The Banal Chew

The Voice

A singer colleague of mine posted on Facebook a link to a recent NY Times article about pop music singers (eg, Adele) and their voice disorders and treatments. This post prompted others, presumably trained singers, to write comments that alluded to the fault of using bad technique as attributable to the pop musicians' vocal problems.  This argument always makes me cringe a little.  As a classically trained singer who received good, fundamental instruction in the technique of singing from some very fine vocal pedagogues, and yet suffered an inexplicable, devastating, and still inadequately diagnosed, vocal problem at a time when I should have been at the peak of my career, I have a problem with people who discredit singers suffering from voice disorders simply because of "bad technique".  Not only does it engender the us-vs-them mindset when applied by classical music singers to singers of non-classical music, but it is also just plain shortsighted.  And hurtful.

Of course, all of this has been ushered to current media headlines because of Adele and her cancellation of a great many concerts in North America.  Reading one of Adele's blog entries about this issue sheds insight into just how painful this is for an artist.  As McKinley points out in his NY Times piece, pop and country music singers are under intense pressure to commit to brutal touring and performance schedules, pressure applied not only by their managers and others in the industry who want to make lots of money, but also from a place that is inherently more altruistic:  loyalty to their fans and the desire to give punters what they, as paying customers AND appreciators of the artistry, want and deserve. 

By the way, Adele is a trained singer. She was schoolmates with Leona Lewis at The BRIT School, a performing arts school for secondary school-age students that has graduated a host of UK performing artists, including the late, wonderfully talented Amy Winehouse.  I would venture to guess that Adele's current vocal problems are not solely, if at all, related to technique issues.  She is a singer-songwriter of breathtaking talent, and at such an early age it is simply unfair to label her as a bad singer, as many who have posted comments to an online professional forum within the classical music industry have done.

McKinley quotes a number of voice disorder professionals who report that the issue today isn't that there are more singers suffering from voice problems, it's that singers are more comfortable knowing that they can likely ward off a potential future of no singing by taking advantage of current treatments and better medical technology to get the disorder and/or damage under control. This will also allow for sufficient rest and recovery, albeit under less than ideal circumstances, before the brutal schedule begins again. 

The lesson that needs to be learned from Adele's unfortunate illness is not only that (in some cases) singers should keep proper singing technique in mind--and that includes warm-ups, recovery periods and rest, as well as the "how-to" of vocal production--but that the managers and music industry professionals who push these artists beyond what is reasonable should understand that singing is an inherently athletic endeavor, and the body needs adequate rest and recovery after a performance.  Good athletic coaches would never demand of sports athletes what most pop and country music industry managers and producers require of their singers.

(Photo by 50 Watts, licensed under Creative Commons.)

Vagaries

My heart is sick. 

The choir I have been conducting for the past two years was taken away from me by the choir's governing committee (of 5), because of our move to Melbourne.  This, even though I offered (and they accepted) that I would commute to Sydney to finish out the year.  And they let me continue with this costly commute for nearly three months before firing me.  This means I won't complete the season with them...a season I programmed and was looking forward to finishing.

Goodbye Liszt. Goodbye Bach. Goodbye Handel. Hello emptiness. 

I've never been fired in my life.  Until now.  It hurts.

My beautiful fiancé, an expert in the governance of community-based organizations, tells me he has seen this over and over.  The first year of a new director is shiny and happy.  During the second, the old guard start to exert their power, and that they did.  Thanks to them, and despite all the recorded examples of our happy and worthy endeavors together over the past two seasons, I now look back on this experience with dismay and disgust. 

Hopefully, the hate I am currently feeling will fade.  It's not something I enjoy.

The Way I Feel

 I had a marvelous rehearsal last night with the choir.  We are learning a challenging program of Romantic music that celebrates the 200th birthday of Franz Liszt.  It will be a stretch for the choir, but I know they can handle it.  And after our second rehearsal on this program, I predict it will be an intense pleasure to conduct.

