This will be the first of many blogs to discuss topics related to music.
Having been an active member of many online groups that discuss music (opera, in particular) I am frequently appalled by the lack of general knowledge most posters exhibit when they comment on performances, singers, musical style, tradition, technique and a host of other subjects that relate to the art and business of making music. My observations will be both subjective and objective, as I have been working as a professional musician for more than half of my life, yet I am still an unabashed fan and lover of all good music.
I welcome your comments.
I can't understand you!
This first commentary will, I'm sure, ruffle many feathers of voice instructors and singers. I don't care.
America has produced many of the greatest singers of popular music. Names such as Ella Fitzgerald, Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme and Sarah Vaughan are shining examples of singers who embodied the spirit of American popular song. One the hallmarks of their artistry, whether live or on record, was their superb diction. Every word they sang was intelligible.
American singers, especially younger ones, need to listen and learn from these artists. Yes, I'm speaking about classically trained singers. Opera singers. Concert singers. Recitalists.
I can hear you saying, "But these singers never had to project their voices into a cavernous opera house or concert hall." So what? Since when does the decibel level of singing have anything whatever to do with intelligible diction? If this were the case, why is is possible to understand some singers yet not understand others? This supposition becomes even more irrelevant when you attend and opera, in English, written by a native speaker of English, sung by native speakers of English and some are clearly understood and others are basically unintelligible.
I have come to the conclusion that some singers think about words, and others think about sound. Kunst vs. Stimm.
Who or what is to blame?
The first culprit is the "so called" Anglo-American school of choral singing.
Many years ago I worked with a brilliant organist whose musicianship I hold in deep esteem. Their idea of good diction was neutral vowel sounds and over-exaggerated use of consonants. "Roll your RRRRR's!" "Thaaahy hahlp caahmeth frrrrrrrrrom the Lahd." (Thy help cometh from the Lord.) This is singer diction. It can't be understood. It's bad.
English isn't the only victim of this crime. Anglicized Latin makes me want to scream. French with ridiculously over-rolled "R's" is anathema to most French speakers. The Italians have a wonderful phrase: "Si canta come si parla." (Sing like you speak.) Why is it that so few do?
Are we to ascribe these inadequacies as artistic choices? Perhaps. For Joan Sutherland(who obviously had the technical arsenal to sing more than two vowel sounds) the choice was about making a round sound or singing intelligibly. She chose the former. Her coach and conductor of choice frequently jumped to her defense when she was sharply criticized for having poor diction. He would frequently carp that it was impossible to sing the bel canto repertoire and be understood in the highest reaches of the soprano voice. Granted, some vowel migration is warranted when a soprano routinely hovers above the staff. Sadly, Sutherland's diction was uniformly bad in ALL registers of her range. I always chuckle when I hear excerpts from Sutherland's album of Noel Coward songs. Coward's greatest gift was his way with words, and their clear enunciation is what gives these pieces such charm and invention. Thankfully, Decca provided the texts in English. Dame Joan's farewell concert at the Sydney Opera House concluded with her singing "Home, sweet home," purportedly sung in English. And before the missives start flying that I am a Sutherland- basher, let me state unequivocally that I have always been a tremendous fan of her singing. Had she coupled that incredible voice with a greater detail to vowel purity, she would have been the very equal to Callas in the bel canto repertory.
Audiences didn't seem to care about La Stupenda's way with words. They were there to hear that 'voice.' The Sutherland instrument comes once in any lifetime, so we sit and wrap ourselves in that luxurious blanket of sound.
What about singers with less than immortal voices? Do we afford them the same liberties? Do we blithely sit by and endure an opera in English, written for singers of English, sung by singers of English and grant them absolution from having to work hard at being understood?
I remember sitting at the MET watching the John Dexter production of The Dialogues of the Carmelites when it was presented in English.(Poulenc's instruction!) The most intelligible English diction came from the great Regine Crespin. She, the sole non-native speaker of English. Sitting in the family circle I could understand 90% of everything she uttered. The Americans in the cast didn't fare as well.
