Book: Voice Production in Singing and Speaking

W >> Wesley Mills >> Voice Production in Singing and Speaking




Indeed, there is much more reason now than formerly why the vocalist,
speaker, and teacher should have a theoretical and practical
knowledge of the structure and workings of the mechanism employed.
Many tendencies of the present day work against successful
voice-training--worst of all, perhaps, the spirit of haste, the desire
to reach ends by short cuts, the aim to substitute tricky for
straightforward vocalization, and much more which I shall refer to
again and again. They hurt this cause; and I am deeply impressed with
the conviction that, if we are to attain the best results in singing
and speaking, we must betake ourselves in practice to the methods in
vogue at a time which may be justly characterized as the golden age of
voice-production.

We have advanced, musically, in many respects since the days of the
old Italian masters, but just as we must turn to the Greeks to learn
what constitutes the highest and best in sculpture, so must we sit at
the feet of these old masters. Consciously or unconsciously they
taught on sound physiological principles, and they insisted on the
voice-training absolutely necessary to the attainment of the best art.

However talented any individual may be, he can only produce the best
results as a singer, actor, or speaker, when the mechanisms by which
he hopes to influence his listeners are adequately trained. Why do we
look in vain to-day for elocutionists such as Vandenhoff, Bell, and
others? Why are there not actors with the voices of Garrick, Kean,
Kemble, or Mrs. Siddons, or singers with the vocal powers of a score
of celebrities of a former time? It is not that voices are rarer, or
talent less widely bestowed by nature. It is because _we do not to-day
pursue right methods for a sufficient length of time_; because our
methods rest frequently on a foundation less physiological, and
therefore less sound. Take a single instance, breath-control. In this
alone singers to-day are far behind those of the old Italian period,
not always because they do not know how to breathe, but because often
they are unwilling to give the time necessary for the full development
of adequate breathing power and control.

There was probably never a time when so much attention was paid to the
interpretation of music, yet the results are often unsatisfactory
because of inadequate technique. People seem to hope to impress us, on
the stage, with voices that from a technical point of view are crude
and undeveloped, and accordingly lack beauty and expressiveness.
Speakers to-day have often every qualification except voice--a voice
that can arrest attention, charm with its music, or carry conviction
by the adequate expression of the idea or emotion intended.

Is it not strange that a student of the piano or violin is willing to
devote perhaps ten years to the study of the technique of his
instrument, while the voice-user expects to succeed with a period of
vocal practice extending over a year or two, possibly even only a few
months?

When the anatomy and physiology of the larynx are considered, it will
be seen that the muscular mechanisms concerned in voice-production are
of a delicacy unequalled anywhere in the body except possibly in the
eye and the ear. And when it is further considered that these
elaborate and sensitive mechanisms of the larynx are of little use
except when adequately put into action by the breath-stream, which
again involves hosts of other muscular movements, and the whole in
relation to the parts of the vocal apparatus above the larynx, the
mouth, nose, etc., it becomes clear that only long, patient, and
_intelligent_ study will lead to the highest results.

It should also be remembered that such an apparatus can easily acquire
habits which may last for life, for good or ill, artistically
considered. Such delicate mechanisms can also be easily injured or
hopelessly ruined; and, as a matter of fact, this is being done daily.
A great musical periodical has made the statement that thousands of
voices are being ruined annually, in America alone, by incompetent
teaching. My experience when a practising laryngologist made me
acquainted with the extent of the ruin that may be brought about by
incorrect methods of using the voice, both as regards the throat and
the voice itself; and contact with teachers and students has so
impressed me with the importance of placing voice-production on a
sound foundation, not only artistic but physiological, that I have
felt constrained to tell others who may be willing to hear me what I
have learned as to correct methods, with some reference also to wrong
ones, though the latter are so numerous that I shall not be able to
find the space to deal at length with them.

