A singer cannot be a liar. Mistresses of deception and misdirection, yes, but not liars. Emotions are not the slaves of thoughts. They are not manufactured with manipulation in mind, and singers who try to sing manufactured feeling to manipulate their audience will soon find themselves without a career.
Here is a fact: humans feel, and feelings are always genuine. No matter what rationalizations our thinking selves generate, the feelings are what they are. We may name our anger: frustration, displeasure, exasperation, rage. We may name our joy: delight, pleasure, jubilation. We may assign past experiences and people to the reasons the feelings are generated, but when we feel radiant, we do not feel drab.
Good singers sing their feelings, not their thoughts. They neither sing the feel of the lyric nor the message of the words. Instead, they sing what they are feeling, and communicate the feel of the lyric and the message of the words. The feeling is the power behind the song.
Good singers can get out of their own way enough to sing what they feel. They don't worry about whether their current tranquility fits the idea of love in the song they have to perform. They trust the power of their emotions and the proficiency of the music to convey its own purpose. In this way they deceive and misdirect: they project an image and an emotion which are not necessarily congruent.
Great singers take it a step further. They decide to know their feelings and to wade into the hard work of learning their naked selves, so that they aren't afraid to bare all before an audience. They not only trust their feelings, they recognize them the way most of us recognize our own faces. Singing from real emotion, uncluttered by filters and fear, bad days and good days are the same in terms of the power to sing.
The singer who knows every curve and texture of her subjective mindscape won't mistake the communication for the reality, and she won't depress or repress. Instead, she will wield her true emotions with all the skill and delicacy of a surgeon operating a scalpel to sing songs. In this way, even the most trivial doggerel can become music which teaches, moves or transforms us. The music communicates something real-a paradoxical mixture of emotion, speech and action that is both inconsistent and still true.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
CONNECT
60,000 people standing in the rain, together wailing a string of notes echoing David's psalm: "How long? How long must we sing this song?" A sparse remnant standing in a stone sanctuary, arms crossed, lips unmoving, as an organist limps her way through "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee."
The human heart knows things. It is a wordless knowing, and it communicates itself like a puzzle: laying itself against ridges and canyons until its own shape proves a perfect complement. The heart's knowing imparts a kind of completeness, a sense of wholeness when it finds its fit, and a sense of longing and loss while it is still searching.
To sing with power, you have to sing the heart. You cannot sing what the head thinks. You cannot sing what the state imposes. You cannot sing doctrine. You cannot sing repertoire. Not with power, anyway. Not with conviction. Not with truth.
This is because the heart connects. It fits, or it doesn't fit. It is plugged in, or it isn't. What's more, the heart is particularly immune to falsehood. Where the mind may try to fit a feeling into a pattern it believes in, the heart knows what it knows, despite our best intent. Where self-preservation will map an appropriate course, the heart leaps and leans in risky directions. Where the eye tries to impose a universal standard of beauty, the heart is transfixed by a certain slant of light. The heart doesn't know its own mind. It does not pay much attention to its own best interest, and is often blind to the merits of perfection. It is what it is-whole, broken, searching, found.
When a singer sings the heart, the listener's heart responds. If the two have points and curves that match, the two connect. 60,000 connect. Instantly. Without effort, and without regard to any of the day's troubles or expectations; beyond all the worn distinctions that otherwise separate person from person.
The singer with that gift is truly blessed for we keep our hearts hidden for good reasons. It is hard to bleed for other people. It hurts to share our treasures and is terrifying to open our throats. So much safer to rely on the genius of others to carry that burden. It is, however, a curious fact that we simply cannot fake the heart. Pretty soon the power has leaked from our voices. The conviction has fled our psalms, and our children become convinced that we are liars-singing "Joyful, Joyful" when we truly mean "How long? How long must we sing this song?"
May you hear the voice of your heart. May you find the courage to share it. May its songs find other hearts with which to connect.
The human heart knows things. It is a wordless knowing, and it communicates itself like a puzzle: laying itself against ridges and canyons until its own shape proves a perfect complement. The heart's knowing imparts a kind of completeness, a sense of wholeness when it finds its fit, and a sense of longing and loss while it is still searching.
To sing with power, you have to sing the heart. You cannot sing what the head thinks. You cannot sing what the state imposes. You cannot sing doctrine. You cannot sing repertoire. Not with power, anyway. Not with conviction. Not with truth.