Has the American system of vocal training in it's conservatories and universities encouraged making a pretty sound over being understood? I used to roll my eyes when I saw English surtitles for operas sung in English. Not now.
I am a proponent of opera sung in English. There. I've said it. I love the English language. I find it uniquely expressive. I might be in the minority of thinking that English is, in fact, a beautiful language, yet I frequently sit enraged when I hear singers opting to sing sounds instead of words. Prima la parola, my ass.
This seems to be a much more modern phenomena than I had initially thought. I routinely listen to American singers of the 40's, 50's and 60's and can comment with authority to their skills of singing their native language. Listen to Eleanor Steber sing Fiordiligi in English. Like a rock! Even her Ferrando, Richard Tucker makes child's play of Mozart's high-flying tenor lines. A few highly Italianate R's notwithstanding, he sings immaculately in his native tongue. Rise Stevens, Roberta Peters, Robert Merrill, Lawrence Tibbett, Dorothy Kirsten, Mario Lanza, Helen Traubel, etc. If you search out any of these folks singing in English, you will hear what I mean. In comparison, even Birgit Nilsson singing "I could have danced all night," and Renata Tebaldi swooping her way through "If I loved you," were more intelligibly rendered than the opera worlds current cross-over darling's yowled interpretations of these Broadway classics.
How do we solve this problem? Is it artistic license to allow a singer to sing mere sounds? Should we demand more?
Maria Callas said she routinely spoke through all of her roles. It showed. She believed that only through the natural rhythm and cadence of the language could a singer find the correct way to phrase and make the text come alive. American singers of English should make this routine, as well.
I had the great opportunity to work on Robert Ward's The Crucible with famed Australian film director Bruce Beresford (director of Driving Miss Daisy and Breaker Morant.) On the first day of rehearsal, which in most opera companies is a sing- through of the entire show, Beresford released the rehearsal pianist and asked the cast to close their scores and 'read' the play. Looks of "you've got to be kidding me" flickered through the room. What followed was revelatory. The cast spent hours finding the natural rhythm of Arthur Miller's text. All of the assembled singers fell into the habit of saying the words in the rhythm of the music, with rests, fermata's and a host of sing-songy variants on what Arthur Miller wrote. Beresford would smile and then insist, "Just say the words." The difference when the text was delivered with pitches was immediate and powerful. By giving precedence to the words, the native response to singing our own language took on a new dimension. Beresford was often heard from the house saying, "I can't understand you!" It became an incredible experience to fall in love with the sound of my own language, not the sound of my own voice. You can emote and grimace all you want, but if the audience doesn't understand you it becomes an exercise in aural masturbation. The relationship for those hearing the song is wanting. Cantus interruptus.
"The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize," chortles Clairee Belcher in Steel Magnolias. The only thing that separates vocal musicians from mere instrumentalists is our ability to move an audience through the magnificent power of the written word. Shakespeare, Heine, Rilke, Blake, Whitman and Dickinson become transformed in the songs we sing. Singers can give these words flight. We are able to elevate these great words into much more than the sum of their parts.
We simply need to understand the words.
Are we to ascribe these inadequacies as artistic choices? Perhaps. For Joan Sutherland(who obviously had the technical arsenal to sing more than two vowel sounds) the choice was about making a round sound or singing intelligibly. She chose the former. Her coach and conductor of choice frequently jumped to her defense when she was sharply criticized for having poor diction. He would frequently carp that it was impossible to sing the bel canto repertoire and be understood in the highest reaches of the soprano voice. Granted, some vowel migration is warranted when a soprano routinely hovers above the staff. Sadly, Sutherland's diction was uniformly bad in ALL registers of her range. I always chuckle when I hear excerpts from Sutherland's album of Noel Coward songs. Coward's greatest gift was his way with words, and their clear enunciation is what gives these pieces such charm and invention. Thankfully, Decca provided the texts in English. Dame Joan's farewell concert at the Sydney Opera House concluded with her singing "Home, sweet home," purportedly sung in English. And before the missives start flying that I am a Sutherland- basher, let me state unequivocally that I have always been a tremendous fan of her singing. Had she coupled that incredible voice with a greater detail to vowel purity, she would have been the very equal to Callas in the bel canto repertory.
