“The human genome is admirably complex, and it’s fair to ask whether there’s a finite number of humans it could make.
“The answer is yes, but it’s 10^30 – an incomprehensibly big number. The fact that you and I are alive is against stupendous odds.”
Every week, I say to you, “There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.”
I believe this. For you.
I often exempt myself from this axiom.
In fact, if you have the privilege to teach, the things you say most are the things you most need to learn.
Last week, I posted a short video of a terrific William Finn song, “Anytime,” that I plan to sing in the show on Saturday. I’ve always loved this song.
When I chose it, I thought of all the fancy folks who’ve sung it.
I thought of all the recordings I stopped after the first few lines because I have strong aesthetic opinions.
I thought about the time I read a role in an NYU reading, and William Finn was there and maintained an unimpressed poker face throughout. I was certain he thought I was terrible.
Welcome to my particular neuroti-scape.
Pieces of this memory menagerie all surfaced just in the selection of a song.
Even in choosing to share the song on the socials, I felt wiggle waggle.
Last Tuesday, all manner of apocalyptic visions assaulted my noggin while I tried to teach.
“Three people will be at your show.”
“The risky song you chose isn’t going to pay off.”
“The people you thought were going to be there aren’t showing up for you.”
I was having a hard time.
I shared with a couple students why their usually competent silly-noise-making teacher was forgetting to play F-sharps that day.
Anytime I make something up for myself to do: a concert, a recital, a musical, I hit a moment of —
YOU made this up. YOU did this.
And it feels like I’m in nursery school and the teacher’s holding up the picture of an ostrich I colored purple saying, “Who ever heard of a purple ostrich?”
(One day I’ll write a children’s book about a purple ostrich. Or you can!)
Thing is, I do know there’s only one me. I have evidence that when I share songs, it means things to people. I even believe I’m loved and worthy of love.
AND my brain’s negative bias (just like yours) works to keep me hidden and unexposed (read: protected).
As I wrote this to you, my brain was like, “You sure want to share THAT much?”
I mean, speaking as an over-sharer from way back, it’s an important sieve, but in this case, yes, I do want to share that much.
So that?
So that you know that all of us are managing our own cerebral chatter collectives; and a lot of times we don’t give ourselves the grace to breathe through our nose 7 times and witness our thoughts as a compassionate friend.
So, yes, Dr. deGrasse Tyson is correct; you are a mathematical miracle.
And you’re still going to have to act while you feel afraid.
Me too.
When the boys say, “Daddy, I’m scared,” I say, “I know buddy. I’m here.”
Then I say, “Remember we have to feel scared first before we can use our courage?”
Yep, fear is the prerequisite for bravery.
And to trust that the inimitable diamond of your soul that you showed up on this planet with — to trust that opening the door to that is inestimably transcendent — that feels fragile.
We have to DO something, right? PROVE something. SHOW something.
And yes, there are levels of skill we want to integrate; it’s satisfying to do excellent work.
And while we do that, I want you to think about beautiful voices you’ve heard, but you just couldn’t make yourself care.
And I want you to remember voices that were not what a snobby voice teacher might call pleasing, and you cared a lot.
It’s about the open heart and the courage to share it.
Because, yes, there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only 10-to-the-30th-power you can sing. (And you’ll often be surprised by who they are, if you ever find out.)
The other day I was getting off the train in Back Bay, and I felt a little guilty.
I looked around at my fellow commuters with furrowed brows, sighing deep breaths to build their courage to face the day. Spreadsheets were involved, I’m sure.
(I stare at people in the city all the time. That’s the terrific skill you can build growing up in the country where folks eyeball each other all the time.
City folk don’t have the resources — as Barbara Kingsolver described in her novel Demon Copperhead, “you have to save your juice.” —
So that leaves me, Mr. Eye Contact on Main Street free to people study. I’m also super nosy, so I can’t help it.)
But I felt that little guilt twinge disembarking the double deckah; as I walked down the platform and up the station stairs, I was like, “How’d I get so lucky that my job is listening to folks sing in a building full of recently tuned Steinways?”
If you’d told 12-year-old Dan in Mrs. Smith’s music trailer classroom that was going to be his job one day, he’d have squealed and cut a cartwheel right there.
Last Friday, I was chatting with a collaborative pianist during a classroom change.
“Good semester start?”
“Yeah, great,” she said in her terrific Polish dialect.
“I know, I said — I was thinking today how I get to work in a building full of pianos!”
She agreed. “If you’d told me as a little girl in Poland I’d be here one day, I never would have believed you.”
And I grand jetéed out of the recital hall in celebration of a week getting to do this crazy job where I sigh, yell, screlt, shout, and mimic dramatic mezzo sopranos like it’s normal all while assuming various ego identities.
It’s silly.
I also listened to an interview with Arthur Brooks and Oprah at Harvard Business School on the YouTubes. (I do recommend Brooks’s article series in The Atlantic.)
Oprah talked about how helpful it is to review all the “you never knew you were gonna’s.”
I agree.
12-year-old me never thought I’d teach at a conservatory surrounded by folks who blow my mind.
16-year-old me didn’t know sitting in the balcony of the Majestic Theatre in 1994 that in 8 years I’d be playing a role in that same show out on the road.
And confused, anxious, wounded me through a big chunk of my life didn’t know that guardian angels, true friends, and loving mentors would help me heal and integrate enough to share (very imperfectly) some of the ways that helped me — mostly through singing.
(Confusion, anxiety, and wounds are still a part of me; they’re just not all of me. They also tell me to slow down, breathe, pray for help, and allow some compassion to me and from me.)
