Over a year has passed since I have recorded my debut disc, and the copy of the first edit arrives in the mail.  The contents of this small package represent hours of Johanne’s creative wizardry, having assembled all of the material we recorded into one cohesive, non-stop recital.  I admit it has been a long while since I have given the disc much serious thought, as it has been a busy season of exciting opera and concert performing projects, including a variety of role and company debuts.  A release date of October 26, 2010 has been decided upon, but there is much to be done before this puppy appears on shelves or is beamed onto the Internet.  I feel a churning mixture of nerves, excitement, dread and hope in my stomach as my shaking fingers begin to clumsily open the manila envelope.  It’s time for an initial listening session all the way through, no stopping and no specific judgments or critiques.  I load the disc into my CD player and crank up the volume on my surround sound system.

Over the course of approximately one hour, I laugh, cry, cringe, breathe deeply and hold my breath for long stretches of time.  The experience of listening to myself is akin to what I imagine floating weightless in a padded cell might be like.  My ears and brain remain very focused and my body seems suspended in some kind of stasis.  Oxygen is limited.  My neck becomes stiff.  On occasion, my hands will mold and shape the musical phrases as I hear them, floating along invisible waves of sound.  I want to control what I hear, but I am helpless to satisfy that part of my personality, knowing that the full extent of my contribution to the final product ended over a year ago.  As the last song fades out, I take a breath and sit back on the couch.

Overall, I am full of joyous satisfaction.  Every hour of effort and thought that was put into the repertoire’s preparation was worth it.  The song sets relate well to one another and flow together with ease; my feeling is that it’s a very “listenable” disc, and not just to the art song appreciative elite.  I am particularly proud of the Canadian set by Srul Irving Glick.  Some songs move me to tears while others make me wish I had another ten years of vocal technique behind me.  But what can I do about that?  This disc represents a snapshot of my capabilities over a span of three days in May of 2009.  I have no regrets about my artistic output during those three days and know I gave the best effort I could.  What I find hard to accept is recognizing the kind of treatment I could give the songs at this very moment, now that I have another year of vocal maturity and technical development in my pocket, with the understanding that the disc will be released several months from now.  In the Fall of 2010, I shall willingly supply the mass market with a product that represents me from a year and a half ago.  I find myself realizing that patience is a virtue I openly allow others, but rarely grant myself.

Houston.  One Day Later.  May, 2010.  1 p.m.

Thus begins the nitty-gritty editing with the fine-toothed cochlear comb.  To be honest, much of the editing was already accomplished during the recording process, given the fact that if we were unhappy with what we heard in the editing booth, we could simply step back out into the hall and do another take.  My wife, Zoe, and I prepare the necessary materials for an afternoon adventure, including a copy of the music with numbered measures for easy reference, laptop for easy note-taking, remote control and plenty of water.  We decide to focus on a few key topics while we listen to each song individually.  These include:

1) volume balance between voice and piano;

2) overall dynamic levels, and how they reflect the composer’s intended dynamic markings;

3) noticeable mistakes, pitch problems or audio glitches (such as loud page turns) that might be fixed in an alternate take.

After a considerable amount of time exhausting the buttons on the remote control – pausing, rewinding and fast-forwarding – we end up with about a page of notes that look something like this:

“Around m. 31 – m. 32 (or minute 1:53) there is an audible page turn.”

“Is there a better take for “gone” in m. 58? – the note doesn’t last the full measure and sounds shallow.”

Our considerable task is finished for the day, so it’s time for a celebration!  Wine and cheese, please – hold the cheese.

Houston.  Early June, 2010.  4 p.m.

Today’s challenge is to decide the order in which the song sets should be arranged, to provide the listener with an emotional journey while keeping musical relationships between composers in balance.  The most important considerations are how a song cycle begins and finishes, the key relationships between the final song of the previous cycle and the first song of the following cycle, and the general mood that the end of one cycle will leave the listener feeling.

