What makes a great performance? In singing I mean.
I should preface my post today that what I say is just purely my thoughts pouring out, not based on technical expertise. And this is a topic I’ll probably come back to time and again, and may in the future even cringe reading back what I wrote today. I apologise if I sound like a snob. Anyhow…
For now, let’s take away the physical aspects so we focus on the vocal qualities rather than, say, the looks of a singer.
In acting, the tonal quality of a voice may be viewed differently to that in singing. An actor may have a gruffy, scratchy or some other type of voice which may not necessarily be pleasant to listen to, but may be considered a “character” voice suited to the role. So, if the voice fits the role or it adds another dimension to the role, then it may be considered a “good voice” as long as it carries across to the audience and you can understand what is being said.
In singing, depending on the genre, you may have a similar type of voice. Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, Marianne Faithful, Patti Smith, Jimmy Barnes to name a few (sorry, I’m not that knowledgeable with non-classical singers so my range is limited) have very distinct voices that are like their trademark sounds and you can’t imagine them singing in any other way. But would their voices translate to classical singing? If Tom Waits sang Otello, would that be accepted by the opera crowd? Probably not. But he can be more expressive in his songs than some opera singers. I’ve also seen opera performances where the voice is beautiful, but it just doesn’t suit the role because it sounds “too clean / good”.
So what is it that makes some (vocal) performances just good singing, as opposed to something truly amazing that takes you away, moves you to tears (or laughter or whatever – I must admit, my preference is for the tragedy!)?
When I was acting, I sometimes got pulled up and told I was putting too much “colour” into the words. I liked playing with the sound of the words – the tone, emphasis, duration – which to me made them more expressive. But that doesn’t really translate. Similarly, you can’t really play too much with the words in singing. You need clear diction, you need to often change the pronunciation somewhat to creat a strong, open sound. And that, on top of hitting the note!
Which takes me to another point. Personally, it annoys me when singers are slightly flat or sharp. And if they have too much vibrato that you can’t hear the actual note. SO there are some singers hailed as amazing whose voices I don’t really like. I guess that’s just preference. But I also worry too much if a singer shows signs of struggling to hit that high note. Once that happens (the struggle that is) in a performance, I spend the rest of the show worrying. And that takes away from my enjoyment of the show, and of being able to “let go” and immerse myself in the story. Of course, if a voice was technically perfect (perfect pitch, uniform vibrato, correct length of notes) then it probably would sound horrible – and you might as well write a computer program to create the sound. So is it the minute human imperfection that makes a singing voice great? Perhaps. Timbre, vibrato, all that make up the unique voice of a singer, and I’m no expert so I’ll leave that topic to you who have been practicing technique for years. But I think there is more to it.
The word that’s been in my mind lately (having spent a few crazy weeks full of opera) is “inhabit”. Although I practice yoga, those of you who have been to my classes know that I don’t go into full spiritual mode. I don’t invoke gods, I don’t do much of “channeling your inner spirit”. I tend to focus more on the tangible level of human emotions. After all, who hasn’t felt all choked up in the throat from despair; felt a cold sweat from fear; dizzy in the head from disbelief; knots in their “stomach” from anger? Those real emotions I like to tap into (don’t worry, I don’t reduce you to a sobbing mess from distress in the classes!). Not “inhabit” with some astral body thing or divine / demonic possession or the like. And I think that when singers can tap into these real emotions and sensitivities when performing, they “inhabit” the song, the role. Sort of like “method acting” I suppose, although there’s a lot of debate over what that is and whether it is effective or not.
I recently saw the play “Master Class”. In it, Maria Callas exclaims that you must really listen to the music, and understand and feel the words in order to sing well. Basic stuff that everyone knows, but it resonated strongly with me at that moment. The difficulty is that you can’t get all choked up as Butterfly about to top yourself, and be able to sing. You still need to have the control, the openness, all the techniques in place. Cry if it suits, but you can’t let that affect your singing. Your character may be feeling defeat, which you can express in the voice, but not let it weaken or distort the voice. You may be dying, and you should make it convincing, but you still have an aria to sing. Which means, of course, you must have the strong technical basis to be able to inhabit the song without letting it negatively affect the singing.
Actually, maybe it’s the other way around. Great arias have it all: the notes, the lyrics, the dynamism, the composition. Maybe you just need to let it inhabit you, not vice versa.
Some singers are great actors – until they are about to sing their arias, when all the drama and character they’ve built up until that point is diminished as they technically prepare for the song. They can still sing beautifully, but something is lost. They are no longer inhabiting or inhabited. Is it just practice, or have some got the “gift”? The little spark that differentiates them from the masses? Inhabiting / being inhabited so that every little move, every single note and every intention is infused with that character, the role. Callas, Lenya, Piaf – it was more the way they inhabited their songs than (in my opinion) the so-called quality of their voices.
That sadness you have when a season finishes and you have to let go of a role. You miss bringing that character to life on stage even if he / she dies a horrible death each night, and you can’t sleep for hours after a show. Not just from the adrenaline of the applause, but the letting go of that character and becoming you again. Until the next performance, the next show, when you can inhabit and be inhabited.
apply that to life… nope, just doesn’t compute in the same way. Logic doesn’t seem to apply. Maybe something like the chaos theory can explain things. Butterfly flapping its wings somewhere causing a storm elsewhere…
Yoga for Vocalists 