Shut up and sing.

Okay! All Right! E-frigging-Nuff with the ignorant, ill-advised, chock-full-of-bunk tutorials on “Singing With Distortion”, “Warm Up Exercises For Heavy Metal Vocals”, Singing With Compression Like __________” and so on. If you are serious about developing your singing voice as a tool to bring joy into the world AND wish to do this for the duration of your adult life, DO NOT follow the path of these knuckle-brained quasi vocal experts by parroting the disgusting noises they claim will allow you to sing/grunt/scream aggressive music just like this or that recording artist. You would be better off spending equal time hitting yourself in the forehead with a wooden ruler to a metronome set to 72 BPM.

For a start, almost every tutorial of this nature seems to draw from the same script—“Hey guys, welcome to ’Sing Better Than Anyone In The History Of Singing” where even YOU can learn how to do this—“ whereupon the imbecile of the moment lets loose upon the world a raspy, fried, nasal, guttural screech and then smiles as if he/she has just out-farted a bull elephant. Most of these clowns add a brag to the effect of “My method is the shit because just listen to me sing!” And then they sing—and anyone but Helen Keller must instantly realize that the sounds they are making are unlike anything a real producer in the big boy music world would want anywhere near a live microphone.

There are myriad ways in which to express emotion as a vocalist. But emotion is a matter of the moment, and not something that is plotted, planned or practiced. What IS practiced is developing your vocal ability to the high level at which you gain the ability to express true emotion in performance on demand, AND to be able to do this repeatedly night after night. 

Years ago when I was traveling and gigging about 200 days a year, we occasionally found ourselves between shows at state and county fairs. My favorite was always the Minnesota State Fair. It was big. It had fried cheese curds. And best of all, it had a guy in a tent that sat on a stool and stuck steel needles through his hands, arms, ears, tongue and any other appendages that couldn’t get away from him. Once you caught the act, you couldn’t look away. It was a wonder, how he could do that shit day after day for the run of the fair. But did he have talent? Or was he stoned, high or drunk and just said “Well fuck it. It’s money and I can pull this off as long as I don’t spring a leak." Yes, it is possible to harm yourself for the entertainment of the masses. Ask any NFL lineman. But should you? Doing harm to your instrument for the entertainment of the masses is like burning your furniture to stay warm. Eventually you'll run out of fuel.

A singer’s instrument is his/her body and needs to be taken care of and not abused. Practicing these spurious quasi exercises puts the voice into a position akin to Pete Townsend’s guitar at the end of a WHO concert. But in Townsend’s case, the guitar is external and has no choice in the matter. The smashed up guitar is a vehicle through which Townsend expresses whatever emotions lead him to the point of destruction. And the more refined point can be made that he can’t smash up the same guitar night after night. 

You have but one voice to give to the world. Learn how to use it well. Learn how to make it last. Don’t take these morons seriously. Vocal fry, blasting air to set the false chord into distortion, screaming—these things are DAMAGING. PERIOD. If they find their way into your performance and becomes part of your act, fair enough. Let your emotions of the moment lead the way. But practicing and drilling detrimental technique will have a price. You won't get better at it. You'll just get used to the pain and tell yourself it's okay because youtube can't possibly be wrong.

 Passagio, Mix, Headvoice, Chestvoice, Elevator, Waterfall, Lift, Intercostal Muscle—What does it all mean?

I frequently survey the plethora of videos posted online which attempt to teach one to “Sing Like Journey” or “Hit High Notes Without Tension” and the ever elusive “How To Sing With Vibrato” presented in 10 minute segments bursting with words and phrases that sound almost as if the utterer has some minuscule germ of an idea of what he/she is blathering on about. But upon the gentlest scratching of the surface, anyone with a modicum of common sense must eventually scream at the screen in the words of my dear departed grandmother, “What in the actual PHAUQUE are you talking about?”

It has been my position for some time that specificity is the bedrock upon which education is built. There is no substitute for accuracy when rendering directions for any task, be it which piano key results in which note, which knob on a Les Paul turns up the volume of the bridge pickup, or which exit off of the beltway gets you to your destination. There is no guesswork. There are no poetic analogous terms. There must be a dearth of ambiguity if information is to be exchanged efficiently—until we dive into a study of the vocal arts.

