May 31, 2016

So You Teach Bel Canto, Huh?

I recently read a post by a fellow blogger (goes with the territory, don't you know), who quoted the esteemed vocal pedagogue Richard Miller, who, half-in-jest, asserted that the master class teacher should avoid claiming to be a bel canto teacher. 

Ok, while I don't make that kind of statement in a masterclass, the late Mr. Miller might take issue with my studio website since I note that my teaching "integrates the principles of the old Italian school," and that I offer "comprehensive vocal training utilizing the principles of bel canto."

And I mean it too: I really do teach vocal techniques that have been handed down from generation to generation. But we're not talking proprietary information. Rather, we're talking about techniques that have been discovered over the course of many years by teachers with open ears and eyes—techniques that can be rediscovered by anyone with equally open ears and eyes.

While there is no magic method called bel canto, there is a body of knowledge that has leapt flamelike from student to teacher (surprising perhaps, but great students do teach the teacher who then teach students), and can be heard in many recordings as well as found in many writer's works—the most interesting to this writer being Hermann Klein (he dropped the second "n" after the first world war), who came to America in the first decade of the 20th century to teach Manuel García's principles of singing.

It is gratifying to me to know that the great American people appreciate the sound theories of the old school and they will assuredly find in you one among its few capable exponents. —Manuel García to Hermann Klein,  July 1901

Klein wrote about García's teachings, and even utilized the gramophone to illustrate his meaning. Klein's effort—which seems to have fallen on deaf ears—can be found in the side-bar on the right. 

Find it there and you'll also find the meaning of bel canto. 

May 26, 2016

The Metal of the Voice

On this question of colour in the voice, the mastery writer and critic Legrouvé says: "Certain particular gifts are necessary if the speech is to possess colour. The first of these is the Metal of the Voice. He who has it not will never shine as a colourist. The metal may be gold, silver or brass; each has its individual characteristic. A golden voice is the most brilliant; a silvery voice has the most charm; a brassy voice the most power. But one of the three characteristics is essential. A voice without a metallic ring is like teeth without enamel; they may be sound and healthy, but they are not brilliant. . . In speech there are several colours—a bright, ringing quality; one soft and veiled. The bright, strident hues of purple and gold in a picture may produce a masterpiece of gorgeous colouring; so, in a different manner, may the harmonious juxtaposition of greys, lilacs, and browns on a canvas of Veronese, Rubens, or Delacroix. 

"Last of all the velvety voice. This is worthless if not allied with one of the three others. In order that a velvety voice may possess value it must be reinforced (doubleé) with "metal." A velvety voice is merely one of cotton. 

"It may be of interest to notice that the quality which in France is designated "timbre," is called by the Italians "metallo di voce," or "metal of the voice." Those who heard Madame Sarah Bernhardt fifteen or twenty years ago will readily understand why her countless friends and admirers always spoke of her matchless organ as "la voix d'or." 

Some singers control but two colours or timbres—the very clear (open) and very sombre (closed), which they exaggerate. In reality, however, the gradations between them can be made infinite by the artist who is in possession of the secret—especially if has the ability to combine Colour with Intensity. 

May 25, 2016

Seeing Your Sound

Dr. Tomatis did not look at the functioning of the ear in the same manner as his contemporaries. Typically the ear is considered to have three parts: the outer, middle and inner ear. Dr. Tomatis, instead, expressed the need to look at the ear as an external and internal ear. The separation is between the second and third bone of the ear in the middle ear cavity. He theorized that the function of the three bones is one of protection because they dampen (or muffle) the excessive vibrational energy coming from the ear canal. He also stated that the stapedius muscle is the most active muscle in the body. It is always working. 

Additionally, Dr. Tomatis theorized that hearing occurs because sound is transmitted through the bones of the skull and not through the three bones of the middle ears. Specifically, he felt that the temporal bone receives sound from the eardrum. The bone then vibrates, sending sound to the basilar membrane in the cochlea where the Organ of Corti is. From there sound is transmitted to the brain. 

