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Don’t Ignore It — How Your Gut Brain Can Teach You How to Sing Almost Anything

July 17, 2023 / dancallaway

When Noah was 1, we took a trip to see his Uncle Rob in Albany.

Here’s little collage from that trip.

We were playing on the living room floor one day, and we opened the front door for some sunshine. I noticed the glass storm door wasn’t fastened all the way, and a gentle gut impulse said, “might be a good idea to close that.”

My brain countered, “I’m sure it’s fine. Besides, that would require you lift your ENTIRE person off of this soft carpet.”

Two minutes later, Noah decided to get some vitamin D near the door and leaned against the glass. Poor bug didn’t expect the door to MOVE, and before I could catch him, he was nose-down on the front step.

I felt terrible for not acting on that simple prompt just to click the door latch.

I can’t tell you how many times my guts have sent up a warning flare that I ignored. And every time, I could track back to the moment when the gentle nudge bubbled up followed by the immediate rationalization not to act on it.

Scientists have been learning all kinds of mind-blowing things about our gut-brain, the enteric nervous system.

And you’ve got your own list of gut-negation palm-to-forehead moments. While you don’t have to understand all the science, you and I both know all kinds of information comes from the most surprising corners of our bodies.

This is terrific news for theatre singers.

Here’s why.

When you know your gut has truth to tell, you can turn up your receiver volume when you craft a song.

You understand that your body can teach you to make any sound.

And it’s silly easy. Here’s how you do it.

Take a phrase from your song. Let’s use “My Funny Valentine” by Rodgers and Hart.

We’ll use the lyric, “Yet, you’re my favorite work of art.”

Step 1: Just say the lyric.

Like you’re a robot. Let the meaning and the image occur to you.

I saw a marble statue and remembered my voice teacher Cathy sang this at a wedding many years ago.

And then I remembered a joke that says, “How many cabaret singers does it take to sing ‘My Funny Valentine’? Apparently, all of them.”

See? all kinds of stuff can generate from one phrase. “Oh the tricks your mind can play.”

Step 2: Say it again.

“Yet, you’re my favorite work of art.” And let more images come. Open your heart to your personal connection to the images.

Now I think about the times I look over at Melissa in the kitchen when we’re in the trenches, and she just looks beautiful. It’s usually when she declares she’s in the depths of frumptastic, but there’ll be a smile line on her face or a little sarcastic aside she’ll say, and I’m grateful we get to share our life.

On another day, something else might come up. Biscuits. Or the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Notice these images may or may not be logically related to the lyric.

Step 3: Notice where your body lights up when you say the lyric and see the things.

You’ll feel emotional energy well up somewhere. It’s often subtle, so tune in. Dial your attention to where your body experiences “you’re my favorite work of art.”

Right now, I’m cozy in my solar plexus, and my throat gets an excited twinge.

Step 4: Now just witness that place with the energy, and sing the phrase while you look at it.

You’ll get key information about your personal relationship to the lyric, and you’ll notice how your body has a clear opinion on how to sound that phrase.

Your head brain will be a little frustrated, too, because the knowledge lives deeper down, and it can’t put it in a spreadsheet.

As you do this work, the phrases become part of you, so when you sing them, they’re arising from images emanating from your own psyche.

And here’s the secret sauce to this whole thing.

You have to open yourself to all the crazy dream-scapey things your subconscious mind tosses up. Just like in life.

You may say, “Yet, you’re my favorite work of art,” and you remember your dad telling you to stop using the front counter railings at the Mt. Airy Burger King as parallel bars when you were in 3rd grade. Brains are like that.

Sometimes you feel blindsided, and you can handle it. You’re a courageous storyteller, and you chose to stand on stages and tell the truth.

And guess what — when you open yourself up to that kind of input rather than trying to traffic-direct every image you meticulously crafted in your homework, you let yourself be a human.

Your brain recognizes that you’re humaning, and you can relax and let the story flow the way it wants to that time. It’ll be different the next.

And who knows — maybe you’ll clear up your gut-brain highway so much, you’ll readily respond when your wise body tells you to close the storm door all the way.

But your consciousness well is going to offer up buckets overflowing with images singular to you, because after all — there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,
Dan

Full Fridge Freakout

July 16, 2023 / dancallaway

And two words that dissolve decision fatigue and overwhelm

I have a thing about the refrigerator.

