There’s a fascinating little collection of essays buried in the Classical Singer website. They’ve been put together by vocal coaches and can be found in the Coach Directory at http://www.classicalsinger.com/coach/list.php3 under the heading “Coach’s Statement.” And what reading they make! Almost without exception we fill you in on our professional backgrounds, and based on them, we suggest how your interpretive skills might best be advanced by a visit to our studios. There are some, like me, who go one step further. We enter the realm of sweeping generalizations. Borne along on that fast-flowing stream of consciousness, I find I have said something rather rash—arrogant, even. “For me, a coach’s role is to give the singer permission to fulfill his or her highest aspirations.” Like a singer needs that from me?
Though I don’t hand out certificates of approval at the end of my coaching sessions, I do find that praise means a lot, and probably a whole lot more in the entertainment field than anywhere else. Criticism certainly does. Many of us find ourselves holding back, playing it safe, so our interpretations won’t be held up to ridicule. We dread the critic’s sharpened quill, or outright rejection. To make sure that our careers aren’t unwittingly cut off at the knees, we find ourselves ever more relying on fellow professionals for reassurance.
It’s quite possible that some of the greatest and most daring performances have failed to see the light of day for fear of ridicule. The coach’s studio is the place to try out one’s most danger-prone efforts—no holds barred. And the coach’s job is to underpin those efforts with his approval, his encouragement, his—permission. Of course, if what he hears is simply excessive or indulgent, he withholds that blessing. The “well-dones” inevitably must be tempered with the occasional “perhaps-you-might-like-to-try-a-different-approach.“
While I’m used to getting e-mails from singers, recently I was surprised to receive one from a pianist setting out as a vocal coach. “Your biography in Classical Singer moved me to write. I have many questions regarding singers and the art of coaching that your experience and insightful comments seem to address.” First he wanted to know about audition preparation and repertory, then about vocal ornamentation, and finally, rather unexpectedly, about the Wagner music-dramas. Let me share with you how I answered the four questions of my young correspondent.
1. Audition Preparation: Soon after I arrived in the USA from London to take up my first teaching post, I innocently asked a young undergraduate what kind of things she had learned in her vocal pedagogy class. “We’re taught how to audition—that sort of thing.” “And what did you learn about auditioning?” I asked. She replied, “Well, I know not to wear open-toed shoes!” I fear that that is the level at which many masterclasses and seminars on the subject of audition preparation operate. Some chip away at minor irrelevancies and focus in on empty superficialities. A group session may begin well: A list of requirements of indeterminate length is often developed. That list is populated with the usual suspects—presenting oneself well, singing the right notes, perfecting pronunciation, setting optimal tempos, even what shoes to wear. In a classroom setting, that will probably be the end of the matter.
A lot of music-making, especially in academia, is centered around what can be tested on objective and quantifiable evidence. The need to investigate the relationship between the performer and his or her material is continually being put off to another day, or worse, disregarded. I have even heard it suggested that characterization can be ”added on” by the stage director and the conductor after the contract has been signed. Sometimes, during the long search for the “perfect” portrayal of a demanding role, I have mused that the person I am listening to has been told, “announce your name clearly,” “confine your résumé to a single side,” “keep your materials up to date,” and “don’t wave your arms about,” to the exclusion of the most important aspects of preparation.
It’s a tricky business creating a “winning” audition scenario. How does one get from a “very-nice-come-and-sing-for-us-again-next-year” to a ”do-you-have-your-date-book-with-you-are-you-free-next-June” situation? Let me share an idea. Before the singer walks on the stage, he or she focuses on the panel’s greatest need. They are looking for a performer who will touch their hearts and move their emotions in unexpected, life-changing ways—in ways that are implied by the text, the music, and the dramatic situation and which seem, from the moment the singer walks on stage, to represent in totality what the role and the emotional situation demand. All this should be portrayed in terms of the psyche, the intellect and the life experience of the interpreter. What’s more, it has to be expressed with a beautiful, appealing, well-trained voice.
That is what real audition preparation is all about. For my e-mail correspondent this may be a lot to take on board. My advice to him is to open up his musical ears and ask plenty of heart-felt, honest questions.
2. Audition Repertory: First, an axiom: In the course of a day packed with ten-minute appointments, an audition panel will begin to judge hackneyed repertoire much as a sports panel judges a diving competition. The pool-side judges will see the same dive over and over again—until such matters of relative unconcern as the splash the competitor makes on entering the water become the overriding criterion of the quality of the dive. It’s the same with singers: For “splash,” read “length of high note” or “speed of coloratura.” The audition panel may not have begun the day feeling that way, but as soon as tiredness and boredom set in, quantifiable minutiae begin to take on a new and fascinating interest.
