The three Ks

I've written about this before, but the subject has been coming up in all sorts of places including a meeting with an Equity representative at OperaUpClose (where I'm currently singing Eisenstein), chats with other singers, and when this article made the rounds on the social networks.

I have worked for free, paid to sing, worked for rates that make you want to cry, but also worked for sensible pay, and even pay that seems ludicrously generous. I don't want to try and write a rousing post on a theme of 'singers of the world unite and refuse to work for free/pittance'. It's not going to happen. Part of the problem is the idea that we need to undertake these freebies to fill out our CVs and gain experience in order to be in a stronger position when being considered for 'the good work'. I'm not even sure if it does in fact help us in the eyes of a panel, I've not heard much feedback either way from the decision-makers I've spoken to or heard speak publicly on the matter. Personally, I feel I become a better performer with every show I do, but it's getting harder and harder to justify working for next to nothing and I do find myself saying no more often than, say, a year ago. The other part of the 'problem' is that most of us performers love what we do, love being in shows so much that we are hungry for the rehearsal process and the stage (however small) and because of this we say yes more often than perhaps we should. Gullible idealistic bohemian fools? Maybe...

Like I said, I'm not going to save the world with a blog post, but since the conversation is happening and awareness for the issue is rising, I'd like to pass on a piece of advice I got from a colleague that helps me decide for myself if a job is worth taking. And I use the word job deliberately, as most of the offers that come in and require careful consideration by these guidelines use a word that has come to set off alarm bells in my head: opportunity. If someone offers you something they themselves call a fantastic opportunity, stop and think! It means they are setting themselves up as being a benevolent giver of favours, when more often than not they are asking for a favour themselves (this being you giving your time, effort, commitment, talent, training, etc... for free).

When such 'opportunities' come up, my rule is to check it against the three K's: kicks, kudos, kash.

Kicks - enjoyment, fun, artistic fulfilment. Is it a piece I really want to do? Are these people I'm going to love working with? Will it be a fun process that will also teach me something valuable? Is it for a charity I believe in?

Kudos - exposure. Will I be seen by a lot of people? Will there be important people (critics, casting executives, agents, potential sponsors) in the audience? Will the contacts I make with the company, cast, director, MD, etc over the course of the job lead to me being potentially recommended somewhere else?

Kash - money. Will this job pay my bills? Will it cover my immediate expenses incurred to undertake it (travel to audition, travel to job, dining out, coffee, accommodation)? Does the pay reflect the time I have to put in outside the rehearsal room to learn the material? Does a show fee reflect the fact that on a show day, to deliver my A game, it's best not to be distracted by other work? Does the pay help me offset the costs of my training (college fees, years of not working a steady job but spent honing my craft, the cost of lessons and coachings I undertake on a regular basis to stay on form)? Assess the number of hours/days actually involved in the process and work out the hourly/daily rate they offer and compare it to what you think your time is worth (and if you don't have an idea about that yet, get one!).

Checklist done, and the rule of thumb is to only take jobs that give you two out of the three. There will be exceptions. It's hard to say no to something that makes a very strong monetary argument for example. Or to a friend, or a heart-wrenching charity. However this checklist works for me for most things that aren't an obvious gut-reaction yes or no, and it might work for other people out there as a way of giving a bit of structure to the uhming, ahing, but-ing, and general nervous thinking that often comes with these 'opportunities'.

And remember (WARNING, the following paragraph may be considered by some to be condescending, I apologise in advance), once you say yes to something, whatever it may be, treat it like you would working for ROH. Deliver your A game, because it's your reputation on the line, and you're the one who committed to it by saying yes. I've seen people display really poor attitude on shows that they complained 'weren't real work'. Well, grumble if you must (just make sure you trust who you're venting to), but take the actual work seriously, because in this job word of mouth is king, and I've lost count of the times I've been asked 'Have you worked with X? What is he/she like?'. And I'm not who you'd call an 'important person' in the grand scheme of things. The people who sometimes ask me these questions, however...