If the grocery cart (carriage, I mean. I’m in New England now) gets really full, rather than thinking something like, “Wow, how grateful I am to be able to get these groceries,”

my mind maps the current real estate in the Kenmore food cooler (empty as it may be), and cortisol levels spike as I imagine stacking the ground turkey and chicken thighs BEHIND the sideways almond milk carton on that obscure shelf just above the crisper drawer.

What If I forget the chicken thighs? I need to SEE what we’re working with.

Melissa, on the other hand, loves her a full fridge. Full fridge = provision and gratitude.

To me, it’s “we better use all of this! And look! Those strawberries are already getting mushy sides. I didn’t SEE that in the store. I shoulda KNOWN not to get the ones from the display!”

The origins of this anxiety are complex. May come from one too many disappointments opening chilled cool whip containers at my grandmother’s house only to discover green beans. What a cruel trick.

I also fantasize about sauntering to the local outdoor market with a macrame satchel, seeing what’s fresh and in season that day, and letting the food, you know, just speak to me. (The last sentence was to be read with a low, breathy tone and sibilant [s]s.)

Comes down, actually, to something very everyday human for me, though: decision overwhelm.

And it’s the reason we have stress hormones injecting themselves into our neurology these days. Living in the US, we’ve got a glut of choices.

And it isn’t good for us.

Even as I write that, I’m thinking, “oh, but I WANT to have the possibility available.”

It’s kind of like when Jude’s in the zone making a magna-tile tower, and he notices Noah carrying He-Man’s little plastic sword. Suddenly, that’s the One Ring to Rule them All.

It’s hard to show up and do the over-and-over thing you might be bored with when so many new shinies sparkle in your periphery.

How do we return to the repeated actions that bring satisfaction and health?

For me, one way is to ask, “So that?”

I’m writing this to you so that —

? I’ll figure out what my fridge thing is about.

?‍? You’ll read about my fridge thing and feel better about your deodorant storage hangup.

✍️ I can record what I was thinking about in July 2023.

? I can write and share something today. That’s satisfying.

? and so that maybe one day a singer googles, “How does full fridge anxiety overlap with musical theatre singing?,” and this article will populate the TOP of the search suggestions.

In anything I do, I want to connect.

It’s why I teach, why I sing, why I cook for people (Ina Garten’s got a great chicken thigh with fingerling potatoes and salad recipe), and why I write.

And if I know what I wrote made your day better, then perfect.

Now I gotta make a grocery list.

Soccer Folk at the Hyatt Starbucks. And Death.

July 14, 2023 / dancallaway

Melissa and I stayed at a Hyatt Hotel at the same time as a whole lot of youth travel soccer teams.

There was a Starbucks in the lobby, and since I go into migraine withdrawal if I consume less than 2 and a half cups of coffee, my addicted self was down there first thing to snag my overpriced venti stimulant.

And so were the parental units of these footballers. ⚽️

And I learned: one adult did not represent one coffee order.

Nope.

Yoga pants with the tight ponytail playing tug-of-war with her brow furrow was gonna need

a frap

an iced something with 2 pumps of fairy syrup

a vanilla caramel hazelnut macchiato flat no foam soy oat almond skim situation.

And a large cup of ice.

What? No more gruyere egg bites? Really?

“That’s what ‘sorry, we’re out’ means,” went my brain. “Can we move along so cargo shorts with the backwards Bass Fishing cap can order the 7 complicated beverages that just chimed in on his moblie device?”

If you sense judgment in my tone, you’re right. I’m working on it.

I just couldn’t imagine a world of weekend-after-weekend travel to midsize cities to talk game outcomes in hotel elevators while shelling out dollars for fees, equipment, plane tickets, and hotel rooms. And Frappuccinos.

Sounds like one of the middle rings of the Inferno.

No shade to soccer, seriously. There’s probably a lot of it in my future.

But the commitment to this kind of travel, this kind of money, and your kids freebasing sugar-feine so they can wear their bodies out at back-to-back matches? I mean, when does anybody have time to play Saturday Nintendo Duck Hunt these days?

I’ve been thinking a lot more about death. Just the fact that it’s going to happen. I’m also absorbing the truth that I can’t make more time.

And I still waste it.

