking profoundly on yahoo answers:

"Why is putting a rose in your teeth considered sexy?"

Evidently this question was resolved two years ago when the asker posted the best answer:

"Actually that shite [sic] is only in the movies. Man can you imagune [sic] the thorns ripping your lips up if you did it for real. LMAO"

Ah, the wisdom that is out there in cyberspace, if only we knew how to find it!!

Getting a bit more academic, on Wikipedia I learned that "panache" is a French word that "carries the connotation of a flamboyant manner and reckless courage." The literal meaning is "plume," like the kind worn in a helmet or hat. It used to have an unfavorable meaning, but the french poet and dramatist, Edmond Rostand used it in such a way in his playCyrano de Bergerac as to give it from thenceforth a virtuous connotation. Panache is now used to describe someone who has a dashing confidence of style, or shows a certain flamboyance and courage

And finally, the online dictionary states simply:

"Dash; verve"
"a dashing manner; style; swagger"
"distinctive and stylish elegance"

The rose in the teeth? Well, we all have seen that in the Tango. In a forum where I think there were dancers asking questions, it sounds like the best answer is that the rose in the teeth originated with Rudolph Valentino, and that it became a cliche that "northeners" liked, but that Argentinians thought a ridiculous caricature

All right, all right, all right! I understand the directive from the choral music now.

I figure the best chance of mustering up any "panache" with which to sing is to know the song really really well. So, you will find in Frescamari's practice room a recording of me practicing for fluency and doing my best to achieve some -- ahem -- "panache" with the diction.

Then, of course there is the trick to apply it to the music. There sure ain't going to be much "panache" without a secure knowledge of the music.

In the end, I'm not sure how much "rose-in-the-teeth panache" I was able to achieve. Maybe the real secret would be to get me one of those Panache Tango Plunge Bras mentioned above and wear it to the concert!!
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To hear diction practice for the words of Las Amarillas click here and to hear me feebly struggle to achieve some alto "rose-in-the-teeth panache": "Las Amarillas Diction Practice"

To find out more about Cantigas Women's Choir performance this Saturday in Hoboken or Wednesday, May 26 in Manhattan, click here:  Cantigas Women's Choir

Singing Tenor

Well, I never thought I'd see this day, but it has arrived.  I am singing tenor.

The choir at my church is a very small group of churchgoers who love to sing together.  Every year, for the past 12 years, I have watched them try to recruit new members, and every year the same little group with the same people sits over in the choir chairs, unchanged.  One of the new members they have succeeded to recruit has been me, but only partly successfully.  For I have been a very haphazard and on-again off-again addition to their group.  This is partly because of the demands of raising a family and the way the church has the CCD program set up so that the choir mass is not the one that is convenient if one is participating in the program, but some of it has also been because I have conflicting feelings about participating when the repertoire is less than challenging and even some of it unattractive to me.

I have a conflict inside about this part of me that requires to be challenged by the musical group I join and whether I should seriously commit to our church group.  On the one hand, the challenge -- the actual musical challenge -- and hard work is what fulfills and gratifies me.   Yet there are many other reasons to sing, and many other joys that can be found in singing in all kinds of situations and all kinds of ways.  So, it has seemed a bit haughty or proud to brush off a group because it doesn't take on challenging repertoire.  And "haughty and proud" doesn't quite fit in with my idea of what church is supposed to be for.  Or even singing, for that matter.

And besides all that, "haughty and proud" is completely uncalled for considering that it may be based on a complete over-estimation of my abilities anyway.

In contrast to this, there is the ideal of "service" and sharing one's gifts with one's spiritual community.  This is a strong recommendation to sing with the little choir in one's place of worship.

And thus it has been -- back and forth -- in again, out again --  on again, off again -- singing when there's something in it for me, i.e., a solo, or a chance to substitute cantor -- or else at other times putting aside self-gratification, committing to the year, regardless, and singing as a gift of self.

Until I have got to the point now where the organist approached me and asked me if I would sing tenor for an Easter cantata.

The Easter cantata went over so well, that now the choir director has asked the four of us who sang it if we will be a regular little quartet.  He is excited because now he can do some pieces he would like to, and he can write some arrangements.

And I said yes to being this little quartet's tenor.

And after last night's rehearsal I can say that there have been some little moments of surprise in it for me.

For one thing, singing tenor is very easy for me because I do not have the stress or fatigue of navigating the stresses and pressures of the higher voice and passage notes.  For another, there is a little challenge because of having sung alto for so many years, my vocal "center" finds it interesting to be placed differently, and even reading the music is a little challenging.  I had not realized that I had developed an "alto alphabet" that made my reading in the alto range somewhat automatic of a response, so switching down to tenor keeps me on my toes, because it is a different set of reading, and it is less "automatic,"  It is almost as if reading the tenor line is like reading another language altogether, a different set of blending and listening skills are required.

