This series begins with an introduction; the introduction begins with a story. Two people. Two separate occasions. One large city. Let’s start with Norman.
“Norman” (I swear, every Norman was born with quotes around his name) was sitting in the waiting room of a large casting agency studio, awaiting his 11 a.m. callback; after three weeks of heavy duty preparation (character study, a master cleanse, bi-weekly bikram and an encounter/stalking with the real life personality he would hopefully be portraying) Norman more or less had it in the bag. The moderator called his name and Norman stood; poise, presence, a slow but steady gait; his winning smile charming even the bored looking potato faced accompanist peering out from the room. Norman distributed his resume and nodded to the accompanist: this was it. Hello, Broadway debut…
Let us leave Norman for a moment (I find his kind obnoxious anyway, and I could use a minute) and peek in on Rebecca. Same city, different day. She had a hell of a week: she was burned out from three days of double shifts, her cat pissed on her stone age yet still functioning laptop and she was 200.00 short for next month’s rent. On her first night off in ages, Rebecca received a desperate call from her singer friend that the local blues/dive club down the street was out a singer. Rebecca was in fact an aspiring singer (ah, aren’t they all), but hadn’t even looked for a gig in 5 years. Desperate and pretty bombed, Rebecca (who knew the Etta James, Aretha Franklin and Janis Joplin songbook by heart along with countless Bessie tunes and Muddy Waters’ penned classics) shot down there faster than the half a bottle of Makers she ingested-slamming her apartment door (not even noticing the damn cat had escaped). The band was set up, the place reeked, and the room was packed. Rebecca stumbled on stage, looking like the beautiful mess that she was, and opened her 30 year-old mouth as the band started vamping.
Stop. I’m sorry; I know you were just as interested as I was to hear Rebecca sing…I imagine she would sound a bit like Bonnie Raitt with a surprisingly flexible upper register. Anyhow, my question for you is, who had the best luck/got a job? Was it Norman the Narcissist or Rebecca in the Raw? Well, just hold up my friends. I have two confessions to make; one is, I hate clinical auditions and try not to ever go to them except once a year for a social experiment. I think they are needlessly traumatizing: find a network, schmooze, and land an interview in someone’s living room. Sorry…additionally, I lied to you; there is another character I’d like to introduce: David. Little David, the guy you love to hate; kind, self aware, humble yet confident. It’s 12 PM, and he is in Nashville, on a comfortable couch 40 floors up. He is about to sing for a relaxed and friendly looking recording executive. The pressure is ‘off’, and David, in mid conversation, sings the first 16 bars of a well known country classic; a casual move that little does he know will make or break his career in the recording industry.
Ok, you THINK you know. Who ‘wins’? Well, here’s the deal: NONE of them. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they all croak; well, Norman croaks (actually it’s more like the sound my roommate’s lovable but neurotic Pomeranian makes when you step on his tail), Rebecca forgets the words (and then passes out) and David (who has been singing professionally for over 25 years) can’t seem to stay on pitch. Bad luck for these unfortunates? Poor training? Allergies? Play the blame game all you want, but the culprit is something that affects singers and non-singers alike: nerves. I’ve heard professionals and amateurs claim “I don’t get nervous” but from what I’ve observed and experienced thus far, I’ve noticed there are rarely any exceptions. Nerves are the ultimate nemesis, and they can be ruthless. This is technically a singers’ blog, and although nerves affect countless instrumentalists I will say that singers have intense vulnerability when it comes to emotional attack. I know this because I myself am a dual pianist and vocalist, and nerves do not even remotely affect my playing in the way they do my singing. Lyrics can trigger emotional impulses, dry air quality in the room can mess with not only breath but tone and mental state and other underlying environmental issues such as allergens can throw off something enough to get the nerves flowing.
I have learned so far that I can be in control of factors such as technique, preparation etc.; but for all intense and purposes of this series I say to you, oh singer:
If you have not nearly mastered your own workable posture, breath support, and embouchure (be it through voice lessons, natural ability or a few years in the trenches alongside pros) your failure level is a red alert. Don’t even get me started on preparation. HOWEVER if these things are a go, there are certain “scratch your ass and sing” factors that you may have not considered that could be the reason for a random nerve attack. In this series on nerves I will explore factors that deal with perhaps the way you may live your life; from your social calendar to your reflexes. Is this a tried and true method? Listen, I’m a 28 year old with a crazy resilient instrument and a masters degree in voice; I’m no magician; but this will help. I swear to you. In the next few weeks, I’ll explore some underbelly and give you a few new ways to look at singing so that when nerves come a’knocking, the voice keeps…rocking? Sorry, that’s the best I got. Stay tuned.
Breathe deep, friends :)
