During the weeks since last month’s article, “Why Singing?”, I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to “break eggs without making omelets.” The questions I asked in that article were intended, of course, not to break eggs, but to simply encourage a review of the recipe, to ask ourselves whether our current pathways are leading to what is best, both for singers and those for whom we sing. They were intended to encourage an expanded view of the whole world of singing and singers, and to examine the paradigms from which the singer’s world operates. My hope for this month is to open a few doors, and perhaps shine a little new light on the path, that recipe.
Wholeness
Wholeness is an overarching and underpinning concept in this excursion.
Increasing specialization is dividing today’s world into smaller and smaller parts and ever more competition for the prizes. It’s like the characters we sometimes see in cartoons, who fall off cliffs, walk into walls, or meet other equally dramatic fates. We can end up feeling as cracked and fragmented as they are—only not as funny.
Wholeness has become a much sought-after state of being, reaching into a wide range of professions, such as law, medicine, education, and many more, including music. As singers who are often too busy to take our next singer-breath, we need that wholeness for ourselves. What’s more, we need to spread it around.
This brings me to the key point upon which this article is based, a quote from Herbert Whone. I hope you’ll memorize it as though your life depended upon it:
“Artists are…the vehicle of laws much higher than themselves.”1
The statement bears pondering—not for a moment, but for a decade or two. Such laws, if understood and applied, could have an impact, to say the least, carrying with them far-reaching opportunities and responsibilities. Let’s explore further. Last month I used the analogy of not seeing the forest for the trees, and suggested our need to remember the big picture: not just the forest, but also the roots that will inform and nourish us, if we allow them. A search for the higher laws must begin with those roots, those beginnings, and move out from there.
In the first book of the epic fantasy “The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant,” which I first read many years ago, Stephen R. Donaldson writes of a simple group of people whose every living moment is defined by their relationship with the earth and its energies. In one particularly touching scene (think of it as a big opera moment), one couple from this group has broken a treasured earthenware jar. Instead of grieving, they perform a ceremony in which they simply sing the shards of the jar back together: no glue, no cracks left to remind them of the former shattered condition of the jar.
Singing, in combination with focused intent, restored what was broken to wholeness. This moment, which is rather small in relationship to the greater story, struck me hard and deep, and something inside me said a great, big “YES!”
Roots
In the ancient societies of Egypt, India, Greece, and China, to name a few, music played a role in everything from health to architecture to politics. They considered music the basis for everything, the bridge linking all things together. Physical forms were considered manifestations of music, and it was held that life and health (wholeness) depended upon harmonic balance of ratios and relationships.
In ancient Greece, for instance, one could not become a physician until he had first become a musician, and prescriptions often included rhythmic singing and chanting from selected sacred melodic sequences. Among some societies, vowels were considered sacred, and written words were spelled with consonants only. Among others, music itself was considered sacred and its practitioners were considered acolytes in a holy cause. Oral histories from Peru and Bolivia regarding the monolithic stones used to build some of their edifices suggest that those impossibly large stones were placed not by machines but by sound.
David Tame, in The Secret Power of Music, writes: “To the major civilizations of antiquity, intelligently-organized sound constituted the highest of all the arts. And more, for they also believed music—the intelligent production of sound through musical instruments and the vocal cords—to be the most important of the sciences, the most powerful path of religious enlightenment, and the very basis of stable, harmonious government.” 2
The ancients obviously knew some things about music, especially singing, that have gradually been lost, ignored, set-aside. Fortunately, many scholars, musicians and scientists are recovering and reclaiming that ancient understanding, taking it at increasing speed into the 21st century.
The forest, AKA ‘The Big Picture’
Vocal science has now analyzed the mechanics of singing down to the smallest detail, even to the point of obscuring the humanity of the singing act. Ironically it is also science that points to the big picture, the why of singing, through what is known as the “new physics.” Until fairly recently, scientists thought that matter was simply invisible waves and visible particles. With their new capacity to observe at the sub-atomic level, physicists learned, to their astonishment, that waves, rather than always being waves, and particles, rather than always being particles, are continually reversing roles, one becoming the other. Furthermore, they found that the whole process could be influenced by the observer, that in fact, the simple act of watching the process had the capacity to change its outcome. As radically over-simplified as that brief explanation is, the implication is enormous: The universe is made of vibration.