The correct methods of singing and speaking are always, of necessity,
physiological. Others may satisfy a vitiated or undeveloped public
taste, but what is artistically sound is also physiological. None have
ever sung with more ease than those taught by the correct methods of
the old Italian masters; as none run so easily as the wisely trained
athlete, and none endure so well. People in singing and speaking will,
as in other cases, get what they work for, but have no right to expect
to sing or speak effectively by inspiration, any more than the athlete
to win a race because he is born naturally fleet of foot or with a
quick intelligence. In each case the ideas are converted into
performance, the results attained, by the exercise of neuro-muscular
mechanisms. I am most anxious that it shall be perceived that this is
the case, that the same laws apply to voice-production as to running
or any other exercise. The difference is one of delicacy and
complexity so far as the body is concerned.

It will be understood that I speak only of the technique. For art
there must be more than technique, but there is no art without good
methods of execution, which constitute technique. The latter is
nothing more than method--manner of performance. Behind these methods
of performance, or the simplest part of them, there must be some idea.
The more intelligent the student, speaker or singer, as to his art and
generally, the better for the teacher who instructs scientifically,
though such intelligence is largely lost to the teacher who depends on
tradition and pure imitation. In the present work I shall be so
concerned with the physical that I shall be able only to refer briefly
to the part that intelligence and feeling play in the result.

The qualifications for the successful treatment of vocal
physiology--that is, such a discussion of the subject as shall lead to
a clear comprehension of the nature of the principles involved, and
place them on a practical foundation, make them at once usable in
actual study and in teaching--such qualifications are many, and, in
their totality and in an adequate degree, difficult to attain. After
more than twenty years of the best study I could give to this subject
in both a theoretical and a practical manner, I feel that I have
something to say which may be useful to a large class, and, so far as
I know, that is my reason for writing this book.

For myself music is indispensable. The one instrument we all possess
is a voice-mechanism. I am one of those who regret that so little
attention is paid, especially in America, to pleasing and expressive
use of the voice in ordinary conversation. Yet how much pleasure
cannot a beautiful speaking voice convey! The college undergraduate
rarely finds vocal study among the requirements, in spite of the fact
that the voice is an instrument that he will use much more than the
pen. The truth is, the home methods of voice-production are those we
are most likely to carry with us through life, and, unfortunately,
little attention is given to the subject.

Sometimes a love of sweet sounds may be a hidden cause for much that
would otherwise be inexplicable in an entire career, as in my own
case. It led to an early study of singers and actors and their
performances; it gave rise to an effort to form a voice that would
meet the requirements of an unusually sensitive ear; it led to the
practice and teaching of elocution, and, later, to much communion with
voice-users, both singers and speakers. In the meantime came medical
practice, with speedy specialization as a laryngologist, when there
were daily consultations with singers and speakers who had employed
wrong methods of voice-production; this again led on to the scientific
investigation of voice problems, with a view of settling certain
disputed points; then came renewed and deeper study of music, both as
an art and as a science, with a profound interest in the study of the
philosophy of musical art and the psychological study of the musical
artist, all culminating in this attempt to help those who will listen
to me without prejudice. I do not think I know all that is to be
known, but I believe I do know how to form and preserve the voice
according to physiological principles; I at least ask the reader to
give my teachings and recommendations a fair trial. He shall have
reasons for what is presented and recommended to him.

Once more let it be said that I do not deny that good practical
results may follow teaching that is not put before the pupil as
physiology; but what is claimed for physiological teaching is that--

1. It is more rational. The student sees that things must be thus and
so, and not otherwise.

2. Faults can be the better recognized and explained.

3. The student can the more surely guide his own development, and meet
the stress and storm that sooner or later come to every professional
voice-user.

4. Injured voices can be the more effectively restored.

5. The physical welfare of the student is advanced--a matter which I
find is often neglected by teachers of music, though more so in the
case of instrumental than vocal teachers.

6. The student can much more effectively learn from the performances
of others, because he sees that singing and speaking are physical
processes leading to artistic ends. This is perhaps one of the most
valuable results, and I can testify to the greater readiness with
which analysis of a performance can be made after even moderate
advancement. The teacher who is wise will encourage the student to
hear those who excel, and to analyze the methods which successful
artists employ. The student can much more readily accomplish this than
detect the mental movements of the artist, though the two really go
hand in hand to a large extent.