He felt that the purpose of the three bones in the middle ear was for the pneumatic regulation of sound. They control the variations of air pressure between the outer and inner ear. The system is regulated but not through frequency. The stapedius muscle must keep vigilant to regulate the pressure in the inner ear. The tensor tympani must keep vigilant and remain tonic to outer messages. In order for the middle ear to work well, it must be able to withstand the higher intensities for longer periods of time. The stapedius muscle must remain vigilant and be maximally effective to do this. Because sound is transmitted through bone conduction, internal localization of sound can occur. This localization then makes the entire cochlea vibrate sending the necessary sound to the brain. Dr. Tomatis felt that the brain receives more stimuli from the ears than from any other organ. High frequency sound can bring about maximal cortical recharging. 

Dr. Tomatis also stressed the connection with the face. The facial nerve innervates the muscles of the face, including the lips. These muscles are important for intelligibility of speech, and the clarity of one's voice. The same nerve also innervates the stapedius muscle in the middle ear, and also the muscle that opens the mouth, the digastric muscle. The trigeminal nerve connects to the tensor tympani muscle in the middle ear as well as the master and temporal muscles that allow us to chew and close our mouths. Is it any wonder that Dr. Tomatis surmised an ear-face connection? 

Excerpt from Chapter 5, "Sounds Bodies through Sound Therapy," by Corinne S. Davis, director of the Davis Center.


A really good voice teacher can take one look and see what is going to come out of your mouth when you take a breath—even before you take a breath. Why? The face is inextricably connected with the ear, and the ear with the voice.

May 22, 2016

Antonio Sangiovanni

The name of Sangiovanni is esteemed not only in Italy, but in all countries where the divine art of song is appreciated. From England, Russia, France, Germany, Australia and America, people go to him to receive the instruction that he knows so well how to impart with judgment and skill.

Antonio Sangiovanni was born at Bergamo in 1832, but appears much older. His constant study in early life, his assiduous application to teaching later, his sedentary habits, together with his sensitive organism, made early inroads upon a delicate constitution. He received his rudimental instruction from his father, who was a distinguished singer in the church at Bergamo. Sangiovanni then went to the Conservatory at Milan, where he soon gave proof of great talent. Besides being a master musician, he was gifted with a beautiful tenor voice, which was brought to perfection in the art of song under the tuition of the celebrated Rubini, his uncle. It was Rubini himself who procured for the young man an engagement at the Italian Opera in Paris, where he made a successful debut, singing with such artists as Alboni, Ronconi, Lablache.

Sangiovanni’s career as a singer was a short one, on account of delicate health. But while he appeared it was a series of uninterrupted triumphs. From Paris he went to London, Belgium, Spain, and America, and everywhere met with most flattering demonstrations. He travelled for five years with Alboni as leading tenor and director, or more in the capacity of a maestro, or critic, for it was with him that this famous contralto studied scores. In 1860 he was appointed teacher at the Royal Conservatory, Milan. He gave such proof of skill in instructing as to attract the attention of the most celebrated foreign singers, who came from all parts of the world to study their operas with him, and gain that exquisite finish in expression and phrasing which perhaps no other master ever excelled. Sangiovanni has finished and brought upon the lyric stage more artists, perhaps, than any other master in any age. He is a finisher of the voice. Lamperti, who was also a teacher in the Conservatory, and who at one time was considered a rival, was a voice-builder, but Sangiovanni is a finisher. Although their methods were entirely different, they did not conflict. Each gave such a wealth of information that it was hard to give up either. I found it so, and did not give up either until I was obliged. Lamperti and his wife invited me to accompany them to their country villa on the bank of the beautiful lake Como. Then I parted with the "dear old master," Sangiovanni—the favorite expression of all his pupils, in their deep regard for him. He is as tender and kind as a father, and as gentle and sensitive as a mother. His wife, who is much younger and as fresh and blooming as a rose, is also a musician. She was his pupil when a girl. He has a daughter a musician, and a son, who spent a year in America for the purpose of learning the English language. One musically precocious son contracted consumption from an attack of pneumonia and passed away at the early age of 11 years. The death of this child nearly broke the heart of the devoted Sangiovanni.

M. Augusta Brown, “Antonio Sangiovanni,” Werner’s Magazine, June 1984, Page 225.

Note: Antonio Sangiovanni was the teacher of the great American dramatic soprano Lillian Nordica, and one of a handful of eminent old Italian school singing masters, including Manuel García, Francesco Lamperti, Gaetano Nava, Domenico Scafati, and Luigi Vannuccini. 