I just read this post on Paul Carey's wonderful blog.  It is a must-read for anyone who cares deeply about what performing or teaching music means.  I was moved by Weston Noble's words.  Let me know what you think.

Back In the Game

On Sunday afternoon, I enjoyed one of the most rewarding performance experiences of my professional life thus far, when my debut as music director of Coro Innominata took place in Glebe.  The ensemble sang beautifully and with a depth of emotion that I seldom hear in choirs, volunteer or professional.  Indeed, many in this 30-voice, auditioned-but-volunteer chamber choir are good enough to be semi-pro vocalists at the very least.  Most of them have been singing together for a number of years, either in this group or another, and that is evident in not only the way they interact, but more importantly from a performance perspective, in the way they sing.  There is a sense of organic, communal spirit that comes across in their voices.  In a word, they deliver. The warm, reverberant acoustic of St. Scholastica's Chapel often comes to the rescue of choirs, covering up faults and bolstering a group's sound, but in this case, it enhanced what the ensemble had to offer. 

If all this sounds as if I am boasting, I am not.  I may have helped them achieve a warmer tone, an improved approach to phrasing and put together a program that showed them off in a very good light, but I don't take credit for any of the above.  They are good singers and good musicians, and I am there to work with them to craft a product we can all be proud of.  And from the comments received after the concert, the audience enjoyed our product very much.  I am fortunate to have been named Innominata's director, and I look forward to our future work together.

If you're interested in hearing us, you can check the ABC Classic FM website for a future broadcast of Sunday's concert.  And if you're in the area, you can always come to our next concert, Sacred Drama, on 28 November at 3pm, St. Scholastica's Chapel, Glebe.  On this program of works by Italian and French Baroque composers, we will be joined by instrumental ensemble Concertato to perform Christmas works by Bouzignac and Charpentier, as well as Carissimi's Jephte.  We would love to see you there!

Fair Europa

In just a few hours, Mark and I take off for Europe.  It will be his first time there and my fifth, although the last was over 10 years ago. 

This trip will be different.  I will be viewing the continent through a slightly different lens.  Previously, each time I was in Europe it was either as a music student or performer.  Like so many other singers, I always had plans to live there for a while and eke out my living as a musician.  And I did live there for a year and experienced what are still my most memorable musical experiences.  Alas, I never got back as a resident, and life took me in a few other directions.  It's not all rueful, however, for had things turned out differently, I never would have met my partner, nor would I be a step-dad.  How could I regret that?

Now, years later and with life as a singer behind me, I wonder how I will regard those places I had seen before.  I suspect there will be some nostalgia and perhaps a tiny bit of melancholy involved.  Nevertheless, I am excited to go and see the sights with Mark, who knows very little of the me that once sang in a few of those ancient churches and resplendent concert halls. 

Despite the faint shadow of those memories I might notice here and there, I will enjoy it.  I have no doubt.

Plumbing Issues

The verdict is in.  My nose is a mess.

Here's an image from my CT scan last week.

Notice the dog-leg in my septum, which should be a fairly straight line dividing the nose in half. And don't even mention the bony spur...or the extra air sac in my superior turbinate.  Don't know what that means?  Don't worry; you probably don't want to.

For the purpose of comparison, here's an image of a normal nose and sinuses. 

Look at them, lying there and gloating with their perfect septum.  God I hate them.
(Image from ARS.)

Anyway, despite the plumbing issues, there's no dire, visible pathology that requires immediate attention to improve my overall health.  My ENT said that at some point, I will probably have to have surgery to correct the problems, but it's nothing to rush into.

Okay fine.  I just want to be able to sing again like I used to.  When I told him that, he gave me that compassionate look that we've all seen from our medical providers...the one that translates, "Yes, and I wish I could give you the answer you're looking for."

So what's causing the vocal dysfunction?  The upshot: it could be (at least) a couple of things. 