To transcend distraction for me requires Ulysses-tied-to-the-mast level intervention.

I’m working on it.

The question is — What leaves you satisfied? And what creates an interaction you’re proud you left behind?

(And yes, that can absolutely happen in travel soccer.)

And what leaves you empty, depleted, and wondering where your time went? Let’s have less of that, please.

The Liberating Truth that Will Change Your Musical Theatre Auditions for Good

July 13, 2023 / dancallaway

The Actual Way to Audition for Musicals and Stand Out from the Confusion Crowd

I had a shoot-myself-in-the-character-shoe habit back in my busy audition days.

I hid.

I mean, I was physically there. In the room. But I was playing a high-level game of hide and seek.

Only the table people didn’t know.

They thought I was coming in to share my ideas and preparation for a role. Silly.

Nope. Not my purpose.

I wanted to show a teeny facet of my skill set that I felt comfortable about. And then I wanted some wise person shuffling resumes to notice the ember of performance genius smoldering inside me just waiting them to get the bellows and provide the oxygen.

Like Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy, they’d say, “You know, you’re really terrific. The world needs what you have. We’re going to give you a lead role in our show because you’re so good. And when we do that, you’ll finally know that you’re a real boy.”

It never happened that way.

I mean, auditions led to roles, and I worked, but I lost count of the times my soul played possum in the audition room.

I obscured my energy. I didn’t share a clear point of view. I didn’t know what my point of view was.

Performers have this problem. Often, what draws us to the stage is people clapping for us. This was a big magnet for me.

We get the back pats, and so we set out to get more of them.

I did this in life too, always assessing what was going to garner approval from the big people around me. I wanted connection and support, so I paid attention to what got me that.

So, in the audition room in front of a table full of folks you probably don’t know and who aren’t there to develop a deep friendship, the cues for how to get the ‘at-a-boys are limited.

But I still looked.

I mean, I was still trying to figure out how to order in a NY Diner without losing my mind. Making integrated choices about a character’s psychological world was going to be a few years off.

But the problem was that I believed one central falsehood:

It was about me.

I mean, yes, my self-person was the one coming in the room singing the songs, but that’s not what the casting folk were concerned with.

They wanted to know if the B-flat on “Maria” was going wrong because I was sick or because my technique fell apart under pressure.

But it wasn’t about my eternal soul.

It was a simple question: Can this guy do the things we need in this show, and does he seem like a reasonable human to work with? Add to that all the other sausage making that goes into getting a show on a stage, and you see real quick that you’re the last thing they’re thinking about.

It’s liberating info.

And once I had a chance to see a few casting processes from behind the table, it became clear how fleeting an actor’s time in a room is.

Again, this was liberating.

Trying to guess what someone wants is a road to crazy town. In the audition room and in your relationships.

I mean, if you know your friend loves Magnolia Cupcakes, and it’s their birthday, you know what to do.

But trying to crack the code so you can win the approval prize is never a great setup. It tells the one you’re trying to please, “You’re above me, and you control my wellbeing.”

Nobody wants to be in charge of that.

The other thing this does? It makes what you’re offering cloudy. Instead of a clear proposal, you’re wasting time with the equivalent of, “It doesn’t matter to me. What do you wanna do?”

Instead you can take the risk to say, “Let’s go for Thai.”

They maybe looking for Ethiopian that day, but at least you made a bid. And who knows? Maybe they hadn’t considered how delicious a Panang curry might taste.

And think about what your brain does when someone says, “Oh, I’m fine with whatever.”

You’re immediately annoyed at the cognitive load you have to take on.

So, when you go into an audition, answer a question. Have an opinion. And prepare the hell out of demonstrating how you’d solve the problem.

Michael Kostroff says, “Always take care of them. Never ask them to take care of you.”

That sums it up.

Make your offer clear. If you’re confused, they will be, too, and as a smart marketing person said a long time ago (and like it or not, if you’re auditioning, you’re marketing) “a confused mind always says no.”

Worth the Soul Toll?

July 12, 2023 / dancallaway

My taste in music’s like my taste in cuisine.

My favorite food’s a cheeseburger. WITH french fries. Bring me ranch dressing for dipping? Heaven.

I love risotto, boeuf bourguignon, any iteration of potato, omelettes, biscuits, and BUTTER.