The above are some of the advantages, but by no means all, of a method
of study of voice-production which I must claim is the only rational
one--certainly, the only one that rests on a scientific foundation.

It does not follow that such study, to be scientific, shall be made
repellent by the use of technical terms the significance of which the
reader is left to guess at, but finds unexplained. I fear such
treatment of vocal physiology has brought it into disrepute. The aim
of the writer will be to give a clear scientific treatment of the
subject, which shall not be obscured by unexplained technical terms,
and which shall be _practical_--capable of immediate use by student
and teacher. If he did not believe the latter possible he would not
think it worth while to attempt the former, especially as this has
often been done before, he regrets to say, badly enough.

Although the author has not now the tune to give regular lessons in
voice-production, he is frequently consulted, especially when abroad,
during his vacations, by speakers and especially singers who are
anxious to learn how they may increase their efficiency in the
profession by which they earn their livelihood and make their
reputation; and the reader may be gratified to learn how, in such
cases, the writer applies the principles he so strongly recommends to
others.

Let two or three illustrations suffice:

1. A tenor of world renown consulted him in regard to the position of
the larynx in singing, as he had a suspicion that his practice was not
correct, inasmuch as his voice seemed to be deteriorating to some
extent. The answer to his question need not be given here, as this
subject is discussed adequately in a later chapter.

2. The second was the case of a young lady, an amateur singer, who was
anxious to know why she failed to get satisfactory results. The author
heard her in a large room, without any accompaniment (to cover up
defects, etc.), and standing at first at some distance from her, then
nearer. Her tones were delightfully pure and beautiful, but her
performance suggested rather the sound of some instrument than singing
in the proper sense. It was impossible to learn the ideas to be
imparted, as the words could not be distinctly made out; there was a
monotony in the whole performance, though, it must be confessed, a
beautiful monotony, and there was a total lack of that vigor and
sureness that both educated and uneducated listeners must be made to
feel, or there results a sense of dissatisfaction, if not even
irritation.

The beauty of tone was owing to a production that was to a certain
extent sound, and this explained why the voice carried well in spite
of its being small. This young lady was well educated, had heard much
good music, possessed a sensitive ear and a fine aesthetic taste, and,
perhaps most important of all, in this case at least, was able to
think for herself. She was very slight of body, with an ill-developed
chest, and, from her appearance, could not have enjoyed robust health.
It was at once evident that this was an admirable case by which to
test the views advocated. Accordingly, the author addressed the young
lady as follows:

"Your voice is beautiful in quality, and carries well; you observe the
registers properly; but your vocalization is feeble, and your singing
is ineffective. This is due largely to the lack of robustness in your
voice, but not wholly. You do not tell your story in song so that the
listener may know what you have to say to him. The imperfections in
your method of speaking, so common in America--an imperfect
articulation and a limp texture of voice--are evident in your singing;
you do not phrase well, and you paint all in one color. This is due
chiefly to your breathing and your attacks. One may observe that at no
time do you fill your chest completely. You use the lower chest and
the diaphragm correctly, but you rob yourself of one half of your
breathing power, and your chest is not at all well developed. You do
not use the parts above your voice-box with vigor and efficiency, and
you direct so much attention to the quality of the tone that you
neglect its quantity and the ideas to be expressed. You have been
correctly but inadequately instructed. Your teachers have evidently
understood registers practically, as few do, but they have only half
taught you breathing and attack. Their fidelity to that high ideal of
quality of tone as the final consideration wins my respect."

The writer thought, but did not say, that they must have understood
little of vocal physiology, or they would not have left this young
lady so ill-developed physically, at least so far as the chest is
concerned.

I then asked this earnest and intelligent student, as she proved to
be, to take a full breath. She did not understand this, and was
absolutely incapable of doing it. She had been taught to begin
breathing below, to expand from the lower chest upward, and, as a
natural result, she never filled the upper chest. She was at once
shown how it was done, when she seemed greatly surprised, and said: "I
never have done that in my whole life." "Did you not run and shout as
a child?" "No, I never did run enough or shout enough to fill up my
chest." The latter was small, and flat.