It was always my intention to begin the disc with the Songs of Travel, so after experimenting with different juxtapositions by playing the final song next to the first song of each of the other cycles, decisions begin to be made.  One could analyze ad nauseam all of the thematic relationships that this program shares, but for me it is most important to outline the arc of the narrator’s life story, and the disc order I end up choosing accomplishes this idea clearly.  The wandering, young vagabond depicted in the Songs of Travel encounters an entire lifetime of experiences through the overall story, and the narration even delves into his afterlife within the Barber songs.  A final order is chosen and I am extremely satisfied with how it all fits so well together.

Santa Fe.  Early June, 2010.  11 a.m.

One must never forget that two musicians performed the music generated on this disc.  I receive Jerad’s list of editing comments by e-mail today and compare them to my own.  Surprisingly, there are a number of different issues that Jerad has discovered.  This is most likely because we were each concentrating mostly on our own performances while listening.  Out of curiosity, I ask Jerad how he listened to the recording, and I learn that he used headphones for his editing process.  This raises a huge topic of discussion for me and begs the question:  “How does the audience listen when they are listening to my disc?”  I chose to listen without headphones because I thought that might be how most people would experience my recording, but I could be completely wrong.

With the advent of mp3 players and the ability to electronically purchase the songs, there are several ways that an audience could hear it.  One could even choose to pop the CD into their car’s player and listen while driving.  Personally, I refuse to listen to classical music while driving, since the diverse range of dynamics makes it difficult to enjoy due to road noise.

With these thoughts in mind, is it necessary then to tailor my editing process for a specific audience?  Is it my responsibility to understand how the bulk of my audience will listen, and does it make any difference in the end?  Ultimately, I choose to enjoy my recording in an acoustic environment that does not involve headphones, because that is how I like to enjoy classical music – the closest way to mimicking a live concert environment.

Santa Fe.  Mid-July, 2010.  4 p.m.

Based on an idea that my wife had many months ago, my disc is now officially titled, Let Beauty Awake.  This title is borrowed from the second song of the Songs of Travel, and I feel it expresses the heart of what the disc’s theme is all about – the narrator’s intimate appreciation of nature and admiration of the natural world that surrounds him.

Santa Fe.  Early August, 2010.  11 a.m.

I receive an e-mail from ATMA which contains not only the mock-ups of the front and back covers, but also the first version of the booklet that will accompany the disc.  I am excited by the layout and graphic design, and can’t wait to see all of this encased within that unmistakable rectangle of plastic which will house my CD.  Apart from the song texts, included in the booklet there are some very insightful program notes written by Richard Turp, as well as some rehearsal pictures from our recording sessions.  I begin to edit the booklet text, poring over the song texts and prose to find the slightest hint of a mistake, and with the combined effort of ATMA, my manager and my wife we can only hope to have found any and all glitches.  I enjoy the editing process, because it reflects very much on how I run my life – as organized and as planned as possible with no desire to let any mistakes run wild.

Santa Fe.  Mid-August, 2010.  2 p.m.

The second edit of my recording arrives in the mail today and I can’t wait to hear the results of further editing work by Johanne, based on our comments.  Since I’m away from home, I choose to listen to the recording using headphones connected to my laptop, so that I can focus on the specific changes that were requested.  Once again, I’m amazed at how seamlessly Johanne is able to fix certain things, and am very pleased with the results.  The recording I hold in my hand will now serve as the final master version!

New York City.  October 12, 2010.  4 p.m.

In the midst of rehearsals for my New York City Opera debut in Bernstein’s A Quiet Place, I take a moment to reflect on this entire process of making a debut recording, from its very beginnings in seeking out a label with whom to record, to today.  Two weeks from today, my CD will be available for purchase, to coincide with my performances here in New York.  It has been a long road full of ups and downs, but like anything worth doing in life, it can’t always be candy-coated.  I feel confident with the product that ATMA is releasing, and I certainly hope it will take its listeners on a journey away from their everyday lives and into the musical landscapes that have so inspired me.

