Category: Singing

I’ve just perused some email correspondence about the names people give their computers. It was quite interesting to read, for example, that some large companies derive inspiration from the fictional worlds of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings to name their various networks, and that individuals choose from a wide range of fictional characters to name their machines. Where do we derive our inspiration for naming people and things from, I wonder? Does attaching a name to a thing imbue it with a personality? Why in fact do we name things?

So much for inanimate objects. Perhaps we can permit ourselves a secret chuckle at the eccentricities of these computer nerds. What about animals though? Over the last few months my household has acquired no fewer than ten pets: two dogs, one bearded dragon, five stick insects and two leaf insects. Have we named them all? Not yet. The dogs and the bearded dragon each have their own identity, which they grew into because of the names chosen for them, but it is a challenge deciding what to call the insects.

And human beings? Everyone would agree that a person’s name gives him a sense of identity with which to relate. That is why Odysseus was so clever, when seeking to escape from the awakening but blinded monster – the Cyclops – to call out that his name was “Nobody”. When asked later by Jupiter who outwitted the Cyclops and committed the theft and assault, all the Cyclops could say was “Nobody.”

Myths aside, we can find substantial evidence of how important it is to attach a name – the right name – to the object of our perceptions from religious tradition. The ancient Greeks and Romans had so many gods and numinous presences that they became acutely anxious when “praying” to them that the relevant Being might not grant their prayer or wish or curse because he/she/it hadn’t heard it. So they ended every prayer by calling on the name of the relevant deity. There are even invocations extant which are addressed “to unknown gods”, as a form of insurance. This of course is the origin of the modern Christian church’s formula for ending a prayer, if you want it answered: name the Being to whom it is addressed: “.. in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord” (just in case you know of any other Jesus Christs!) And Our Lord himself reminded us of this strategy, when he said 

“And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.”—John 14:13.

So giving a name allows everybody a point of reference for more effective activities: entreaty, censure or just general communication. To the individual, receipt of a name goes deeper: it creates  and sustains a sense of identity and helps one’s self esteem as the recipient goes about his daily business. How, for example, should a teacher react when he discovers that he has received a nickname? Or why does the the unnamed Emergency Medical Hologram in Star Trek Voyager even try to search for a Name? Consider too the effect of the Naming Ceremony/Christening/Baptism (call it what you will), initiating a human soul into the Christian club.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Juliet is wrong, to my mind. You may agree that the scent, or physical perception of a flower is always the same to everybody who smells it – although I doubt even that – but imagine for a moment that we call that flower “dung”, for example, and clearly our mental perception of it is now entirely different.

No, it is the CHOICE of name that is important here, not the mere fact of naming something. Choosing the appropriate name should never be undertaken lightly or wantonly. After all, once you receive your name, you might consider living up to its associations. I can live with the Hebrew meaning of my first name: David means beloved, but I doubt, as my surname Pope suggests, that I shall ever be the leader of the Roman Catholic Church. Does the gift of my surname mean I should consider conversion? H’m… What’s in a name, after all?

David Pope, singer and schoolteacher, explores the importance of the singing masterclass and outlines how to deliver one effectively.

Peru has very few countertenors. Nor did I find any bears called Paddington during a month’s stay there. There was an enticingly active singing scene and some very high quality musical talent in the universities and conservatories, even in the more provincial towns. There was also the promise of heaps of post-colonial baroque choral music gathering dust in various archives, waiting to be “discovered”. But how could I gain access to the professional singing world and those archives? I needed one of Paddington’s ever-present marmalade sandwiches, both to start my adventures and to enjoy their fruits at the end. I think I found the equivalent. The way in through the firmly closed doors was to give a couple of recitals and agree to deliver that essential element of a performer’s art: the singing masterclass.

A masterclass? Me? This was an interesting new challenge. I had previously only attended such things when they were given by singers who were already famous and established. And yes, I had gleaned some elements of my singing technique from them. As a singing student though, I had never found them very helpful. But now, from the other side of the desk, I began to see how effectively they can promote the name of the teacher, as well as meet the perceived needs of the students. Amongst all the music students and singers in the audience there was the occasional talent scout, recording engineer, musical director. Some of them were on the ’phone to me the following day!

