Why do we sing? The answer to this question is as
varied as the individuals who participate in the art. A recent poll of my students on this topic resulted in some interesting answers: “Because my family and teachers told me I was good at it;” “Because I enjoy it;” “Because it makes me happy;” “It is a way to gain affirmation and get noticed;” “God gave me a talent and it is my duty to use it.” Only one individual included others (the audience) in their answer, and not one mentioned the depth and breadth of the classical vocal repertoire!
My own reasons for singing have changed dramatically (and traumatically) over my 25 years as a professional singer and teacher. In my younger years the act of singing was an expression of pure joy. I sang because I was happy and literally “burst forth into song.” Being very kinesthetic in nature, I enjoyed the physical, sensual side of producing vocal tone and the adrenaline rush, which accompanied performance.
When I entered the conservatory things changed considerably. It seemed I was no longer a person, but a music-making machine. My identity, my self-image, and the amount of respect I commanded from faculty and colleagues seemed to depend entirely upon my vocal performance. My experience in a highly competitive environment was not a particularly pleasant one. I made the huge psychological error of equating who I am with what I do. I was, after all, a singer.
I continued this modus operandi throughout graduate school and well into my professional career. Like an athlete, my attention was on me, playing the game well, beating out the competition, making a living doing what I loved to do best, reaping the financial rewards and receiving the affirmation and attention of colleagues, administrators, conductors and audiences. All this came to a crashing halt when I went through a very painful divorce. I was left emotionally and financially devastated and unable to sing.
Struggle and effort did little to relieve the heartache and restore my joy in music-making. Since my former husband was a musician, the act of singing and music-making was in itself a reminder of all that we had shared and all that I had lost. Singing now became for me a source of great emotional pain rather than pleasure. My throat literally closed up.
As a professional, one is often required to sing when one is not particularly happy. I fortunately found a way to work through this crisis using techniques from hypnotherapy. But the return of my voice did not restore my former reasons for singing. And the continuous pressures in academia to “perform or perish” did little to motivate me in a positive direction. My healing necessitated the formation of another reason to sing. Which brings me to the audience.
In the past the audience was always my judge, and I needed to have their approval. Now I want to give them a present. If they like it, I will be greatly pleased. If not, they have the same right to refuse it as they would with any other gift. In either case, I will continue to sing. The dedication and discipline of daily practice is now an act of love—for the music, for myself, for my voice, and for the audience. It is no longer enough for me to sing for my own ego gratification or to prove that I am “the best.” Quite frankly, that’s far too emotionally exhausting! This new outlook has given me the freedom to relax and enjoy performing again, and to see my audience as a source of energy rather than a group I need to impress.
Actress Zoe Caldwell, who played the title role of Maria Callas in the play “Master Class,” shared the following in a recent television interview: “When an actor/singer reveals who he/she is on stage through the music or the script, the audience gets to see the person behind the facade. And that is an act of love.” “Perfect love,” the Bible tells us, “casteth out fear.” Love your music, love with passion, with commitment, and with intent. Love the composers whose skills created the songs you sing. Love yourself, your body, and your unique voice. Love the audience and the wonderful opportunity to give them a very special present—yourself. This, I believe, is the essence of both spiritual and artistic growth.