I have looked, I’ve searched far and wide, and have yet to find a skill-based artistic endeavor as awash in vague imagery and unsubstantiated assumptions as the vocal training racket. The mechanics of vocal production rest upon cause and effect. As such, vocal development is comparable to proper shooting mechanics in basketball, throwing a curve ball in baseball, or making a decent soufflé. All of these are a matter of knowledge, understanding and, most importantly, repetition. 

If you are studying with a teacher and you have a scintilla of doubt regarding a term, a description or any parade of words that “sound” pertinent but “smell” questionable, ASK! When a teacher says the word “Passagio” don’t nod as if you know what that word means. If your teacher describes a certain sound as resonating at the upper floors of your vocal elevator (No, REALLY!) it is okay for you to ask, “What do you mean by that and how does the imagery relate to my training using body parts that actually exist?”

There is a video online of a well known, expensive voice ‘teacher’ describing the importance of the intercostal muscle and actually locates this mysterious organ as being inside the lungs! I mean, Jesus Henry—Google is your friend! And how many singers will listen, nod and digest the anatomical inaccuracy like bug parts in raisin bran. 

There is another video of a quite famous vocal teacher putting a vibrating belt—(the kind you see in 50s comedy programs that shake the hell out of women looking to trim down the old keister) on a preteen’s stomach, turning it on and having her hold a note while proclaiming, “there you go. That’s vibrato!”

Even the terms “head voice”, “chest voice” and our elusive pal “mix voice” are meaningless without explaining how the phenomena called by those names are actually produced. Voice teachers have a habit of tossing around terms like these in everlasting hope that nobody raises the question “Why is it called head voice” or ‘Why is it called chest voice?” If you are under the impression that the names designate location of resonance, you would be, um, lets see, what’s the word I’m looking for here? WRONG. Put your hand on your head and sing in what you regard as chest voice and then put your hand on your chest and sing in the so-called head voice. Both voices cause vibrations at each location. Any student of singing should be curious enough about their instrument that they would seek the answer to the question ‘What is the difference between these sounds and what physically happens to bring them about. Anything less than that level of curiosity will breed false concepts, false technique, false confidence and false allegiance to inaccurate teaching. 

If a guitar teacher told you that the tuning machines are called the sound hole and the bridge is a flatpick, you would recognize the bullshit. You might actually say something like “Really? I’ll see you later.” Not so with voice teachers. Unsuspecting students can fall into an almost cult like attraction and accept the most outlandish diatribe as gospel without applying the least bit of common sense. 

Ask questions. Your teacher’s discomfort validates the need for the question. And if you watch youtube videos with titles like “How to sing like—“ and “5 ways to sing with vibrato” do not expect to learn anything of value. Be entertained. Read the comments. Are there any singers among them? Or is it the usual parade of nail technicians, baristas and hairdressers who sign up at the local karaoke bar?

“The totally cool and laid back nature of Pete Strobl’s vocal training only enhances the individualized care he gives to every student. Whether you’re a veteran performer, like myself, or just starting in your craft as a vocalist, like my two teenage daughters… Pete has the patience, skill and knowledge to bring out the very best in your specific voice. This man knows his craft and gently guides you into reaching your highest potential as a singer.”

Monkey see, monkey do.  To thine own self be true. For the performing artist, this is the dialectic paradox, and I’m not talking about two insulin injecting physicians here. Vocalists are faced with these contradictory phrases continuously as they work to find their singular core identity in the art and craft of singing.

Let us start be stipulating that yes, we are apes—really smart apes, but apes nonetheless. And we learn all the basic physical skills that get us from point A to Points B, C and D by observing and casting our own physical being into the role of that which we observe.

From the very first moment of self awareness we observe and imitate. An adult claps hands and smiles at us. We look at our arms and say to ourselves (in baby self-talk) “Well I’ll be damned! I have things that look just like those things but smaller!” So we smack them together and are rewarded (we hope) by the silly noises coming out of the huge face hovering over us. This is the genesis of every career in show business. They do something, we do it back, they like it, we do it more, they pay us.

