In the lead-up to the Cabaret Fringe, I enrol in a five-day voice course. This program is based on understanding the anatomy of the voice and how it works; knowing what is physically required to produce different vocal qualities.
There are seventeen of us in the group. Some of them are singing teachers. On Monday we learn about the basic anatomical structures. We practise holding our tongues in a high position that feels very unfamiliar and uncomfortable. We begin to work through a thick book of notes. We are shown computerized graphics and videos of working larynxes. I'm perplexed by the terminology and I'm not sure I understand what I'm seeing. The inside view of the larynx reminds me of the open mouth of a baby bird.
On Tuesday we build a model larynx from a cardboard kit. I'm quite proud of my effort, but I'm still not sure where in my neck this structure is located.
I've been looking forward to a musical week, but there isn't much music. We sing "Happy Birthday" in a variety of vocal styles. We intone a range of vowels with various placements. I find the lack of music agonizing. Each lunchtime I have to move my car because of parking restrictions, and I linger in my car for a few minutes to enjoy a favourite song on the CD player.
By Wednesday afternoon, my confusion is complete. My tongue is not behaving. When I "siren" it won't stay in the correct position. We lie on our backs on the floor and lift our heads to engage our neck muscles. I haven't been sleeping well and I'm finding it difficult to absorb the technical and theoretical information. I would like to stay on my mat and have a rest. I feel like crying, but I don't want to be the one who's not coping.
Each day we have to grin in the mirror like gargoyles, exposing the eye teeth. One night I dream that when I look in the mirror my eye tooth breaks and crumbles away.
On Thursday morning, we receive a second book. This one presents a variety of vocal styles, with instructions on how to achieve each one by applying the anatomical basics. A jazz vocal piece is played and the sound ripples through my veins. Music at last! The information starts to fall into place. We practise each style, as a group and individually. I'm still not quite sure how to operate every piece of vocal equipment, but I'm surprised at the different sounds I can produce.
On Friday we have our Masterclass. A pianist arrives to accompany us. I've chosen a song that I'll be performing in my show. I want to know how to avoid running out of breath. We have just ten minutes each. I only get halfway through the song, but the problem is quickly identified - I'm losing air through my nose. There is a fix for this, and this particular point has become a theme for me
throughout the week. So now I know what to practise to take me to the next level.
It also occurs to me that I now have a menu of vocal "colours", which I could use either in singing or speech. I start to think about how I could incorporate some of this vocal variety.
On Friday afternoon we visit a medical clinic where an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist conducts our videolaryngoscopic examinations. First, anaesthetic is sprayed into the larger nostril. After about ten minutes, a camera on a flexible tube is pushed through the nostril, through the back palate into the throat. Now you can see your own larynx and watch how it responds to various movements and sounds. We will each receive a video to review at home.
I feel a bit anxious about this test, but I want to take the opportunity to see inside my throat. Since having pneumonia a few years ago, I've been wondering how much damage was caused by the violent and uncontrollable coughing. How scratched and scarred is it?
When the endoscope is inserted it doesn't exactly hurt, but it feels a bit uncomfortable. I try not to think about what's happening. When I open my eyes I'm seeing live footage of my soft palate as it opens and shuts. Then the camera swings around and dives deep into my throat. I can feel it tickling, making me want to swallow. It's hard to move my head but I just try to keep breathing as I repeat the words and sounds I'm told to produce. And now, there in front of me is my "instrument". Taking pride of place in the centre of the screen are my vocal folds, plump and white. They open and close neatly on command. There is nothing wrong with them.
All my vocal equipment is in perfect working order.
There are seventeen of us in the group. Some of them are singing teachers. On Monday we learn about the basic anatomical structures. We practise holding our tongues in a high position that feels very unfamiliar and uncomfortable. We begin to work through a thick book of notes. We are shown computerized graphics and videos of working larynxes. I'm perplexed by the terminology and I'm not sure I understand what I'm seeing. The inside view of the larynx reminds me of the open mouth of a baby bird.
On Tuesday we build a model larynx from a cardboard kit. I'm quite proud of my effort, but I'm still not sure where in my neck this structure is located.
I've been looking forward to a musical week, but there isn't much music. We sing "Happy Birthday" in a variety of vocal styles. We intone a range of vowels with various placements. I find the lack of music agonizing. Each lunchtime I have to move my car because of parking restrictions, and I linger in my car for a few minutes to enjoy a favourite song on the CD player.
By Wednesday afternoon, my confusion is complete. My tongue is not behaving. When I "siren" it won't stay in the correct position. We lie on our backs on the floor and lift our heads to engage our neck muscles. I haven't been sleeping well and I'm finding it difficult to absorb the technical and theoretical information. I would like to stay on my mat and have a rest. I feel like crying, but I don't want to be the one who's not coping.
Each day we have to grin in the mirror like gargoyles, exposing the eye teeth. One night I dream that when I look in the mirror my eye tooth breaks and crumbles away.
On Thursday morning, we receive a second book. This one presents a variety of vocal styles, with instructions on how to achieve each one by applying the anatomical basics. A jazz vocal piece is played and the sound ripples through my veins. Music at last! The information starts to fall into place. We practise each style, as a group and individually. I'm still not quite sure how to operate every piece of vocal equipment, but I'm surprised at the different sounds I can produce.
On Friday we have our Masterclass. A pianist arrives to accompany us. I've chosen a song that I'll be performing in my show. I want to know how to avoid running out of breath. We have just ten minutes each. I only get halfway through the song, but the problem is quickly identified - I'm losing air through my nose. There is a fix for this, and this particular point has become a theme for me
throughout the week. So now I know what to practise to take me to the next level.
It also occurs to me that I now have a menu of vocal "colours", which I could use either in singing or speech. I start to think about how I could incorporate some of this vocal variety.
On Friday afternoon we visit a medical clinic where an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist conducts our videolaryngoscopic examinations. First, anaesthetic is sprayed into the larger nostril. After about ten minutes, a camera on a flexible tube is pushed through the nostril, through the back palate into the throat. Now you can see your own larynx and watch how it responds to various movements and sounds. We will each receive a video to review at home.
I feel a bit anxious about this test, but I want to take the opportunity to see inside my throat. Since having pneumonia a few years ago, I've been wondering how much damage was caused by the violent and uncontrollable coughing. How scratched and scarred is it?
When the endoscope is inserted it doesn't exactly hurt, but it feels a bit uncomfortable. I try not to think about what's happening. When I open my eyes I'm seeing live footage of my soft palate as it opens and shuts. Then the camera swings around and dives deep into my throat. I can feel it tickling, making me want to swallow. It's hard to move my head but I just try to keep breathing as I repeat the words and sounds I'm told to produce. And now, there in front of me is my "instrument". Taking pride of place in the centre of the screen are my vocal folds, plump and white. They open and close neatly on command. There is nothing wrong with them.
All my vocal equipment is in perfect working order.
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