May 18, 2016

Avoid Quick Training

ALBERTO RANDEGGER, who died in London a few days ago, is the type of musician who will be sincerely mourned. As a teacher of singing, Randeger was as successful as Francesco Lamperti and Manuel García, and his method of instruction, like that of the Italian and Spanish maestri, was based upon principles of voice development that should be studied daily by all vocal teachers. Above all, the modern teachers ought to remember that Randegger, Lamperti and García never practiced any of the quick training methods prevailing to a large extent in this country and Europe today. With few exceptions, the greatest singers of our times did not impress any one at the beginning of their student days by their phenomenal voices, but they reached the goal by a system of patient hard work year after year. 

Musical Courier, "Avoid Quick Training," The Etude, April 1, 1912: 282


Note: Find my previous post on Alberto Randegger here, and his book, "Singing" on VoiceTalk's download page. Regarding the method of Randegger, García and Lamperti: It was quite common for students to sing scales and exercises for the better part of a year before essaying repertoire. 

May 17, 2016

The Great Paradox

Modern technology has proven to be incredibly useful in connecting people over vast distances, as well as providing them with information. Take the download page here at VoiceTalk. There was a time when only a fraction of the texts could be found on the web. To read them, you would have had to go to a major music library, put in a 'call slip,' and then wait for 20-30 minutes before one was put into your hand. Then you had to put it into your head. It all took time. Now this information can be beamed into your brain via Google Glass.  

How does reading a real book compare with reading the same text on the computer screen? I would say there is a subtle, but very real difference, if only because the eye and mind behind the eye prefers the real thing, and interacts with it differently. That's the great paradox as I understand it: We may have access to a great deal of information via the our iPhones, computer screens and iPads, but this very means has distinct limitations in regard to communication and creative expression. Consider the following. 

  • Phonecall's are a heck of a lot better than texting.
  • A voice lesson on Skype does not have the same impact as one in the studio.
  • The writer finds greater connection to himself and his material when he writes long-hand.
  • The TV or the movie screen can't deliver the visceral experience of live theatre. 

What is the difference, qualitatively-speaking? Greater involvement of the ear—in particular, long-hand involving the silent audition of sound at a speed which promotes creativity rather than mere word processing.

Speaking of limitations: Legion are the voice teachers who intone that you can't learn to sing from a book. They are right, of course, since autodidacts are few and far between, and the majority of students must be led by the hand—not because anyone is stupid, but because learning to sing is a procedural rather than a declarative process (click on the label below for more info). The student who can design and deliver this process to him/herself is the rare bird indeed. 

Seeing is not believing, not for this boy anyway. The eye can—and does—trick, which the voice professional understands all too well after a fair amount of experience, the observation being that singing with a score under your nose is not the same as having that same score in your head—or as they say—by heart. It's just not—which is why many voice teachers insist that the music you sing in your lessons be memorized—that is, be taken in through the eye and put into the brain using your ear. 

If the page, computer, and movie screen provide access, it is the mechanism of the ear which creates greater connection—not only to another person, but to one's Self.

See Brainpicking's recent post for an eloquent reflection on the matter. 

May 15, 2016

Madam Pauline Viardot

It was in London, at (the late) Her Majesty's Theatre, that in the summer of 1839, and at the age of eighteen, she made her début on the lyric stage, in the character of Desdemona in Rossini's Otello. The timid, shrinking novice was literally pushed on to the stage by the Otello of the evening, the warm-hearted, fatherly Lablache, always as good as he was great, who accompanied the act by another, that or making the sign of the cross on her forehead. 

"Il m'a porté bonheur" (It brought me luck), says our heroine, of whom Chorley graphically relates the complete success of her arduous undertaking. "This new García," records this experienced connoisseur and critic, "with a figure hardly formed—with a voice in no respect excellent or equal, though of extensive compass—with an amount of sensitiveness which robbed her of half her power, came out in the grand singers' days of Italian opera on London, and in a part most arduous on every ground of memory, comparison, and intrinsic difficulty—Desdemona, in Otello.  She looked older than her years; her frame (then a mere reed) quivered this way and that; her character-dress seems to puzzle her, and the motion of her hands as much. Her voice was hardly settled, and yet—paradoxically as it may seem—she was at ease on the stage, because she brought thither instinct for acting, experience of music, knowledge how to sing, and—consulate intelligence. There could be no doubt what any one who say that Desdemona on that night, that another great career was begun."