In an ideal world we'd always be paid what our time is worth, but the reality is that everyone does freebies. We hope that one day we'll stop... But then again there are friends that I like to believe I will always say yes to if I can only afford to, because I love working with them. I love what I do, and feel fortunate that I'm here doing it thanks to enormous ammounts of support (both moral and financial) from family and generous individuals, trusts, etc. Here's to hoping that this love will develop into a steady career where my job is also my hobby!

The best of Stanislavsky, or how to avoid generalised operatic intensity

We had our first Opera Works input weekend over a week ago now and I've deliberately put off writing this post. There was a lot to take in and I wanted to see what stuck with me the most, especially having now been to see a show armed with the experience of that weekend to see what struck me about what happens on stage from an audience perspective. I now think I know what I want to write about, so let's give it a go.

The weekend was an introduction to Stanislavsky led by Mike Alfreds and Polly Teale, who each took a day with us, working on excerpts of The Seagull and Kindertransport. There's a lot to Stanislavsky, and if someone asked me before this weekend what I thought the essence of that technique is, I'd have said 'actions' (where you assign a verb that you play to every line of text). I can confidently say I'm changing my answer now, it's 'objectives'.

Confused? Let's take a step back. To quote Mike Alfreds: As actors we are trying to recreate in the characters what we feel and do in real life. Simple enough, but how do you do it? What do you play? One of the problems with our intuitive approach to acting is our desire to play emotions, but the only way we can play is by pretending, which is led by our thinking. This is the problem: as people we don't think emotions, we have thoughts that provoke us to feel. Given the instruction 'play sad', most of us will slip into something that may indeed look like sadness, but will most often be generalised and simply not believable. Think am-dram or OTT opera acting. Or if you do tap in to something real, you put yourself at risk, because your body will seize up and you'll be in your own world, not the play's. You just can't really play emotions in any satisfying way.

Why do we feel? What can we tap into that will give us a better chance of conveying something real on stage? As human beings, we are driven throughout our lives by things we want (from the mundane, like a cup of coffee in the morning, to the profound, like a happy family life). We encounter obstacles on our way, which means we are at risk of not getting what we want. It is this that provokes feelings. Put all too simply, if we get what we want - we feel happy, if not - sad.

Mike Alfreds again: Before you go on stage, ask yourself: What do I want? Why am I going on? Why is my character entering the scene? It's so obvious, but watching a show lately and looking closely, I had the feeling hardly anyone on stage had thought about answering these questions. They were playing the lines, they were acting, it was all fine... but there were no stakes and it was just a bit dull. Once or twice someone really tried to play an extreme emotion and it was a bit cringe-worthy... and still dull.

From personal experience of doing exercises with Mike and Polly, if you want something, and play that want in a scene, more often than not you're going to run into another character who will stand in your way. Suddenly, there is an obstacle and you have to play this really involving game of trying to win and get what you came here for despite the interference of the other actor who wants something different. And this sense of competition actually does make you feel! You don't have to pretend.

What's more, your performance will be very much dependent on your partner(s) in the scene. You will constantly have to adapt what you do to how they react to you. The tiniest difference in how they say something can take you down a new road through the scene. Yes, the words will always be the same, as will the music and blocking (more or less). There will be cues to hit. But behind all that you'll be playing a different game, which will stop the whole thing feeling like just another run of the scene. If you're really playing your objective, all the rest of the Stanislavsky method happens quite organically and you don't even have to resort to 'actioning' until you get stuck.

There was a LOT more to the weekend, and the above is just the one thing I don't want myself to forget as I get back to my routine (though hopefully objectives will help me to stop thinking of it as such) of auditions, concerts and productions. For a different take on the weekend, more personal and comprehensive, and very well written, I recommend Lila Palmer's excellent post on the official ENO Opera Works blog: here.

To finish, a few quotes (paraphrased by me) from Mike that I scribbled down (Polly's day was more doing than talking, hence fewer notes):

It is your natural state as characters in operas to sing. It is your default means of communication. It should be completely natural. Not realistic, but natural.

You often find yourself so busy with the difficult bits, the problems, that you take for granted the fragments that are 'allright'. Look at everything!