Read the earlier instalments of Joshua Hopkins blog charting the journey towards making a CD.  “Why make a recording?” and “Breathing into Freedom: An Afternoon Session with Patsy Rodenburg”

Listen to excerpts from the CD “Let Beauty Awake” on Joshua Hopkins’ pages at www.bbtrust.com

Houston. Late January. 12 a.m.

It’s midnight; I’m brushing my teeth and the simplest of questions pops into my head. Why am I making a recording? What is the purpose of making a disc? There have been countless art song discs released over the past several decades, so what gives me the right to record most of the same material that has already been heard? Up until now, I have only seen this disc as a marketing tool, an official declaration of “Here I am, world!” to those people that aren’t able to witness my live performances. An unhealthy way to think of this rare opportunity, I know. The dire state of the classical music recording industry and its shrinking audience can be felt everywhere, and I should be thanking my lucky stars that companies like ATMA Classique still exist and continue to fund projects. I go to bed questioning my modus operandi, with a hungry desire to answer this question that has surfaced.

Houston. Early February. 3 p.m.

I’m practicing a particularly difficult passage in one of the Canadian songs. I am thankful that, over the past three years since I first performed this group, my understanding of vocal technique has steadily improved. It is so much easier to sing these vocally challenging songs! I am reminded that when music I have previously learned and worked on is given idle time to rest, the return to this music is psychologically fresh and easier to sing than before. My confidence level rises as I realize I still have a good 3 months to work out the kinks and discover so much more joy and detail in this repertoire.

Houston. One Day Later. 11 a.m.

I am sitting at the dining room table reading through the poetry of one of the American songs, attempting to decipher a deeper meaning in the words of Tennessee Williams. I am suddenly struck with the vivid image of a cranky, aging musicologist poring over the song scores in a dusty, darkened room while he listens to my disc after it has been released. Horror and fear seep into my thoughts as I become overly self-conscious about the interpretative decisions I make. Here are some of the critical musicologist’s thoughts that plague my imagination:

“Well, that’s a poor tempo choice. Completely off the mark and no relation whatsoever to the composer’s wishes.”

“Hopkins is not paying any attention to the indicated dynamics. That phrase could have been more pp than was delivered.”

“I am missing any sense of emotional thought behind the text. Hopkins has obviously not done his homework.”

I am starting to freak out that I am making poor choices for this music. Every critical review that I can imagine coming out after my disc’s release is negative. Self-esteem is at an all-time low and I feel like I’m sinking in a vat of quicksand. Next week I am meeting with Jerad to rehearse these songs, and I hope that I can find my way out of this funk.

Chicago. Mid-February. 1 p.m.

I am beginning a rehearsal session with Jerad in his studio. I am excited to collaborate once again with my reliable ‘partner in crime’ and to explore new pathways of interpretation for this music. The bulk of this program we have performed in public recitals, so revisiting this repertoire is like catching up with an old friend. Jerad and I share a very similar musical vocabulary, and our collaborations are always effortless. When we arrive at the American set, we share our concerns about adjusting the marked tempo. Although one of our primary concerns is to reproduce the accuracy of the score, the argument can be made that for interpretative purposes, the tempo should reflect how we feel about the song, or how it illustrates the song’s hidden message. We do, however, take great care to ensure that the tempo relationships within the song remain intact. The decision to slightly alter the initial tempo brings back the haunting memory of the brooding musicologist, who might happen to have a metronome on his study table. ENOUGH! Right there and then, we decide that we must shed all apprehensions about how our performance will be interpreted in the musical world by other people, and focus all of our attention to bringing as much passion, joy and colour to the music as possible.

New York City. Late March. 10:30 a.m.