Her opening scene was one introduced and written for her in lieu of the original, by Signor, now Sir Michael, Costa, and at once placed her extraordinary musical skill and powers of execution beyond dispute. The reputation won in Desdemona she sustained in her second rôle La Cenerentola of Rossini. The impression she produced was even greater in the concert-room, though here she had to contend with the great popularity of Madama Persiani, then at her height. They sang duets together from Tancredo and Semiramide, the introduced cadences to which were marvels of art and execution, and which would have excited still greater surprise had it been generally known the they were composed and combined by the younger singer, a mere girl in years.

In the winter seasons of the same year Madlle. Pauline García performed at the Théatre aux Italians, Paris, with equal success, the parts of Desdemona and Cenerentola, in which she had been so favorably received in London, appearing also as Rosina in Il Barber  and Tancredo,  a part in which her late sister, the gifted Malibran, had won such renown.

The applause and favour that welcomed her efforts was more remarkable and gratifying from the circumstance that the Grand Opéra of Paris possessed at that particular period a galaxy of talent such as it would be difficult to collect throughout the world at the present day, numbering among its members Mario, who had just made his début, Grisi, Persiani, Lablache, and Tamburini, and also because of the memory of Malibran was so fresh in the memory of the Parisians as well as the London public.


"Madame Pauline Viardot," writes Chorley, "is one of the greatest first-class singers of any time—a woman of genius particular, inasmuch as it is universal." And it is in this respect that she deserves to be cited as a unique example in the history of singers—namely, her capacity of adapting herself to all styles, the result partly of natural gifts, and partly of incessant labour and study.

Of Italian and Spanish parentage, and born in Paris, she yet spoke and sang, when in Germany the language of Schiller and Goethe with a purity of accent which astonished the Berlinese themselves, and this universality of genius it was that enabled her to interpret with equal force and expression the compositions of Palestrina, Mozart, Gluck, or Rossini; to breath the tender melancholy strains of Desdemona, or the bible and pathetic accents of Orpheus; to impart equal effect to a cavatina of the Barbiere or Tancredi, or to those Russian or Spanish airs which she sings with such characteristic vivacity and expression.

Madame Viardot reappeared in the February of this year at St. James Hall, at the second of Mr, Henry Leslie's concerts, on which occasion she sang selections from the historical and classic compositions of Carissimi, Scarlatti, and Gluck in her own chaste and incomparable style, causing a deep feeling of regret that so perfect and skilled a musician and singer should now so seldom be heard. Great in all she undertakes, it is in interpreting the works of the classicists that Madame Viardot specially excels. 

In private life she affords a striking illustration of the fact that, in spite of all that cynics say, a woman may be at one at the same time the greatest of artistes and the most exemplary of wives and mothers—that she may, in fact, unite all the graces and amiable qualities of her own sex with the high aspirations and independence of character possessed by the other. 

From "Madame Pauline Viardot," The Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine, London, Sunday, October 1, 1871: 208.


Note: VoiceTalks' patron saint and muse was of Spanish parentage and died in Paris in 1910. See here for my visit to her resting place. 

May 14, 2016

Auditory Perception & Singing

Tool around the web looking for information regarding auditory perception and bone conduction and you find some interesting things. Take the paper on "Human Auditory Perception of Pulsed Radiofrequency Energy." It seems that auditory perception of radio waves is "a well established phenomena." Seriously. Where are these sounds usually heard? Behind the head. Of course, the person hearing these sounds has to have very good hearing in the high-frequency kHz range. Of course, you are asking yourself: What does this have to do with historical vocal pedagogy? Quite a bit actually, the heart and soul of Francesco Lamperti's teaching involving the singer's auditory perception of  the middle of the head. Ok, so we're not talking about radio frequencies being beamed into the head from an antenna or space aliens as far as singing is concerned. But the faculty by which radio waves are perceived is the same by which voice placement in the head is ascertained.

Tomatis—who has appeared quite often on these pages—thought much of bone conduction, believing it to be the guiding force in singing since, perceptually-speaking, it is faster than air conduction, and even built his theory of human development upon the concept. Voice science, however, as far as I can tell, hasn't quite caught up to either Lamperti or Tomatis, the phenomena under discussion being understood as a matter of forced resonance, which focuses on the physical vibration of the larynx rather than its auditory perception. Unfortunately, this perspective can—metaphorically-speaking—result in looking at the sky from the bottom of a well.

