There are two non-negotiables, actually, the other being rhythm. You’re either in tune or not, and you’re either in the pocket or you’re not. There’s no such thing as being almost in tune or almost on top of the groove. Of course this sort of absolutist approach has not won me lots of friends, but I don’t know how else to be. Rushing or dragging the beat bugs me nearly as much as poor intonation, and I freely admit to a bone-deep perfectionist streak in both departments.
Some a cappella bands seek to circumvent what I’ll condescendingly dub the "pitch requirement" – it’s only a requirement if you expect me to listen for more than five seconds – by performing material that contains little or no melodic content and a minimum of chordal structure, opting instead for tunes that are primarily groove-driven, with staccato-style backups and a melodic compass of, say, a minor third. My question, upon hearing this style of a cappella, is why have a vocal group? Get a pair of maracas and hum to yourself.
Then there’s the noise-based camp; groups that base their arranging style on a bed of electronically distorted vocal agony. Lest I come across as the uptight classicist I most probably am, I’ll say that a smidgen of this kind of flavoring can make for a varied and interesting sound texture, but I think I’d rather cut off my lips with a rusty razor than sit through an entire set of song arrangements in which every voice is mangled through a series of crappy stomp boxes. There’s the traditionalist rearing his ugly head again. He likes to hear voices when he listens to a cappella. Silly rabbit.
By now, you are probably asking yourself, “What’s his damage? No one is holding a gun to this guy’s head and forcing him to listen to anything he doesn’t want to.” You’d be completely justified in asking the question.
The reason for my little fustian diatribe is simple. I’ve made a New Year’s resolution. The world of a cappella music has been so very kind to me that, in my dotage, I’ve decided that it’s now time to give something back.
This year, I’ve resolved to take on a limited number of voice students. Recalling the immense difficulty of finding a teacher with any affinity for my admittedly freaky voice type, and the various cruel indignities inflicted upon me by the teachers who hadn’t a clue as to how to teach me properly, I humbly roll out my welcome mat to those who would undertake the sweet rigors of proper vocal technique, those who aspire to sing in tune and without all the strain and inconsistency that come from a lack of training. I want to help aspiring vocalists avoid some of the pits I dug for myself and pratfalls I took, sometimes publicly and always embarrassingly.
Case in point: Early on in my quest, being very green, trusting and clueless, I crossed paths with a teacher I can only describe as a total fraud. I was too inexperienced to know that I was being victimized. Luckily, I had a vocal guru with whom I’d check in from time to time. She lived on the other side of the country, so I’d see her only every six months or so. I sang for her after one of these half-year stretches, during which time I’d been working with this particular charlatan.
My guru was a very direct, plainspoken person, and she didn’t waste time or mince words when it came to the voice. She was the most educated, perceptive, diligent, well-informed pedagogue in my little world, and her pithy comments and enlightened instruction were more valuable to me than gold.
Since the voice is the only instrument you can’t see and manipulate in plain sight, and much teaching is really about getting the student to have a series of kinesthetic experiences that are initially counterintuitive and completely unfamiliar, there’s no way at first to know if and when one is off track, unless one uses the gross indicators of a sore throat, raspy sound and severely limited range and stamina. I was experiencing all of those symptoms, but in my ignorance I figured that was just a building phase, and sooner or later I’d develop vocal calluses that would obviate the pain.
In my guru’s studio, with its big, shiny Steinway and floor-to-ceiling picture windows showing vistas of gleaming urban towers and sparkling ocean, I ground my sweaty, painful way through a simple song, extruding with tremendous effort a tortured, muffled noise that was humiliating to my ears even as I produced it. After listening to me trash both my voice and the tune, she stopped, her brow furrowed in deep concern, and thoughtfully drummed her long, red nails on the lacquered piano top. Knowing that I sounded like caca in a blender, I wasn’t too surprised when she looked me in the eye and said in her light Texas drawl, “Barry, I’ll tell you what. You go back to New York and f**k your teacher, and you’ll be even.” That may sound cruel, but considering the situation, it was the kindest thing she could have said. I didn’t follow her advice to the letter, but I did find another teacher.
I figure that now it’s time for me to help others avoid situations like that one, and many others as well, like the time a teacher, frustrated at his own lack of knowledge and teaching ability, told me point blank that I had a very ugly voice and should quit. He insisted that he was doing me a big favor, repeating the words and adding a few more "verys" to the "ugly" just in case I hadn’t quite understood how awful my voice was.
Having experienced a litany of unnecessary and fundamentally destructive insults (is there really any other kind?), dissing students is right at the top of my no-no list. I believe that a teacher’s job, apart from imparting the mechanics of singing, is to create and hold a safe and positive space in which to experiment. One must necessarily make lots of mistakes in the learning process, and it’s incredibly important to feel the freedom to flop and be ok about it.
I’ve been doing a little teaching and coaching for a while now, and although I initially feared that I hadn’t the patience or compassion for the job, I’m finding that I do, and I enjoy the challenge as well. It makes me happy when I see an aspiring singer have one of those "ah hah!" moments, and I know that he is another step closer to vocal self-realization. It also relieves me, knowing that this person isn’t going to go out into the world and make people’s ears bleed. It makes me feel like I’m doing something positive for our wretched planet, saving the world one voice at a time.
If this seems to you like blatant self-advertising, you’re right. It is. And lest you think that I’m offering a free service, I’m not. I’m something of an altruist, but I also have to eat.
Happy New Year!
Love,
Bear
Click on the wrench in the upper left-hand corner to see what else you can do.