Ian Sidden

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“Al dente”

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“Al dente” is one of those terms that drives me crazy. It means “to the tooth”, and it’s used to describe the ideal amount of cooking for pasta.

However, there’s little in the term that tells you where that is. I’ve heard it used to describe pasta that I consider under cooked as well as pasta that I consider properly cooked. Perhaps there are greater subtleties that have eluded me, but that only adds to my dislike of the term.

Singing is full of these terms. These are terms that are code words for something that is hard to describe. “Head voice”, “chest voice”, “on the breath”, “legato”, “support” and so on all contain clues to what they describe, but once you move past those clues, they start breaking down in their specifics and precise meaning to individuals.

This is the part where I should provide an answer to this problem, but I don’t have one. Perhaps the answer is acknowledging that there is a problem, and these terms don’t have universal meaning between singers and singing teachers.

Open Jug Breath Holding

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Holding the breath comes naturally to us when underwater or when lifting something heavy. This is the closed-jug technique (my name). Picture a jug with a cork in the top. We fill our lungs with air, close the glottis (bring the vocal folds together to block further inflow and outflow of air), and leave it at that for as long as we need to. We can relax the breathing muscles themselves since the closed glottis is doing the work. In fact, we can even tighten our abs and push.

In both of the cases I mention above, swimming and lifting, that’s a good strategy.

But for singing, this is not so helpful. We want to maintain a sense of inhalation and expansion. We want to reduce excessive abdominal pressure. We want onsets that aren’t glottal attacks.

Think of your body as an open jug. Inhale and then leave the body in the position of inhalation. The ribs remain expanded, the remains belly gently down and out, and the glottis remains open. The air in the lungs remains as long as the lungs remain open. Any collapse leads to the air leaving, and any expansion allows more air in.

We’re holding our breath, but we’re not trapping it. Instead, our breathing muscles are doing the work instead of the glottis.

From here, we can practice remaining in the position of inhalation, or we can sing a note.

A Corner for Gratitude

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There was a moment in Die Blume von Hawaii, where I always tried to pay meta attention to what was happening and feel gratitude for it. Laya and Lilo Taro were singing in subdued light, while the rest of the cast and chorus were frozen, having just sung a big ensemble.

I was singing as Kanako Hilo and was situated center at the front corner of a high platform. One step forward, and I’d fall several meters to the stage, but while frozen, my sight could linger on the audience without it being weird. The music and the lights all came together in a swirling magic, and the drop in front of me provided the private illusion of flying.

In this moment, I felt intense appreciation for the audience’s presence, and I saw how lucky I was to be onstage singing. I reminded myself that I was there through a mixture of effort and sacrifice and luck, and that I had wanted this and was getting it at that moment. I knew I shouldn’t let it silently pass by without that recognition.

There was a similar moment in Don Giovanni, where everyone other than Don Giovanni himself was silent and sitting down in a semi-circle. I loved this production and this scene in particular, so it always came naturally that I felt gratitude for it. Masetto was in a rough place, but Ian was happy and was acutely aware of that happiness.

The gratitude was, however, tied to the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever. Writing this now, these productions of Blume and Don Giovanni are gone, and the likelihood that I’ll get to do them again is almost nil. More broadly, I’m aware that I won’t get to sing professionally forever. There will come a day, whether by choice or not, where this path will come to an end.

And even more broadly, all of this that is now will pass. And by maintaining some corner of the mind for being grateful now, perhaps we can know that we’ve had our fill when the time comes to let go.

What if…

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Once at a coaching for the aria “Avant de quitter ces liuex”, which I regard as a technically tricky aria, I was advised to apply musical ideas from this piece to the aria:

What if you pretended a piece wasn’t hard to sing technically? What musical idea would you want to express? How do you get there?

Google Questions: “Can you be successful in theater as a baritone?”

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Website owners see some of the Google search queries that send people to their websites. Sometimes, these queries are questions, so if I can, I’d like to answer them directly.

Question: “Can you be successful in theater as a baritone”?

Yes. That doesn’t mean it’s easy though.

I’m not going to speculate about whether it’s easier or harder than having a different voice type, because there’s no voice type that guarantees work, and you’ll drive yourself crazy if you day dream about having a different voice. You always have to sing very well and have a good voice, and you have to have some combination of business sense, talent, skill, luck and the right package that makes people want to hire you. And then you need to have the mental fortitude to keep accepting success once you start to get it once you see the costs in the other areas of your life.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to know in advance whether you have that without doing your best to get it and then going out and auditioning.

But regardless of whether or not you become “successful in theater as a baritone”, the journey of learning how to sing and singing is itself rewarding. Singing is fun, and there’s a lot of beautiful baritone repertoire to enjoy.