However, If one has aspirations to graduate from the holiday karaoke sing-a-long phase, one must learn that there are more layers to this paradox than the best Viennese Dobosh Torte. Being in popular demand as a singer requires that the singer sings songs the public wishes to hear in a manner that the public expects them to be heard. It’s purely transactional. The public wants what they want and will reward those who provide for their wishes.

This being the overriding ground rule, how can one explain the commercial success of so many singers that actually sing like total shit. No names shall be mentioned here but we all have our favorite “How the fuck could that have happened?” stories. But forget it. The time spent trying to justify how some no-singing bastard got famous and the unfairness of it is better spent in concentrating in ways we can make ourselves better. 

The human voice is a unique instrument. Think about that sentence for a moment. Unwrap the words, there are layers to be appreciated here. Firstly, the human voice is unique in that it is not merely a sound generator as are, for example orchestral instruments. The human voice combines abstract emotional content in sound with precise meaning through the use of language. It is alone in that ability. No acoustic instrument designed and built by man has this potential. We can imitate a violin, a flute, a drum. But none of these can form the words to a lullaby.

Secondly, and this is the main point of this whole diatribe, each and every human voice is unique in and of itself. Think about that for a moment. You can go to a big box music store and play 50 Fender Stratocasters blindfolded and have a very difficult time knowing one from the other. You can play 50 grand pianos and possibly note some differences, but unlike the human voice, those differences can be adjusted to make those pianos almost identical in sound or feel. But each human voice and more importantly, the brain that controls it, is a living, breathing, thinking entity unique to itself—if, and this is a BIG IF—if it is allowed by the brain behind it to feel confident and sure of itself, its abilities and its motives.

Yes, at the beginning of every career a singer or musician will listen to and imitate favorite examples. Monkey see, Monkey do. We grow to like things. We grow to accept certain qualities as being better than others. We learn to be discerning in our taste. We might grow up to be in a cover band and learn how to sing just like Linda Ronstadt or Sting or Frank Sinatra or Emmylou Harris or Ella Fitzgerald. Monkey see, Monkey do.

But, at some point, Linda, Sting, Frank, Emmylou and Ella—while they surely had their own heroes and models, would have found the value in being uniquely themselves. Would have looked inside to find that their motives demand more than a cookie and a pat on the head from Aunt Sylvia. It is at that crucial moment in time that an artist comes to the realization that, while they might be fans of this or that artist, they have a responsibility—not to their public, but to themselves. They have a responsibility to develop their unique vocabulary, their unique artistic inventory.

And the only way to accomplish that is to work toward a potential that is by definition always and forever just out of reach. The work, if approached correctly, is laden with its own joy. Reaching a new level of accomplishment may never be noticed by the public. But a singer seeking to reach a unique potential thrives on the self awareness of these plateaus. A singer who has graduated to the “To Thine Own Self Be True” phase will be rewarded in ways never experienced by the “Monkey see Monkey do” crowd.

Think about one of your favorite singers. Who might they look up to? Who might they be obsessed about? Who do they try to look like, dress like, walk like? You’re going to come up short trying to find answers. They are most assuredly too damned busy being themselves to give a shit about trying to act, walk, dress or sing like anyone other than themselves.

Confidence is a big word. It is much bigger than its ten letters would lead one to believe. As the word is applied to the art and craft of singing, and to those individuals aspiring to be considered “of the craft” so to speak, the word has negative as well as positive connotations.

As a teacher of vocal mechanics and a coach of vocal performance, my position is that confidence is a key element in the make-up of the successful singer—with this caveat—that a singer’s confidence can only be a product of study, hard work, analytical thinking and the knowledge of one’s capabilities, shortcomings and potential gained from the process of these activities.

So-called confidence in oneself without preparation, experience or work in any field is merely a false sense of self. We all know of untalented singers who are very sure of themselves. They are first to sign up to Karaoke. They sing with the car radio at full voice and just enough ahead of the beat to demonstrate that yes, they DO know the words to this goddam song. Their confidence might come from a convivial cocktail, or from the encouragement of friends and family. Maybe their granny gave them a cookie for showing off at family gatherings. Or maybe it was just a case of never being asked nicely to please shut the fuck up. But for some reason, they are convinced they are as good as the recording stars on TV and aren’t shy about trying to prove it.