Giving a masterclass, like all teaching, allows you to prove that you know your subject, as well as to ascertain where the boundaries of your knowledge do actually lie. I think I taught myself some new techniques, by explaining them to others and by reflecting on how better to teach and demonstrate them after the first class. Then they asked me back to give a second one! Overall my two “clases del maestro” were almost as frightening and “high profile” as our last school inspection week, but a lot more fun! They also offered an excellent marketing opportunity to the conservatory or university department hosting them. As if in grateful response, those doors to the archives at last began to creak open.

The craft of the classroom  

You must begin and end your masterclass by performing. A travelling singer should always pack scores of his or her favourite three recital pieces. Now is your chance to use them: one at the start, one at the end and perhaps one for an encore! Try to find pieces which demonstrate distinctive elements of good singing technique: breath control in one, effective resonance in another, stage presence in the encore? 

When listening to the students selected to come up to the stage and perform their pieces, try to focus on one of these technical details per student. Explain the “approved” technique, demonstrate it, provide an exercise for the student to try, in full view of the audience, and soak up the applause if and when he or she effects a radical change in interpreting that note, lasting that phrase, evoking that emotion in the audience.

Don’t forget to use the whiteboard. A good lesson always has a visual stimulus to focus the students’ attention. Explain the theories by drawing diagrams of the vocal tract or the resonance chambers in the head. If possible, use different coloured pens for the direction of breath, sound waves, and so on.

When you detect the audience losing interest or letting their attention drift, try a whole-group exercise. Whichever exercise you offer, the class should practise it standing up. Just as physical commitment is such a pleasurable part of singing, so it proves that the students are learning effectively. People remember physical sensations much more easily than intellectualised facts.

And so your masterclass draws to an end. Two or three hours have just gone by, and what have you achieved? Listen to the applause of your students, look at their smiling faces, and you will realise that in fact you have given something back to the profession, as well as ensuring that they will not forget your name.

Are you a selfish or selfless singer?

Why do we sing? To tell the truth, it is a very selfish activity. When your body rings with beautifully resonant, joyful sound vibrations, the pleasure is intense. You are expressing yourself to the fullest degree. To teach or share this with others, evoking and demonstrating the same feelings in your pupils is, in contrast, very altruistic – a way to express your selflessness, perhaps? Rather like Paddington’s long-awaited marmalade sandwich, which always seems to reward and bring an effective resolution to his adventures, a singing masterclass of this sort, enclosing fruitful and worthwhile teaching between layers of your best performances at the beginning and the end, is a highly satisfying way to marry the selfish and selfless aspects of your performing personality. It leaves a very pleasant taste in the mouth!

So what can you bring out of your hat? Do you have your marmalade sandwich with you? Do not neglect the masterclass. Every aspiring professional singer gives concerts and recitals. Too many famous singers are revered only for their technical skills, for their singing. How many are remembered for what they gave to others, for their teaching? Master your singing technique certainly, but have you tried mastering the class? It is in fact easier than you might think. So, maestro or maestra, why will we remember your name?  When are you giving your next masterclass?

Adapted transcript of one of David Pope’s recent Latin lessons:

Mr Pope: “So what does reducebantur mean?”

Small boy: “Something to do with – um – they – um – reduce – that is – reduced?”

Mr P: “Almost…ish. Well done! You worked hard to puzzle that out, didn’t you?”

SB: “Um.”

Mr P: “You need to break down the problem into smaller bits though, really. Do you remember Humpty Dumpty?

SB: “Um – Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall?”

Mr P: “Humpty Dumpty had a great fall./All the King’s horses and all the King’s men…”

SB & Mr P: “… COULDN’T PUT HUMPTY TOGETHER AGAIN”

Mr P. “Put reducebantur on the wall. Give it a push. Make sure you understand what each one of the bits lying on the ground MEANS, on its own: “re-” = “back”, “-duce-” as you say, is to do with “leading” (think duke, the leader of those incompetent King’s men), “-bant-” = “they”, “-ur.” = “were being”. It’s a Passive ending). Now put reducebantur back together again. Work from the right hand end, backwards, syllable by syllable, with lots of Latin words like this one. So what does it mean?

SB: “Um … They –  were  – being  – led  – back.”

Mr P.:  That’s right. Excellent! VERY well done!

SB: “Thank you Sir!”

Mr P.: “Don’t thank me. Thank Humpty Dumpty! Always put him back together again, now that you know how.”

… (A few minutes later) …

Second small boy: “Sir!”

Mr P.: “Yes, David?”

SSB: “Why have you written REDUCE BANTER on the board?”

Entire Class groans

“Greek, Sir, is like lace. Everybody gets as much of it as he can” – Samuel Johnson

I rest my case.