I’d love you to review a few times in your life when that version of you had no idea that later you would get to do something terrific.
And the same is true for right-now you.
We have no idea what splendid things we’re going to grow into.
There’ll be all the usual obstacles and snares, scrapes and snot, but I believe you’ve got the tools.
Know how I know? You’re reading this now. You made it.
What’s that terrific quote? You have a 100% success rate of making it through hard days.
Well done.
And here’s to what’s ahead — something beautiful you don’t even know about yet and wouldn’t believe if future you materialized and told you about it.
May you, one day soon, have to manage guilty feelings on a commuter train as you suppress the urge to skip.
And remember — there’s only one you. Folks need to hear the story only you can sing.
When I filled out the form with my show info, there was a spot where you could put all your stellar reviews.
Something in me hates doing the “Dan Callaway stupefied audiences by singing the first two A sections of ‘If I Loved You’ in one breath” thing. I don’t know what it is.
I suspect it’s arrogance — I’m above these lowly marketing ploys. I’ll just go for a nature hike, listen to birdsong, and think about lyrics, and the folks will just come see the show.
But I went ahead and wrote in the answer box something like, “Can I not? I don’t wanna Google myself.”
I even went against show description convention and wrote mine in dialogue form:
You: Who are you?
Me: I’m Dan! I sing songs, and you’ll like hearing them.
The folks at Green Room 42 were like, “You need to do it like we clearly show you on the form.”
All right, all riiiight. You know how this is done. I’ll do the rules.
I followed the format.
And then I spent a lonely night in bed while Melissa was visiting Rhode Island, cough, googling myself and scraping up digitized microfilm of reviews that may have said something favorable about me.
One theme I did discover: one LA Times theatre critic was consistent in his dislike of my work.
And after a couple hours of self consciousness purgatory, I pulled out 5 or 6 nice things other folks said. Some were even surprises from my “I don’t read reviews” period.
That swearing-off of came as a result of reading things that I didn’t need to google. Because they’re seared into long-term storage.
Things like “Callaway is suitably bland in this role,” or “He had a good start but just didn’t have what it took to finish strong,” or my personal favorite: “He was upstaged by his mullet haircut.”
(And I assure you it was not a mullet. There was equal distribution of party in the front AND back.)
Putting yourself in front of folks is hard.
And you can tell yourself “It’s not personal,” all you want, but it’s personal.
It’s you. Your identity, values, process, point of view, and soul are all part of what you share with folks, and when people bat that down, it hurts.
And I’m convinced the pain of what people may say is better than the pain of shutting yourself down.
In fact, opinions like this are evidence that you have a point of view. You’re sharing something specific. And there’s satisfaction in that.
Think of the performers whose work you don’t care for. They’re still doing their thing. Good for them.
So, I hope this will give you permission to do some whole-hearted horn tooting, to get yourself in front of folks and tell your stories.
And do remember, there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.
Love much,
Dan
PS I want you to know about my dear friend Bobby Apperson’s creative synergy magic going on in East Hollywood (and wherever you have an internet connection): Songsmith LA.
If you need a boost in getting your self and your songs in front of folks, their training in singing, playing, songwriting, and producing will give you what you’re looking for.
Check them out, and reach out to Bobby if you have any questions.
PPS Want a peep into the set list?
Here are a few things cooking so far. If you got any uptempo suggestions for me, tell me! (I always wanna sing slow, sad ballads.)
Unexpressed (John Bucchino) Ain’t it a Pretty Night (from Susannah, Carlisle Floyd) Change (from A New Brain, William Finn) Anyone Can Whistle Crying (Roy Orbison) A Case of You and Both Sides Now (Joni Mitchell) Chain of Love (from The Grass Harp, Claibe Richardson) The Dream (Rufus Wainwright) See What it Gets You (from Anyone Can Whistle) Rhode Island is Famous for You (Dietz and Schwartz) Shine (from The Spitfire Grill, James Valcq and Fred Alley)
One time a director I respected said after an opening night, “Dan, you know what you’re doing. You just have to trust yourself.”
It meant a lot to me. And I immediately asked in my head, “Can someone please tell me how exactly one goes about trusting oneself?”
(I would go on to several years of doing just the opposite.)
When it came to career stuff, I searched and waited for this substantial self-belief I heard folks talking about.
Believe in yourself!
Look in the mirror and say in a low breathy yoga teacher voice, “I am a powerful, successful, cosmic star of stage and screen with an EGOT and nice enough abs.”
(I did have an agent one time instruct me to pull up my shirt to assess my belly, so this was a thing.)
But this feeling of invincible confidence never alighted, and I walked around thinking something must be wrong and that I might not belong in the places I wanted to sing after all.
I mean, those folks had nicer and much more smoldery headshots.
Generating all this anxiety juice was a belief I’d picked up. Maybe it was Mr. Rogers saying I was special combined with singing “One Moment in Time” in 7th grade chorus. Whatever its origin, this credo permeated everything.
Here it is:
I have to believe in myself.
This one tripped me up for years. Still does.
Where did my self belief go? I’m sure I left it right here.
So elusive.
Whoah, I must have said that out loud because here’s a news story in my Google feed about “7 Ways to Achieve Unstoppable Belief in Yourself.”
And this online course.
Oh, and YouTube heard, too.
Thanks, nosy algorithm. You always know what to serve up so that I can deceive myself that I’m making steps toward my soul’s longing through constant input, research, and notification checking.
Seriously, though, there’s that belief, right?