The method of attack was next explained and illustrated, first without
reference to words, and then to show its importance in conveying
ideas, and the causes of the defects in speaking were indicated, and
the corrections named and illustrated. The lady was then asked to sing
again, making the improvements suggested, with the result that it was
clear that every principle set forth had been clearly apprehended,
though of course as yet only imperfectly carried out. The student was
recommended to take walking exercise, and to practice filling the
chest in the manner to be explained later.

After six weeks she again asked to be heard. The change effected was
wonderful; she was another type of vocalist now. Without any loss in
quality her voice had a volume and intensity that made it adequate for
singing in at least a small hall; her attacks were good, though not
perfect; and at the end of a very large room it could easily be seen
that her chest was, when necessary, filled full, so that she was able
to produce a large and prolonged tone. But, best of all, her health
had greatly improved, and she had gained in size and weight.

It is but fair to point out that, in the present case, the student was
an unusually intelligent and thoughtful person. Had it been otherwise,
more consultations would have been necessary, with probably many
detailed instructions and much practice before the teacher. But the
case sufficed to convince me afresh that only physiological teaching
meets the needs of pupil and teacher. I do not claim, of course, that
it is a panacea. It will not supply the lack of a musical ear or an
artistic temperament. Vocalization does not make an artist, but there
can be no artist without sound vocalization.

All the author's experience as a laryngologist tended to convince him
that most of those evils from which speakers and singers suffer,
whatever the part of the vocal mechanism affected, arise from faulty
methods of voice-production, or excess in the use of methods in
themselves correct. A showman may have a correct method of
voice-production--indeed, the writer has often studied the showman
with admiration--but if he speak for hours in the open air in all
sorts of weather, a disordered throat is but the natural consequence;
and the Wagnerian singer who will shout instead of sing must not
expect to retain a voice of musical quality, if, indeed, he retain one
at all.

Throughout this work it will be assumed that the speaker and the
singer should employ essentially the same vocal methods. The singer
should be a good speaker, even a good elocutionist, and the speaker
should be able to produce tones equal in beauty, power, and
expressiveness to those of the singer, but, of course, within a more
limited range, and less prolonged, as a rule. To each alike is
voice-training essential, if artistic results are to follow; neither
rhetorical training on the one hand nor musical training on the other
will alone suffice.

So that it may be clear that the same physiological principles apply
to the vocal mechanism as to all others in the body, a short chapter
dealing with this subject is introduced, before taking up the
structure and functions of any part of that apparatus by which the
speaker or singer produces his results as a specialist.

The laws of health known as hygiene follow so naturally on those of
physiology that brief references to this subject, from time to time,
with a chapter at the end of the work bearing specially on the life of
the voice-user, will probably suffice.




CHAPTER II.

GENERAL AND PHYSIOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS.


The principle that knowledge consists in a perception of relations
will now be applied to the structure and functions or uses of the
different parts of the body.

The demonstration that all animals, even all living things, have
certain properties or functions in common is one of the great results
of modern science. Man no longer can be rightly viewed apart from
other animals. In many respects he is in no wise superior to them. The
most desirable course to pursue is to learn wherein animals resemble
and wherein they differ, without dwelling at great length on the
question of relative superiority or inferiority. It may be
unhesitatingly asserted that all animals live, move, and have their
being, in every essential respect, in the same way. Whether one
considers those creatures of microscopic size living in stagnant
ponds, or man himself, it is found that certain qualities characterize
them all. That minute mass of jelly-like substance known as
protoplasm, constituting the one-celled animal amoeba, may be
described as _ingestive_, _digestive_, _secretory_, _excretory_,
_assimilative_, _respiratory_, _irritable_, _contractile_, and
_reproductive_: that is to say, the amoeba must take in food;
must digest it, or change its form; must produce some fluid within
itself which acts on food; must cast out from itself what is no longer
of any use; must convert the digested material into its own
substance--perhaps the most wonderful property of living things; must
take up into its own substance oxygen, and expel carbonic acid gas
(carbon dioxide); and possess the power to respond to a stimulus, or
cause of change, the property of changing form, and, finally, the
ability to bring into being others like itself.

