Definition of a Teacher

On my walk this morning, a definition of "teacher" came to mind.  A teacher is a student loves the process of sharing what she's learned.

I like many things about this definition: it's simplicity, it's power, it's joy, and mostly it's assistance.  It helps me understand that teaching is a spirit, not a destination.  You - me - we will never "know enough."  It gives anyone the ability to step into that role for a moment or a lifetime.  AND, (here's my favorite, favorite part), we are constantly teachers for each other whether we realize it or not!  Since each human experience is unique, there are infinite things to learn from one another.  You become my teacher when you share your experience, I become your teacher when I share mine - regardless of the agreement on either one's part to be the teacher.  Literally, each interaction becomes the classroom.  So, on some level, simply being alive makes one a teacher.  Maybe what I'm referring to is the spirit with which one shares their experiences.  And maybe I'm just talking about people who freely and joyfully partake in sharing with others. 

Transfixed by Vibrato

As I am back in school, now taking the role of voice student instead of just being the coach all the time, I am facing my own technical flaws and weaknesses.  In many respects, my voice has just always worked and done what I wanted it to do.  It "fit" the kind of sound you expect from a jazz singer, and since jazz was the style of music to which my heart was naturally tuned, the equation worked.  Open mouth, sing jazz, all is well.  Until one day I wanted to know more about what made the instrument work and how to teach others to use theirs more efficiently, not just coach them on style and obvious vocal impediments.

Enter graduate school.  And this week, specifically, we learn about vibrato.

I can't say I understand yet what it is exactly, and from what I've read no one can really tell you what is going on when it happens correctly.  I can tell you it's NOT about pulsating the abdomen or other muscles of the respiratory system.  It is also NOT bending the pitch by wagging the jaw or allowing the larynx to bob up and down like an out of control little monkey.  Somehow the phenomenon of vibrato is something that happens when the air flow and pressure are correct, the larynx and muscles of the neck are relaxed, and the body takes over, creating that beautiful undulation that we all can agree is pleasing to the ear.

So, on my quest to discover the true nature of that pure, spinning, free-sounding vibrato, I've been doing a lot of listening - specifically for vibrato.  Linda Ronstadt, K.D. Lang, Barbara Streisand, and Carrie Underwood have been on my player a lot this weekend.  And you know when you listen to music for a very specific detail, then all of the sudden you hear things completely differently?  Well, in listening for vibrato I have been moved to tears, utterly transfixed and amazed over and over again.  Can anyone tell me why?  Why all of the sudden is this detail of singing that seems so completely obvious stopping me in my tracks?  We all know it's there, but how often do we take the time to listen to it and only it?

I want to know more about it.  I feel astounded at how uplifting and emotional it feels when it's done correctly.  And I want more of it in my life and my singing.  Have you ever been so certain about one of your preferences that when that preference changes you are shocked at yourself?  That would be me, right now, in regard to vibrato. 


I feel like I'm in love.

Quiet Life

I always want to start these posts with a question.  Today the question is: what's wrong with having a quiet life?

What IS wrong with having a quiet life?  I used to be afraid of being bored or missing out on something.  But now I'm realizing where the excitement really is . . . right here all the time. 

So, life is more quiet for me now than ever before, and I really like it.  I have extra time to spend alone, which I need and cherish, and all the activity I can handle by being back in school full time.   I hope I don't jinx it by writing these things "out loud," but maybe for the first time in my adult life I'm experiencing some balance.  One of the funny results of this balance is a better knowing of what my voice is doing and how it feels, which takes a surprising amount of sensitivity and attention.  As a jazz singer I just always opened my mouth and sang, paying attention to all aspects of the rhythm and music and hardly any mind to what my voice was telling me.  And lo and behold, to listen to my voice I actually need to shut up and be quiet.  Funny.  I need quiet in order to listen to my voice. You would think it might be the other way around: make more noise so that you can hear yourself. 

Maybe life won't always be this way, and maybe things seem quiet now because I am more still on the inside.  All I know is that the connection to whatever spirit gives rise to my voice only happens in spaces of ease and often solitude.  I don't just like my quiet life, I love it.