Singers who have a certain level of experience and who might have gathered some training may be comfortable at the microphone in a public setting, and yet still be lacking in confidence. This is a good thing. It is better to be aware of limitations. Allowing a false sense of confidence to camouflage a lack of ability or knowledge creates a state of willful ignorance in which the singer is wholly complicit. There are plenty of commercially successful singers falling into this category. The calls for gigs keep coming, the checks clear, and the urgency to reach an unknown potential falls by the wayside of steady, if mediocre work.

True confidence is not a state of being. It is not a raw material. It is the product of a process. It comes after and not before the work. It is not the same as ego. Does an individual need a powerful sense of self in order to feel at home in front of a crowd? Of course. But ego is not confidence. Ego is a raw material. It’s the magic buzz that leads one to swing out on a trapeze in one’s underwear under the bigtop. But confidence is the very real mental product resulting from the knowledge that one shall be caught by one’s partner and survive. And this state of mind, this confidence is the culmination of the hours spent practicing, the years of preparation, the knowledge in the physics involved. Trust and luck are meaningless syllables when true confidence is controlling the process.

Ego, strong self image, intestinal fortitude, reckless (though sometimes entertaining) disregard for safety—these are properties which can enhance a performance, sometimes at the expense of the performer. But true confidence is different. It must be earned. It must be mined, refined, smelted, forged and hammered into shape on the anvil of experience—not of years necessarily, but moments. It is in these moments of mindful repetition that difficult tasks are rendered  mundane. Confidence is not something one wears in public and waves around like a new hat for everyone to see .

“Are you a musician, or a singer?” It is a frequently asked question. Many instrumentalists do not sing and so their answer is an easy one. Singers, on the other hand, might have a less straightforward response to this question—one for which they themselves have no definitive answer.

Ignorance on face value is not a bad thing. It is a word much like “repetition” in that the quality of its meaning comes into focus when proceeded by a modifier. Mindless repetition is a waste of time and energy while Mindful repetition is valuable time well spent.

Pure, innocent Ignorance is merely the state of not knowing. It is the little white angel floating over the right shoulder saying things like “Oh, it’s alright. We didn’t know that you couldn’t flush an alarm clock down the toilet. We won’t do it again.” Willful ignorance, now that is an evil little bastard. Willful ignorance is the little fucker in a red devil costume floating over the left shoulder whispering things like, “Fuck half-diminished chords. Just play a cluster and act like you’re really experimental.” And “You don’t need to learn how to read rhythm notation. Just show the drummer a little leg and he’ll cue you.”

I’ve been beating on this dead horse since god was wearing short pants, but it is a dead horse that bears repeated beatings. Singers should aspire to be the sort of musicians that trained instrumentalists respect and accept as “Fratelli e Sorrelle nelle Musica.” But, as so often happens in gigs, rehearsals and sessions, singers frequently require special attention akin to toddlers at a wedding reception. Any adult knows that you don’t dig your nose and rinse your finger in the punch bowl—or shit your pants and sit on the bride’s lap. But some toddlers need an extra, simplified level of instruction in order to avoid untoward episodes. They can’t help it. They are, by reason of inexperience, innocently ignorant.

Adult singers however, are not inexperienced toddlers. Somehow, they made it to the gig, indicating a competence in operating a potentially lethal motor vehicle. Usually, they have their shoes on the correct feet and know how to use the restroom. Then why, in the name of all that is holy, is it acceptable for a singer to ask questions like, “What key do I sing Night And Day in again?” Or “Can you play my note just before I come in?” or “Counting is so confusing. Could you just point at me when I’m supposed to sing?” Yes, singers carry the additional burden of being expected to know lyrics—and to be able to deliver those lyrics at the appropriate time on the correct pitch. But I’ll leave the issue of reading lyrics from a screen for a subsequent rant. This diatribe is focused on the absurd question, “Should singers learn a modicum of music theory?” The short answer is a predictable “What, are you joking right now?”