Ideally you don't want to be thinking about actions, superobjectives, counterobjectives, beats, notes, singing technique, when you're performing. When you're playing a scene give all your focus to your partner. (Otherwise it gets self-indulgent)

If your partner doesn't engage with you, treat it as though it's their character that's doing it. This was in response to a question asked about those colleagues that give you nothing back. The moment they start singing they go misty-eyed and are so deep in 'singer-land' that you'll be lucky if they get the blocking right, let alone give you anything to play off of.

Be truthful to your character, even in small roles or chorus. Don't not play an objective, even if it's as simple as 'I want to deliver this message'.

Have a sense of your own presence. 'I am here'. A sense of you in the space. If you have that, you'll be seen and heard, even in a huge theatre. People these days (huddled over their smartphones) are rarely present, they're folded in on themselves.

Ideally rehearsals are to explore, not to fix things and set them in stone. If you know there won't be time to explore, do as much exploration as you can on your own beforehand.

Have a lot of craft, for use in emergencies.

Start to develop a critical eye when watching performances. Do I believe it? Why / why not? What gave me pleasure? Could it have been better? How? It will mean you'll stop enjoying shows so much, but it enhances your craft.

The other side of the table

This time of year is when traditionally I write a rant about auditions. I'm going to break out of that somewhat and, rather than rant, I'd like to share some thoughts on what it was like for me last week, when I sat on an audition panel for 3 days. It was a fascinating exercise for me, as it gave me a valuable insight into what those poor people on the other side of the table are going through... and yes, I mean those poor people on the panel. Please remember, I can only write from my own point of view, so I can't speak for every panel, but I have tried to incorporate some things I have been told by various people who are on panels as part of their job, and have just put my personal take on the points often raised in talks on auditioning. So here we go, my observations from listening to 60 singers over 3 days:

1. It's hard to remember people when you have only 10 mins with every person. You know how panels start scribbling on their notepads the moment you settle on a piece and you feel they're not giving you any attention? They're probably writing down what you're singing, and any distinguishing features you may have so that they can recall you quickly when they look over the whole process. This difficulty in remembering leads into the next point:

2. It's hard to stand out. If you're polite, do everything right and sing well, you won't stand out, which is good, because failure in any of the above would make you stand out in the wrong way. Being memorable in the right way is very hard to do, and despite having a few in my mind who were, I'm not sure what exactly they did to be so. I think it's a question of being yourself and putting the panel at ease. The standouts I remember were either very personable and endearing, or confident and willing to take charge of their own audition (in a good way). The latter is tricky to replicate, as you can come across as overbearing... So I think the only piece of advice to glean is this: be yourself, and as relaxed as you can be, and there's nothing wrong with not standing out. It's better than standing out in the wrong way.

3. It's close! When hearing people of a certain standard... they're all of a certain standard. When it comes to who gets something and who doesn't, it's so close you wouldn't believe!  It can come down to a gut feeling of someone on the panel and everyone else going with it. So not getting something does not mean you did a bad audition or didn't belong there or weren't good enough to get anything. It just means that this time you weren't the right person. As a singer I'm taking that one to heart, because it's a lot nicer thinking you weren't the right person than putting your abilities in question and losing faith in yourself. There were people we heard last week who were absolutely amazing, but didn't fit what we had in mind for the roles in this opera... to the point of me thinking 'I wish we were casting a different piece so I could offer this person something!'.

4. Black is not a good colour to wear. When the panel are sitting there for hours on end, a parade of people in black is... well, dreary for one thing, but it also makes it more difficult to remember people (what distinguishing features are they meant to scribble down?). Would you rather be the guy in the pink shirt, or the one with a funny nose?

5. Props and costumes... OK, this may be personal preference, but I think they will put more people off than draw into your performance. It's not what a panel expects, and yes, it will make you stand out if you come dressed as the character you're going for, or bring a prop for your aria, but whether it'll make you stand out in the right way? It's a risk you're welcome to take...