See here for more information on Lamperti's teaching. And as always, I appreciate your observations and comments.

May 12, 2016

Happy Birthday Margaret Harshaw

Margaret Harshaw

Considred the doyenne of voice teachers during her lifetime, the indomitable Margaret Harshaw was born on this date in 1909, taught many singers who went on to have significant careers, and changed a great many lives—including the life of this blogger. A force to be reckoned with, her teaching—which she understood to be that of the great Garcías through her teacher Anna E. Schoen-René—is still causing waves throughout the space-time continuum of vocal pedagogy. 

Happy Birthday Miss Harshaw! 


Note: Photo Credit—detail of a recently acquired headshot c. 1957. 

May 10, 2016

The Eye is the Mirror of the Voice

Washington has been entertaining William Shakespeare.

To us in America the name Shakespeare is generally thought of as reserved exclusively for the famous Elizabethan playwright. As a matter of of fact, the name is not unusual in England. As there is some mystery regarding Will Shakespeare's descendants it is impossible to say definitely which, if any, of the Shakespeare of today are of his line. 

The William Shakespeare who is stopping in Washington is a short, sturdy old gentleman of 72 years, with snowy white hair and mustache and a goatee, not unlike that attributed to the sixteenth century Will. He is one of England's most famous teachers of singing. 

Here is a man who knew Jenny Lind, Patti, Rubinstein, Liszt, and Brahms. These artists were born just a few decades too early to have their music preserved in phonograph records, and the most vivid pictures of them that we can get are through their few surviving friends. Mr. Shakespeare knew them well and their names, are constantly recurring as he reminisces or talks about the art of singing. 

He was a little puzzled, though, that any one should ask especially about the little things that the immortals said and did, but with old school politeness he conjured his brain and began to tell us how Rubinstein bewailed to him, "When I could play no one would listen. Now I am old and have lost my skill, and people call me the greatest pianist in the world." 

Before we could ask him more about Rubinstein, he had risen to show us a photograph of Brahms when he presented it to Mr. Shakespeare, but the notes have been somewhat blurred. 

"That ink," said Mr. Shakespeare disapprovingly, "got blurred when I lent the picture to a newspaper that wanted to reproduced it." 

But his distrust of the shortcomings of the press was soon forgotten as he seated himself comfortably and drew a little silver pencil from his pocket. 

A Friend of Jenny Lind 


"You have asked about Jenny Lind. She gave me the for singing at her house at a concert in honor of the King of Sweden. The inscription is nearly worn off because I carry the pencil all the time." 

Jenny Lind's sweetness and charm have been the subject of so many stories that you are not surprised when Mr. Shakespeare tells one more. 

"Soloists often think they cannot afford to waste their votes by singing in a chorus. If they cannot be stars they will not be satellites. Jenny Lind was not like that. Once, when I was a soloist at a Bach festival, I though the choir back of me was singing remarkably well, and I glanced back and saw Jenny Lind singing unnoticed in the chorus. That was after she retired from the concert stage. Her husband conducted the Bach choir and she often led the choruses." 

But Mr. Shakespeare is more interested in the song that in the musician. His theories on technique should be interesting not only to the singer but to any one who lies to know what, besides a beautiful voice, constitutes good singing. 

"The great thing about voice culture is breathing," he explained. "So many singers breathe noisily and heavily. That is wrong. The breath should be taken imperceptibly. If the singer breaths rightly he will be able to control the breath, giving it out slowly while he emits the notes. Then he will not have to gasp and take a new breath in the middle of a phrase. 

"Singers in Europe used to practise for hours with a lighted candle or a mirror before them. If the candle flickered from the force of the breath, or if the mirror became tarnished, while they sang, they knew that the breath was not under sufficient control. 

"Common of the breath is difficult. But then, learning to sing properly is not easy. Yet—and it sound like a paradox—the vocalist must pour forth his notes with perfect freedom. The throat should be open so that there is a sense of freedom at the vocal chords. The singer should be relaxed, because if the shoulders, jaw, tongue, and eye are fixed, the tones cannot be clear and soft. 

Sing With Your Eyes 


Lamperti, my teacher in Milan, always said that the eye is the mirror of the voice, and that vivacity of expression is always accompanied by brightness and life in the voice. The voice cannot be used independently of the body. You cannot scowl—so—and sing a lullaby properly, and you cannot slouch and sing well. I have always insisted on my pupils standing in a balanced position." 