This is because the heart connects. It fits, or it doesn't fit. It is plugged in, or it isn't. What's more, the heart is particularly immune to falsehood. Where the mind may try to fit a feeling into a pattern it believes in, the heart knows what it knows, despite our best intent. Where self-preservation will map an appropriate course, the heart leaps and leans in risky directions. Where the eye tries to impose a universal standard of beauty, the heart is transfixed by a certain slant of light. The heart doesn't know its own mind. It does not pay much attention to its own best interest, and is often blind to the merits of perfection. It is what it is-whole, broken, searching, found.
When a singer sings the heart, the listener's heart responds. If the two have points and curves that match, the two connect. 60,000 connect. Instantly. Without effort, and without regard to any of the day's troubles or expectations; beyond all the worn distinctions that otherwise separate person from person.
The singer with that gift is truly blessed for we keep our hearts hidden for good reasons. It is hard to bleed for other people. It hurts to share our treasures and is terrifying to open our throats. So much safer to rely on the genius of others to carry that burden. It is, however, a curious fact that we simply cannot fake the heart. Pretty soon the power has leaked from our voices. The conviction has fled our psalms, and our children become convinced that we are liars-singing "Joyful, Joyful" when we truly mean "How long? How long must we sing this song?"
May you hear the voice of your heart. May you find the courage to share it. May its songs find other hearts with which to connect.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
PATTERNS
Understanding music means learning pattern recognition. Musical sense hangs on specific arrangements of rhythms, or pitches, or chords. Those arrangements repeat in predictable ways, and being able to recognize more and more complex patterns within a piece of music is one of the indicators of the richness of a given song. Entire books have been written which describe the patterns found in studying just one single fugue of J.S. Bach or oratorio of G.F. Handel. That is how complex the arrangements can be. That is how complicated the relationships between the many elements of a tune can get.
Unfortunately, in music, as in life, we sometimes seem to sell ourselves into one pattern so thoroughly, we can't see any of the other possibilities. Taking an example from my own repertoire, I have been singing Franz Schubert's Ave Maria for thirty years. I have to be honest. The words (I always sing it in Latin) have not changed. Neither have the notes (I still sing it in the same key). The arrangement of the accompaniment hasn't changed either. In other words, the patterns seem to be set. I could imagine that there is nothing new in that piece of music. I could imagine, after 30 years, that I know all there is to know about that collection of notes, and that boredom and irrelevance should have set in long ago.
That can happen with a piece of music. It happens all of the time with pop hits on the radio. For some reason, I simply loved Jon Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive when it was first released. I hear it now, and nothing happens except puzzlement. I have no idea what it was about that pattern of notes, rhythms and chords that so moved me then. Quite simply, it does not now.
Yet that simple prayer by Schubert is still with me. I have never fixed its pattern in my mind. I have never fully committed to one interpretation of breath line, word emphasis or note articulation. It sings differently at a funeral than at a Christmas Eve service. Before I knew death, I emphasized a different poetic idea. I play around with the piano part-playing the chords unbroken, and with more modern rhythmic emphasis. The patterns shift and the music looks a different way. It means a different thing. It communicates a different perspective. It is rich.
If I have one wish for today, it would be that we try to take life a little bit more like Ave Maria and a little less like Wanted Dead or Alive. Rather than claiming a moment as the pattern that makes sense, and working to make the world fit into that pattern, I hope for the wisdom to know moments as parts of many patterns whose lines and colors can be aligned and realigned in a variety of ways which never cease to amaze, delight, challenge and ennoble us.
Unfortunately, in music, as in life, we sometimes seem to sell ourselves into one pattern so thoroughly, we can't see any of the other possibilities. Taking an example from my own repertoire, I have been singing Franz Schubert's Ave Maria for thirty years. I have to be honest. The words (I always sing it in Latin) have not changed. Neither have the notes (I still sing it in the same key). The arrangement of the accompaniment hasn't changed either. In other words, the patterns seem to be set. I could imagine that there is nothing new in that piece of music. I could imagine, after 30 years, that I know all there is to know about that collection of notes, and that boredom and irrelevance should have set in long ago.