I need to believe in myself.
I don’t think you do.
We waste a lot of energy and brain glucose trying to conjure a Marvel hero mind-state when we could just start repeating a lyric and seeing how it lights up in our imagination.
That would be one building block of a song you’d have added to your artistic structure, and it also adds stone and mortar to something that does indeed come in handy:
CONFIDENCE
Wait. Belief? Confidence? Samesies, right?
Nope.
Confidence comes from the Latin meaning with (con) trust (fidere).
When you trust something, there’s usually a basis for that trust.
And the basis for that trust is your skill.
And in order to build your skill, you have to show up regularly and do the things that build that skill.
And in order to show up, the only thing you need to believe is that if you keep doing the things that lead to vocal freedom, expressive honesty, and creative fulfillment, you’ll sing great, open your heart, and do work that satisfies you.
None of this requires you to believe in yourself.
In fact, as soon as you stop requiring yourself to have this assurance, you can start doing the simple (not easy) work of daily noise making, story telling, and then sharing it with folks.
And anywhere you start is fine.
One action, even if it needs some prerequisites, will reveal what you need to go back and bolster, and you can take it from there.
It’s messy. It’s frustrating. And it’s worth it.
Because while I don’t think you need to believe IN yourself, the thing that’s crucial is to believe yourself.
This means noticing when your body vibrates with excitement and possibility. And when it contracts.
And actually listening to that. It’ll lead you in all kinds of unexpected directions.
I’ve noticed lately that I’ve been ignoring my body brain in favor of my noggin brain, and it’s caused a lot of futile trying and anxiety.
When I’ve tuned in and acknowledged what my body’s vibing — that I want to share more singing in more places — I don’t know how it’s all happening, but things are already flowing.
I’ll keep you posted on that.
In the meantime, please take a sec to check in with your own body. Is the path you picked feeling good in your cells? It’s not a joke. You came to the planet with a good guidance system. I invite us to use it.
Because it’s true — there is only one you and only one me. And folks need to hear the story only we can sing.
I went ahead and booked a date to do a show in NYC. (It’s Saturday, Oct. 7 at 1pm at The Green Room 42 if you wanna mark your calendar. Tix avail once I get my form all filled out.)
I booked it because I found out my very SPECIAL creative resistance isn’t your garden variety opposition.
Oh no, your singular unicorn enneagram 4 here has to have the stealth, undetectable kind of creative blocks that can shape shift into all manner of benevolent forms.
Some manifestations include —
Telling myself I should only focus on one thing (prolly just teaching.)
Telling myself that taking time to work on creative projects is selfish and makes me a substandard dad and hubby.
YouTube videos.
I told you a couple weeks ago about how I got the tappity tap on my shoulder to start walking my talk and put my money where my mic is. ?
So, I did.
Now I’m like, “Woo!” And “Crap.” But mostly “Woooo!”
I got in my studio early this morning and started making noises and breaking down the opening number I’m planning. It might be a terrible idea, and it might, as the kids say, slap.
We’ll see.
But right now, there are some parts that are bad.
Noah heard the video playback as I toasted waffles this morning, and said, “Daddy, you’re not the champion of the Frozen 2 song.”
(See? Maybe a terrible idea. I’ll keep you posted.)
That’s what all this processy stuff is for.
Things I remembered this morning I wanna share with you are —
2 questions you need to sit with and know for yourself song by song and phrase by phrase:
Who am I?
What do I believe is happening?
The answers to these will guide every vocal decision you make. If you don’t have a clue about these ideas, you’ll lack a very important compass.
You’ll jump in to making sounds and learning notes disconnected from the meaning of the song, and if that’s not clear to you, it won’t be clear to folks listening.
And while you may sound objectively terrific, the reason you’re singing at all will be lost. (Sounding good isn’t a good enough reason.)
I get anxious about whether or not I can make the sounds well, so I rush ahead to make sure I can figure that out.
I have to slow down and let these questions percolate, give myself some time not to know, and even let them bubble while I go about my day. Usually the fun answers come when I’m scrubbing something or walking somewhere.
Always ask those questions.
In each song, even if you’re being you and not playing a character, you’re expressing a facet of your identity, and there are thousands of possibilities. And that point of view is gonna inform how you make sounds about what you think is happening.
The other crucial thing for me is to video myself.
This provides empirical evidence in all directions.
I listen back to things I think must have sounded rough, and I’m pleasantly surprised. Or I listen back to something I think I nailed, and I’m like, whoah, I’m gonna need to approach that differently.
This happens a lot with intonation. I’ll hear the fundamental frequency strong in my inside hearing, but the way it comes out in the room is flat. Womp womp.
I have to shape my tract with more bright color to mitigate that. It sounds too bright in my head, but I listen back, and I’m like, “Oh, ok. That’s solid.”
You’ll also listen to yourself with empathetic mirror neurons and be able to feel where you have inhibitors and energy blocks.
Happened to me today as well. I listened back and felt constriction around my larynx a couple times — “Hmmmm. That felt pretty good when I sang it. But listening back alerted me that there could be more ease and freedom.”
I’m excited, and it feels great to listen to your heart and walk accordingly.
There’s gonna be some Roy Orbison, Tracy Chapman, William Finn, Rufus Wainwright, Bonnie Raitt, Mr. Sondheim, Craig Carnelia, Carlisle Floyd, Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, and songs from The Grass Harp and The Spitfire Grill. That’s the plan right now.
I’ll let you know if it becomes an all-polka show.