I’m walking to work along Broadway, experiencing the commotion, sounds and smells of Manhattan as it sheds its winter coat. I’m thinking about how I’ve been away from my disc repertoire for the past few weeks due to my operatic obligations, and how anxious I am to get back to it. I’m also pondering the issue of trust between singer and pianist. One of the most important things that a pianist and singer can share in performance is communication, which helps us to breathe together, begin and end phrases together and ultimately think together. Pianists have often told me that I am easy to follow, but now I start to wonder if I am overcompensating in my mind, worrying about making sure that we are together in the moment. Although I trust entirely in Jerad’s musical ability and sensibility, on some subconscious level I feel as though I concern myself too much with our unity when we are making music, rather than letting our seamless teamwork happen naturally. Is my subconscious, distrustful behaviour inhibiting my freedom and taking me out of the music? It’s a difficult concept to explain in words, but I do feel like it’s an important issue to address. I promise myself that when Jerad and I get together for the recording sessions, I will try not to control our unity, but rather concentrate on the text and try to get lost in the drama.

New York City. Mid-April. 4 p.m.

I am finishing a run-through of half of my disc program, and am feeling completely confident vocally and dramatically. I am looking forward to the physical freedom that a recording will allow. There will be no suit and tie, no audience; I will have the freedom to close my eyes whenever I want, make any hand gesture or strange face that I care to make in the moment. I could make the recording in my pajamas if I wanted to and no one would know the difference!

New York City. One Week Later. 3 p.m.

I’m in the middle of singing a portion of my program in the apartment and my wife is working with me. (She’s my teacher and coach on the road.) I get caught up thinking about the flexibility of tempo in a song, and how I don’t feel the freedom to express myself artistically because of how it might be perceived. Lo and behold, my favourite visitor to my psyche, the spooky musicologist, is back to wreak havoc on my self-confidence. I express my concerns to my wife, and as always, she is able to diffuse any worry I might have. The truth is, I have no control over what others may think of my recording. I can’t make everyone in the audience love me, no matter how much work I put into my projects, and I can’t be concerned with their opinions (or in this case, their fictional opinions). The only thing on which I can focus is the work itself.

Houston. Late April. 6 p.m.

It’s one week to go before the recording. I am in the middle of a voice lesson, singing through the disc repertoire. My teacher is impressed with how everything is sounding and has very little to say or to improve, which means that I have done my homework. I couldn’t be happier.

Toronto. May 1^st. 1 p.m.

Three days before I start recording. I am finishing up final preparations before I travel to Québec. This involves marking all of the measure numbers throughout each song for easy reference, making copies of the music for Johanne, and planning an outline of what I want to record during each day. In general, my low range is stronger earlier in the day, so I plan to record songs that dip into the lower register at the beginning of the sessions. I also want to make sure that some of the most difficult songs are recorded early in the process so that I can get them out of the way. It’s hard to believe in a very short amount of time I will begin the actual recording!

St. Irénée, Québec. May 3^rd. 4 p.m. Day Before Recording.

Yesterday we arrived at our comfortable lodging nestled in the hills along the glorious coast of the St. Lawrence River in Eastern Québec. We are housed in a comfortable, modern dormitory-style apartment complex with breathtaking views of the rolling hills and coastline. The location is part of the vast Domaine Forget estate, where the Domaine Forget International Music Festival beckons music fans during the summer months. Jerad and I are finishing up a run-through of the entire program in a rehearsal room and I am careful not to sing everything with my full voice, since we have a long three days ahead of us. All of our material feels comfortable, engaging and well prepared. My voice feels in very fine form, and it is without a doubt that the majestic country setting is benefiting the quality of air I inhale. I look forward to a restful night of sleep in the comfort of quiet.

Baie-Saint-Paul, Québec. May 4^th. 8 p.m. First Day of Recording.