There is that old adage which states, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” It would seem reasonable to say, “When in the music racket, do as musicians do.” Wouldn’t it? I mean, at least learn the damned language for chrissakes. In the current musical climate, it isn’t really necessary to be a burning sight reader. But it would be a time saver and a boost to one’s self image to meet an accompanist on musical terms rather than expect them to describe the task at hand in baby talk. Singers can make allies out of adversaries by investing moderately in just a few fundamentals. Herewith a few suggestions—

1. Learn to read, write and understand the basic language of rhythm. For example, don’t guess when you see the time signature 4/4. Learn to put the symbol into a succinct sentence like “There are 4 quarter notes per measure.” And understand that the words “Bar” and “Measure” are interchangeable. Know what quarter notes, eighth notes and rests are and what they look like. Now, for bonus points, put 6/8 into a sentence.

2. Learn how the function of notes can be defined and described in terms of numbers, and that a note can be called by different numbers dependent upon their “job” at the moment. For example, the 7th note in a major scale, when it occurs in a chord built on the 5th degree of the scale, is the 3rd of the chord and as such, defines the quality (or majorness/minorness) of the chord. I realize that this looks like a confusing mouthful. But so is the phrase “Fünf minuten wird geschissen. Wer länger scheisst wird rausgeschmissen.” if you don’t speak German. For Germans it is easy. And for musicians, describing the function of notes by using numbers is equally easy, maybe more so.

3. If you don’t have a book of charts (Learn what that word means) for your songs, make one. And the first page of that book should be a song list with each song identified by the key in which you sing it.

4. When interacting with musicians, be sincere, be curious and don’t act as if you know shit of which you are ignorant. Nobody likes a bullshit artist. Ask questions and pay attention. And don’t bluff your way through a rehearsal or session saying “I got this” while you continue to repeat the same mistakes. When you don’t know something, ask somebody.

“Van Halen has always been known for strong group vocals and we never felt or sounded better than on the last tour. Being exhausted, sick or worn out from traveling didn’t affect our voices at all because the preparation was always harder than the gig. A vocal workout with Pete Strobl kicking your ass is like being in the gym with a personal trainer. Nobody teaches like Pete.”

Breathing for singing—Mouth or nose?

This will be short—MOUTH!

Okay, all right—so that was the short version. But let’s take a look at one of the vagaries which plagues this voice teaching racket. The question “Should I breath through my nose or breathe through my moth when I sing?” is right up there with the whole “Should my stomach go in or out?” routine. And these are routines in the best comedic vein. I’ll save the stomach rap for another time but lets talk about the breathing thing and make some observations.

First, we are built to survive. Every system, every innate behavior built into the human machine is designed to get us through another day. We can live without food for a number of weeks—without water for a number of days. We can live without air for less time than it takes youtube to load a goddam hamster eating tiny food if you’re trying to watch it in my basement. We are built to respirate successfully.

There are three respiratory holes through which we can take in and let out air. Two of them work together and are small enough to obstruct with a green bean. The third is big—really big. On some people, too damned big, but again, that’s a different story.

Now, the two small holes are lined with little dudes that have one job. Their job is to sniff around and send messages to the brain—messages like, “Whoa! that fish has been sitting out for too long. Don’t eat it.” And “Damn! I know there’s a bakery around here somewhere.” Yes, we can and frequently do breathe through our nostrils when we are at rest and writing a blog. But when you need to get some air in there in a hurry, drop your jaw and get that tank filled.

Singing is in many respects, an athletic activity, the elements of which include tone, pitch, projection and enunciation. None of these elements exist without the coordinated application of ample and sustained  air controlled at very specific pressure. If we use a garden hose as an analogy, a bigger hose allows for more volume to pass at a lower pressure while a smaller hose passes less volume at a higher pressure.

Opinions are like, well, you probably know the rest of that worn out old saw. But the advantage of mouth breathing in singing is not a matter of opinion. If we can agree that we are built to survive and that our natural process provides for the least impediment to successful breath intake, we can also surmise that when we inhale through the orifice of least impediment, our throat, inclusive of muscles, cartilage, ligaments and vocal folds, will be in a state of relaxation. It makes sense, doesn’t it—that everything which is able to do so would clear out of the way when we take in a breath. And it is precisely this relaxed state which fosters the most effective onset of phonation or, starting a tone.