Mr, Shakespeare paused, and his blue eyes began to twinkle. 

"I remember one pupil who held her head so stiffly, and nothing I could say would make her bow a bit. As a last resort, I made as if to seize her by the short hair over her forehead, and she dropped her head gracefully, just as I had wanted her to do. After than, I had only to lift my hand towards her hair to remind her, and instantly she bowed. 

"I was puzzled over the inevitable success of the experiment until her sister confided to me the secret. She wore a false bang. 

"So then, when posture, relaxation, and breathing are correct, the foundation is laid for right tone production. The good singer hits each note more clearly in the middle of the sound. He does not let out the mote a little flat and scoop up to a burst of good sound—a common fault. Nor does he attack the notes too high and slide down to the proper pitch. His tones are pure and emitted with assurance, and what is of importance, the syllables are clear. When a song is a jumble of meaningless sounds it is not well sung. I remember hearing Patti sing in a hall so enormous that she looked like a pygmy on the stage. We were at a great distance from her, and yet from the first note, every word of her songs was distinct." 

Mr. Shakespeare's life from boyhood has been dedicated to music. As a boy of eleven, he played the outran in an English church. 

"I did not like to practise," he says naively, "but after some years of study I became a pianist and came up from my country town to London." 

Here he took a scholarship at the Royal Academy of Music for piano playing and composition, and wrote a concerto which Gounod pronounced beautiful, and which won him the Mendelssohn scholarship to Leipzig. There he was told that his voice had possibilities, and he went to Milan to stay with the famous teacher, Lamperti. 

When he came back to London, he was instantly besieged with requests to sing at this and that oratorio concert, and pupils began to come to him, so many of them that finally he gave up his career as a singer and devoted all his time to teaching his art. 

Frederic Haskin, "The Haskin Letter—An Interview with Shakespeare," The Great Falls Tribune, Saturday, January 29, 1921: 4.


Note: This article is an expanded version of one that appeared here. I welcome your comments and observations. If you like what you find here, please share. 

May 5, 2016

The Feigned Voice

The qualities of the human voice are commonly distinguished under three heads, according to the natural organs which appear most particularly concerned in its modulation and tones:—1st, where the sounds appears to issue almost entirely from the lungs it is distinguished as a chest voice, called by the Italians, voce di petto; also, voce naturale, the natural voice: 2ndly, where the throat appears the chief organ connected with the production of sound, it is called the throat voice, termed in Italian falsetto: and 3rdly, where the process of breathing seems more than usually connected with the nostrils, and the sound is accordingly modulated by their influence, it is termed a head voice, in Italian, voce di testa. There is a fourth kind of voice, which is but little appreciated, consequently rarely cultivated—and since I cannot trace any sponsors, either among the Italian of English, who have given a name to this peculiar style, I shall call it the feigned. I am aware that the falsetto is considered a feigned voice; and certainly that voice must be feigned which is produced by artificial constraint, and that does not consequently seem to come forth naturally from the chest; but the quality of the sound that I allude to is not that which is produced in the throat, and already distinguished under the name of falsetto; nor it is the voce di testa. It is a species of ventriloquism, a soft and distant sound produced apparently in the chest, and chiefly in the back of the throat and head—and inward and suppressed quality of tone, that conveys the illusion of being heard at a distance:—it is a sweet and soft melodious sound, wafted from afar, like unto the magic spell of an echo. 
Issac Nathan, Musurgia Vocalis: 117. 

Sounds strange to say perhaps, but I understand the voice Nathan writes about above to have appeared out of nowhere when I was singing at the Listening Centre in Toronto in the spring of 2000. A huge surprise, I was spending more time with the equipment vocalizing—playing around actually, and remember very keenly the moment I sang quietly up past high E into something that wasn't falsetto. It had a youthful silvery quality that was quite extensible and transitioned into the upper range without so much as a hiccup or break. "What is that?" I asked myself, incredulous that this sound would spring out of my throat so easily. Of course, I wasn't able to find this voice when I got home since I wasn't being stimulated by Tomatis' electronic ear. I had to learn to do that myself—inside to out—which I did by combining Tomatis' understanding of an open ear—its physical and auditory components—with the teachings of the Old School. What do I think now? When the ear of the singer has been fully opened, the feigned voice will appear which will then reeducate the whole voice.