We have reached the end of the first day, and Jerad, my wife and I are having dinner at Restaurant Le Mouton Noir in a tourist town about a half hour east of St. Irénée. Reflecting on the first official day of recording, our tone is generally a positive one. We are happy about the work we did, but are also aware that we are slightly behind schedule, a factor that we could not control. Here is how the day played out:

I wake at 9 a.m. after a great night’s sleep. I dress, head outside in the stiff Charlevoix air for a quick jog around a field, and head back inside for some calisthenics, yogic sun salutations and stretching. After a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, eggs and fruit, I warm up in the confines of the bedroom, a process that begins with breathing exercises followed by vocal scales. Forty minutes later, my wife and I head down to the Françoys-Bernier Concert Hall, the grand location for our recording sessions. Jerad is already in the hall practicing, and we are looking forward to an exciting day of music making, scheduled to begin at 11:30 a.m. Johanne informs us that we will have to delay our sound check, because there is a technical problem with one of the cables. The sound engineer and technical wizard, Carlos Prieta (a fellow McGill University grad, I might add) is busy soldering a complicated-looking cable in the next room. So, we wait.

Unfortunately, the intricate repair takes longer than expected, and the initial surge of nervous energy with which I entered the hall diminishes. My morale drops as I begin to get nervous about the precious time that is slipping away. Finally, we begin the sound check, as all of the equipment is ready. I am conscious of not wanting to sing out too much during this process, to save my voice for the real thing. We are asked to perform songs that test our dynamic range from intimate to loud. After a few takes, we enter the adjoining studio room to listen. I find my voice is being recorded with too much of a steely sound, missing the depth and warmth that I would like to hear on playback. The voice microphones are switched, we sample some more songs, and I am amazed at the difference in quality of sound between the two sets of microphones. The new ones capture my voice really well and after a few more adjustments are made, Jerad and I record our first song. We’re off to the races…unfortunately now it is time for lunch.

Our second session begins mid-afternoon, and although we are disappointed having only recorded one song earlier in the day, our spirits are high to get back to it. In general, we only need one or two full takes of each song to capture the essence of our performance. Occasionally a particularly difficult section might require beginning the take in the middle of the song. Jerad and I are completely blown away by the sound engineer’s ability to splice together the different passages, especially in such a live, acoustic environment. By the end of the session, I am surprised that my voice is able to weather the long afternoon without tiring; it is only my mind that is the tired one! I am losing focus and becoming slightly giddy, and this is a sign it is time to stop.

St. Irénée, Québec. May 5^th. 7:30 p.m. Second Day of Recording.

My voice is on complete rest for the night, but my mind speaks a thousand words a minute in worry. My voice, body and mind are worn out after two long sessions of intense concentration and focus today. What will happen tomorrow? Will my voice make it through the rest of the recording? What if I can’t finish in the three days we have allotted? It is so easy to get down on myself when my instrument is tired. My voice lives inside my body, so there are many factors that contribute to its successful operation. If my voice is exhausted, there is nothing I can do to fix it other than rest. It is a very helpless, lonely feeling that stings my core.

Although we managed to record a hefty chunk of the disc today, my worries began near the beginning of the second session after lunch, when my voice started to feel tired and slightly gravelly in the low to middle range. Over time, my mental focus steered away from the joy of music making, morphing into a concern of making it through the songs without any noticeable vocal fatigue. It required us to change our plan of recording order, so that tomorrow in the early session I would perform the remainder of the difficult pieces when my voice would be fresh.

St. Irénée, Québec. May 6^th. 10:45 a.m. Final Day of Recording.

My voice feels great this morning. After an evening of full vocal rest and a peaceful night of slumber, I am freshly warmed up and raring to go. I take care not to sing too many exercises, so that I don’t prematurely tire my voice. As we head down to the hall for our final sessions today, I am excited to rediscover the joy and love of singing. We have nine songs to go before we finish. This is totally doable.

La Malbaie, Québec. May 6^th. 8:30 p.m. Post-Recording.