You can prove the advantage of mouth breathing for yourself very easily. Looking straight ahead into a mirror, place the palm of your hand across your throat with your thumb on one side and fingers on the other. Drop your jaw and take in a deep breath. You will feel virtually no muscular action from your throat registering in your hand. Now, try to imagine the sheer volume of air you took in through your mouth. Now, close your mouth and, through your nose, try to take in the same volume of air in the same time. Can you feel the muscular constriction of your throat and neck muscles as you struggle to inhale fully? This tension will pass right down into your upper chest if you try to pull in air hard enough. When you try to suck in a massive amount of air through the tiny openings in your face, your throat turns into one of those trick woven tube-like hand cuffs. You stick a finger in each end and the harder you pull, the tighter it gets. How can this constriction be a positive element of singing technique?

Nose breathers claim that their technique is less “drying” or that the nose somehow “warms” the air before it reaches the sensitive vocal cords. What brand of bullshit is that? First off, most vocal sessions aren’t attempted in arctic or saharan conditions. A few degrees or percentage points of relative humidity either way can be expected when traveling room to room or dressing room to stage. Using that level of sensitivity for an excuse is just, well, it’s embarrassing.

I would like to set aside vocal technique for a moment (Hah! As if that were possible) to discuss the use of visual aids on the live performance stage. For the sake of this discussion, I will limit the target audience to professional and aspiring performers in public venues including night clubs, bars, concert stages, religious gatherings—in short, if there is an audience and you are trying to get paid, I’m talking to you. Choral singers, studio singers, karaoke singers and singers trying to fulfill oddball requests are excused, To a point.

Now, right from Jump Street, I will state unequivocally that reading music, hell, reading anything from English to Sanskrit to html code, is a good thing. The skills of storing and recalling ideas, concepts, feelings and data are basic to the advancement of civilization itself. But storage and recall by external methods is really a means to an end rather than a performance technique. The process we call “reading” can be accomplished entirely devoid of emotion or artistic merit.

The live performance of drama, comedy, music, dance and some visual arts is the process by which we bring this stored data to life for the appreciation of an audience eager for interaction. Why would we insult a paying audience by reading to them that which they could easily read for themselves? What of ourselves do we offer the audience when the visual element of our performance consists of eye contact with words we don’t know and consequently couldn’t possibly mean?

Let’s compare singing with sales for a moment. The thread connecting these two artful occupations is sincerity. The singer and salesperson are both tasked with gaining the confidence of their target audience, making a convincing case, and closing a deal. The salesperson’s goal is to transfer cash and deliver goods. If the salesperson is of the door to door variety, instant sincerity depends upon confidence and product knowledge. Vacuum cleaners, encyclopedia, solar panels, everlasting salvation—whatever the goods for sale are, the salesperson either knows his or her shit by heart, or is left standing on the stoop.

There is a phrase that applies to door to door con artists who need reference material to know what their vacuum cleaner actually sucks up or how many volumes their book set contains—and don’t even get me started on cats who profess to have my redemption in the palm of their sweating hand as they fumble through the pages of their instruction manual trying to remember which chapter and verse is the most appropriate closer for an infidel of my ilk. The phrase is “You don’t really know your shit, do you?”

Using a lyric sheet for reference can be a useful tool in the studio. Marking breaths, notating various articulations or trouble spots is helpful. But the longer one refers to the reminders, the less likely one is to internalize the material. I hear “I have a hard time memorizing lyrics” from singers a lot. My answer is “Wouldn’t it be easier to KNOW them than to memorize them?” That usually results in the tilted head response of an inquisitive puppy wondering what the hell I’m talking about. But there is a big difference between memorizing and knowing. You KNOW your name. You’ve probably MEMORIZED your home alarm security code. Recalling something you’ve memorized is still reading, it’s just that the paper you are reading from is inside your head.