6. Handshakes. You can tell a lot about a person by their handshake. If you do shake hands with the panel, it's a bit like putting all your eggs in one basket, and it has very little to do with singing. Practice handshakes for when a panel encourages them. I had no idea how strong an opinion about someone can be formed from that one touch.

7. It's a lot nicer watching a performance than an audition. Try to think of it as such. Politeness is fine, but a bit of showmanship gives everyone a break from the formality of it all. Just don't overdo it ;)

8. Don't let a botched note put you off. I talked to some of the singers afterwards and they apologised for various cracks, harsh notes, wrong words, etc. I didn't hear more than half of them, and the rest I didn't really care about. It's never about one note, it's about you.

9. It is about you, not just your singing. The panel want to see a person, and ideally that person won't suddenly become just another singer the moment the piano starts. If you can be yourself all the way through your audition, seamlessly changing characters of course, but without that moment of cutting away from your own self, you give yourself the greatest chance of giving the right impression of yourself. Try to be the same person when you walk in, as you are talking to the panel, as you are listening to the intro and singing, and then saying goodbye and walking out.

I loved being on a panel and I loved it most when people sang well. Yes, it made decisions difficult, but it made me get back a bit of faith in the fairness of it all. I could see that if I'm ever rejected from something (and it happens a lot, to everyone), it does not mean I was bad. Or at least not necessarily. If I think I sang well, I can trust myself and put the failure down to... well, anything really: height, build, timbre of voice... but not my abilities. Which is a lot better for my sanity.

I think colleges should run more audition classes and sit students down as 'panel members'. The thing is, it's not really the same unless you're listening to strangers, and a huge group. But it gives people an idea of what it is to be on the other side of that table.

The panel are people too. Be nice to them.

ENO Opera Works 2013-14

Last week I started the professional development course run by English National Opera. It promises to be great and rewarding year, and I've written a few words about the first day on the Opera Works Blog:

http://enooperaworks.tumblr.com/post/61670690664/introduction-to-opera-works-2013-14

The course runs on weekends once a month, with intensive workshops that I hope to write about here. As we have all been encouraged to keep a journal I think this will count and may be of some interest to you guys. For now, have a look at the link above, and watch this space...

Shopping for tools - BYO 2013

In the course of the rehearsals that go into a BYO production one can almost forget that it's still a learning environment. Yes, principals and covers get more coaching than you'd expect in a professional company, and the average age is lower (not by far though, in the case of some work I've done), but other than that it runs like pretty much any opera production. Our director for Paul Bunyan, Will Kerley, definitely doesn't want us to forget we're here to learn. He reminds us regularly that all through the process, and even when we leave, we should always be shopping for tools that can help us do the best possible work we can. Be it physical warm ups with the incredible Mandy Demetriou which help us rid ourselves of restrictive tension, watching more experienced colleagues at work, or the words of advice imparted every now and again by the creative team.

Yesterday was our last day in the rehearsal room, and in the build up to our final floor run of the show we got our notes from the last run mixed together with some of those words of advice I mentioned. Luckily, as it was a notes session, I had the opportunity to write some down (Will speaks a fair deal quicker than I type, but I tried my best). Peter Robinson weighed in as well with a few tips on dealing with conductors. I'm going to leave these pregnant sentences pretty much as I wrote them down, as I think the reader's imagination can put them into your personal context better than I can explain them all. Some are quite specific, others fairly abstract, but if you're a performer most of these will have meaning for you. If you're from the other side of the pit, you may find it interesting reading the language that we use and maybe gain an insight into our process. Enjoy!

Will Kerley:

Take possession of the material. It's an act of collective imagination that involves both performers and the audience. If you're broad and clear in your imagination, the audience relax because they know you're driving. Don't let them feel uncomfortable and guessing.

Performative utterances change the state of things, every word changes what the audience see. Will's favourite example seems to be Oberon saying  'I am invisible; And I will overhear their conference.' No one in the audience has any problem accepting his invisibility to the other characters from that point onwards.

Master your props. Props love jumping around, you need to show them who's boss. Every prop you take in your hands does something.

Be aware of the whole picture - you need to be aware of where the audience focus is meant to go.

