The Canoe and the Singer
A short story: Ride the Wave
I’d like to tell you a story. Singing is such an individual experience, I feel this short and personal story will give you an idea of my approach to vocal coaching, my philosophy on the voice and the practice of singing itself.
This is not a story about singing, but it’s a story about trying, failing a little and coming out the other end stronger and more prepared. It’s a story about how life reflects itself from one experience to another and how we can draw wisdom and confidence from all areas of life that can benefit our art, our music and our voices.
------------------
Once, while on a canoe trip, I got caught in a storm. The clouds raced through the sky, switching between pockets of sun and pockets of darkness that propelled an angry wind across the waves. Truthfully, I wasn’t caught in the storm, rather, I saw the storm, saw the waves and made a conscious choice to put the canoe in the water, get into that canoe and attempt to paddle back to the park entrance from an overnight campsite.
I wouldn’t consider myself to be ‘the outdoorsy type’. As a musician, I find comfort in a steaming cup of tea and a well-tuned piano. I enjoy the whirring of my computer after working for hours on a new song and pushing my hard-drive to its limits. I don’t have as much experience pushing my body to its limits, this was largely uncharted territory for me. The vastness of Algonquin Park intimidated me. Luckily, I wasn’t alone. I was with my lovely partner. This was our first trip together (aww) and I was trying to prove to him and myself I could survive a 5-day canoe and camping trip.
As I looked out over the waves from the shore, the front of my mind reflected, “Well…worst case scenario we get a little wet…” Playing it cool, I trudged ahead. The back of my mind was shouting, “This is how you die!” This part of me was playing it categorically uncool. This hyperbolic narrative in my head is rather constant. It feels like a comedy act in my brain between a logical straight-man at the forefront and a wildly worried, neurotic and bumbling stooge at the back.
My partner was, and is, a much more confident outdoorsman than myself. He’s got this faith in his ability to not die in these situations that I simply do not have. He had no doubts about our ability to get back to the dock – which was about a 2-hour canoe away on a good day. He believed, so I believed. His faith poured over into me that day. Also, it was going to be below freezing that night and there was no freakin’ way that I was going to stay another night outside. I was ready to get back to the city, ready for my bed, grateful for the outdoors time, but honestly, kinda over it at that point.
So we packed up our tent and loaded up the canoe. We put our big ol’ butts, on those wicker seats and ‘set sail’…metaphorically speaking.
My heart was beating like a mis-weighted metronome. My anxiety was through the roof. I didn’t know what to trust, my straight man mind who said everything would be fine, my stooge of a gut who was lining up all the worst-case scenarios on a ticker tape behind my eyes, or my partner who was calm to the point that I was starting to seriously question his sanity. I hid my doubts for fear I would come off as being ridiculous or wimpy. Which I 100% was.
We started off with the bow facing into the middle of the lake. The canoe began to rock from side to side and I could feel the tip of the waves on my hips and knees. I cursed the weight-watchers meetings for being so boring!! If only they had been more fun, maybe I would be floating high above the waves, svelte and dainty, instead of eyeing the water while it surged dangerously closer to the brim of our tiny boat.
We turned the boat 90 degrees to face into the wind. The waves crashed into the nose of our canoe and our rocking went from an aggressive side-to-side to a bitter back-and-forth with a healthy dose of up-and-down.
When a wave would hit, I’d clench my body to be more like the wooden canoe. Essentially, I thought, the stiffer I became, the less likely I would be to alter the boat’s natural desire to float. Anyone who’s ever been in a boat, or has seen the hit Broadway musical Hairspray knows - you can’t stop the motion of the ocean - or in my case, the motion of the Northern Ontario lake. I found myself shaking and accidentally leaning closer to the water, almost capsizing us several times. The tighter my body got, the less stable we became.
