Two months into the year, and already in need of a holiday – just as it should be. If you want to come support one of the events I’ve been working so hard for then that would be just fabulous – three alternative gigs and one new opera (fun fact – my character has an STD – yes, they really do). Play your cards right and I’ll buy you a drink.
…it’s still my least favourite month, but it had some pretty sweet moments.
Dark Angels had its first review – possibly the best review of my career so far. “This is no less than creativity at its most lucid and profound.”There’s no way it can be anything other than downhill from that, but I’m overjoyed, nonetheless. Many, many thanks to So So Gay.
We also had a lovely message from composer Jonathan Kulp, whose settings of Emily Dickinson form an integral part of the Dark Angels programme. A really fantastic composer (and former competitive skateboarder!) – check him out.
I hopefully managed to talk some sense about media transphobia and Burchill to Pride Live Radio and, with Trans Week at the New Statesman brought forward, was named as a trans role model (in some very good company). Writing this makes me feel somewhat bashful but also, it must be admitted, rather proud.
Start as you mean to go on, right? Come on 2013 – let’s have at it.
My singing teacher shared a video with me this morning that I found extremely helpful, demonstrating just how much of a change relaxing and opening up makes on the vocal mechanism and on the sound – the difference between a high, tight larynx and a lower, released one (with a nice, floated tongue). The whole video is invaluable, but if you want to see just how much of a difference it makes, have a look from 3:20 onwards:
As promised, an update on the (gradual) research I’m doing into the effects of testosterone on vocal production in FAAB people (with a soupçon of information on singing for other trans people, MAAB and FAAB).
First, obviously, a proviso or two. My research, is it stands, is a combination of anecdotal evidence and theoretical exploration. Given the time and the opportunity I would love to do something more formal – but, for the moment, everything I know is based on working with my students, cis and trans, and all the pedagogical works on singing I can get my hands on and find time to read. What I know about the voice I know as a singer, not a doctor – background here, if you’re not a regular reader.
So, with that out of the way…
…When I first started writing about this, about two years ago, this was the situation as I understood it:
Trans guys can keep a singing voice, though, depending on age and level of vocal expertise before hormones, there seems to be an astonishing level of risk. Too many men lose their ability to vocalise altogether. I haven’t heard of a single incident of a classical singer going through this process, and I have yet to read of a trans guy keeping a vocal range and quality after T that would leave him capable of singing in the classical style as a professional.
Well, I have yet to hear of a professional classical singer going through the process of taking T and emerging as a professional classical singer on the other side. But I have, I’m very pleased to say, now heard and taught a few trans men on T who’re singing beautifully as amateur singers. Of my students (hi students!), none were professional singers before T – but all are now more than capable of singing in amateur classical choirs should they want to, or as folk/alt/rock/blues performers (hint to students to whom I have been dropping hints). The majority have found voices in the baritone range – but I’ve also had a few tenors, and a bass. Again, reminder that this is a self-selecting group (men invested enough to singing to pursue lessons) – but I haven’t heard a single case of a ‘lost’ voice. In fact, the problems they’ve had in singing appear to have the same root as the majority of the problems my others students have, one that I certainly share and have to work on in my own singing – of having a high, tight larynx, of trying to deliberately sing from the larynx, rather than relaxing and using the whole body as an instrument. It was that tightness and stress that was causing my cis male students’ voices to crack and strain – turns out it was the same for the trans male students too.
Linked to that general problem, of trying to deliberately force out the sound from the throat, was the one of getting used to a different size and placement of the larynx. It was a problem I’d work on with my adolescent cis male students, and I figured it was worth trying the same approach with my trans male students – it seems to work. Many people are taught to belt rather than to sing, and get used to trying to control what the vocal mechanism is doing (again – this was the case with me) – they create the sound through deliberate effort. Problem is, when the larynx grows and moves into a slightly different placement, you’re left unable to do what you used to do and, therefore, unable to sing. Pitching becomes particular difficult for those used to pitching ‘by feel’ because ‘the feel’ isn’t where it used to be. The only solution I’ve found to this is what I work on with my teacher – hearing the note before singing, and allowing the breath to reach it, rather than trying to force a sound out – of relaxation and visualisation, not ‘vocal’ effort.