And I’m joined by my friend and colleague Scott Nicholas on keys who is the objective bees’ knees. ??
And if you want a little more behind the scenes on how to construct a program be it for your own cabaret, one person show, or plaint to a credit card customer service because you blanked on your payment date, I made you this video:
Always remember — there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.
In fact, I think that’ll be the title of my show — “Only One You.” See how you inspire me?
Boom! Now go sing.
And
Love much,
Dan
PS I’ve recently discovered Nahre Sol’s YouTube channel — classically trained pianist Juilliard grad who shares terrific in-depth content on what she’s working in. Recommend!
PPS If you haven’t read Steven Pressfield, he has a terrific book called The War of Art.
If you’ve had any degree of vocal training in the Western classical tradition, you’ve encountered the 24 Italian Songs book.
Folks love to hate on em. You can search the YouTubes and find a lot of nascent singers doing their best.
You can also find some of the world’s greatest like Cecilia Bartoli bring them to stunning life.
Theatre singers often give these the hard eye roll because they can’t see how a 250-year-old art song is gonna help them nail that Hairspray callback.
And they’re right. It’s not a direct line. Add to that most singers don’t take the trouble to find out what they’re singing about, and yeah, absolutely — you’re in irrelevant-to-me snooze town right away.
But when you’re a theatre singer, you get to embody countless stories and folks, and that means countless sounds. And these songs have a lot to teach us about how to access those in beautiful, soul sharing ways.
I’m remembering reading the program notes from Betty Buckley’s concert at the Donmar Warehouse in 2000; she talked about how her core training was in bel canto technique, and you can hear the value for legato singing, communication of soul, and vibrant presence in everything she did/does.
Go listen to some “Memory” circa 1983 as well as the stuff she sang in “Tender Mercies” and you’re gonna hear legato flow in all of it. If there’s a theatre singer you wanna take a note or seven from, there you go.
These can give you the keys to flow in your breath and sound, vowel secrets and acoustic leverage, make your articulation clear and effortless, make you a flexible embody-er of character, give you terrific sound comparison tools, and show you how to mine the beauty in material folks call overdone.
You’ve heard me talk about how New York City diner menus. They overwhelm me. I mean, who can choose between blintzes and a BLT?
(I’m remembering a woman I waited on at Artie’s Delicatessen who ordered French toast and followed it up with a slice of carrot cake. She didn’t have any problems choosing.)
I finally developed a technique of deciding the category of food I’d order BEFORE walking into the diner, and that helped.
But I’ve found that my menu overwhelm syndrome creeps up in other areas of my life.
And I’ll tell you why.
We get NYC menu-level info hurled at us every day. That is, you do if you get as attached to that little computer rectangle in your pocket with the candy-colored squares on its adorable little screen as I do.
Lately it’s been the YouTubes.
I told you last week about how I’m all about that INPUT. (Did you do your Clifton Strengths? They’re helpful, right?)
Input’s a wonderful trait for an educator. And it’s a PARALYZING flaw when you’re just trying to put one foot in front of the other toward that thing you decided was a priority.
But you get surfing on one algorithm wave, and all of a sudden you’re like,
oooooh, wait, maybe I need to break this all down in an Asana work flow. Hmmmmm. Will the free version be okay? How much money have I spent on software this year? No. Just use your paper checklist that’s been working. Did I pull those tasks from my Google Calendar? What about the bullet journal? How do these people post on Instagram so much? SHOULD we buy land and building and off-grid community with rentable yurts and compost toilets?
?
Then Melissa’s like, “Sweetie, you need some time? What’s up?”
And I’m all like, “Where do I even BEGIN? It’s MADNESS in here, I tell you! It all started with blintzes.
Melissa threw me a life preserver, though. ? (She may have gently aimed it at my head.)
She brought my brain back to our lived-in kitchen and toy-strewn living room and reminded me, “The summer’s gonna be over soon. Let’s enjoy this time we have together.”
Thank you, sweetie. It was so clear and simple.
I’m having a hard time appreciating the present lately. My brain flies off in the future, and the future looks like a diner menu with much higher prices.
So, these are some things I’m doing to help my brain.
Feeling wonky? How can you get back to HERE?
You’re gonna roll your eyes, but the answer almost all the time is paying attention to your breath. And it’s paying attention to your breath longer than you want to. I want to take exactly one and a half deepish inhales and feel balanced again.
Nope. It takes a little longer to travel from Agitation Station to Clarity Town.
The other thing is to notice things around you on purpose. And name them to yourself. The wall color, the birds you may hear, the loud train or smell of subway track grease. This helps. (Also key in an audition room.)
This, too, takes longer than I want it.
Siri, “Make me present, calm, and serene!”
One other thing: Phone a friend. Literally pick up that rectangle computer and call somebody. This, for some reason, is hard to do these days. Especially because we all assume something’s wrong when we get an actual phone call. So, maybe send a prelim text.
This is also especially hard for folks like me who want to solve everything inside the ole brain. One day I’ll accept this doesn’t work.
One other simplifying question that’s helped me is from James Clear’s book Atomic Habits.
It’s a question of identity.
If you want your identity to be someone who’s healthy and vibrant, you can ask yourself, “What would a healthy and vibrant person do?”
I’d drink a glass of water. I’d get out for a walk. I’d take some time to stretch.
If you ask yourself what you’d like your identity to be, you can then ask, “What would this kind of person do?” We almost always know. It’s just that the steps are often so simple, our brain’s like, “It can’t be that straightforward. Yawn. What’s on YouTube?”
That brings me to the next helpful thing: Getting where you want to go means doing simple/boring things over and over.