A particularly aggressive wave hit and I got so scared I lost all control. My body slouched, I closed my eyes fell into child’s pose, limbs limp, head bowed, I felt like I was going to cry. Then I felt a new sensation – safety. I felt safe.
My body was moving in the boat freely, like an un-inflated wacky inflatable arm flailing tube man. I looked up, giving a bit of control back to my muscles. I cautiously sat up but maintained a doughy and flexible posture. I swayed up and down over the waves. As soon as I relinquished total control of my body, I gained control of the situation. I let the movement of the water dictate how I should move, where to be strong and where I should stay relaxed. I loosened my back, shoulders and legs, letting them be buoyant in the air. I made my core and arms strong to maintain control of the paddle. I felt like a freaking pirate scouting the seas for booty - and that booty was my cozy bed and consistent wifi access.
We were only about 15 minutes into what turned out to be a 4-hour paddle. Both sides of my brain, the stooge and the straight-man, suddenly teamed up and told me ‘get your shit together girl and then let’s get the f**k outta here’. The waves still kissed my hips and knees, but this time I didn’t have the same fear. I reminded myself that my partner knew I could do this all along. I was bolstered by his confidence in me.
I was scared for a thousand different reasons. I didn’t trust my body, I’m not an athletic person. I thought I’d tip the boat over with the aforementioned big ol’ butt of mine. I was scared I was too weak, too lazy or not strong enough to handle falling in the water if we did capsize.
However, there was no going back, I had breached the scariest part of what was ultimately, a pretty low-risk scenario. The truth of it was, the waves were no higher than a foot, maybe a foot and a half in the middle of the lake. We were sticking to the shore where the waves were more manageable. Some would even say my fears were silly, misplaced or illogical. Honestly, I wouldn’t fight you on that.
We paddled against the wind, all the while being jostled around by the waves. It was scary for me. It was hard for me. But I did it. I was so proud of myself.
During the subsequent 3 and a half hours, I had a lot of time to think. I thought how eerily similar my experience on this lake was to the vocal technique I had been taught growing up. A light bulb went off in my head and I suddenly understood: Power doesn’t come from brut force, it comes from balance.
When I engaged my core to increase flexibility in my limbs and allowed my body weight to move freely, I balanced in the canoe better. I also became a stronger singer when I allowed my core muscles to do the work my throat was trying to do. I became more confident in that canoe as soon as I felt comfort in moving with the waves, not against them. I became a more confident singer when I allowed myself to flow the music and not fight the harmony.
Singers must learn how to balance before they can project, ‘belt’ or access what is often referred to as ‘vocal power’. Singers must gain control, not by tightening or over-exerting their muscles, but with a strong kind of looseness that keeps the abdominal and the thoracic muscles working while maintaining a relaxed neck, throat and back. While singing, your body is your instrument, your voice should flow easily, without strain or tension. You need enough power, (accessed through breath management and body mapping…more on these topics later) to sing out and feel confident, but enough looseness and ease to feel relaxed and flexible throughout your body.
Tension is habitual and often fear or anxiety based. If I hadn’t been so nervous about getting in that canoe in the first place, I wouldn’t have overtightened my body. New singers often feel nervous, embarrassed or anxious about singing out. This can create unnecessary tension that turns into strain that can flatten tone, limit range and cause pain or vocal damage.
It also helps to have someone who believes in you, as my lovely partner believed in my ability to stay afloat. For the singer, this person is a vocal coach. Your vocal coach is your voice ally. Being a true believer in you is the most important role your coach can play. They need to be aware of your strengths and limits. They need to bolster your faith in yourself and convince you to get the most out of your voice and musical experience. It always helps to face your fears with a friendly face near-by.
Know that you can draw wisdom and experience from other parts of your life and have them benefit your music and your art. Much like my canoeing ‘adventure’ changed my perception of my own fear and abilities, you have your own adventures that you can apply to your creative growth.
Continue on to my next blog post titled “ The First 3 Steps For New Singers. ” to read on!