That can happen with a piece of music. It happens all of the time with pop hits on the radio. For some reason, I simply loved Jon Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive when it was first released. I hear it now, and nothing happens except puzzlement. I have no idea what it was about that pattern of notes, rhythms and chords that so moved me then. Quite simply, it does not now.
Yet that simple prayer by Schubert is still with me. I have never fixed its pattern in my mind. I have never fully committed to one interpretation of breath line, word emphasis or note articulation. It sings differently at a funeral than at a Christmas Eve service. Before I knew death, I emphasized a different poetic idea. I play around with the piano part-playing the chords unbroken, and with more modern rhythmic emphasis. The patterns shift and the music looks a different way. It means a different thing. It communicates a different perspective. It is rich.
If I have one wish for today, it would be that we try to take life a little bit more like Ave Maria and a little less like Wanted Dead or Alive. Rather than claiming a moment as the pattern that makes sense, and working to make the world fit into that pattern, I hope for the wisdom to know moments as parts of many patterns whose lines and colors can be aligned and realigned in a variety of ways which never cease to amaze, delight, challenge and ennoble us.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
PRAYER SINGER
I recently watched a movie set in Somalia. To create the location, a tall tower is shown, with a single human figure silhouetted, and a voice resonates outward calling the faithful to prayer. I think that might be a number one coolest job ever-to be the singer entrusted with ancient songs, taught a technique for throwing the voice, and set to sing a city's people to acts of reflection, charity and human connection.
What would my days be like if my talent were to serve that kind of purpose? In my world, singers are entertainers. They perform tricks that cause children to laugh, and help adults mitigate their tears. The prevailing attitude is that music is simply charisma so exposure to musical education and participation in community musical groups is declining rapidly. Music is becoming nothing more than a culture's emotional venting mechanism.
In the movie, however, war stops when the singer calls. Guns are put down as those fighting for their side bend to the same devotions as their enemies. The singer speaks peace and reminds the city of its human connections. That voice is heard over the exploding, shouting, shooting, panting, and dying.
I make no argument that being called to prayers led to a solution to famine, war, disease, and death. I make no argument that the singer was himself a person of any great integrity or kindness. I cannot even claim that any significant change was wrought within that moment of music. Nevertheless, I was struck by the awesome power in the idea that a single human voice, beautifully sustained on breath, falling like dew over the tumult and the strife, can stop time and open a space for change.
If I could have a different job, I think I might like to try for that one.
What would my days be like if my talent were to serve that kind of purpose? In my world, singers are entertainers. They perform tricks that cause children to laugh, and help adults mitigate their tears. The prevailing attitude is that music is simply charisma so exposure to musical education and participation in community musical groups is declining rapidly. Music is becoming nothing more than a culture's emotional venting mechanism.
In the movie, however, war stops when the singer calls. Guns are put down as those fighting for their side bend to the same devotions as their enemies. The singer speaks peace and reminds the city of its human connections. That voice is heard over the exploding, shouting, shooting, panting, and dying.
I make no argument that being called to prayers led to a solution to famine, war, disease, and death. I make no argument that the singer was himself a person of any great integrity or kindness. I cannot even claim that any significant change was wrought within that moment of music. Nevertheless, I was struck by the awesome power in the idea that a single human voice, beautifully sustained on breath, falling like dew over the tumult and the strife, can stop time and open a space for change.
If I could have a different job, I think I might like to try for that one.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
GOOD vs. EVIL
I am concerned that I have been pushing my metaphor too far. It is time to take a moment and chuckle at myself; time to write a little about how music is simply music. Alone, it will never deliver you to the holy. Music itself has no power to condemn and can never deliver you to the darkness.
Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries was beloved by people responsible for the extermination of millions of their neighbors in a place and time not so far from here and now. That piece of music is still a tremendous piece of music. Some of those same people sang hymns that are sung today in my own worshipping community-a place of reconciliation, acceptance and peace. An artist such as Marilyn Manson, accused of promoting violence and hate with his music, is revealed as a person with integrity and an insightful social critique in an interview following the shootings at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado.
A group like They Might Be Giants and music from Once Upon a Mattress express fun, light things that allow us to inhabit a world of silly and simple for a time. A group like Metallica and music from Requiem for a Dream express darker, angrier, bleaker things, and touch the terrible depths of our human experience. That is not to say that one set of songs is safe, and the other set is dangerous. That is not to say that one musical expression is good and the other is evil. What it is: we are responsible for the uses to which we put the powers at our command. That should not be mistaken for the purposes to which another would put the same powers.