The material is strange - moments of human truth separated by huge caricature sequences of energy. There needs to be a truth going throughout.

Never apologise.

Get what you need without looks of fear at the conductor.

If you address the audience directly, make sure you talk to different people and include everyone.

Every piece of art needs a combustible mix of spontaneity and discipline.

Doing something gorgeously textured is a trap - it's gorgeous, but can be non-specific, bland. Sound isn't everything. Everything needs to have a deal behind it. Generalised beauty is the bane of opera.

Freelance people tend to keep a constant level of low level work (email, smartphone, score, music). Work when you work, rest when you have a break.

Who is doing good work that I admire? Can I get in touch with them. At this stage of your careers you have a lot of power - there are people who want to help you, because they had help along the way.

What have I planned to say and what is new to me? Play the difference between the 2. Opera tends to default to the latter.

Visible transitions - enjoy them, embrace their theatricality.

Hats can be taken off. They're more prop than costume. Use them.

Playing a 'stupid' character - play the opposite! He's very smart, quick, but the world is a very very complicated place. It's the opposite of people that makes them three dimensional - smiling friendly villains, depressives with moments of joy.

Dialogue - hit the cues, stretch the lines, play humour with a light touch, earn the pauses. Pitch, pace, tone, rhythm are just as important in speech as in music.

Stance - singers tend to set on the balls of their feet, it's more grounded if you take the weight back.

Find the right time to work the right material. Don't just run it over and over again.

Peter Robinson:

Conducting is a method of non verbal communication. Get used to the idea of using the conductor as a source of information. 

It's fine to look at the conductor, except when you pretend you're not. Just include the conductor in the scope of what you're doing. 

A good conductor will be breathing with you and getting the orchestra to do so, he will in essence be on stage with you. 

Don't assume you know the tempo or length of pauses. 

Jan Capiński:

Just kidding! Though I do want to add a few thoughts I've had personally that have been inspired by Will's way of working with us, if you'll indulge me:

Don't do other people's worrying for them. Some people love saying 'oh, that'll never work'. Even if they're potentially right, it's not our job as singers to worry about whether something will work, and even if we do, it's rarely our place to say so out loud (exception: safety first!). Rehearsals are a time for trying things out, and undermining an idea can very quickly change a creative atmosphere into one of poo-pooing. There are people whose job it is to make things work technically: directors, stage managers, designers. Go with whatever crazy ideas are thrown into the mix and let them worry about it, they're better at it than you are!

'Keep a tenacious hold on your dreams.' This Will Kerley quote has been the source of some deep(ish) thought for me. Most of the people I've had the pleasure of working with have been just that: a pleasure. Kind, supportive, understanding... There are others though, who make you feel bad about yourself and will turn your dreams (big and little) sour. Often it's not even what they say (to you directly or behind your back), but how they say it or how they look at you. I've been congratulated on performances in such a way that has made me want to give up. They say all the right words, that coming from anyone else would give you wings, but in such a way that it brings you crashing down. Finding a comfortable balance of trust in this business, being able to be open with colleagues about what we want to achieve, is made very difficult by these negative people. It can also be quite easy to become one of them, all it takes is a bad day sometimes. After all, everyone needs to vent now and again. However, if you become that kind of person, you're in this job alone, because (knowingly or not) you push everyone away by tearing them down to build yourself up. I hope I am growing into a more generous artist, because I myself have gained so much from other people's generosity (in advice, energy on stage, good humour, or even allowing me my space when I need it). So many aspects of this business work a lot better with a 'Do unto others...' attitude, I just hope I can deliver that even on the bad days, and never inadvertently step on someone else's dream.

Advice from someone who's been there before

The other day British Youth Opera organised a rather special treat for me: it was one of their LINK sessions, in which cast and covers of a current BYO production get to work with an established professional singer who has done their role before. In my case, covering the Narrator in Britten's Paul Bunyan it was all the more special as I got to spend an hour working with Russell Smythe, who performed it in 1976, which was the first performance of the revised version of the operetta we know today, and unless I'm mistaken only the second ever production of it in history.