These are only hints and questions – but I do wonder if, maybe, a lot of what we assume about T and singing isn’t correct? That the stories of people losing their voices utterly might, in some cases, have had happier endings with a good teacher and time to work on a different technique? I know we’ve all heard the classic choir boy story to support the idea that male adolescence is a crapshoot when it comes to the voice – I heard it from my father: start puberty with a beautiful treble, voice breaks, never sing again. But I haven’t heard that story from anyone invested in singing. The majority of male classical singers I know were choirboys – some of them had a period of several years where their voices were too all over the place to sing, and some had an easy transition from treble to alto to tenor. They all had good technique to get them through. Again, I’m not claiming to know it all, or saying that losing your voice at adolescence can’t happen – just that the only people I know who talk about it happening to them didn’t work on the issue with a singing teacher or two, but just gave up.
I’m sorry I can’t give a more definite answer, and tell people whether or not it’s safe to risk their voices on T. Another factor with my trans male students on T is that the oldest is not quite 40 – I don’t know if the same would hold true for someone beginning T at the age of 60, for example. What I can say is that things seem far more optimistic than I initially thought they were. Again, for me, taking T is out of the question – but that might not be the case for every singer, whether amateur or professional. I suspect that, if I only had my alternative singing to worry about, I would now feel that taking T was worth a shot (pun intended).
Before anything else, I would advise anyone reading this, of any sex or gender, to find themselves a sympathetic singing teacher if their voice matters to them. I feel it’s worth noting that, with my trans FAAB students NOT on T, the same work on opening up and relaxing the body, and getting away from deliberate strain on the larynx, helped them to find notes lower and richer than they knew they had – the same with my MAAB trans students (on HRT or not) with their higher ranges. Find a good teacher, invest in your technique and, if you’re having real problems, consider seeing a laryngeal specialist. And the very best of good luck, whatever path you decide to take.
So, it’s been a while since I did those few posts and vlogs on singing and the effects of T (or not) on the voice – and I thought it was time for an update. The more I teach students (cis and trans) whose voices are breaking – or have broken – the more interesting little hints come to light. I’m afraid this is no official study – but, with such a dearth of information in the area, I thought even some anecdotal evidence might be helpful.
I’m still officially on holiday, but will try to get something written up within the next week. In the meantime – does anyone have a burning question they’d like to see answered? Leave a comment below if you do, and I’ll do my best to think of something useful to say.
So, wow – it’s nearly the end of the year. I’m just about to retire into hibernation – possibly involving a cupboard under the stairs and a whole bunch of shredded newspapers, possibly not – but I just wanted to say an enormous thank you to everyone who made this such a great year. Shattering, but great.
One alternative album, one classical album, learning how not to run my mouth off in interviews (hopefully), a photography project I never thought I’d have the courage to do and finally handing over my novel to a literary agent. And working on the next novel, Transgress/Transcend and Aether.
But aside from a general thank you to everyone who reads this blog and shares it, and the previous ENORMOUS thank you to everyone who made Dark Angels happen – I just wanted to add two more. Because, apparently, it’s the kind of thing you’re allowed to do at Christmas. First, to everyone I’ve met gigging around the country this year – Brighton, Manchester, Norwich, Edinburgh, Dumfries, Cambridge, Oxford, and London, as always – not only for being amazing audiences, but for just being awesome, in general. I’ve had so many wonderful conversations, and received so many kindnesses – transport, places to stay, and more than a few pints – and it’s meant a lot.
Second – this Christmas night will mark the five year anniversary of my brother’s death from brain cancer. It’s not something I like to talk about much in public, though it’s the reason why Ashes exists. But every year I try to raise as much money as possible for the hospice that helped us care for him in the final months – and this year I thought it was time to exploit my genuine terror of heights for a good cause. It’s hard to find words that don’t sound trite or insincere – but I really am grateful, so very grateful, to every person who donated and publicised the fundraiser – so many of whom have only heard my music, or seen me perform – we ended up raising just over £1000. I’ll have to think of something truly horrible to do next year to top that.
I hope everyone reading this finds some degree of peace over the holidays – I advise a large helping of Handel and Bach x
The Dark Angels launch was this Thursday, and I’m still in shock – the nicest possible kind of shock a person can be in.
The night was amazing, the Cinema Museum was gorgeous, the volunteers were sensational, the audience were obviously the classiest people in all of London…
I’m trying not to go all Paltrow on everyone here but, if by some terrible oversight I haven’t already cornered you and covered you in gratitude, thank you so, so much. I can’t believe people actually donated over £2,000 so that we could make a record of contemporary classical art song – and that, after the first night, we’d already sold out of copies and need another print run. I’m usually a fairly (very) cynical person – but, yeah, um – wow. So all I can say is thank you. Many times. And that I hope you feel you’ve gotten your money’s worth.