I want it to be rich, satisfying, comforting, delicious, and I want it to be worth the time and effort to prepare it.

I want cooking it to be a joy.

This is why I subscribe to the Joy of French Cooking school of music making; I’ll have my ballad in a nice béchamel, please.

I could never pierce the meaning of 20th Century atonal musical (or anything that sought to deconstruct.)

While I empathize with the need to howl at the chasm in the early 20th Century, I still need cadences.

And if I’m going to work my ass off to learn a piece of music, it better fill my soul and make an audience go “yuuuummmm” and say, “My compliments to the chef.”

We have a phrase in our house — soul toll.

We bandy it liberally, apply to myriad situations, and even musicalize it.

It describes end-of-day emotional dysregulation (child and adult), traffic, shopping at Market Basket on a Saturday, and stoplight texters. (Of course, I’ve never done that.)

So, when it comes to life choices, the question becomes, “Is this worth the soul toll?”

Just because you have that block available on your calendar doesn’t mean you have adequate soul units to fuel that activity.

So I invite you to use this Q when you face choices.

Another way to ask this was something I heard Marie Forleo say: “Is the juice worth the squeeze?”

Caveat: not every lime in your life is going to yield ample zing to your G and T. Some you just have to squeeze, be glad you bought the Bombay Sapphire, and then take a nap.

But where you do have agency, check in with your soul tank, and get all Mary Oliver with yourself: What are you gonna do with that one wild and precious life?

Whatever you choose, I recommend butter.

Quick! Get Off the Highway!

July 11, 2023 / dancallaway

We took a long road trip last June, and there was a major backup in Pennsylvania.

We’d driven through three big slowdowns (Connecticut!) and a rain torrent of biblical proportions, so we were beat.

Our very last wait-with-the-big-trucks event turned out to be the rubberneck side of the real event.

A crash on the other side created a dead stop for miles. The state police just shut the highway down at one point and detoured traffic. This caused another miles-long backup.

When I’m on the smooth-sailing side of the highway whooshing past a phalanx of furrowed headlights, I feel a mix of “oof so glad that’s not me” while I scan my recent traffic experience to see if my karmic balance means I deserve this turn to drive gridlock-free.

9 years living in LA tells me the answer is a perpetual yes.

But you get all kinds of mixy feelings when you go by a traffic event like this. You pray everyone in the crash was ok. You feel bad for the folks whose trips just got hours longer. And then you really feel anxious for the cars farther down the road doot-da-dooing at 75 mph straight toward an impending wall of stop.

The uncomfortable collection of feelings you get — feeling bad for folks while having no agency to do anything to help anybody — that’s a good check that your empathy’s on line.

And when you’re faced with gridlock (because no matter how many traffic karma hours you’ve logged on the 405 Freeway, you’ll still face gridlock), you can make another plan.

You can figure out how to wait well. I mean, there are podcasts now.

(Sometimes when the 5 Freeway was at a standstill, Melissa used to just go see a movie.)

Or you can take an alternate route.

A few weekends ago, Melissa and I went to Gloucester and Rockport, and Interstate 95 around Boston was a wicked clustah.

So, we took the scenic route through the towns outside the 95 perimeter.

It took an hour longer than waiting in traffic, and there were whoops-turn-arounds. But passing hydrangea bushes and town squares was a better plan than staring at concrete highway dividers.

So, just because you can’t do anything to help the folks on the other side doesn’t mean you need to turn off your mirror neurons or calculate some cosmic system of traffic experience fairness.

And when you’re the one who’s got to wait, you can find the best way for you to wait well or make a pit stop at the Louisa May Alcott House.

And look how beautiful Rockport, Massachusetts, is.

Stop Hitting Yourself — Music Abuse, we’ve all done it. Here are some ways to recover.

July 10, 2023 / dancallaway

I used to hit myself in voice lessons.

Freshman year of college. I couldn’t sing a passage that was beyond my vocal ability, and I sounded like a mule dragging an overfilled tobacco sled to the tune of something that might’ve sounded like “Donna non vidi mai” from Manon Lescaut.

I’d sing a wrong note. I’d crack. It’d sound terrible in my head.

And like a reflex, I’d smack my right thigh like a Dickensian cop truncheoning truant orphans.

Richard Cook would sit balletically straight on the piano bench and look at me with wide, concerned eyes.The cogs in his brain must have turned the little bingo decision ball in the “above my pay grade” answer box.

