Most of us have heard of the Alexander Technique. Most of us know what it is, and that it is good for us—but how many singers actually take the initiative to engage in one-on-one Alexander sessions?
What can such an investment realistically do for us—and just what happens in a private Alexander Technique lesson, anyway?
These were the questions that led me, one August afternoon, to an address in the heart of downtown Manhattan. Ann Rodiger, a certified Alexander Technique instructor, had come highly recommended by several people, and I was determined to find out what all the fuss was about.
I was not a stranger to the technique devised by F.M. Alexander. (The F.M., a patient instructor once answered me, stands for Frederick Matthias. She wasn’t able to tell me why he’s invariably referred to by his initials.) I had taken a semester-long class on it as a part of my undergraduate studies. Unfortunately, it was an early-morning course—with all the time spent “observing” the teacher work on individual students, you can imagine how focused my mind was on the task at hand. I’d say I spent most of my hour-long class time concentrating on what I wished I were eating for breakfast. Looking back, it is clear to me that Alexander study is simply not at its best in a group situation. It’s too hands-on, too individual, and too easy to zone out.
But farther down the road, my mind returned to the proclaimed benefits of the Alexander Technique. Judging by the frequency that everyone, from opera superstars to my teachers, sings its praises, I figured it would improve my tone, eliminate tension, solve my back problems, improve my self-esteem, balance my checkbook, and buy me a drink.
Too good to be true? I decided to find out.
Thus, I found myself welcomed into a sunny, spacious Manhattan studio by a cheerful petite woman whose business-casual style in no way suggested the New Age hippie type many may associate with holistic practices.
Ann Rodiger led me past a menagerie of waist-high potted plants to a pair of chairs in the back of the room. She sat me right down and got to work, molding my neck and shoulders.
“Now, you know that Alexander is a hands-on technique,” she explained. Yes, I knew.
Before progressing further, Ann asked me what sort of body problems I was experiencing. I cited lower back pain, a thrice-dislocated shoulder, and a few areas of tension that had crept into my singing as of late. As I explained my injuries and their treatments, the Alexander guru worked her way down from my head to my shoulders, making adjustments.
These weren’t the kind of crackling adjustments you’d be subjected to on the chiropractor’s table. Rather, they were more like gentle repositioning: pulling the head a little more this way, subtly twisting the torso to the right, and exclaiming joyously, “Ah! There we go!” when the correct alignment finally came into place.
Ann gave me instructions to relax or release this or that part of my body—my tongue, my neck—and punctuated some of her points by referring to a life-sized model skeleton that stood next to me. For example, although we think of our heads in terms of our faces and the tops of our skulls, quite a bit sticks out behind the neck as well.
So, I was to become aware of the back of my head, imagining it balancing out the front. I assume this was to keep me from lowering my chin into my neck.
Then Ann had me speak. I counted from one to 10, then she repositioned me ever so slightly and I counted again. We repeated this exercise several times, and after each minor readjustment, my speaking voice rang out clearer. We moved from speaking to singing—just simple, single-pitch tones—and went through the same process. I’d love to be more specific about what she did, but the truth is, I don’t really know. The movements were so subtle that it was amazing they were so effective.
All along the way, Ann asked me how I “sensed” certain things and what I “noticed” when I tried something different. This jumped out at me because it’s exactly the kind of approach so many voice teachers take when trying to get you to understand and reproduce a new technique. Unfortunately, I’m not the world’s keenest observer, so I started to feel pretty dumb when my answer kept coming up: “Uh … notice? Umm … nothing.” As we went on and it became clear that the question was not going to stop coming at me, I concentrated harder on remarking any sensations I could pass off as an answer.
Believe it or not, this worked pretty well. Whatever minor variation on my usual perceptions I came up with, Ann was able to interpret as a consequence of the altered movement and positioning of my body. When we finally got off the chair and practiced some walking around the room with my head held high, I casually pointed out that I felt like I was staring at the ceiling. Ann explained that I had grown used to keeping my eyes in a high position to compensate for my usual “head-butt” posture.
“The eyes have to readjust to the head, as well as the head to the body,” she instructed. It wasn’t something I would’ve thought of, but it made perfect sense.
After a bit of walking, mostly consisting of starting, stopping, readjusting, and repeating, Ann led me over to the table. Table work is an integral part of Alexander Technique, but one that instructors often breeze over in class situations, because they can only work on one person at a time, and it’s pretty boring to watch. It’s actually quite a passive form of instruction for the Alexanderee—theoretically, your mind should be focused on releasing this or elongating that, but in practice, it’s more like receiving a massage.
