Serdinya Sings! Dramatic Voice Transformations by a Creative Voice Teacher
We’re always looking to spotlight creative ways singers are using their talents.
Robin Hendrix, a Music and Classical Singer magazine subscriber, lives in Serdinya, a little village in southern France. Normally her voice studio had the youth and young adult singers with a mixture of singers participating in YAPs and more advanced stages of a performance career.
As an American mezzo living in France, she played a hunch that ordinary people would love to know how to sing well. She started using an old Italian technique to coach an ad hoc village choir this past summer for an inter-village choral competition. They won resoundingly with amazing results.
Here, in her own words, is her experience:
One day I thought, ‘Why not make a video using rank amateurs to promote my book, How to Sing Like the Great Singers?’ It is often stated in books on voice culture from the late 19th/early 20th centuries that any voice could be made beautiful, even the most disagreeable. Of course, the question of art was another matter. I invited volunteers from the village to join in an outrageous project of taking a blitz of lyric singing lessons. Because my videographer, Arnaud Jamin, planned to move, we only had six weeks to make the video. Michel Prezman, my partner and husband, joined on as accompanist. Seven brave neighbors who, by their own admission, either never sang or do so poorly, agreed to participate.
We put an ambitious schedule together of classes in my home mornings, afternoons and evenings, whenever people could come. Three times a week, they came in small groups. There was always something hot or cold to drink, lots of friendly chatter, and then down to work. There were some tears and much more laughter as we removed the layers of tension and fear that trapped their voices. When a singers’ sound changed for the better, the others would express their approval, and joy flowed. I have never experienced anything more exciting and uplifting than what we achieved with this project – the liberation of seven voices.
What an array of amateur voices all anxious to have their first voice lessons.
Robert’s voice boomed, but with a narrow range. It made it difficult to enjoy singing and participating in choirs was out of the question.
Hélène could not sing outside of her chest range; as she approached her limit a look of
panic covered her face. I held her hands as we sang together to overcome her fears.
Cécile, my most challenged singer, was criticized as a child. “You sing badly out of tune,” she’d been told over and over until she stopped singing until at 72 her voice was still silenced. We met this summer when she asked me in private to hear her sing after a choral event with my women’s choir. Although she could only make a tiny sound, what came out was perfectly in tune. Cécile was a logical choice to join the group, and she accepted with no hesitation.
Monique had a large, harsh metallic voice, making it difficult for her to feel at ease in singing situations. To make matters worse, she had no confidence in her ability to sing in English.
Marie’s voice was small and lovely, but as the notes rose in a song, she lost all ability to sing in tune. It took several lessons to realize she had cultivated a sweet chest voice up to C# on the third space, and we had to bring it down.
Pascale was terrified of singing alone. Her small, uneven voice could not rise above C on the third space without shrinking to a tiny sound. Like Monique, the thought of singing in English terrified her.
Gérard sang only on occasion. He had a light folk style voice, but it was completely lacking in core. Singing higher notes gave a look of pain. Self-conscious of his height, he rocked back on his heels, hands in pockets, trying to look nonchalant.
For these singers I knew I needed to us the Italian Technique advocated by Giovanni Lamperti who lived in the late 1800s, and early 1900s.
Why the Italian Technique for amateur beginners?
Because it is the safest and most reliable way for a non-lyric singer to access the resonating chambers of the head. The relaxation of the soft parts of the mechanism allows more of the tiny sound from the larynx to reach the hard parts, the bony structures around the nose and eyes. As the singers found more areas to release the tension, they could produce sound more easily and with some beauty. The focus on pure vowels provided a distraction to the fear they all had of looking foolish or incompetent.
We started right in on the basics. A key to learning this technique is to accept concepts that seem
illogical: that to sing with great beauty, it is necessary to sing with no tension throughout the head, neck, shoulders and lower abdomen, but with enormous vigor around the expanding rib cage. Lamperti and the others confirm this paradox. If we put the right conditions in place and let go of all local effort, IT sings for us using the same mechanisms used in speech.