Voice lessons were times when I wanted

✅ the right answers (consistent impressive hight notes, duh)

? the exact prescription for creating the right answers

? better ability than my competition

? approval from my teacher and peers

? stunning vocal ability so that I could then accept myself

? to tear down and eradicate every vocal fault I had and only sound like a perfect star of a singer

?️ to keep my voice contained in a safe manageable place where I could control all the correct, impressive, exact, superior, applause-inciting, approved, and fault-free sounds I would consistently make.

It was a mess in here.(I’m pointing everywhere.) And that shit hurt.

This is why I tell the pedagogy students at the BoCo: singing just happens to be the modality we get to work in to help folks heal.

The way I tried to use singing when I was 18 was music abuse.

Here’s why.

?‍♂️ Exercise is good for you. When you use exercise to comparing yourself to your treadmill neighbor, it disconnects you from its healthful purpose.If you’re in yoga class thinking, “Damn, I can Trikonasana so much better than that inflexible shaky pants over there,” you may have missed the point.

? Nutritious food is good for you. If you’re eating your kale and pumpkin seed salad with a splash of lemon juice while a seething judgment of the folks going into Dunkin Donuts across the street boils in your liver, you may be injecting more free radicals into your system than the antioxidants in that kale can mitigate.

? Spiritual practice is good for you. But if you’re like, “I’m pretty sure I meditated and prayed longer than all these jokers in this planning meeting this morning,” you may be missing out on some of the soul benefits a gratitude list can offer.

We do the same thing with singing.

We ab- (the Latin root means away) -use it.

We take it away from its natural and healthy purpose and turn it into a means to tell ourselves the story of better-than.

Because of loving teachers, caring friends, artist peers, plus the privilege to be a teacher, I saw examples of how singing can transform you and those who listen.

I learned

? Singing’s an always-moving thing, and the moment you try to pin it down and box it, you’re dealing with past tense.

? So many things can be true about the free ways you can sing. And once you think you have a tool figured out, you’ll find it doesn’t apply to everything you want to use it for.

? A singer can sound flawless, and you can notice that you just don’t care. If singing’s not connected to an open heart and a commitment to be generous, it’s lifeless. And we can tell.

?? Approval and applause feels good, and their effects evaporate like morning fog. You have to find a deeper purpose for making music, one that brings satisfaction to your individual soul and one that makes you proud of the trail of interactions you’ve left behind.

You have to embrace yourself before you can embrace your voice.

Even if you’re making technically stunning sounds, if you don’t have space and compassion for yourself, no amount of virtuosity is going to earn the grace you need for you.

There’s gold in what you call your vocal faults. And when you get curious about them instead of angry at them, they have a lot to teach you.

and

Your voice is all of you.

It creates itself from the very essence of you being alive — your breath. And it has the power to reconnect the broken pieces like golden vocal Kintsugi. (Thanks Kevin Wilson for this illustration.)

If we could see the energy and vibrations surrounding and coming from us, our minds would be blown on a James Webb Telescope discovery level.

While you may not open-palm slap yourself like 18-year-old me did, I invite you to be curious about the ways you might inflict punishment instead of offer understanding.

Singing is a healing path, and when you’re committed to being whole-hearted and walking it, folks who hear you will wake up to the hope that healing is possible for them, too.

Here’s your invite — get in there and heal. (It’s scary, unfamiliar, it hurts, and some of it really sucks, so don’t be alarmed.)

But it’s a life and death situation. There’s only one you, and we need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

Stop Shit-Talking Gen Z

July 9, 2023 / dancallaway

I have a front row seat of a Gen Z microcosm. And I’m full of hope.

My students love. They support and encourage. They include.

They also show up. They open their hearts and do scary stuff every day.

They also work their asses off.

Black Widow (names changed to protect the awesome) worked two doubles on the weekends to knock out that Boston rent while running events like the choreography showcase — equivalent to a full time job, on top of classwork.

She also did every crazy thing I asked her to do in the studio and kept practicing when she didn’t know if the thing she wanted to change would change. (It changed.)

Captain Marvel said no to a low-paying summer gig so she could work 2 restaurant jobs and sock away cash to have a base in outa-control, exorbitant NYC.