Imagine that into this aura of repetitive tedium a singer arrives with a musical rarity—a contemporary work, say—or a treacherous Handel aria. She’s brought her own accompanist. She’s on top of her material. Her excerpt bears a direct relationship to the role the company is looking to cast. What happens? Suddenly the folks at the table are sitting bolt upright. They’re not making side comments. They’re listening. The aria ends. They’re talking to the singer. They’re asking her questions about the piece they’ve just heard. And, wonder of wonders, they’re starting to think how the part they’re trying to cast might sound, given the level of commitment they’ve just experienced. And now they’re asking for a second aria.
A coach can offer no guarantees—but once you up the ante, you’re taking a positive step in the right direction. My advice to my young friend, the coach, is simply that you can never know too much repertoire. The standard aria books aren’t going to cover all bases. So learn them and know them well—then quickly move on to the less-than-standard material. When working with singers, summon all your knowledge of repertoire and musical imagination in recommending new works for audition purposes. This advice may be the most empowering information you will ever offer your client.
3. Ornamentation: Let’s turn now from the mighty torrents of repertoire to the tiny ripples of ornamentation. My inquirer’s third question concerns this very narrow field of expertise. Or is it so narrow? The holy trinity of appoggiaturas, fiorituras and cadenzas is omnipresent from the earliest operas well into the nineteenth century. One thing we can be sure of is that they were sung! Otherwise, why did Verdi instruct that a vocal line be sung senza appoggiature? Why, you may wonder, didn’t composers write down their music exactly as they wanted it to be performed? While you’re pondering the answer—and waiting for me to publish my book on the subject—compare almost any 20th-century popular song recording with the printed sheet music. You’ll find some pretty wild discrepancies!
Here are a few pointers I might pass on to an up-and-coming coach. For Monteverdi, take a look at the Leppard editions. For Mozart, examine the ways in which Mozart himself ornaments his vocal lines. There are examples in print. Or even transcribe Mackerras’s Mozart ornaments from his recordings. For Rossini, there are a number of available examples. In each case, master the style based on reliable evidence, apply the same principles, and summon up your musical imagination. And be sure to take time in the coaching session to write out clearly some specific musical suggestions for the singer.
Before I leave this subject, there are two bugs I would like to put into my coach friend’s ear. The first is this: How is it that so many smart people might encourage vocal ornaments in the music of Handel or Rossini, but retreat in horror from doing the same in Mozart and Haydn? And the second bug: Why do singers perform some appoggiaturas and leave others out? Either they are a stylistic “given,” or they shouldn’t be used at all. The way I see it, you can’t have it both ways!
4. Wagner Music Dramas: And so to the last question from my correspondent: “Where or when does one begin with the Wagner music dramas?” The simple answer is, here and now. As a student at the London Opera Centre in the 1960s, I hated the discipline of having to learn—memorize, even—my weekly chunk of Die Walküre. This meant not only learning to play the piano reduction, but also having to sing (croak is nearer the truth) and conduct the scene. It was simple torture. Apart from glancing down to the execrable English translation, I had only the most generalized idea of what was happening dramatically. But fear drove me on. I was somewhat overawed by my teacher, Sir Edward Downes. He could be quite cynical if one’s efforts lacked accuracy and commitment. Gradually, I began to “get under the skin” of the music, to recognize the architecture of these mighty works, to understand that the leitmotif was more—much more—than a decorative indication of a character or an emotion. However, a decade passed by before I found myself back in Nibelheim. In the 1970s, I became Reginald Goodall’s musical assistant on the now legendary Ring Cycle produced by English National Opera. And suddenly all that learning by rote under Downes paid off—and handsomely. There was no other way I could have understood the stylistic demands of those great music-dramas unless they had been in my bones from an early age.
When should the singer be encouraged to examine Wagner? It’s decidedly better sooner than later. I am not saying that youngsters should be encouraged to sing Wagner too soon. But why has waiting for a voice to develop sufficient weight to undertake a role come to mean, “Don’t crack open the score till you’re mature enough?” I offer this assurance: The vocalization of a few phrases composed by the great man will not be the direct cause of any vocal harm. Wagner has written beautiful, elegant roles that are healthful to good singing. Sopranos and mezzos might like to take a look at Fricka, Erda, Gutrune, Waltraute or any of the Three Norns; while tenors, baritones and basses could spend productive time discovering such diverse characters as Loge and Froh, or Fasolt, Gunther, Hunding— and for the truly adventurous baritone, give Alberich the “once-over!” None of these roles was written for especially “heroic” voices. Some of them are buffo; some are comprimario. And Wagner’s writings have left no 20th-century composer unmoved. A practical knowledge of his style might be a powerful influence for good on the interpretation of later repertoire.
Last week, I finally got to meet and work with the young man I had met on the Internet. He turned out to be an excellent pianist with a great sense of what was involved in becoming a professional coach. Now what I hope is that my suggestions may help him to develop the confidence, strength, and knowledge to “grant permission” to singers at all levels. Every inspired performance in the studio ends with an unspoken question: “Was that okay?” Every coach must answer it honestly. And each word of praise is another way of saying, “Yes. You moved me. I loved what you did. Keep it that way. Permission granted!” Such words of approval may be the key to a future where audiences might be saved from bland, routine performances.
