Is Everybody a Singer?

Can you sing? When did you decide? People who say they can't sing, I've noticed, usually trace their conclusions to a defining moment or two in their pasts -- often brief and sometimes years or decades old -- such as being rejected from an elementary school chorus or receiving instructions to "mouth the words;" or, perhaps hearing a friend or family member say "you don't have a good voice." End of story.

Why are such experiences so powerful? Human voices, like our facial muscles, are extremely sensitive to, and revealing of, our emotional states. Singing, a particularly heightened use of voice, is inherently intimate. In the presence of others it carries the possibilities of joy and connection, but also the risks of hurt and exclusion, if it's not well received. Wounds from singing criticism are often deeply felt, and they can be difficult to overcome.

In addition, singing is regarded by many of us as an either/or proposition -- the domain of the talented -- as opposed to an activity that thrives on guided practice and, like a sport, includes a learning curve and regular "falling down" experiences. As a result, people may conclude they can't sing without having had much experience, or without having received adequate encouragement.

Positive identification as a singer, in our culture, seems to require not only a lack of discouragement but repeated opportunity and affirmation. I once had a student, for instance, who took three years -- first through third grade -- before he matched pitch, and who by high school had become a relatively confident singer. An unusual case, to be sure, but singing students of all ages need an actively cultivated, positive environment that encourages vocal exploration, as well as guidance that reframes and counteracts some of the discouragements they may encounter elsewhere.

As if in response to the collective musical wounds of a high percentage of our population, recent years have seen an explosion of workshops at holistic learning centers with titles like "Discovering Your True Voice," "Singing Without Shame," or "Music for Everyone." Curious, and as part of my on-going quest for new ideas and repertoire, last summer I took such a class at Omega Institute called "Gospel Music Community."

Most of the twenty or so singers there were adult amateurs, a few of whom had never sung, and the focus was ecumenical and non-judgmental. Our teacher, Sister Alice, was fun, energetic, and kind, and she taught us traditional three-part Gospel songs by ear. On the second day, a new arrival in his mid 50s joined our tenor section and stood next to me. Full of vibrant enthusiasm, he immediately sang without reservation, at full volume, even though he'd missed everything we'd learned the first day. He seemed to have a good ear and usually found a note somewhere in the chord, but was unconcerned if he didn't.

What was his story, I wondered? Had he sung in high school? Does he sing now, in a chorus at home? When I asked him, he explained he'd never considered himself able to sing, ever, until two years ago when he took a vocal discovery workshop.

"I had a revelation!" he said, with a smile. I asked him to explain.

"It doesn't matter if you sing the right notes!"