Firstly, there are issues with the hypertrophic (meaty) nature of my sinus passages.  Over the course of my life, upon coping with so many allergies, the mucosal tissue in my nasal passages and sinuses has basically worn itself out.  As a result, it's time to call in some housekeeping assistance in the form of rinsing out my nose twice a day with saline spray.  Hopefully, that will keep the tissues working more efficiently and reduce the drainage into my pharynx...drainage that might be causing the dispatch of signals to my brain that something is wrong, thereby triggering an abnormal vocal response. Wow. Me and mixed signals.  Who knew?

Secondly, there's the teeth grinding that I mentioned in a previous post.  It might be causing hypertonicity (overworking/building) of jaw and neck muscles, contributing to a secondary vocal disorder.  I saw my dentist this week and was fitted for a nightguard.  If that alone doesn't solve the problem, I might have to have caps put on all my teeth to build them up and unhinge my jaw a bit...a big job and thousands of dollars.  Wonder if she'll throw in porcelain veneers for kicks.

Starting Monday, I'm seeing a speech therapist who specializes in hyperfunctional voice disorders.  I look forward it.  I'm ready to get things back on track, vocally. 

Scoping, Scanning, Swinging and Splinting

I'm going to come clean.  I've been in denial.  Today I did something about it.

A few years ago, I was engaged to give a solo (voice) recital for an arts society in Tucson.  As it happens, a week before the concert I came down with a cold.  Fortunately, it subsided enough to allow me to sing the program, but during the recital I experienced a very strange sensation.  I didn't recognize some of the sounds that I was making, and it scared me poopless. 

Now I realized that my voice wasn't back to 100% after the cold, but after many years of performing, I knew when I was able to sing and when I should cancel.  The run-throughs a couple of days prior to the concert had gone well, and after all I had sung over the dregs of a cold before with no problem.  But during this particular concert, something was different. 

I am a lyric tenor...in fact, a tenorino of sorts, "stuck" between tenor and countertenor.  The bulk of my work as a singer came about as a result of my uniquely high voice combined with a specialization in historical vocal performance practice and early vocal repertoire.  Agility and relative comfort in the passaggio (the tricky area between one's chest range and head voice) are key to the technique of singing historical repertoire for the tenor voice, and it had always been a strength of mine. 

During the Tucson recital, I felt something happen to my voice as I performed.  It is hard to describe, but the closest analogy I can use is that of hydroplaning.  Anyone who has had the misfortune of experiencing what it feels like to lose control of your vehicle on very wet road might understand.  It was as if someone took command of my vocal mechanism.  I could steer a little, but basically I just had to go with it and hope for the best.  I got through the recital unscathed, but shaken. 

During the following months, I could sense something was wrong with my voice.  Practice was frustrating and sessions with my voice teacher left me disappointed.  I wondered if I had sung when I shouldn't and done something dreadful to my vocal folds.  Or worse, was there an underlying pathology that lay undiagnosed? 

Here's where a mix of avoidance and denial set in.  I discussed the issue with my teacher, a fine teacher and vocal pedagogue.  His thought was that, because I was involved in doctoral studies in conducting and doing comparatively little singing, I was simply getting out of shape.  Cautiously, I accepted his word and thought that this, combined with a more challenging approach to vocal technique we had undertaken, might be taking my voice in an unexpected direction and I should wait it out for a bit.

Finally, after a few more months, my teacher and I both agreed that something didn't seem quite right.  A speech pathologist friend of mine referred me to a good otolaryngologist in Tucson, and a stroboscope was done.  After ruling out reflux disease as the culprit, I was given an allergy test, to which I reacted off the chart.  I was promptly prescribed some antihistamine spray and told to see how it went.  Then I moved to Australia.  I hoped a different set of allergens would make things better.

Now, nearly three years later, there's really no improvement.  This is where the denial comes in.  I suppose it's been easy enough to neglect the issue, because I decided upon moving here to focus my efforts solely on conducting, rather than singing.  I felt that marketing myself as a singer would "brand" me in a way that would make it difficult for people to accept me as someone equally as competent on the other side of the podium. 