It’s not shiny and entertaining. It’s satisfying.
Once you stop expecting constant amusement to be a thing, you can start humming and stretching and learning that song you picked out for the cabaret you decided to put together (even though you feel scared. I always do.)
Then when you show up for the thing, those days and days of practice are in your body. That’s where confidence comes from, the skill you built.
The other one that’s helpful and very hard for me is seasons.
Right now is the time for — fill in your blank.
Right now is not the time in my life when I can do a lot of 730pm dinner meetups. I’ve got to put my boys to sleep mid-chapter of the next Chronicles of Narnia book.
Let’s review:
? Breathe for as long as it takes.
?? Notice things around you for as long as it takes.
? Connect in a real time present way with somebody you trust.
? Ask yourself, “What would a kind-of-person-I-want-to-be do?”
?? Then do it. Over and over, and look for the satisfaction not the entertainment.
? And notice what season you’re in.
Hope this was helpful for you. I’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime, you know what I’m fixing to say: There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.
If you haven’t heard the news already, there’s a little bit of advice for theatre singers that’s been going around for a long time.
It has to do with the sinuses in your face, and folks who taught bel canto singers back in the day often used these mysterious skull caves as guide posts for singers to know they were making the right kinds of acoustically amplified sounds.
Versions of this legend have been passed down through oral tradition and may take on the form of phrases, such as “get it forward” or “use your mask,” or you may even have a visual of a very well-meaning voice teacher pointing on either side of their nose, and telling you to aim your voice there like a laser beam.
In my experience, all of this has been the opposite of helpful.
And I can tell you why real real quick.
First of all, nobody can hear what’s going on in your mask except for you. The only thing folks hear is what vibrates through your mouth and through your nose.
You might not even have the self perception to feel the resonance there, and that’s okay.
The second reason I never think this way or encourage singers I work with to think this way is because the vast majority of your resonance happens in a little place that I’d love to talk about.
That place is your pharynx.
If you snort, let your uvula flop back like your sawing logs at 3 AM (my wife reports I am expert at this these days, sorry sweetie) you’ll feel the spot.
? In the above pic, you’ll see the blue, yellow and green portions — those are where your prime resonant money’s at.
Makes sense, right? They’re directly north of your vocal folds.
Your folds vibrate, and then all that vibration gets bounced around and amplified right there in the recital hall of your vocal tract.
Feeling resonance in your mask is an EFFECT, and what you’re feeling is nanoseconds past tense. The vibrations you’re feeling there are the result of what just came through your folds and pharynx.
In my experience, when I’ve tried to aim for the front, sing into my mask, or hit any kind of back row through a lot of forward resonance, my body recruits all kinds of muscles to direct this feeling to this spot.
And this makes the pharynx muscles do the only things they can — constrict.
Lookit: (image courtesy of Teach Me Anatomy)
The green, orange, and blue muscle groups — they swallow for you hundreds of times a day. And the only thing they can do is get smaller.
To sing well, this mischief has to be managed. The softer and meltier these muscles are, the more room the recital hall (your pharynx) has to bounce sound waves around and amplify them.
If they’re squeezing just a little trying to laser beam your sound forward, well, you’re going to get a real samey, monochrome, bright metallic sound that honestly musical theatre gets made fun of for.
And for good reason — it’s dopey, and folks are missing out on all the individual color that the rest of their singular vocal tract can paint those sound waves with as they travel through.
So, what DO I do?
I encourage a dual perception — a centered awareness of the resonance vibrating through your vocal tract while your communication attention goes to your scene partner.
Musical theatre performers have to manage multiple awareness all the time.
I’m Christine Daae, I’m me, there’s the conductor, the audience is full tonight, that bobby pin is in too tight, maybe I’ll offer Raoul a breath mint later, I should have warmed up better before this show, I could use a nap, watch the conductor.
I’m astounded when folks believe we can’t think about vocal technique and storytelling at the same time. We have to. Humans have to think about more than one thing on the regular.
Yes, I know all the recent studies on how you can’t really multitask, and yes, hand raised.
But are you trying to tell me that when you’re scrubbing your tub you can’t sing “Alone” by Heart at the same time?
See?
I mean, anybody who’s sung and danced simultaneously can tell you that technique and singing can happen at the same time. Or else you fall over.
So here’s what I want you to understand:
Your primary resonance happens in your pharynx.
Folks can only hear what vibrates through your mouth and your nose.
Therefore, let’s do things that help these two factors happen as freely and efficiently as they can.
You might feel like your forehead’s gonna buzz right off your head, but someone could make a very similar sound and feel none of that.
Here are the questions you can ask yourself in order to find the sweet spot for efficient resonance and honest communication.
What are you singing?
What’s the world of the show or the song? Ado Annie’s gonna sing differently from A Little Night Music’s Ann, and she’s gonna sing differently from Ana in Frozen.
You’re a theatre singer. You make thousands of different sounds.
Once you know that,
What kind of breath support are you using?
“If I Loved You” support is gonna be very different from “Take Me or Leave Me.”
(”If I Loved You” is gonna have floatier ribs and be generated from the lower transverse abs and obliques [appoggio], and Rent is gonna have more rib closure and engagement which produces compressed phonation —
think toddler wailing over their banana being peeled the wrong way, broken, or slightly bruised. Those ribs know how to engage with the focal folds.
Then get a sense of the emotional impulse you’re working with.
Ado Annie: “It ain’t so much a question of not knowing what to do….”
Ann: “Soon, I promise. Soon I won’t shy away.”