[Illustration: FIG. 1. Muscle-fibres from the heart, much magnified,
showing cross-stripings, nuclei, or the darkly stained central bodies
very important to the life of the cell, also the divisions and points
of union. (Schaefer's _Histology_.)]

[Illustration: FIG. 2. Appearance of a small portion of muscle under a
moderate magnification. Between the muscle-cells proper a form of
binding tissue may be seen.]

[Illustration: FIG. 3. Muscle-cells isolated from the muscular coats
of the intestine. Similar cells are found in some part of most of the
internal organs, including the bronchial tubes. These cells are less
ready in responding to a stimulus, contract more slowly, and tend to
remain longer contracted when they pass into this condition than
striped muscle cells. (Schaefer.)]

Before justifying these statements in detail it will be desirable to
say something of the anatomy or structure of a mammal, and we may
select man himself, though it is to be remembered that one might apply
exactly the same treatment to a dog, pig, mouse, or any other member
of this group of animals. The amoeba and creatures like it live
immersed in water; man, at the bottom of an ocean of air. Both move in
their own medium, the amoeba creeping with extreme slowness, man
moving with a speed incalculably greater. In each case the movements
are determined by some cause from without which is termed by
physiologists a _stimulus_. The slightest movement of the thin
cover-glass placed over the drop of water in which an amoeba is
immersed, on a microscopic slide, suffices to act as a stimulus, and
serves much the same purpose as an electric shock to the muscles of a
man. In man an elaborate apparatus exists for the process known as
respiration, but in this and in all other cases the mechanism is
composed of what is known technically as _cells_, the latter being the
units of structure, the individual bricks of the building, so to
speak; and just as any edifice is made up of individual pieces some of
which differ from one another while others do not to any appreciable
extent, so is it with the body. The individual cells of a muscle are
alike in structure and function, but they differ widely from those of
a gland or secreting organ, as the liver. But it is to be ever
remembered that the statements with which we set out hold: that is,
that however cells may differ, they have in all animals certain
properties in common. Of the muscle-cell, the liver-cell, and the
one-celled animal we may affirm the same properties, but the
difference is that while all are secretory the liver-cell is eminently
so, and produces bile, which other cells do not; that while it is but
feebly contractile, or susceptible of change of form, the muscle-cell
is characterized by this property above all others.

The lower we descend in the animal scale the more simple are the
mechanisms by which results are attained. The one-celled animal may be
said to breathe with its whole body, while the man employs a large
number of muscles, not to speak, at present, of other arrangements.
But when a muscle is examined under the microscope, it is found to
consist of cells, each one of which is physiologically in all
essentials like an amoeba, so that we may say that a muscle or other
tissue or organ is really a sort of colony of cells of similar
structure and function, all working in harmony like a happy family. We
actually do find colonies of unicellular animals much like amoeba,
so that the muscle-cells and all other cells of the body may be
compared to amoeba and other one-celled animals.

But while in such unicellular creatures all functions are properties
of the individual cell, among higher forms _systems_ take the place of
the protoplasm of the single cell. There is a circulatory system, a
respiratory system, etc.; but we must once more point out that such
systems are made up of cells, so that every function of the highest
animal may be finally reduced to what takes place in the unicellular
animal. A circulatory system consists of a heart and blood-vessels,
all filled with blood, which latter is "the life," as was known from
the earliest times; yet this same blood is of no more use for the
nourishment of the body while it is contained in those tubes which
constitute the blood-vessels than is bread locked up in a pantry to a
hungry boy. That which really provides the nutriment for the body is a
fluid derived from the blood, a something like the liquid part of
blood and known as _lymph_. This latter is to the cells of any tissue,
as a muscle, as is the water filled with the food on which an amoeba
lives. In like manner, in spite of the complicated apparatus which
supplies oxygen and removes carbon dioxide, the respiratory system,
respiration is finally the work of the cell, as in amoeba; a
muscle-cell respires exactly as does the one-celled animal.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.