As anyone who has ever read The Banal Chew knows, it's been difficult.  There has been woefully little conducting work for me in Sydney.  I have had a couple of gigs, but nothing substantial or permanent.  After the first year or two, upon realizing the situation here was not going to improve, I began to consider working as a singer again.  At least it would be something in my field. 

It was hard enough in the first place to shed my primary identity as a singer, forged after many years of performing, and assume that of conductor.  When I decided to take my skills as a singer and incorporate them in a leadership role by getting advanced degrees in choral conducting, I knew that it would mean a big change.  But I wanted to continue singing, and I thought the option would always be there for me.  Now, however, with a voice disorder, even that seemed unlikely. 

So I fell into a deep state of denial, trying my best to silence the nagging voices and immersing myself in the business of settling into life as a migrant to a new country, raising Zane, taking part in a maturing relationship as Mark's partner, and getting to know a completely new set of family and friends.  It was easy enough to avoid the issue.

Now, however, as I have realized that my identity as a creative artist is in a frightening state of decay, the need to stop denying the fact that there is something wrong with my voice has become apparent.  And I have done something about it.

I saw a well-respected otolaryngologist in Sydney today.  He performed a nasal endoscopy and gave me the happy information that my larynx is fine.  There are no lesions on my vocal folds.  Oh my God, the relief.  I haven't felt any like that in, well, ever.  If you're a singer, you probably know what I mean.

It wasn't all good news, however.  There are some potential issues with my nose.  I have a very deviated septum and bony spur protruding into my left nasal passage, probably caused by a broken nose when I was a kid, he said.  (I do seem to remember something about a golf club hitting me in the face when I was very, very young.)  Not only that, but there are a few other physiological anomalies as well.  I have just returned from a nasal CT scan to rule out any nasal pathology.  I go back to the doctor next week for the results.  As my friend, Deano, would say, "Oh burrr."

Somewhat more troubling, the ENT also diagnosed me with a very wide mandibular swing, which means my jaw moves substantially to the right as it opens.  According to him, this is usually caused by joint dysfunction associated with bruxism.  In lay terms, that means I grind my teeth.  Apparently, bruxism can lead to hyperactivity of certain muscles that can, in turn, result in a secondary voice disorder.  A mandibular swing...who knew?  I have been instructed to see my dentist for a dental splint to wear at night.  Joy. 

So it's been a day of good news and not-so-good news.  Appendages crossed that the CT scan rules out any underlying disease process in my nose.  And I hope my new dental splint, for which I am getting fitted early next week, turns out to be helpful.  Heck, maybe I'll even sleep better.  That would be nice.  Not as much as being able to sing my favorite Bach arias again, but still nice.

Rugger Bugger VI

This year's Rugger Bugger, the annual fundraiser for the Sydney Convicts rugby team, took place on Saturday.  Of course, the cash cow is the Full Monty show that happens each year, but the routine that I was asked to participate in was also great fun.  My fellow Convict Converts and I shook our money-makers for all it was worth.  The place was packed.  Honestly, I didn't expect the overwhelming rush of energy from the crowd.  They ate it up, and we loved it!  It was quite a departure from my days of singing Bach arias in front of quiet audiences. 

Despite a gaff or two here and there, like the DJ starting our music way too early (grrrr..can't they follow written instructions?) and a fluff or two with the choreography, the routine went very well.  I continue to beat myself up for screwing up during the one part that I had down pat, but I'm my own worst critic.  All in all, it was a bang-up show.  And I LOVE my vintage eBay kilt.  I will definitely wear it again sometime. 

Mini rant:  I have to admit I was put off by the backstage activities of many of the performers from the strip act.  They're all lovely guys, but why oh why did they need to relieve themselves directly on the floor at the end where our group was changing?  I had canvas bags on the floor, people!  Canvas!  Do you know how absorbent that fabric is.  Of course you do...you're gay!  Maybe if you weren't so busy downing shot after shot of some unknown alcoholic beverage, you wouldn't need to piss on my stuff.  Methinks you should think twice about agreeing to show your junk, if on the night you need all that liquid encouragement to do so.  The glow-in-the-dark body paint was cool though.

