In part one, I spoke about the technical things that I listen to in a singer's voice. They're nearly valueless without meaning, however. And a beautiful voice, while as irresistible to our ears as birdsong is to birds, isn't as powerful as one packed with emotional content. Here are some expressive things I listen to in a singer, not necessarily in order:
1. Emotion. We start with the lyric, most of the time. A good one evokes all sorts of back stories, allowing us, like an actor, to imagine myriad scenarios that might have led to the singing of this song in this moment. Sometimes the lyric isn't great. I often have changed a single word that bothered me, or dropped a verse or chorus I didn't feel, especially when singing religious music. The strength of a lyric depends not on erudition but emotional potential. For years I listened mainly to singers' voices, and almost never to lyrics. I came around. I adore the technical beauty of singing so much, but ultimately success arrived when I embraced the emotional side of it. That said, pure emotion without musical technique isn't entirely effective either.
2. Wisdom. There are no shortcuts. One must sing with the wisdom one has earned. A virgin isn't convincing as a siren, not usually anyway.
3. Humor. If you can find some humor, share it. Some singers are naturally effervescent, others serious. Even the saddest ones, who break your heart with every note, find something to laugh at. And the best moment to hit the audience with a message is after they've loosened up with a laugh. Madeline Eastman is damn funny, sometimes in song, sometimes between songs.
4. Energy. Whatever your natural energy level is, make sure it matches the song's intention. It can be fun to transmogrify a rollicking tune by doing it with a quiet intensity, or vice versa. I love to watch those Judy Garland TV specials. She seems drunk to me. She was so expressive, so irrepressible in her gestures, that apparently some TV executives said she made audiences uncomfortable. But that was her, inescapably her. See below, truth and creativity.
5. Wit. Some singers take a word or phrase you've never noticed before, say in a standard, and infuse it with a whole new meaning or double entendre. That's nice.
6. Sensuality. I could have called this sexuality, as perhaps it's mainly seen in pop music. But sensuality is more than that, it's the physical expressiveness, the body and sense intelligence, that a performer brings to a song. Some acting classes, or even religious and cultural philosophies, talk about learning to listen to where emotions register in the body. Do you feel it on the top of your head? In the middle of your forehead (third eye), or behind your eyes (seeing red, as in anger)? The heart, the chest, the back (a heavy load), the arms (strength), the stomach (butterflies, desire), the groin, the gut, the butt... Hmmm. Does one feel emotion below the torso? Hands are expressive. For dancers, all of the body is. I wonder as I write ... feet make us dance. Legs make us leap, or run away or toward something. I guess the answer is yes.
7. Knowledge and truth. Singing is not the same as lecturing. But one's knowledge can be an ingredient in what an audience hears. When you know yourself well, or you know the message of the song well, you testify. You tell your truth.
8. Assurance. Years ago in an acting for singers class our teacher had us stand up alone on stage in front of the rest of the class, doing nothing. She asked us how we felt. "Nervous," or "awkward" or "uncomfortable" we answered. Then she had us stand there and count all the floor boards in front and behind us. With this task as our purpose, we all reported no more discomfort. When you have fully understood the purpose of singing each song by creating an emotional context for it, your assurance will be obvious -- and comforting -- to the audience. It's not just emotional assurance either. On FaceBook, the luscious and witty singer-songwriter Ann Hampton Callaway posted a 1979 video of Carmen McCrae singing "I'm Glad There Is You." McCrae owns the song in so many ways, from the lyric to her modal phrases which reveal her deep jazz skill. The confidence is beautiful.
9. Creativity. I love it when I hear something I've never heard before. We're social animals, so we're wired to ape each other, but occasionally someone does something extraordinarily different. They're often ostracized for it. Then when they die we say how great they were. However, originality isn't for everyone. Indeed, it may not be the most profitable course. An audience facing an original artist isn't sure what to think. An audience facing a star or someone covering their hits doesn't have to think. Even in tiny musical niches, there are originals and copies, influencers and influencees. Sometimes it's debatable. It can be annoying when you've just seen someone you think is fabulous and your cynical friend says, "Oh, he's just a second-rate version of so-and-so."
10. Soul. Mavis Staples is the first name that comes to mind, mainly because of the title of this essay. Soul is love, pain, honesty, injustice, dirt, salt, sugar and carbon. It's something extra and forbidden and inspiring. You can't fake it. You can only feel it.
11. Freedom. Certain performers are so free that we can't help but be drawn to them. Rhiannon. Kellye Gray. Bobby McFerrin. Frank Sinatra. Judy Garland. Sammy Davis Jr. Bjork. Sometimes they seem to be mere vessels for beautiful, expressive voices, and one wonders if they think much at all about the points I've listed above. Cecilia Bartoli, or Pavarotti. Freedom without mastery can be a train wreck. Mastery without freedom isn't much better.