English writer Thomas Carlyle wrote, “See deep enough and you see musically; the heart of nature being everywhere music if you can only reach it.” The universe is made up of resonance fields, and resonance fields are the singer’s playground! That big picture becomes illuminated when we realize that those who influence the airwaves, the cells, the atoms of the human body—the emotions and the whole soul, whether our own or another’s—have an influence greater than we dreamed.
Artists are indeed “the vehicle of laws much higher than themselves.” Acceptance of that statement as fact makes it crucial that we become acquainted with those greater laws, becoming increasingly conscious givers of our gifts.
A long time ago a friend asked, “JoAnn, what is the meaning of meaning?”
I thought about it for a couple of decades, had a number of conversations about it, and I’m still thinking about it. But the closest I have come to having an answer has to do with context. It has to do with the experience, information, and emotion surrounding something. The meaning of the act of singing and the possibilities for the human voice have, by way of quantum physics, now expanded by quantum leaps.
Remember the concept of holons from last month? Allow me to repeat the introduction to the idea:
Scientist/philosopher Ken Wilber has written extensively about the concept of holons, wherein each dimension of growth is depicted as a sphere, a whole, which in turn grows, not abandoning but transcending and including the former holon. The model is a nest of concentric spheres, endless in potential, and applicable as a framework for growth in any area.3
A holon is whole, what Wilber refers to as an “irreversible hierarchy of increasing wholeness.” We grow, we evolve, we include, we transcend. And as we absorb the implications of such growth, as “vehicles of laws higher than ourselves,” as instruments of transformation, the world of new possibility begins to hum in our ears—in our souls.
My pathway had been traditional all the way: contests, roles, contracts, teaching, etc. Imagine how intense and topsy-turvy that traditional world became as I began asking deeper questions, exploring and stretching my own paradigm. It even carried over to my husband’s psyche. He wakened one morning having had a dream about these ideas and their reception by singers, who in the dream were tugging and wrangling about the concepts, until they understood them. Then all became peaceful.
The principles aren’t difficult. Expanding the holon, altering the paradigm, may not be so simple. Once the principles take root, however, they begin to spring to life and nothing is ever quite the same again.
Addiction?
Last month I invited you to ask yourself, with brutal honesty, why you sing. Asking yourself this question can be a worthwhile exercise. There may be additional reasons you may not have learned about, some of them leading toward an understanding of the addiction element treated in that article. Consider the following.
As early as 1830, studies were published proving music’s physiological effects on humans, including circulation, changes in blood pressure, metabolism, muscular energy, respiration, etc., which in turn affect emotional shifts. Jill Purce, international expert on the powers of sound in general and the human voice in particular, reminds us that: “In English to be healthy is to be sound; we talk about being sound in body and mind…To be in tune like this is to maintain a state of health. Each person has a sound quite distinct from that of another person, and you can learn to bring your whole being into resonance with it.” 4
Dr. Alfred Tomatis, famous French physician, psychologist and ear specialist, believed that the voice can only produce what the ear hears, and that, “A hidden but primary function of the ear is to charge the brain with electrical potential. Sounds, especially the ones we make ourselves as singers and speakers, are a fantastic energy food.”5
My all-time favorite quote on this subject comes from Pir Hazrat Inayat Khan, who was a master of classical Indian music: “By a keen study of psychology you will find that singers have a greater magnetism than the average person. Because of their own practicing, their voice makes an effect upon themselves, and they produce electricity in themselves. In that way, they are charged with new magnetism every time they practice. This is the secret of the singer’s magnetism.”6
In an amusing coincidence, last week, after I sang “How Great Thou Art” at a funeral, a friend came up to me and said, “Thanks, JoAnn, for realigning all my molecules!” Being in the middle of writing and researching this article, I was a bit aghast at her comment. Knowing it was unlikely she had ever heard anything of the principles we’re discussing here, I asked, “Kris, why did you say that?” Her answer, “Well, I could just feel it—all over!” To become aware of those “laws much higher than ourselves,” is to make amazing discoveries.
How many times have you gone to a rehearsal already dragging, wondering where you would find the strength to sing a single note, then gradually find yourself charged and ready to go? Did you have any idea that you were actually restoring yourself with the use of your voice? Then consider those basic physiological elements, added to the fact that you are likely singing with colleagues, other supercharged beings, making beautiful music and having some of the world’s most beautiful poetic language coursing through you. Is it a difficult leap to find yourself certifiably addicted? We could wish it for all mankind.