Audiences didn't seem to care about La Stupenda's way with words. They were there to hear that 'voice.' The Sutherland instrument comes once in any lifetime, so we sit and wrap ourselves in that luxurious blanket of sound.
What about singers with less than immortal voices? Do we afford them the same liberties? Do we blithely sit by and endure an opera in English, written for singers of English, sung by singers of English and grant them absolution from having to work hard at being understood?
I remember sitting at the MET watching the John Dexter production of The Dialogues of the Carmelites when it was presented in English.(Poulenc's instruction!) The most intelligible English diction came from the great Regine Crespin. She, the sole non-native speaker of English. Sitting in the family circle I could understand 90% of everything she uttered. The Americans in the cast didn't fare as well.
Has the American system of vocal training in it's conservatories and universities encouraged making a pretty sound over being understood? I used to roll my eyes when I saw English surtitles for operas sung in English. Not now.
I am a proponent of opera sung in English. There. I've said it. I love the English language. I find it uniquely expressive. I might be in the minority of thinking that English is, in fact, a beautiful language, yet I frequently sit enraged when I hear singers opting to sing sounds instead of words. Prima la parola, my ass.
This seems to be a much more modern phenomena than I had initially thought. I routinely listen to American singers of the 40's, 50's and 60's and can comment with authority to their skills of singing their native language. Listen to Eleanor Steber sing Fiordiligi in English. Like a rock! Even her Ferrando, Richard Tucker makes child's play of Mozart's high-flying tenor lines. A few highly Italianate R's notwithstanding, he sings immaculately in his native tongue. Rise Stevens, Roberta Peters, Robert Merrill, Lawrence Tibbett, Dorothy Kirsten, Mario Lanza, Helen Traubel, etc. If you search out any of these folks singing in English, you will hear what I mean. In comparison, even Birgit Nilsson singing "I could have danced all night," and Renata Tebaldi swooping her way through "If I loved you," were more intelligibly rendered than the opera worlds current cross-over darling's yowled interpretations of these Broadway classics.
How do we solve this problem? Is it artistic license to allow a singer to sing mere sounds? Should we demand more?
Maria Callas said she routinely spoke through all of her roles. It showed. She believed that only through the natural rhythm and cadence of the language could a singer find the correct way to phrase and make the text come alive. American singers of English should make this routine, as well.
I had the great opportunity to work on Robert Ward's The Crucible with famed Australian film director Bruce Beresford (director of Driving Miss Daisy and Breaker Morant.) On the first day of rehearsal, which in most opera companies is a sing- through of the entire show, Beresford released the rehearsal pianist and asked the cast to close their scores and 'read' the play. Looks of "you've got to be kidding me" flickered through the room. What followed was revelatory. The cast spent hours finding the natural rhythm of Arthur Miller's text. All of the assembled singers fell into the habit of saying the words in the rhythm of the music, with rests, fermata's and a host of sing-songy variants on what Arthur Miller wrote. Beresford would smile and then insist, "Just say the words." The difference when the text was delivered with pitches was immediate and powerful. By giving precedence to the words, the native response to singing our own language took on a new dimension. Beresford was often heard from the house saying, "I can't understand you!" It became an incredible experience to fall in love with the sound of my own language, not the sound of my own voice. You can emote and grimace all you want, but if the audience doesn't understand you it becomes an exercise in aural masturbation. The relationship for those hearing the song is wanting. Cantus interruptus.
"The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize," chortles Clairee Belcher in Steel Magnolias. The only thing that separates vocal musicians from mere instrumentalists is our ability to move an audience through the magnificent power of the written word. Shakespeare, Heine, Rilke, Blake, Whitman and Dickinson become transformed in the songs we sing. Singers can give these words flight. We are able to elevate these great words into much more than the sum of their parts.
We simply need to understand the words.