Problems of pushing or holding air and singing with a nearly-closed mouth were the most common. Most of the women had the problem of using their chest voices in the head voice range, making singing in their head voice ranges painful and saddening. No wonder they avoided singing.
One by one, as elements of the old technique started to click into place, we could hear their voices gain that rich velvety sound. Their progress began to be noticeable, and more excitement entered the work.
We worked on legato singing, as well as crossing their breaks, freeing their teeth, lips and tongue, and on keeping the loft, the high sweet space, open at the back of the throat. Each singer would put as many elements together as possible, then sing, and we’d evaluate the results. Was the voice in the mask? Did you hear the velvet texture that time? Go there! Do more of that. Wonderful!
Unexpectedly, one day Robert sang a few bars of the “Largo al Factotum.” While having fun imitating an opera singer, Robin heard a new sound in his voice. “Do you like that way of singing, Robert? If so, I’ve got a piece you might like.” She gave him “Caro Mio Ben.” He took to it like a duck takes to water, enjoying the feeling of singing in an operatic voice. As he freed himself from his limitations, a rich bass-baritone voice began to find its place. On our final night together, he “sang it with
real accomplishment.”
Another great moment came when Marie was exploring the limits of her voice. She was attracted to pop/folk singing but she struggled with pain on higher notes. We avoided her lower voice altogether by jumping almost an octave above to start vocalizing. A high coloratura soprano sound emerged, and we worked on finding that open sensation high in the back of her throat. With work, she was able to sing across her old break without problems. She began to enjoy hearing the full range of her voice,
and to dream of one day singing Olympia’s aria from Tales of Hoffman. We settled for Purcell’s “If Music be the Food of Love.”
Pascale was transformed by the experience in multiple ways. At first, she was grimly determined to get through this experience, but in a very short time, she started enjoying it immensely. She enjoyed the rigors of study, and all the fun and light-heartedness we had cultivated. She sang well enough during the vocalises, but she positively bloomed when we chose “Memory” from Cats for her party piece. A learning disorder made it difficult for her to learn words in another language, but her desire to make a serious effort and her love of theatre overwhelmed her fears, and for the last shoot she sang with some quality, emotion, and, for her, decent English diction.
The big night…
All along we’d been videoing the lessons, but the final shoot would have the feel of a real concert. For the last shoot, everyone arrived on time, but filled with stage fright, “le trac.” I reassured them that I had it, too. After all, this was the big night. Taking the risk to sing a song while standing before others, and a rolling camera on top of it, would have been unthinkable four weeks before. I asked them to channel their trac into energy that expands the chest or that focuses attention, and all would be well.
We began our last shoot upstairs in the main space where we usually worked. Everyone sang the best they could, given the stage fright. I was very satisfied, but I knew that this was our last chance to really strut our stuff. I said “Hey, everybody! let’s go downstairs to the big salon. The acoustics are better. Let’s sing it all again!”
We clomped down the stairs and arranged a little theatre with the overstuffed couch and some easy chairs. A raised floor at the entrance of the salon served for a stage. Everyone got into the mood, and the change in their confidence levels was remarkable. I had the sensation of being backstage with a group of serious singers. What a delight to hear each voice sharing its final production.
For me, I had confidence in the technique right from the start, but I wasn’t sure of my ability to convey it in so short a time to complete amateurs, most of whom could not read music or speak any language other than French. I shouldn’t have worried. People learn in different ways and at different speeds, but they showed me that we learn best when the motivation is there. Loving these singers and caring about their progress made me feel profoundly connected to humanity’s need to sing.
As the understanding of what it takes to sing well began to sink in and to yield its fruits, a beautiful
serenity began to show on their faces. The lines seemed softened and the eyes warmed, and each face seemed less anxious and more thoughtful. It was not just the relaxation of facial tension. They had achieved what most people would have thought impossible in a very short time, and now they were certain that they could make the rest of the journey.
I call them singers because in the end they reached that place where they felt what all we singers feel when things are going well. And for them, there was a little extra – the intense thrill of accomplishing something they thought was impossible for themselves. They earned their bravos that night.