She weathered a vocal injury, surgery, and showed up when her voice wasn’t cooperating. One of the hardest things a singer can go through.

Wonder Woman was financially on her own. She paid her own bills, took extra classes, and railed against the school machine when stupid rules kept her out of other extra classes.

When I offered bonus lesson time in the studio, she signed up first.

She’s also kind, compassionate, and resilient. And I trust her with our boys.

Gen Z’s got grit-filled empathy wizards, and we’re lucky they’re coming up.

They’ve seen the hierarchical emperor’s new clothes, and they want to work together with equity and respect.

Every generation’s got assholes. I’ve been a representative in my own cohort.

And there are terrific, creative, flexible, loving humans in their teens and 20s who want to contribute, heal, and help. I get the privilege teach them.

They’re here with us now, and we’d do well to encourage them and ask what they’re noticing instead of posting on Facebook about how they need to put down their phones.

The Impossible Bedtime Test

July 8, 2023 / dancallaway

I have a herculean test set before me.

My task?

Completing the bedtime oral hygiene ritual with our four year old without losing my mind.

Every evening just after 7pm it shakes down.

Jammies are on. ✅

Older brother is off and away with his brush-with-Elmo electric tooth scrubber, and then I approach the younger one with the Captain America analog device ? he’s ~~demanded~~ requested.

My heart rate speeds, and my blood pressure spikes like I’m in the dentist chair when the hygienist asks, “Is your BP normally that high”

“All right, Jude. Here you go. Let’s see how FAAAAST you can brush those toofers!”

As if I’d just said, “Time to sort these monochrome beige beads into this craft organizer while we eat this over-boiled asparagus,” Jude stiffens his body rigid as rebar, turns his head, and clenches his jaw shut.

And here’s where I fail. every. damn. night.

“All right,” I say. “I guess you want all those germs to crawl all over your teeth tonight and give you cavities. Suit yourself. I’m not fighting you on this.”

I’m a liar. And a terrible manipulator. Of course I’m fighting him on this.

“Noooo!” He wails in abject dental abandonment.

I return.

“All right. Let’s see how fast you can…”

Ramrod straight goes the body again.

Physical force sometimes gets the job done, but this child is shockingly strong, and we only emerge from that situation physically and emotionally depleted.

Last night Jude looked at me in my face and flung his Captain America tooth brush over the starboard side of his bed.

I didn’t reactively lose my shit (!).

Some prefrontal cortex regulation must be taking hold at age 45.

“Oh, I notice that you threw your toothbrush. Hmmmmm. I wonder how you’ll brush your teeth. Looks like all those germs will be crawling all over your toofers tonight.”

“Noooooo! I don’t want cavities!”

And so ensues a dance of codependent reactivity and 3rd grade manipulation skills (on my part).

And we haven’t even gotten to floss and mouthwash.

We finally work it out. (“Callaways always work it out,” we say.)

But the problem? Like Hercules, it’s my lack of mental and emotional resources and, frankly, my temper.

I shouldn’t have to meet this 4 year old where he is. He should just do what I say. What’s hard about brushing teeth?

Reality is — it is hard for him at 7pm.

And maybe I can take my 41-year cognitive advantage and use that to put us on the same enamel cleaning team.

Taking just one rubber spatula of emotional reserve from the dregs to come alongside him instead of fighting against him will pay off big time in connection, calm, and actual task efficiency.

It’s the same when the part of you that’s 4, 7, 13, or 45 is trying to get a need met by demanding a very specific tooth brush method.

If you meet you with curiosity instead of “do what I say,” chances are there’ll be room for collaboration. Even if the agreement is “let’s grab a snack and a nap.”

You’ll still lose your shit sometimes and say stupid things like, “All right, I’ll just start reading to your brother, then.”

But you’ll become more aware of what you’re doing.

And you’ll loosen up. And then you’ll have the presence of mind to say, “I’m agitated in my body right now. I’m gonna stand over here and take a few deep breaths until I calm down.”

Then you can try again.

When you bring the toothbrush with the intention to work together rather than to dictate terms, things go better. Your 4-year-old may still resist, but you’ll be curious and tired and pissed instead of just tired and pissed.

And a little more open. And that’s usually better.

And it’ll help you on your next test. Because you will have one.

Sing Multiple Styles in Musical Theatre with 3 Simple Questions