Ana: “For the first time in FOREVER!….”
Three very different needs to communicate. These emotional images will light up in different parts of the body, and they’ll move the voice in a different way. Pay attention to your body on this.
Then, notice how that affects the phonatory pattern of the voice —
What happens when you notice the emotional energy of surmising, “It ain’t so much a question of not knowing what to do.”?
And how’s that different from Ann singing, “Soon, I promise….”?
And Ana’s got a completely different set of circumstances going on.
Your folds are going to sing these three different characters in different ways.
Now, it’s time to notice what the voice is doing just north of you larynx — in your pharynx.
Meditate your attention right back to that spot where your uvula vibrates against the back pharyngeal wall when you snort.
That’s the spot where I want you to notice your vibratory energy flowing past like a stream.
How does Ado Annie’s stream move?
How about Ann?
And Ana?
Notice the differences in air speed and how you feel the vibrations. Does that feel different from what you normally do?
Do you still feel sensations up in the front of your face? For me, I never think about them anymore. I may just be used to them, but I just don’t focus there.
Then after that, how can you shape your articulators and the rest of the tract to help you the most?
The one tip I have for you on this is to let your tongue float into your mouth. You want your tongue to float high and close to your hard palate.
This does at least 3 things:
1, it gets your tongue out of your most resonant place, your pharynx.
2, it floats the root of the tongue off of the larynx, so this whole mechanism has freedom to move.
and 3. When the tongue floats high toward the hard palate, it creates a very helpful acoustic bottleneck that causes sound waves to bounce back into the pharynx and amplify even more.
Then, the dialect of these characters, their self concept, and the world of the show are going to affect your articulation choices. Your entire body energy based on who you believe you are is going to shape how your tongue, teeth, and soft palate, and pharynx all interact.
And that’s the flow of energy that you have actual immediate control over. You can witness that as the actor/storyteller while looking to see if your communication is landing with your scene partner.
You can, in fact, do more than one thing at a time within a given task.
I hope this takes the pressure off of you to think you have to target and aim vibrations in a certain spot on your face. Sometimes you may feel sympathetic resonance galore in all kinds of places in your skull. Other times, you won’t.
That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you are making free, efficient sounds that come from a deep belief and empathy for who you are being, and the story you are courageous enough to live.
Again, what I want you to walk away with from this is —
Your primary resonance happens in your pharynx. Nobody can hear your mask.
You can indeed think about vocal technique and storytelling at the same time. In fact, I believe they serve each other.
Trying to aim your voice in a forward direction can sometimes recruit muscles that decrease efficiency and cause unwanted constriction.
Then, when you’re working on any kind of material, ask yourself:
What world am I in? What am I singing?
What kind of breath support does this call for? What’s my body’s identity here?
How does this affect my phonatory pattern? What kinds of sounds am I making?
And then what do the resonances happening in my pharynx feel like as they flow through?
and then,
How do your articulators, affected by your body’s ego identity as this character or in this style, sculpt this vibration when it flows through your mouth?
And sub note on this, and this is a whole other topic — let your tongue float high and fill a lot of the mouth. It gets out of your pharynx, frees your larynx, and creates a terrific acoustic environment.
All of these things you have direct agency over. You can stand in your energy column, share generously, and observe how your scene partners respond with openness, curiosity, and play.
Practice these things, and reach out if you have questions at [email protected]. Or click on “work with me” to find out how you can, well, work with me.
I’m all about getting you simple tools that make sense and work fast so that you can tell the stories you want to with joy, freedom and love, feel confident and excited at auditions, and contribute beautiful and satisfying work in whatever room you collaborate.
Because remember there is objectively, empirically, and scientifically only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing. Now go sing. Bye. ?
I’m going to tell you the reasons folks you think are demonstrably average seem to work all the time.
And I’m also going to tell you how this information will make your auditions and overall creative expression more successful.
One time I was doing a show, and one of the leads was offensively average. Company members noticed. Crew noticed. I definitely noticed.
Management were delighted with them.
To seal the deal, this artist spoke matter of factly about their inherent belonging in the principal player echelons. (I think this was more of an anxiety thing than arrogance to be fair.)
I was an ensemble member, and (funny enough after just criticizing what this person said out loud), I thought I should be playing a principal role, too.
I worked with an acting coach at the time who saw the show, and I’ll never forget what she said:
“They stood for their work.”
What do you mean? They stood for their work?
It meant this:
They weren’t asking for anybody’s permission; they owned their performance, and there wasn’t any whiff of a question in the air whether or not they should be wearing those costumes and singing those songs.
Dammit.
This lights up a major lie that performers tell themselves. Wreaks havoc in general life, too: The Just World Belief.
Good things mean good outcomes. Bad = bad. And the world should be fair.
Extensive studies on both combat veterans and abuse survivors show that holding to this belief increases and prolongs PTSD symptoms.
Now please think about one actor acquaintance who carries this just world belief into every audition room.
Every table of deciders now holds the weight of universal justice in their hands, and with every heartbreaking opportunity, more evidence piles up with how unfair the world is.
The truth is — auditioning is not (and can’t) be a meritocracy. It’s decided by humans, and we are notoriously fickle. And it’s not a fair process.
I remember not booking a tour of Les Miserables and crying on my therapist’s couch because it was a dream of mine,
so I was sad.
But there was also a part of me that believed it should be my turn, and I deserved to get picked.
My advice — question this belief.
And notice the things in your life that work out well, when the odds skew ever in your favor.