The Narrator is a pretty unique role, in that the music he has to sing is pretty simple and not all that interesting in itself, which is probably Britten making sure that whatever happens the audience will be able to hear, understand and follow the words. And my, oh my, are there words... In the course of any one of the three ballads the Narrator pushes the plot along further than the rest of the opera put together, with the songs having literally dozens of verses. 

In my session with Russell we focussed on what we both found to be the major challenges of the role: memory, boredom, clarity of text. We talked about how difficult it was to memorise the vast amount of text set to repetitive music, and although I had already done this work, he described a technique that may help in future (one that he himself didn't know when he did the role, but wishes he had): humming and chewing. The exercise is broken down into the following steps:

1. Humming and chewing: with your lips closed, speak the text while making an exaggerated chewing motion with your jaw and lips. This warms up your speaking apparatus and makes you go through the text without actually hearing it.

2. Repeat this, but randomly let some text come out by opening your mouth. Allow for about 20% of the text to come through.

3. Repeat again, releasing about 50% of the text. You've warmed up your voice and given your mouth a good workout, and also gone through the text 3 times already.

4. Rollercoaster: now speak the text, but modulate the pitch of your voice from the lowest comfortable pitch right up into falsetto like a rollercoaster going up and down. Further warm up for the voice, more muscle memory for the words, and all the time getting the text away from the music in preparation for the next exercises.

5. Greek chorus: imagine you're on stage with someone else who is performing the text, but they do so very quietly. In your mind's eye listen to them, and then act as a conduit projecting their speech to the gods in the theatre - using a loud supported voice and exaggerated diction to make sure everyone in the Festival Hall hears every word. But remember, you're not the performer at this stage, you're just amplification.

6. Mime: now we start to involve the imagination properly. Without speaking, try physicalising the text - miming it as if in a game of charades. However make sure to make the mime big! It'll feed into your imagination when you go on to perform the piece, providing associations and images for the text that will make sure you've memorised it more securely than if you just rely on muscle memory.

7. Repeat the same, but now sing the text on a single pitch, reinforcing the associations.

8. Sing the text, but in a completely different style to the one you will be performing: scat, soul, rap. Take it away from the constraints of the prescribed music and put it firmly in the world of your imagination and musicality.

For a 4-minute piece, you've just spent 32 minutes going through it 8 times, not only memorising the text, but also building up a relationship with it that will keep it alive in your mind when you come to perform it. Time well spent, I'd say, and it helps combat the second problem we discussed with Russell.

With wordy passages it's easy to slip to an operatic default of just singing, and sure, the audience will like the nice noise you make for a while. By verse 6 however, they'll be thinking about what drink they'll have in the interval. Peter Robinson uses a great line when working with us: 'invent the words!'. No matter how many times you've rehearsed, the audience are hearing it for the first time ever, and should believe you're saying it for the first ever time. The Narrator has many many many words - a challenge, but also an opportunity to get away from singer-land and become a real story-teller. Never pass on an opportunity to use a different colour, find moments of contrast, of suspense, jokes... Speaking of jokes, set them up for the audience! Flag up that you're about to say something funny (unless that kills the joke), otherwise if you just smile and wink afterwards and go on to the next line, they'll probably miss it (the ballads are relentless in their lack of rests).

We also had a look at making sure the text was clear. What with the piece being firmly set in the world of American folklore, with a rich poetic text by Auden, a lot of the context will be unfamiliar to a British audience. Words like the whirling whimpus, Yiddish Alps, the logging game, not being something an audience expects to hear, need to be meticulously pronounced and infused with meaning. 

The nice thing was that Russell was in no way imposing his own take on the piece. He was just sympathetic to the challenges he himself had to tackle, and having faced them, and also had a wealth of experience since, he could offer incredibly helpful and practical advice. He also showed me some of his source material, including photos of North American landscapes that inspired him, notes from the 1976 production, and some limericks the cast had written about one another in the rehearsal period and dressing rooms. Unfortunately I was only allowed to look at them from a distance, apparently they were a bit too improper to be read... 