Jerad, my wife and I sit around a comfortable table overlooking the grandeur of the St. Lawrence coast. We are seated in La Pinsonnière, a fine regional restaurant housed in a Relais & Châteaux hotel, about a half hour west of St. Irénée. This constitutes our celebratory post-recording dinner, and we all feel it is well deserved. All three of us exhale a big sigh of relief. We have a complete disc ‘in the can’ following three days of an intense concentration the likes of which I have never experienced before. It is difficult to fathom that the project is over. So many hours, months, years of preparation leading up to this three-day event and suddenly, in a flash, our work is complete. There is nothing more that we can contribute to the final product. I think about the process and ask myself, “What did I learn?” Well, in the future I would want a longer stretch of time in which to record, possibly five days instead of three. My choice of such a dramatic, challenging program squeezed into one disc will inform smarter programming choices for possible future discs I may record. I reflect on the freedom that we had within the three days and the flexibility of the time we used. We could take breaks when we wanted and we recorded at our own pace. I can’t imagine the pressure one would be under recording with an orchestra, having to follow a union schedule!

I look across the table to Jerad and hold such admiration for the amount of work he put into this program, and the emotion and spontaneity he infuses into every musical gesture he plays. He is a perfectionist, much like myself, and that is one of the reasons we work so well together. I look to my right to my beautiful wife, who has traveled this entire journey with me, coaching me to be better in every moment, supporting me through the times when my mind wanted to sabotage my spirit, and being so invaluable as my ‘outside ears’ during the recording process. I think of Johanne and Carlos, on their way back to Montreal to begin another project tomorrow, how dedicated they are to their craft and how talented they are in what they do. I can’t wait to hear the results of the first draft once it has been put together. I ask myself the same question that I did way back in January: “Why make a recording?” This time, I can’t think of any reasons not to.

Read Joshua Hopkins’ blog update 18th October 2010 “Houston, we have a recording!” and the earlier instalment charting the journey towards making a CD, “Breathing into Freedom: An Afternoon Session with Patsy Rodenburg”

In recent years, I have developed a significant fear of singing in a recital setting. This fear grew out of a comment made to me in 2005 that described my physical posture as stiff. Since then, I have been battling with this affliction, stiffness, and have felt it hinder my performance in recitals. My breath ceases to be efficient, my legs tighten, and over the course of a recital program, my voice tires. In a constant effort to improve my ability as an artist, naturally I am driven to seek assistance from specialists who can help me face my challenges. In one afternoon session with Patsy Rodenburg, I not only learned the simple tools necessary to alter my bad habits, but also gained the confidence to overcome my fears.

I have to admit, I had no idea what to expect from our session. I was surprised to learn weeks before that we would not be working with a pianist, nor that I needed to have any music with me. What could we possibly be doing? All I could do was proceed with an open mind, conscious of the fact that I was willing to learn, grow and improve. Our session began with a discussion, where Patsy started to get an idea of who I was and on what we might need to work. Almost immediately, we were up on our feet and getting physical; Patsy wanted to see for herself how I would enter a recital hall and prepare to sing. Ladies and gentlemen, this is CRUCIAL to beginning any recital or performance. For me (and I’m sure other performers share this moment) there is an indescribable rush of adrenaline mixed with terrifying expectation that happens in the silence between entering the performance space with applause, and actually beginning the performance. To the audience it is only mere seconds, but to the performer, that silent pause can feel like the longest minutes of their life. So what is it that we do in those precious few ounces of time before we make music? Ideally, this is a time in which we need to help ourselves be ready for the first note of music that we play or sing. As it turns out, I was hindering my performance by habit, things I had been told to do early in my training.

I have an unfortunate tendency to take suggestions and criticism too far in many situations, and those ideas (some good, some not helpful) can stick to me like glue. That is how bad habits can form instantly; having my instrument within my body, it is often difficult to identify what I might be doing wrong to disrupt its alignment.  The following is how I used to walk onto the stage for a recital. I enter the room with a big smile, cross to the infamous crook of the piano, nod my head slightly to acknowledge the audience, and as the applause dies down, turn my head to the pianist to focus. It is during this time, the time to “prepare” to sing, that moment of expectation during which I would rather be skydiving than having the audience watch me, that my body weight rocks back on the heels, my knees slightly lock and I brace for impact. One may wonder how it is even possible to openly communicate when positioned in such a posture.