Most of the CDs are already in the post or were picked up at the gig. I still have a few left to do, because I bought up the local supply of padded envelopes and needed to find more. Lyrics will be posted on Tuesday. If you haven’t sorted out a perk then send me an email – info@cnlester.com – and things WILL get sorted. Dark Angels will be on iTunes and Amazon soon, and available to buy through my website.
So. Onwards and upwards. And thank you, one more time.
Yes, you heard that right – and yes, it does make sense. Allow me to explain:
So, we’ve entered the last month of fundraising for the Dark Angelsalbum. The music’s been recorded, the artwork chosen, the first mixes are through and The Cinema Museum’s booked for the launch on November 29th. But we have another £470 pounds left to make if we’re going to break even.
That’s the thing – break even. There’s no profit in this for either me or Toby – everyone else gets paid apart from us – not unless the album’s a bizarre and unlikely success and we make a little from future sales. Hence performing for the music, not for the money.
Also performing for the music, not the money? Some of the perks. I know Indiegogo’s in terrifying dollars, rather than pounds, but I’m going to try my best to tempt you with some of the breakdowns. Ready?
* £50 ($80) for a lesson with either me or Toby (usually £25/30), two tickets to the launch (£17), an album (£10) and all the praise we can heap on you online or in the liner notes. £50 for what would usually cost £57. And praise.
*£93 ($150) for a private performance of Dark Angels plus all the tickets/CD usuals. For anyone at uni/in a town with a good live music scene – can I ask you to consider this? We’ll be performing for free so, after you’ve paid our bus fare, you get to collect all the tickets sales you want. And making £100 in ticket sales is very, very easy.
* £312 ($500) for a private performance of whatever you like. Obviously, the steepest price – but not all that steep considering. First – if you’re booking musicians for a private event (like a wedding), then £300 for two classical musicians is an absolute steal. Second – if you want to organise a gig, I’m more than happy to come play my alternative music and have you keep all the ticket sales. And, again – raising more than £300 in tickets sales for an alt. night is really not that hard. In addition to being awesome.
Ok, shilling and guilt trip over. But please head on over to the fundraising page and check it all out. And think about how much better the world would be if the musicians who actually gave a damn about music got the funding they need. We promise not to spend it on tiny dogs and fancy costumes.
“…the whole performance is as if we are being told a series of strange, beautiful and disturbing secrets” – Parvula Sed Satis, September 2012
Unsurprisingly, being both a classical and a nonclassical musician, I’m frequently asked by people on both sides of the divide what the difference really is. I usually make a horrible mess of answering. The most obvious, and seemingly fundamental, is that classical music is much, much harder. Harder to a point where it can be difficult to make nonclassical listeners understand how much work has to go into your preparation and training, and classical colleagues stumble over the idea of why anyone would want to be involved in music that isn’t so hard, if they’re able to do the fancy stuff.
Personally, the biggest difference probably lies in the fact that the majority of what I perform on the alternative scene is music I’ve written myself – and the vast majority of the classical music in my repertoire is written by others. It’s easy to fall into the trap of ‘songwriting as confessional’ – and for an audience to assume that if a singer writes their own lyrics then they must, automatically, feel them more during the performance. I know that I’ve made that assumption about myself.
But the work I’ve done on my latest project - Dark Angels – has really shaken up my notions of who I am as a classical vs. alternative performer. My (incredibly patient and generally awesome) singing teacher had been telling me for quite some time to try to incorporate elements of my alternative performance into my classical work. Not technique, obviously – but attitude, delivery – a way of being so wrapped up in the text and its meaning that I’d stop the constant monitoring and checking that sent anxiety and tension spiralling through me. I tried but, inwardly, felt like it was an attempt doomed to failure – there was no way I could ever let go enough. And then, with this project, somehow, I did. Instead of my classical singing and my alternative singing being almost two different instruments, one formal and for others, one informal and for myself – they suddenly came together, like two sides of the same coin.
And I don’t think I could sum it up better than with the quote at the top of the page. The idea of telling secrets, of whispering to each member of the audience and passing on a message intended for them, and them alone, of using your body as a conduit for some hidden knowledge – that’s what singing is, to me. Whether the words were written by me or not ceases to matter – the difficulty of the music ceases to matter – so long as it’s Ginsberg’s “taste my mouth in your ear”.
I know – or, rather, I’ve heard and I’ve listened – that classical music can be intimidating to those on the outside, as it were. I know that some people reading this who loved Ashes are going to give Dark Angels a miss, and wait for my next alternative album, Aether. But consider this a request – if that process of telling, that intimate communication, is what you love in nonclassical music – then think about whether you might well love it in classical music too. If I can take a leap as a performer then it can’t be so hard to do as a listener. Rewarding, too.