We get so focused on how life has slighted us, we forget to notice that we can see, hear, walk, and have food to eat.
Dang, I still remember the time a cop just let me go in North Hollywood for talking on my Blackberry without a hands free contraption. She even said, “I don’t know why I’m doing this. These phones make me so mad.”
The next reason for all this audition mayhem is a very human thing that no one’s ever going to change — Middle School.
I’ll explain.
You’ve written a play, and you need folks. Who do you think of first? Your friends, people you KNOW.
If you have to look outside your familiar circle for roles or production support, what do you do? You ask your friends if they know somebody.
What are you looking for?
Someone who’s competent, kind, detail oriented and lives for stage management.
Can you imagine if you were interviewing a company manager, and the candidate said:
?? Can you give me a chance to solve your problem? I mean, I don’t know how I’ll solve it, but just pick me?
or
? Problem? I don’t see a problem here. And I’m amazing, so yeah, here I am. (Sits back and puts shod feet on desk.)
OR
? Hey there. I get it — I see your problem. I’ve solved a lot of these before, and here’s how I can help you solve yours.
Who are you gonna sling a contract at that second and pray they’re available?
Yet actors often bring in versions 1 and 2 into rooms and then get frustrated that their results are crap.
It’s human to want people to pick you for stuff. We want to be chosen. It’s a natural and good desire. When my wife puts her hand on my back and says, “I love you,” I mean, that’s the stuff.
But if we’re talking about getting picked for shows, you need do 1 of 2 things:
Create positive emotional associations to yourself,
OR
pick yourself.
Then create positive emotional associations to yourself. Because no matter how much you pick yourself, if you’re an asshole, no one will want to be in the trenches with you.
If this feels middle school, it’s because it is — because guess what middle schools are full of? People, just younger with under-developed prefrontal cortices.
This bears out in many rehearsal halls, too.
So what can you DO about this? How can you make your auditions and creative life more successful?
First, we are going to define a successful audition:
A successful audition means you prepare well, share the work with artistry, skill, and an open heart, and accomplish the goal you set for yourself in that meeting. It’s a clear preview of how you’d solve a casting problem, and it’s also a glimpse into the straightforward joy it will be to work with you.
That’s it. There’s no outcome component. You’re not going to get the job. Most of the jobs, we don’t get, so dispose of the lie that you have any direct control whatsoever over manipulating a casting decider into picking you.
For more on this, and to really set yourself free, read Audition Psych 101 by Michael Kostroff.
So, to have this successful audition, do this:
Number one, the folks you’re pissed about? Stop paying attention to them. They have nothing to do with you except what you can learn from them.
Number 2, this one’s real simple, but people discount it because it’s not shiny enough.
PREPARE THE SHIT OUT OF IT — and I mean prepare the shit out of it. This means that although you are holding your papers, you’re off book. You have your pitches, rhythms and lyrics in your body because you’ve taken the time to do it.
You understand this person you’re being on a cellular, empathetic, and experiential level.
Confidence only comes from competence, and that comes from your current skill level plus PREP.
And put yourself in the table people’s shoes — how do you feel when the person comes in PREPPED and READY? Exactly — good.
And go ahead and let this boost your ego. If you know you work harder than other folks, let that fuel you. Know that it will pay off because it has to in some way.
The same way that you don’t look for completely fair and equal measures based on your input and output, you can also know that there’s still cause-and-effect in the world.
If you put in the work, if you give away incredible work in the audition room, you’re going to get results. It can only have a compound interest.
If you go in and share fantastic skill with someone who makes casting decisions, and that particular project isn’t a fit for you, you’ve built up artistic goodwill with that decider. It’s just human that they’ll want to pay you back for your investment with them with more opportunities for future projects.
Ego is like butter, salt, heat, and sugar — a little conscious and measured addition in your recipe goes a long way.
Number 2A is also important, and that’s this: Be good.
Have a sober and humble estimation of your skills.
Video yourself. Get a good ears on your voice. Get a wise, incisive and kind acting coach on your storytelling.
What are your blind spots? What are your blocks?
Get in there and work on them and become the electric malleable and expressive performer that you yourself can trust to tell a story with honesty and power. If you know, you can do that, imagine the difference that will make when you walk into a room to share your solution to a casting problem.
And Number 3 —
Have something rich and meaningful going on in your life besides this audition.
Your performing career needs to thrive inside a rich and meaningful life. What do you have going on that gives life to you in life to those around you?
Sit down and write down what’s truly most important to you. Who are your people? Who do you love and who loves you?
And this is dramatic, but effective, and let’s face it, we’re dramatic. When you’re on your deathbed, is this audition or this show opportunity going to be the thing you’re thinking about?
If you’re at an appointment and you know that you have a writers’ meeting later that day on the project that you’ve put together or you’re going to meet up with that friend you haven’t seen in a long time, it’ll set you free to put things in context, and you won’t put value on things that you don’t need to put value on.
What is valuable is your preparation and showing up with excellence so that you prove to yourself that you’re a skilled and generous performer, who has a rich depth of artistry to bring to the table.
So, back to those folks booking all those jobs who clearly don’t deserve it and fill you with indignation. Here are some possibilities to weigh:
Maybe they’re better than you think they are. And maybe just because you understand what a good performance entails doesn’t mean that you’re delivering that yourself. I remember when I realized the gap between my intellectual understanding of the thing and my actual physical execution of that same thing. Ouch. And thank God.
Notice what’s in their energy. It might just be bravado, but there’s something in their energy that communicates “I don’t need this.” They’re not thirsty for connection at the party.