What Patsy did was to immediately identify this problem and to offer helpful suggestions to fix it. The most important idea was to shift my weight onto the balls of my feet and feel my energy moving outward towards the audience. Instantly my body felt free, my knees unlocked, my shoulders weren’t as tight and I wasn’t “planting” my energy. If I wanted to turn to the pianist, rather than stiffly crank my head over, why not take a couple of steps to turn my entire body over to them? Patsy had me walk around the room with this approach, keeping my weight forward and with a purpose.

Her next suggestion dealt with my mental focus before walking on the stage. Rather than enter with a big, false smile as a defensive front (again, the smile something I had been told to do) she suggested a single thought to have clearly focused in my mind, “What a great story I’ve got to tell you; this story is worth telling.” My entrance into the room then became genuine, and brought a slight smile to my face, which projected honesty. It is true that an audience can detect the difference between a performer who is honest and open, and a performer who is worried about how the audience feels about them. If I focus on giving the audience energy, rather than worrying about my own limitations, then it will put the audience at ease. As I continue working in this business called show, I slowly come to understand the hard lesson that it is impossible to please everyone in the audience. There will always be a certain percentage of an audience that does not care for what I do, and I have to accept this. I am learning that part of being an artist is to not have reservations about what an audience might think, but to believe in what I have to offer creatively. As long as I have an opinion, thought, motivation or emotion behind my artistic choices, they will be justified. This is not to say that they can never change or be flexible to other interpretation, but I can have pride knowing that I have taken the time to devote my personal thought into the work.

Bit of a digression there, but worthwhile, I think. Our next topic dealt with breath and how best to free it. Every day I discover how important it is to be generous with air when singing. It sounds so simple, almost stupid, but the freest, most honest sound will be the one produced with the freest breath flow. Also, the lower the depth of breath in my body, the more natural, sonorous and rich the sound will be. Patsy had me sing the first phrase of a song after entering the room and keeping my weight over the balls of my feet. The sound was rich, I didn’t feel stiff and the breath flowed like a waterfall over my tongue. Then I tried the entrance again, but reverted back to “planting” my heels to feel the difference. Patsy noticed that there was a slight strain on my throat and the sound wasn’t as rich, and I certainly felt more constriction. This lead to a discussion concerning the tension I hold in my stomach muscles. I will admit that throughout most of an average day, I am either tensing my stomach or holding it in, especially if I am in public. Since I was teased to no end for being a chubby child, I got into the habit of holding in my stomach to appear thinner. Now that I am fit and living a healthy lifestyle, I can certainly give myself permission to let those issues go. Holding in my stomach has been affecting the freedom of my breath and communication. When I enter onto a stage for a recital, I hold my stomach in consistently because I am in front of people. Patsy suggested that before I enter, I take one hand and push against a wall to feel the pressure it puts on my core muscles. Following this, I should focus attention on my belly and consciously release the tension held there. When I released my stomach and took a breath to sing much lower in my body, my voice was even freer.

Although I learned a great many more techniques and ideas from Patsy in our session, most importantly she gave me permission to trust in myself. I have studied singing for 10 years now and I must trust that the work I’ve done is respectable, and have the freedom to release what it is I know how to do. I like to call it “unleashing the fury”. Even though I am constantly searching for improvement in what I do, when it comes time for the performance, I must feel as though I am a master of my abilities. I felt an immediate correction in physical posture and mindset when entering and standing in a recital space, and can honestly say I have a fresh, positive outlook on performing my next recital.

Read Joshua Hopkins’ blog updates charting the journey towards making a CD “Why make a recording?” (29th June 2009) and “Houston, we have a recording!” (18th October 2010)

Links:

Joshua Hopkins

Patsy Rodenburg