Another thing is that, for me, the tenor line is completely at the service of the ensemble.  There is no temptation to want to be heard above any others, and the crucial aspects of ensemble singing such as listening carefully, matching tones and blending are exercised better for me than when I am singing alto.

All-in-all, what I had considered to be somewhat of a "demotion" is turning out to be of great value to me as a musician.

Avocational Singer -- MIA

Dear Friends of my blog,

Anyone paying attention may have noticed that this blog disappeared suddenly and without a word.

I am very sorry if anyone who enjoyed reading my ramblings was puzzled by this.

It's very hard to explain what happened, but I had a little "blog crisis" moment.

This whole thing may best be explained by telling a little story.

When I was in fifth grade, a weird writing incident happened which may have something to do with why I became suddenly hesitant about continuing my blog.

We were given an assignment to write a paragraph or two using a topic sentence.  The teacher had provided five topic sentences to choose from, and as I sat down in the evening to approach the assignment, I found myself completely uninspired by any of the topics. I decided to choose the topic, "Why I Like Stamp Collecting." I thought that this would be quite a creative challenge and lots of fun for me because, being that I did not collect stamps at all, I would have to be extremely creative to make up what I wanted to say about it.  I would have to imagine myself a stamp collector and imagine what that would feel like and write about it.

Up until this point in my life, I had been engaging in creative writing like this in order to make my homework more fun and interesting for a long time.  And for a long time up to this point, I had considered my creative writing a special experience between me and my teacher.  In second and third grades, when we had been given a list of ten words to use in ten sentences, for example, I amused myself by  making a little story out of the ten sentences.  These writing amusements of mine were for the teachers' eyes only. I do not recall any of my teachers every saying anything to me about it.  They usually handed back the assignments with the grade: a 10 out of 10, or a big check-mark that indicated I had completed the assignment.  So, whether the teacher was sitting there smiling as she read my little story and thinking of how clever her student was, or if she didn't even notice there was a story there at all,  I really do not know.  I remember being aware that I was "performing" and that there was someone, the teacher, on the receiving end of that performance, and that in some way I was providing the teacher with a little gift.  A little gift to amuse her, perhaps.  Although no word was ever exchanged about it, it made me feel connected to the teacher in an odd little way.

So, having been writing creatively like this for the teacher in my school assignments, this little essay about "Why I Like Stamp Collecting" in fifth grade was to me, just more of the same.

However, when I got to school the next day, the fifth grade teacher announced that we were going to read our essays aloud to the class.  I began to panic, my palms getting hot and sweaty.  "No!" I thought.  "Had I known about this I surely would have picked another topic and written something entirely different.  I would have written something much more safe."

She called on me to go first.  I clammed up. I was almost crying.  I told her I just could not read my paragraphs aloud.

"All right," the teacher said kindly, "someone else can go first."

After a couple of students finished reading their essays, the teacher, most likely expecting that I would be more relaxed knowing that the other students were in the same boat and had read their paragraphs, returned to me and asked me to read mine.  I absolutely refused.

The entire class began to argue with me.  "Mine is stupid too," they exclaimed.  Pretty soon they started to become angry with me as I refused to give in.  Persuasive arguments turned to jeers and even threats.  One boy, a very popular and smart boy, snatched the paper out of my hands and began to read out loud in a singsong voice:

"Why .. I ... Like ... Stamp ... Collecting."

In a state of confused horror, I jumped from my desk, grabbed the paper from his hands, crumpled it into a ball and threw it out the window from the third floor of the school building.

Well, there's a lot more after that ... about how the whole class got punished and had to pay back the time we had lost arguing over my paragraphs.  About how everyone thought I was so weird and glowered at me when they were doing the chores to pay back the lost class time.  It is a horrible memory for me.

Something like this happened with me and my blog.  It was being more and more widely read, and getting more and more hits.  One day, something happened to make it real for me that someone out there was actually reading what I had to say.  Just like in fifth grade, when this realization took hold, I panicked, crumpled my blog up into a wad and threw it out the window.

This time, however, unlike the lost "Why I Like Stamp Collecting" Essay, I have, after several weeks of reflection, gone down to the schoolyard, found the crumpled blog, carefully unfolded the paper and put it back up.

I have decided to try to work through this "issue" and continue with this blog.

Thank you to anyone who has been reading my scribblings and scrawling up until now.  There may be some ups and downs as I work through having a "voice" in this blog of mine, and I may not be posting frequently for a while, but I've at least put what I've done so far back up for anyone to find and read.