seems not only to ensure singing with intelligence, but to save a singer
very much unnecessary exertion, by marking down the intervals where
energy has to be used, as well as those where the voice may, so to
speak, be nursed and kept in reserve."
Speaking of a pianoforte accompaniment, Mario used to say, "The art of
accompanying is displayed in the following, aiding, and supporting the
singer; not in hurrying him, nor in drowning his voice."
An accompanist, in his opinion, should never be timid; but, if uncertain
of the notes to be played, should, nevertheless, strike them firmly and
courageously, otherwise the singer gets confused, loses confidence in
himself and the accompaniment, and the effect intended to be produced
suffers irretrievably in consequence.
I would commend a study of this system to the aspiring singer, with
every confidence that, if he follows out the said methods, he will be
assuredly pursuing a policy than which there can be few better.
It may not now be out of place if I say a few words on the act of
production of the voice. Many beginners thus make the mistake of
imagining that to give the voice a proper chance of expanding to the
full it is necessary that the mouth should be opened wide in the act of
singing.
This, however, is quite an erroneous idea, for, as a matter of actual,
hard fact, the mouth should not be too open when the act of singing is
taking place, though I would point out that when it is opening the jaws
should be allowed to fall in a natural manner--in other words, by their
own weight--while, if the lips are, at the same time, pressed gently
against the teeth, the mouth naturally assumes a pleasant form. There
is nothing more appalling than to watch a singer indulging in
exaggerated facial contortions which may perhaps impress a musical tyro
as "imposing," but which, nevertheless, are actually more often than not
nothing but a species of absurd affectation.
The management of the breath, of course, is to a great extent a distinct
and separate study in singing, though I may perhaps be allowed to say
that absolute control of the breath is a _sine qua non_ to perfect
enunciation. It will be well, therefore, for every really ambitious
singer to see to it that his or her master possesses a thoroughly sound
knowledge of managing the breath; otherwise, all too early in their
careers, they may acquire habits which they will find extremely
difficult to break, for experience has taught me that, as far as singing
is concerned, bad habits are possessed of unpleasantly tenacious
qualities.
As far as the position of the body in singing is concerned, the old-time
rule that the shoulders should be thrown back firmly and naturally is as
"in order" to-day as it was thirty years ago, while that the chest
should be steadily and not hurriedly expanded is also an equally sound
policy to pursue. Manual Garcia recommended the following exercises as
of great value in increasing the power and elasticity of the lungs. I
make no apology for quoting these, as they cannot fail to prove worth
diligent study, though, especially at first, they will be found
distinctly exhausting, for which reason young singers should make a
point of practising each exercise separately.
Gently and slowly inhale for a few seconds as much air as the chest will
contain.
After taking a deep breath, exhale again very gently and slowly.
Fill the lungs, and keep them inflated for the longest possible time.
Exhale completely, and leave the chest empty as long as physical powers
will conveniently allow.
In a short article it is obviously impossible for me to go as deeply
into the art of voice production as I should like, though there is one
"aspect" of singing on which I would lay great stress--and that is the
value of colour in singing.
In a study of all the great composers and their works, to the true
student of music, it must be patent at once that their methods of
colouring vary as greatly as do the _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of masters of the
brush.
And yet, somehow or other, I do not think that I am wandering away from
the straight road of Truth when I say that, as a general rule, the
mediocre singer but seldom realises that there is such a thing as colour
in singing. What is the result? It is the natural result of cause and
effect. The interpretation of the ordinary singer resembles to no small
extent the work of an artist who sketches out an outline drawing which,
in detail, no doubt is accurate and thoroughly praiseworthy in every
way; but when compared to a painting with its appealing richness of tone
and colour it seems a puny thing indeed.
Yes, it is colour that the average singer utterly lacks. But let me
hasten to say at once that for this sin of omission he or she, as the
case may be, merits no real discredit, for the simple reason that those
who have only limited time to devote to the study of singing naturally
find that their training does not, as a rule, reach the point when they
are sufficiently able exponents to be able to paint pictures with their
voices, much in the same way as does the artist paint his pictures on
canvas. And in no small measure this sin of omission is as much due to
the methods of instruction of the teacher as it is to the pupil's lack
of advancement.
Yes, there can be no doubt that it is through lack of study of these
"finer" details in the art of singing which causes many vocalists never
to rise above the mediocre. Technically, they may be thoroughly capable
exponents, but unless they realise the incalculable value of tone and
colour in music, they fail to extract from it its real poetical worth.
Thus, when listening to Schumann--to revert to pianoforte playing for a
moment--"they fail to wander hand in hand with the composer into some
glorious garden full of gaily-coloured flowers, through trim paths lined
by tall, stately trees. They fail to see in Schumann's music
gaily-plumaged birds flitting here and there beneath a blue sky with the
warm rays of the sun toning everything into summer as if by fairy hand."
It was an ardent student of pianoforte playing who once thus described
to me a composition of Schumann's as played by a real master. And with
singing it is much the same. For some curious reason your moderate
singer will persist in cherishing an utterly erroneous notion that every
song should be "treated" in one way--in other words, that when framing
his composition, the composer mentally decreed that, to be rendered as
he intended it should be, every singer must sink his individuality and
render it in one way--and one way only.
Was ever notion more unreasonable? Surely it is the most glaring error
possible to imagine that because a melody is simple, because it can be
rendered by the average singer after but comparatively little practice,
it must be impossible to imbue it with beautiful effects; for no matter
how technically simple a composition may be, provided a singer possesses
real soul and a sense of poetry he or she can bring out an exquisite
beauty and colour from the music which a mere mechanical vocalist who
merely regards a simple piece as an easy piece to sing invariably fails
to recognise.
It is the thoughtless and mechanical practice of a really musical
subject which undermines the musical sense, for the practice of purely
mechanical matter should never be "dry" so long as the singer thoroughly
grasps the real objects to be attained from that practice. In other
words, every exercise, every piece of music that is sung, ought to be
rendered with a clearly-defined object. It seems to me that one of the
most powerful reasons why the results of years of study are so often
unsatisfactory lies in the fact that many singers are far too early
occupied with the study of compositions of every sort, adding
continually to their stock without devoting sufficient time to the
introspective study of each and every piece.
What is the inevitable outcome of this hasty and wholesale method of
"learning to sing"? Interpretations which, as I have said, are like
outline drawing, accurate enough in detail but comparatively lacking in
real soul and wanting altogether in tone and colour. I admit at once,
as among artists we all have our favourites, so among song-writers the
works of some appeal to us more than do others, in that we respond to
one or other of them more readily than to the rest. But, at the same
time, I would lay special emphasis on the fact that every song, however
simple, should be dealt with by the singer like a separate picture in
which specially beautiful effects may be produced, according to the
quality and variety of tone and colour.
And not until singers realise that the composition is but the raw
material waiting to be imbued with expression at their hands, waiting,
in fine, to be given life, personality, and real being, can they
thoroughly grasp the innermost meaning of music which, rendered by the
true artist, expresses more clearly than any words ever written, the
true emotions of the soul.