I have a close friend, formerly a music department chairman at a major university, who has said, “If everyone sang in a choir, we would have world peace.”
Doesn’t seem too unlikely to me.
Considering the profound effects of sound, singing, and the human voice on our own and others’ beings, how can the addiction be a negative one? Only when it creates a harmful imbalance in our lives; only when it puts us at the mercy of a potentially harmful system; only when there is only one ladder, one wall, and space for only a few. Rather than ladders and walls, we ourselves could build playgrounds. And those playgrounds would include kids from the other side of the tracks—not just the privileged.
Art vs. fine art
My husband and I studied in Cologne, West Germany, as Fulbright students. In our economically challenged state of being, we lived in an apartment house occupied by guest workers who had come from other countries simply to make a living, and strangely, we were the only ones in the building who spoke German. We had no way to converse with our neighbors beyond saying hello. We were there to study our art, at a very complex, advanced level.
In that apartment house there was a young Turkish mother with a new baby. She would sing to her little one, and when we heard her, we would carefully open our front door to better hear her singing. It was magical, and we feasted on it. She wasn’t trained. She probably had only a meager education. But without question, her gift to her child—and to us—was art. That’s when I began my internal debate on the question of art vs. fine art, and the debate heated up as I began pondering the pathway, pitfalls and possibilities for singers in our world.
Eric Booth—arts educator, publisher, Juilliard faculty member and much more—was keynote speaker at the annual conference of Chorus America in June of 2003. His presentation, Art at the Heart of Learning, was adapted and excerpted in their fall 2003 journal, and could well be required reading for every artist. (The full text of his speech is available on Chorus America’s website, www.chorusamerica.org.) Booth’s presentation included a discussion of art vs. entertainment and the distinction between them, a much-visited subject for singers. The distinction by which he lives is this:
“Entertainment happens within what we already know. Entertainment confirms our sense of the way the world is, or might be. We might laugh or cry or have whatever reaction, but entertainment says yes, the world is the way you think it is…Art, on the other hand, happens outside of what we already know. Inherent in the artistic experience is an expansion of the way the world is or could be.” 7
Who could argue? My own decades of internal debate, however, reach for an additional dimension of awareness, an expanded holon, including and transcending. I want art to transcend what we already know, but also to include that little Turkish mother, to include the sounds, colors, shapes, and dances of nature, the cowboy singing off-key to his horse, and the serenade of the daily shower. Immediately, we all become artists. And, if I have adequately described the fundamentals of the new physics and the resonance fields in which we mortals live, it is a simple step to begin to understand that no hard and firm lines exist between the arts and the fine arts, between arts and entertainment, between mothers’ lullabies and operatic arias.
Yo Yo Ma and Bobby McFerrin are perfect examples of those who, with ultimate skill and world-level capacity, have erased lines. And with the erasing of those harsh, judgmental lines, goes the inclination toward the snobbery and elitism of which we are so often accused. In other words, we are all singers. Going deeper, we are all walking symphonies of sounds, electricity, harmonics, singing our songs at different levels of complexity perhaps, but all singing.
A friend, an extremely gifted professional classical singer (one of the “1’s” referred to last month) read last month’s article prior to its publication. She asked me a searching question: “Why then all these years of classical training and what’s the point?” I’ve been asked that question before. My answer is at least threefold:
First, my advice, whether you are a world-class professional or a high school freshman, is to encompass the principles, the roots, the “higher laws.” Once you absorb these laws, they begin to do their work and may surprise you with your own answer, bubbling up from somewhere deep within yourself.
Second, nothing we learn is ever wasted. What I have learned, what I have become, as I have labored to master the works of art I have been privileged to bring to life from pages of inert black notes, would not have been wasted even if I had never been heard. That I have been heard and appreciated, whether in my church congregation or in a major opera role, is frosting on the cake. To have been paid for doing what brings me joy is yet more frosting.
Third, we must continually re-evaluate our pursuits. Ever since Galileo, we have become increasingly a world of measurers. We measure everything for its supposed value, including the singing profession, and we need to pay attention to the nature of our yardsticks. Do we measure numbers of roles? Numbers of newspaper articles and radio/TV interviews? Financial rewards? Volume of sound? Size of concert hall or fame of conductor? Or perhaps how much singing gives back to you in human joy? How much human joy it gives to others? Do you measure the direction in which this experience changes you and those for whom you sing?