Music is simply sound. Soul is what gives it power, and the soul is human. Many humans with many different kinds of souls are always tuning in. Many humans with many different kinds of souls are always singing out. May we be wise in choosing which sounds we will empower.
Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries was beloved by people responsible for the extermination of millions of their neighbors in a place and time not so far from here and now. That piece of music is still a tremendous piece of music. Some of those same people sang hymns that are sung today in my own worshipping community-a place of reconciliation, acceptance and peace. An artist such as Marilyn Manson, accused of promoting violence and hate with his music, is revealed as a person with integrity and an insightful social critique in an interview following the shootings at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado.
A group like They Might Be Giants and music from Once Upon a Mattress express fun, light things that allow us to inhabit a world of silly and simple for a time. A group like Metallica and music from Requiem for a Dream express darker, angrier, bleaker things, and touch the terrible depths of our human experience. That is not to say that one set of songs is safe, and the other set is dangerous. That is not to say that one musical expression is good and the other is evil. What it is: we are responsible for the uses to which we put the powers at our command. That should not be mistaken for the purposes to which another would put the same powers.
Music is simply sound. Soul is what gives it power, and the soul is human. Many humans with many different kinds of souls are always tuning in. Many humans with many different kinds of souls are always singing out. May we be wise in choosing which sounds we will empower.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
TRANSCENDENCE
The singer has to first be the subject of the song. In order to sing love, the singer has to be the subject of love-to have loved, to be loved, to desire love, to reject love. Blues singers tell you that you have to have had the blues to sing the blues. Something beyond sound has to come through the horn, or you simply have an interesting note. In order to communicate feeling, the singer has to be the subject of the song. Yet, singers that get stuck here may find themselves the popular expression of a particular thing which doesn't last past the next big thing. Feelings and experiences alone do not last. They can be changed in a moment by a different slant of light or the passing smile of a stranger.
The singer that can be the object of the song has power, too. It takes skill to communicate a reality which may be uncomfortable or unflattering to the audience. Bruce Springsteen's American Skin, Bob Dylan's Blowin' In the Wind, and Dar Williams' I Had No Right share prophetic visions by using an objective lens to show how commonplace racism, war, and injustice have become in this United States. The singers view their own American identities as objects, making the contradictions between stated values and taken actions quite clear. However, a keen social critique alone is not enough. Political slogans set to music will only move people predisposed to that point of view.
So, the real power in the singing comes by transcending the subjective and the objective, going past both into something else entirely. This is the power of Alice Walker's The Color Purple. The voice of an African-American woman rings clearly, because the author is subject of the story-she is herself an African-American woman. The story has power because the characters are objects of the author-the author doesn't simply share their experiences, she shows us those experiences and exposes the actions and consequences which they engender. What transcends is that I, not being an African American woman, can yet take part in the story. The life of Celie becomes a metaphor with which I can identify, though I may never have shared a single experience with her.
Great singing holds subjectivity (the singer's experience) and objectivity (the singer's clear analysis) in a balanced tension which shares a quality of human existence neither contains alone.
The singer that can be the object of the song has power, too. It takes skill to communicate a reality which may be uncomfortable or unflattering to the audience. Bruce Springsteen's American Skin, Bob Dylan's Blowin' In the Wind, and Dar Williams' I Had No Right share prophetic visions by using an objective lens to show how commonplace racism, war, and injustice have become in this United States. The singers view their own American identities as objects, making the contradictions between stated values and taken actions quite clear. However, a keen social critique alone is not enough. Political slogans set to music will only move people predisposed to that point of view.
So, the real power in the singing comes by transcending the subjective and the objective, going past both into something else entirely. This is the power of Alice Walker's The Color Purple. The voice of an African-American woman rings clearly, because the author is subject of the story-she is herself an African-American woman. The story has power because the characters are objects of the author-the author doesn't simply share their experiences, she shows us those experiences and exposes the actions and consequences which they engender. What transcends is that I, not being an African American woman, can yet take part in the story. The life of Celie becomes a metaphor with which I can identify, though I may never have shared a single experience with her.
Great singing holds subjectivity (the singer's experience) and objectivity (the singer's clear analysis) in a balanced tension which shares a quality of human existence neither contains alone.
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