You have to be like a swan (Ann Murray)

A dreary day in a barn turned into a pretty inspiring experience, thanks to the boundless energy and enthusiasm of Ann Murray DBE, with whom we worked as part of Garsington Opera's offer for their young singers. As ever, I'll include my notes from the session below, in the hope they'll spark someone's imagination. It's always difficult to describe these masterclasses to someone who wasn't there, especially when Ann is one of those people who give plenty of metaphorical examples of what they'd like you to try. Nonetheless before I simply paste the notes, I'll try and describe what I personally got out of the session, both as a participant and observer (though I won't bore you with a blow by blow through my aria!).

The first thing that was a bit of a lightbulb 'ping' for me was when Ann said:
You don't have to be louder than the orchestra, you have to be in front of them.
She meant aurally, not in terms of tempo of course. It's a great way of thinking about it, as it means you don't have to try to fight the ultimately futile 'loudness war' with the band. What saves the day is projection forward. This is as much a question of where you place the voice (nice and brightly forward, ping rather than volume), as of projecting your thought and intention.* The moment you sit back and just 'sing it' it loses life and it doesn't travel past the orchestra. The orchestra provide us with a wave of emotion that we can then surf, and when you surf you're always ahead of the crest of the wave (I assume :P) - in front, anticipating and projecting forward.

An image I loved that referred to how often we take our singing lessons, technical thoughts, hang ups, etc with us into performance was when she said:
You have to be like a swan - we see the grace and elegance, not the diddly-diddly of the paddling feet.

She also repeatedly mentioned housekeeping. This referred to taking it easy in sections that lead up to big phrases, as well as coloratura and simply making sure you're singing every single note. It also came up when Ann pointed out that as singers we can't sing our hearts out for 6 hours a day practicing. We can however spend that time on housekeeping: sorting out our vowels, the pitches, rhythms, writing out and thinking about our words and stories, as well as where you can save energy to have it for the key moments.

Regarding my own singing (to future Jan when he revisits this post), though it came up with pretty much every singer today, Ann was very particular that we keep all vowels in the centre of the voice, or conversely get into the centre of every vowel. I was singing in French and working way too hard on working hard to keep the vowels correct/idiomatic and where I needed them to sing the key top notes and ends of phrases (and these two did not always match up in my first attempts). What she said was that all the notes are closer than I think, in the same place. Especially notes that are close together on the page (pitch wise) should be close to each other vocally. It's so easy to overcomplicate these things...

Finally, she said something to me that rang very true and was a much needed boost for me.
Sound young! You'll have more years being as old as me than being as young as you, so make the most of it.
Having had a fair bit of feedback recently from auditions saying that my voice sounds too young (not undeveloped, for the same feedback commented on my fine singing and impressive vocal technique :P), this was very nice to hear. It's strange, but I notice that panels do often like male singers to sound...overly mature? But I even had the thought watching Cardiff Singer of the World: Wow, I'd rather be 30 and sound 25 than be 25 and sound 50! So to have this reinforced by Ann was great, because apart from anything else, it'll give me the confidence to stop myself from manufacturing 'mature colours'.

Anyway, that's enough from me! Tiny disclaimer regarding earlier paragraph, and then on to notes...

* I must stress this is my personal interpretation of what I heard and felt in the room, Ann herself did not go into technique as such, and was adamant that everything that she offered was an exercise for the moment and to be taken or left as we see fit.

Notes:
Domesticate it - find the situation you're in and play the story.
Don't be self-indulgent, make the audience come to you.
Long upbeats! Every note on the page needs to be heard.
Don't get tempted to think 'I can really sing it so I'll just plonk these notes in'.
React to the music and ride the wave of emotion it provides.
The big notes will sing themselves, take care of the short ones.
Don't think A B A B, it's not four sections, every section is a story.
Think of the consonant sitting at the bottom rather than trying to lift it on a jump, as it may disconnect.
If you put too much on the bottom note it's difficult to lift it up, especially if you're going for tenderness.
Keep all vowels in the centre of the voice.
Coloratura can't be sloppy or swoopy. Get on your vowel and stay on it, don't modify unnecessarily and stay in the centre of each small note.