And while we are measuring, we might ask why, as happened recently in my area, 30 people showed up to hear a fine university-sponsored recital of a gifted professional baritone and the same evening 15,000 went to hear James Taylor? The most common answers traditionally given in classical circles would cite the woeful lack of cultural polish among the masses, or the dumbing down of the public by media overload, but I am nagged by another possibility. Could it be, perhaps, that what those 15,000 people needed was a friendly voice to just sing to them? For someone to reach into the lives they are actually living, recognize them and show them something important about those experiences? How do we measure that value? Could nourishment be a factor?
Then there is the story from a local newspaper about the training of greyhound dogs for racing. Trainers use mechanical rabbits to train the dogs to run the track. Later, after the dogs had become accustomed to the process, a live rabbit bounded onto the track, and what happened? Nothing. The dogs didn’t even recognize it. We needn’t discount in any sense the highest levels of training, because the fine arts are here to stay and we need the finest artists to bring them to a world crying for the refining, lifting effects afforded in no other way. In the process, however, we need to retain our ability to identify the real rabbits.
I am convinced that artists can both give and receive greater nourishment than we are, and that the world of the artist can be expanded to include not just the extra-extraordinary, the “ 1’s”, but also the 999 we talked about last month, and perhaps even the non-classical singer, the cowboy and the Turkish mother, all of whom have something to give. And it will take all of us, working from an expanded holon, an overhauled paradigm, to do it. We may have to replace our competitiveness, our need to succeed by proving ourselves better than our colleagues, with more collaborative pursuits, and replace questions like, “How do I get an audience?” with “What is needed?”
The act of singing is a powerful path toward who we are. It is a powerful path for service, for joy, for refinement, for feeling, and even for transformation. Again quoting Jill Purce:
“Transformation means living our lives in ways which are harmonious with our environment and with other people, facilitating the illumination of others and the illumination of life on earth…Since the voice is an instrument of transformation that we carry about with us all the time, it is one of the most powerful and also most readily available means for this end. If we open our ears so that we can hear our own voices, our voices can become a means of transformation for ourselves and others.”8
So then, as I asked last month, where is the power? The answer is simple. It is in you. “Artists are the vehicle of laws much higher than themselves,” and you are that vehicle.
Energy follows intent, and my intent has been to provide observations, information, and suggestions, pointing to some additional directions. I have a profound conviction of the powers and possibilities of the human voice and the act of singing, and I have been concerned that we spend too much energy watering fruitless trees, investing ourselves in the remote possibility of one-and-only outcomes. My experiences this past decade have included extensive study, teaching, workshop facilitation, and lectures on the subjects I have shared in these two articles. For three of those years I was part of a group of singers, some professional and some non-professional, that studied these principles and their applications. The ripples now going out from that group as a result are astounding, and lives are being changed in homes, in classrooms, in choirs, and from the stage. An understanding of the principles has altered these singers’ perceptions. Their work has became more selfless and joyful, and those in their circles of influence are now being nourished in newly expanded and healthful ways. They are thriving.
I look forward to meeting many of you during the Convention in May, where my hope will be to introduce you to some of the more experiential parts of the things I have been trying to give you intellectually. Best wishes in your pursuits.
Bibliography
1. Campbell, Don. Music, Physician for Times to Come: An Anthology, Wheaton, Illinois; Quest Books, 1991, Whone, Herbert, “Music-the Way Out of the Maze,” p. 205.
2. Tame, David. The Secret Power of Music. Northamptonshire, England: Turnstone Press, Ltd., 1984.
3. Wilber, Ken. The Marriage of Sense and Soul, Integrating Science and Religion. New York, New York: Random House, Inc., 1998.
4. Ibid. Campbell. Purce, Jill, “Sound in Mind and Body,” p. 240.
5. Ibid. Campbell. Wilson, Tim, “Chant: The Healing Power of Voice and Ear, An interview with Alfred Tomatis, M.D.,” p. 11
6. Ibid. Campbell. Khan, Pir Hazrat Inayat, “Healing with Sound and Music,” p. 327.
7. Booth, Eric. “Art at the Heart of Learning.” The Voice of Chorus America, Volume 27, Number 1, Fall 2003.
8. Ibid. Campbell. Purce, Jill, “Sound in Mind and Body, p. 242.