What has this to do with singing? Well, let’s say you are singing a lyric like, “Walter, I’m throwing out your collection, your collection of Victorian cheese graters. Even the one from Cannes.” This might seem like a formidable thing to get by heart as they say. (I already know it, but I cheated). So you stare at the words and plot your breaths. Hmm, breath after Walter because there is a comma. Breath after the first collection to add emphasis, and then probably before the word “even.” Now, let me see, make a mark on the double ‘L’ in the first “collection” because the melody goes up a 4th. And a mark on the ‘V’ in “Victorian” to make sure I got the pitch right. And on and on. But wait! What was the word after cheese? Fuck! Back to the beginning. What is the bloody STORY here?

The concert audience is a jury deciding the merits of a case. On the one hand, there is a lawyer laying out the facts and citing case precedent using hand gestures and making eye contact in a manner which makes every juror feel that the case is being made on an intimate, person-to-person level by an advocate with first hand knowledge. On the other hand is a Lawyer who graduated first in his class and stands at his table reading case law and citing precedent and reading testimony from the record to make his case. The first Lawyer might err on a detail or two, might miss a date, or a case number. But he KNOWS the case he is making and can fill in the blanks convincingly. The opposing lawyer is a “Karaoke” attorney who, when interrupted by a fly buzzing past, needs to find his place on the page and begin again.

Every singer I’ve worked with wants success. How they measure success defines their personal journey. If success is to have their talents recognized by friends and family in an intimate and safe—read “non-judgmental) setting, whip out the iPads, fake books and cheat sheets. Have fun in the arms of your support group. But if success includes convincing strangers, of bringing an indifferent and possibly hostile public over to your side— the only place to start is to know your shit. Don’t memorize your material and recall it as if reading from a sticky note lodged behind your eyeballs. Know your shit to the point that you can screw up a detail and recover so that nobody is any the wiser.

I had the pleasure—and total hell of working with a particular Jazz singer for a number of years. This cat had a serious book a mile deep. And on top of that book, he was apt to call random songs by request or just on a whim at any moment. I was and still am convinced that he had intimate relations with upwards of a thousand songs. I learned more from that gig than I did in any classroom or from any book—and faster. Was I reading charts? Yep! Was I scribbling cheat sheets on the fly hoping to save my ass and thereby my gig? Fuck yeah! Did anybody care? No. Why? Because I was standing in the shadows playing bass. The important guy was center stage at the microphone  singing his ass off. And that guy, the guy making his case? He definitely knew his shit.

"As to the adjective, when in doubt, strike it out." —Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar (Mark Twain) With wisdom like that dripping from the tip of his pen, Mark Twain could have carved out a decent place for himself as a teacher of singing. As it was, he turned out to be an amoral loafer doomed to a career scribbling insignificant travelogues. Had he substituted the words Lip Trill in place of Adjective, he could have been a Capo in the voice teaching racket. In almost every workshop, clinic, master class or first lesson —I would estimate oh, 127% to grab a number off the top of my head —when I ask the question, "What warm up exercises have you been given by past masters of this august discipline we call singing?"—I field the answer "Lip Trills." In the name of all the gods of the Greek Pantheon on rubber fucking crutches! Lip Trills! (I would have said "what the fuck" but I've promised a certain someone to keep this post family-friendly.) If ever there was a blubberier, more absurd slapping together of vibrating body parts invented that is sillier and less efficient for warming up the vocal mechanism than this accursed lip trill, I'd like someone to put it on a leash and trot it out so I could walk around it and have a good long look. First off, the lip trill is a sound that exists—wait a moment, let me check to make sure—that's right, NOWHERE in any song, EVER. Secondly, performing the lip trill actually fosters undue tension in the muscles of the face, neck and throat. You have to try really hard to do a good lip trill and not use muscles that have a fart-in-a-diver's-helmet reason to be used in singing. Using the lip trill to warm up is on about the same level of logic as stabbing your hand with a pencil to improve your penmanship. Sure, you're using all the right tools, but there's something just a little twisted. You could become a great triller of lips, a regional legend or even go to the state finals and win the blue ribbon to prove your unique mastery—and you could still be a pretty shitty singer. Hell, maybe you could even be a fair to good singer—but it wouldn't have shit to do with making motorboat sounds up and down the scale.