And remember, you don’t know their life. You’re judging a performance aesthetic and skill set, and you’re attaching meaning to their character. Stop doing that. Number one, it’s not your business, and number two, it’s a waste of your time while you could be working a messa di voce exercise to get your head and chest voice making terrific friends.
Comes back to work my acting coach Elizabeth said that time.
You’ve got to stand for yourself, and I’m convinced that having the skill, competence, and preparation underneath you is what will give you a substantial foundation that you can plant your feet on. Do that over and over, and great results will show up in your audition in creative life.
So get in there and do the work. There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story on the you can sing. Now go sing.
The tough thing about the studio I use at school: it sits directly beneath a practice room.
Sometimes it sounds like incidental orchestra warm up.
Sometimes I hear prolonged reed instrument embouchure masochism.
And sometimes singers get in there, and I remember that nobody knows how to practice.
(Sounds like a useful video series. I’d just have to make the title “How to Get Good and Slay Your Foes,” or something like that.)
The other day, though, a diligent person above me at 8 The Fenway decided they was gonna do themselves some high belting.
And they’d decided belting meant making a strong sound with their vocal folds REALLY together all the time.
I understand. That’s a logical thing to think. It’s just that so much of singing is weird and counterintuitive.
I tried to focus on my work, but I just kept hearing this somewhat familiar melody being emphatically forced through this person’s larynx.
My mirror neurons wouldn’t let me notice anything else besides the auditory empathy constricting my throat.
Then there were the vowels.
Oh no, friend, you’re not going to sing that note with that vowel the way you want.
I almost changed into my nobody-asked-me-but-I-must-help Vocal Pathology Avoidance Man superhero costume and bounded upstairs, but I had no time. And that woulda been weird.
Then I realized that somewhat familiar melody was “The Joke” by Brandi Carlile.
I love “The Joke.”
But there was nothing funny about what was happening here. Stop doing this to yourself. And this song.
So, there’s a slew of stuff I could say about the nuanced interworkings of how to make effective Mode 1 (basically chest voice) sounds around and above your passaggio.
But here are three takeaways we can learn while we pray for our friend’s vocal future.
The Voice Comes Through, Not From
The power source for your voice starts in your torso (well, your whole body, really, but, again, another article) — your abs and ribs, depending on what kinda sound you’re making, who you’re being, and what’s happening in the story.
This moves the air THROUGH (yes, yelling at you) your vocal folds and causes them to vibrate.
When folks make belty sounds, the brain somehow decides that the source of the screlt is at the throat level, so the body recruits all kinds of effort around your larynx. No bueno.
The air movement ITSELF helps with vocal fold closure, so when I don’t collaborate with this physical reality, I fight my own body and make things real real hard.
The breath, vibration, and communication energy come THROUGH, not from the folds.
This is also why singing’s so scary and tricky — it’s a flow that you can’t stop and edit before it leaves your mouth.
Belty Sounds Aren’t Just Dependent on Your Folds
Lots of folks think, “Belt? Ok, engage vocal fold slam!”
There are lots of ways to make called-out, excited, risky, wailing, engaged, scream-adjacent sounds. And so much of this depends on your phonatory pattern and the shape of your vocal tract.
And when you discover these ways, you’re gonna be a little angry at how easy they feel.
What we call belting is often one of the most efficient ways to make noise, and it requires a teeny bit of air. Yeah, it’s robust, but the actual feeling of efficient sound making is some crazy return on your breath investment.
Belty sounds also collaborate only with certain vowels.
If you want to look this up, check out Complete Vocal Technique’s work on this, and look up Overdrive and Edge modes. I think their breakdown of this is one of the most straightforward ways of understanding belty sounds. You can also watch a video I did on vowels here.
Your Body Knows How to Belt
The family of sounds we’ve come to call “belting” are all very natural human sounds. That’s why we love it. They’re real, engaging, risky, and the let the emotions through. They’re healing.
So learn to listen to your bod.
And listening to Brandi Carlile is a good lesson in this. She sings straight from her hear guts spirit errythang.
In “The Joke,” the melody of the chorus climbs and climbs — that’s story structure telling you these folks who are laughing one day won’t be.
Just that line, “Let ‘em laugh while they can.”
That “laugh” for 2 beats — what does your body feel when you picture folks pushing somebody down chuckling because they have the upper hand? Do your justice hackles get up? Might that affect how your voice calls our the word “laugh” for 1.5 seconds? Of course it will.
I’ve made the equivalent noises as our friend SHOWING UP and working in the practice room. Good job up there!
I’ve worked really hard and been mystified by how to accomplish a vocal task. I’ve thrown all the spaghetti at all the walls and made the wounded animal noises to prove it. Often in front of folks.
Your voice is resilient. Yes, there’s fragility there, and we have to take care of it.
AND, it’s so strong and capable. Think of all it can do. So trust it. If you feel tired, or anything feels uncomfortable, stop, and don’t do it that way again.
Get help! From someone who knows what they’re talking about. Someone who can demonstrate knowledge about how your physiology, psychology, and soul make sounds.
And be kind to you. You’re going to suck at stuff that’s new. Let’s let ourselves be a beginner for heaven’s sake. Talking to myself, too. Oof.
And if you want to learn to make these noises in straightforward, easy ways that make sense, work, and are fun, just reach out and work with me.
I’ve made all the mistakes, and I hear this stuff every day, and it’s my absolute delight to help you sing free, joyful, and heal stuff in the process.
Singing is sneaky like that.
There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing. Now go sing.
