Who Can Sing

The pre-dominant notion in our society of what constitutes ability to sing has to do with two things: ability to stay on pitch and tone quality. Many assume that these two traits are universal indicators of whether or not a person can sing. With regard to the latter trait, voice instructors teach their pupils that they should sing from their diaphragm because a more rich and resonating fullness can be achieved in this way. People who 'sing from their head' achieve, instead, a thin and non-resonant tone quality.

Those who think there is only one right way to sing are mistaken as anyone who has listened to Chinese opera, Japanese gagaku, the Blues, Jazz, Rock, or indigenous music from areas as widely scattered as America, Africa, and Rumania might suspect. And the more dogmatically they hold this opinion, the less likely it is that they will ever have an authentic experience with the wide variety of music in the world that is outside the relatively narrow European art tradition.

Bob Dylan is the favorite target of abuse for many who consider themselves learned in vocal music. But the thin, nasal quality which typifies his vocal style is only one of several styles he is capable of. If you are familiar with the popular "Lay, Lady, Lay", you'll note that his voice in that recording has a rich quality akin to Elvis, Johnny Cash, or other Southern rockabilly/country performers. In fact, Cash joins him on the album from which that song hails (Nashville Skyline), and you can hardly tell the two apart if you don't listen carefully.

Staying on pitch, the other all-important quality according to those schooled in classical music, is naturally an important ability. However, sliding from pitch to pitch can be used effectively to create a certain feel or gesture, or to hint at pitches, such as the 'blue' note, that aren't actually in the chromatic scale but which exist nonetheless. Modern composers like David Sargent (one of my professors at Brigham Young University) and Joseph Schwantner of Eastman have used sliding pitch in interesting ways not only in vocal lines but in instrumental lines, as well. And Jazz and Blues are full of such examples, the most colorful example being the opening clarinet slide in Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue."

There are many standards against which music, and singing in particular, can be measured. But above all, music is expression, so it follows that the best music is that music which most effectively expresses something. And what are humans best at expressing? Emotion, of course. Because emotion is reaction to human experience. It's what we know and understand best. With that in mind, I challenge you to find in all the repertoire of classical song and opera a set of pieces which covers more emotional range than what is found in the following few examples of contemporary popular music: Paul Simon's "Silent Eyes" from the 1975 album Still Crazy After All These Years or Bob Dylan's "Isis" from the 1976 album Desire or "The Ghost In You" from the Psychedelic Furs' 1988 effort entitled Mirror Moves or Sheryl Crow's "We Do What We Can" from the 1993 album Tuesday Night Music Club.

I'm not saying the classical literature contains lesser music. All I'm saying is that much of what our contemporaries have produced is equal to it in expressive quality and is, therefore, equally great. In fact, I would argue that twentieth-century popular music has, as a whole, been much more successful in this respect than the 'serious' compositions that have been created alongside it during the past few decades. Although there are exceptions, I'm sure. I know of at least one in Schönberg's musical interpretations of 14 poems from the suite Pierrôt Lunaire (tell me the French author's name if you stumble across it, because I sure as heck can't find it) which you can read about here. And if that link doesn't work, try here.

The other night, I was sitting in a coffee bar in Arlington (VA) with friends when an old Kinks song came on the radio. "Come Dancing" is not a particularly profound song, but it's catchy, and it captures the feeling of reminiscing about childhood in a way that I can relate to very well even though I was never particularly fond of dancing as a kid. It describes a dance joint or 'pally' (which is, I'm told, short for 'palace') he and his sister frequented as kids. The song is light and care-free throughout with the exception of the bridge in which the singer explains how he felt when it was torn down:

"The day they knocked down the pally
My sister stood and cried.
The day they knocked down the pally
Part of my childhood died, just died."

The genius of the singer (and he might laugh if he reads this because he may not have thought about it for even two seconds before he sang it) is here in the bridge. It's sung with little outward change from the verses, as if he is on the verge of tears but is trying to maintain his composure. Then, just for a split second at the end of the bridge, he echoes the last word (died) with a flat, despondent "just died" that expresses all the hopelessness he is re-experiencing but had successfully managed to keep bottled up up to that point. But you can't just read about it to experience it, you have to go dig out that old Kinks album in the basement and listen to it for yourself.

One thing I find interesting about music is the mechanical limitations placed on an instrument, whether it be the human voice, the saxophone, the guitar, or another instrument, and the strategies performers have for dealing with these limitations. In classical/serious (for lack of a better word) music, the goal is generally to hide these limitations insofar as is possible. But in many other music traditions, these mechanical limitations are exploited to add to the flavor of the music. Yodeling is an example of this.

Ordinarily, a falsetto voice may be employed as a means of increasing one's vocal range. But classical singers take great pains to very carefully cross over from the normal voice to the falsetto in order to disguise this break and give the illusion that their voice possesses the same timbre and strength at all notes in their range. Yodeling, on the other hand, is a means of exploiting the break between the normal and falsetto voices to create an interesting effect. Pull-offs and hammer-ons are similar strategies employed on the guitar.

In my lead guitar playing, I often bend notes in order to mimic the natural inflections of human or animal voices or, perhaps, of the wind or of some other sound. But occasionally, I bend a note in order to reach a pitch that is not otherwise not available to me unless I move to a different string, which requires moving up or down 4-5 frets which may take too much time and, thus, interfere with the rhythm of the melody I'm after. Of, if I'm on the top string, the note I'm after may not be available to me at all except through bending.

Saxophone and other wind and brass players use fingered keyings in combination with strength of breath stream in order to hit the note they are after. The difference between a low 'C' and a high 'C' may be realized by nothing more than an increase in the amount of air pressure on the mouthpiece. Of course, this has an affect on the dynamics, as well. So I can imagine that it is quite a challenge to play a certain melody according to a certain dynamic progression for these reasons. But again, I believe that good players use such limitations to their advantage and make them work for them in achieving an interesting and tasteful style of playing.

Speaking of yodeling (which I brought up a couple of paragraphs back), the female singer from the Cranberries uses natural breaks in her singing voice to create a very nice effect. Unfortunately, as is often the case in the '90s music scene, other female vocalists latched on to this interesting technique and quickly drove it into the ground to the point that I can hardly stand to listen to the Cranberries anymore.

Perhaps my greatest complaint about the current music scene is exactly that. Everyone mimics each other and themselves so effectively that there's little truly original and innovative material out there. Every male singer sounds exactly like Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Hootie and the Blowfish's lead singer while every female singer sounds just like the Cranberries'. We had a similar situation throughout much of the '50s when virtually every pop song used the same four-chord progression.

Contrast that with certain periods of the '60s, '70s, and '80s when a phenomenal number of original works were produced.

Well, that's all for now. I may add additional thoughts to this later as they arise. Meanwhile, if you have a reply, send it my way at dave@languages-of-the-world.us. Thanks.

Updated on April 12th 2004 (Article written in mid-90s sometime as nearly as I can recall now.) -------------------------------