I had barely gotten comfortable when Ann made a surprising observation: my knees pointed inward. I hadn’t thought to mention that when I listed my body problems, but she was 100 percent right. I suffer from a very mild but annoying case of intoe. I was impressed that she had picked up on that right away and brought it up. We discussed techniques for me to work on this problem, such as imagining my big toe moving forward in a straight line as I walk or run, and continuing my self-prescribed correction of keeping my arms straight, in hopes that the legs will follow.
After the table work, we did a little more walking, which brought us to the end of the hour. I felt great, but also overwhelmed. Happily, Ann was generous enough to sit down with me for little Q&A.
So, how in the world am I going to figure out how to do that on my own?
What you can do is take the ideas that we worked with, and the things that made the most sense to you—particularly in relation to your head and neck—and then monitor yourself with what you’re doing. So, you work with the ideas and you start to pay attention to what you’re doing, so your awareness becomes greater and builds—and then you’ll start to be able to discriminate between the new pattern and the old habit. Then you kind of wedge your awareness in there and stop doing the old pattern. You have to catch yourself before you do that habitual thing.
I’m assuming that this is an ongoing process. How many lessons do you think average singers would need overall, or how long would they have to do it? Or would you just recommend continuing indefinitely?
Well, I think it depends on how far you want to go. Some people continue indefinitely, but I think it takes probably 10 to 15 lessons to start to be able to incorporate things. By that time, a person has a pretty good sense of direction, and they can start to stay with that while they do the activities and singing. At the same time, after one lesson, people aren’t beginners anymore, because they have a sense of direction. They’ve got a sense of what they’re thinking about, [and] how to process information. It depends on people.
Would you say it’s something on which you have to actively spend time on your own, or do you just take a few moments to think about it as you go through your everyday chores?
I think taking a few moments to think about it when you go through your everyday activities and chores is one of the best ways to work on it. Sometimes, when people feel overwhelmed, I say: “Pick one thing, like answering the phone, and make sure that every time you answer the phone you’re thinking about what you’re doing.” And then that kind of awareness starts to permeate everything you’re doing. And the more you pay attention, the faster things start to shift. You start to notice how things change in your daily life. I think waiting for the [traffic] light to change is a really good time to pay attention. Before you speak at the office, or on your job, is a good time.
That’s interesting, what you say about feeling overwhelmed and needing to start by picking just a few little things to work on, because I was just thinking about how it can feel very stressful to always be thinking: “I need to do this, I need to do that.” What else would you say to combat the sort of guilt that says: “I’m doing everything wrong; I need to fix everything”?
It’s a cumulative process. There are a couple of answers. Starting with the head, neck, and back relationship really is the primary thing to look at. If one has to pick one primary thing to focus on, I would focus on where the head and neck meet and keeping that free, and then everything is going to follow from there. Even though we talked about a whole bunch of different things in the lesson, that’s really going to be the main clue to letting everything else change. And I can see how it’s overwhelming, because when one thing changes it affects everything else. So everything is like this whole gestalt domino effect that happens. But I would pick one or two things and focus on those, and then let that spread into the rest of the activities, the rest of the singing, because it can be overwhelming.
So for me, just starting, the No. 1 thing I need to think to myself when I do take those few moments to stop and reflect is the head lengthening? The neck lengthening? Is there a specific mantra I should use?
You should first of all think of keeping your neck free. That means where the head and neck meet, as well as the whole length of your neck. As that frees up, you’ll notice that there’s an upward direction that happens. So those are the main things. Maybe for you specifically, it would be just remembering that you have a back to your head. That’s a big part of it: What is the whole head? Making sure that image is really clear. So, when you give yourself a thought, you’re thinking about an accurate thing, and then letting that evolve. Checking with your own images, letting it become accurate, and letting it shift into something that’s more appropriate.
I’m sure if I asked you which singers could benefit from Alexander Technique, you’d say everybody—right?
Yeah! (Laughs)
But do you think there’s any sort of person, or a particular problem people have, that would especially benefit from the Alexander Technique?
I think the Alexander work, because it affects the whole body—and sometimes singers forget that [singing is] a whole-body activity—really helps people understand support: How to support, how to breathe, because sometimes that gets left out of the equation. And because the Alexander work is a whole-body activity and affects the whole body, then it starts to give people a sense of how to support the sound. And in that way it straightens out the column. If somebody’s out of whack or twisted, then that [sense of support] starts to open it up. And just that fact of a better alignment is going to really, really help the person with their support.
So the No. 1 problem a singer could address with Alexander Technique is support?
Yes, and the second thing would be tongue tension. Because in order to keep your neck easy and free, you have to let go of your tongue. I would say if I had to pick two things, those would be them. (Laughs) That’s a hard question!
Ann Rodiger’s website is www.balanarts.com
