FAULTS
A few words on faults--and the correction of them. No, I am not going to
attempt a catalogue of all the faults which are possible, but name just
a few: faulty intonation; faulty phrasing; imperfectly attacking notes;
“scooping” up to notes; “digging” or arriving at a note from a semitone
beneath it; singing off the key or out of tune and tremolo. All of these
faults are unforgivable, but the last two are crimes. And I could name
numbers more. I have heard vocalists who have been horrified when I told
them that they arrived at a note after attacking it from a fourth below,
especially when singing _pianissimo_. Consequently I cannot
over-emphasise the supreme need for the student to recognise his faults
and follies if he hopes ever to make progress.
Nay, this is not putting it strongly enough. He should not merely be
ready to recognise his faults, but eager to discover them. He should be
ever on the lookout to realise his deficiencies and to regard as his
best friends those who are kind enough to tell him of them.
This may sound self-obvious, but I am afraid that in practice the
attitude of the average student--and not of the student only, but also
of the experienced artist--is very different. A fatal self-satisfaction
seems, for some reason or other, to be one of the commonest failings of
the average singer. One fairly well-known singer invited my criticism of
her voice, and when I obliged and told her what she must do to become a
great artist she replied, “But I am a great artist.” At which I bowed
and said, “I beg your pardon, madam.”
Yet it is hardly necessary to say--we can all realise it indeed in the
case of others--that there is no form of weakness more absolutely fatal
to artistic progress. Let the student beware, therefore, of this
dangerous form of vanity and self-sufficiency, and learn from all who
can teach him.
How often have I not heard of students--alike young and old--who have
been foolish enough to throw over good teachers because they have been
honest enough and courageous enough to tell them unpalatable truths!
They think they know better. They are so supremely well pleased with
themselves--so foolishly satisfied with their own achievements--that
they regard it as an offence when their errors are pointed out.
Of course they do not put it--even to themselves--in this way. They
prefer to persuade themselves that their teacher is at fault. They
explain that they do not like his “method.” Or they say that he does
not “understand” their particular voice. And so they come to the
conclusion that they had better make a change and go to some other
master instead.
It is all very human but very foolish, and I cannot impress this too
strongly upon all who read this book. Your best friend is one who will
tell you faithfully, not how beautifully you sing but how badly!
Some are, of course, wise enough to realise this. And you will generally
find that they are the ones who get on. Such a one was Caruso, who, to
the end of his day, never ceased to practise, to study, to reflect upon
his art, and even to worry and agitate himself over his supposed
deficiencies--deficiencies which were unperceived by his hearers but
which he, with his fastidious and ultra-sensitive artistic conscience,
persuaded himself were there.