Singing went unbelievably well today, due to the sweet and demure young woman who sang by my side. She is a beautiful person by any standard, and in this she is exceptional: She puts the music above herself.
Her focus and peaceful demeanor -- not self-contained, but open, loving -- served to root my voice. Upon this stable and mutually supportive foundation, a miracle happened. Together, we bowed to the music and sang "as one." She is a newer singer and has not yet harnessed her own power, but her voice resonates like a perfectly tuned bell. One barely hears her; yet, every note sung by the rest of us is uplifted by the lovely ring of her sound. I look around, each time, and see my wonder reflected in other pairs of eyes. We've been graced with a gentle songbird.
Singing today with this sweet "little sister" half my age, I learned, way down deep in my diaphragm, what I'd been trying to learn for over a year now: It is imperative that we singers sing simply, as ourselves and no one else. Every person has a vocal instrument capable of further refinement and growth; and obedience to the most basic rules suffices to fill a song with beauty. We need only plant the seeds we've been given; God gives the increase.
A split-second before we sang, I had a conversation with myself which went something like this:
"Whatever you do, you will not outshout this girl. You will not belt, you will not strain. You will not attempt to perform gymnastic vocal feats. If you can't accomplish it with ease, you won't do it. Reverence, reverence. You will sing on the note required and no other shade of tone. You will hold that note -- not with force, but with quiet steadiness. You will "let" -- not "make" -- the tone come through and you will breathe it out in peace. They don't need your white noise or whatever other fluff creeps in. They need only the note. The pure, clean note. I don't care what else you don't do or can't do. Just hold that note. That's all I will permit from this moment on. That's all I want. Do you understand?"
I did. I really did. But this unassuming young woman, by the grace of God, became the spiritual instrument by which I was finally able to obey myself.
It was the quietest hymn I ever sang. Ever. But something lovely began to grow in that space where our two voices met, something higher than both of us -- what one might call "profound agreement."
In that focused atmosphere bathed in peace, I found my truer "range." I'd been treated as a shoe-in soprano my whole life, but I no longer believe I'm quite that. One might be tempted, then, to call me a "mezzo soprano" -- and yet, I'm wondering if I might even be a "contralto" (lower natural timbre). My speaking voice (which is higher than "alto") is not definitive in this kind of assessment, nor is the ability to reach or even "ring" very high notes. What counts here is the overall timbre and comfort range during singing where one's sound is fullest and clearest -- we start from there. That's "home."
Such a relief it was (after 18 years of singing as a "shoe-in soprano") to begin to find my vocal "home!" This young lady -- she is the soprano, proper. During that quiet hymn, our roles shifted subtly beneath the surface -- and that was the source of the beauty. Each of us slid into her own true "place," neither one of us straining at the bit. It was not showy in the least. It was, in fact, the most honest singing I've ever done in my life. It was wonderful, even intoxicating, not to be the "raving soprano." Humbling, fitting, right.