Anyway, the video clip is below. The audio was deafeningly loud, so you might want to turn down your speakers, as it comes across as massively distorted on the clip.  The song is MC Hammer's rendition of Do Not Pass Me By.  The number was choreographed by the wonderful Jason Brown, who put in many hours to practice with all of us.  He's the one lip-syncing the rap, by the way.  What a performer! 

Some pictures of the event, taken by Rod Spark, may be found here.

Varla and Ginger, together at last?

If you haven't seen Girls Will Be Girls, then rush out and rent it! Or buy it, but please not from here (my, how progressive of them..or clueless). Now, I'm talking about the movie, not the Girls-Behaving-Badly knock-off on The Comedy Network...which I didn't even realize existed until Patrick mentioned it.

Homer first introduced me to GWBG a couple of years ago. I almost hemorrhaged watching it. For some reason, this cynical, vulgar, crass, and hypercamp movie tickles my pickle in a way that few do. Or maybe the right cliché would be "blows my skirt up," considering. (See the film if you haven't; you'll see what I mean.) I watch this film very often, especially when I'm sad about something, like this.

ANYWAY, one of the stars of the film, Varla Jean (Jeffrey Roberson) has her own road show. She was in Sydney for a few days over the weekend, and I cannot believe I missed her. Alas, it was too difficult to find a carer for Zane while Mark's in America. Plus, it's not the kind of show to see alone. You'd have to have a laughing mate.

[cue music: Pal Joey overture] But you see, I have always harbored clandestine fantasies about having an act like Jeffrey's. Heck, I am from the South. And I have a small frame, an unusually high singing voice, a bit of wit, and I do know my way around on a stage. Granted, I'd have to undergo some torturous hair removal, but it'd be worth it. Hmm. Perhaps it's not too late for Ginger Lee Poke's star to find its place in that famed footpath. [cut music]  Huh? What's that? Oh, I'd better get back to work. A medical lexicographer's job is never done. Today's term is vaginal prolapse. Oh boy.

Cogitation Tuesday

Musicus Interruptus

A recent article in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette discusses the issue of premature clapping during classical music concerts. Even those of us for whom classical music is a way of life have fallen prey to the temptation of early applause. (Usually it only takes once, for the embarrassment caused by the cold sneers of neighboring audience members is punishment in itself.) The tide, however, seems to be turning. Some conductors and performers, Leonard Slatkin for example, are happy to forgive audiences for the once unforgiven.

I have a couple of thoughts on this issue.

First, why can't audiences clap after what must have been a moving and possibly exhilarating moment that predisposed them to such a physical expression of emotion? Go to any nonclassical concert these days, and chances are you'll find cheering and applause exuberantly and intermittently throughout the show. When attending last night's Scissor Sisters concert here in Sydney, I can't begin to imagine having to sit quietly during and between numbers. No way. And during my doctoral lecture-recital performance of Adriano Banchieri's madrigal comedy, Saviezza giovenile, I was thrilled to hear the occasional bit of applause during the exit of a character who had so thoroughly entertained her/his spectators. Yes, you could argue it's selfish in a way, but it is also gratifying in another.

Secondly, however, I have to admit that when I program works for concerts I am conducting, I usually build the program in sets of related pieces. The program's thematic construction often dictates where applause is deemed "appropriate." In order to maintain both the flow of the program and, more importantly, the mood I endeavor to evoke from sets of pieces, I often make sure that the written program groups the works into sets, placing a symbol (eg, asterisk, flourish, etc) between the sets. A statement is included at at the bottom of the program page requesting the audience to hold applause until after the program sets, as indicated by the symbol. It doesn't always work, however, and in that case I don't sweat it. If people clap in the middle of sets, I usually turn around and give a brief nod to acknowledge the applause. After all, I'd MUCH rather they clap than not.  Furthermore, we performers should be delighted that folks want to show us their support and appreciation.