A means to a beginning

The silly start of a voice quest

A lot of my posts start with me and end with 'the world'. It annoys even me, but I think it’s inherent to a creative. From in to out is the direction of my trials. My attempts to make sense of this strange, bewildering place.

It is fun to see if you can establish this general 'direction' in other essays. Many writings are straightforward reflections, bouncing off a polished surface. Others excel at describing how the world affects them personally. Out to in. I gain a lot from those absorptions because I was never too good at self-analysis. Still not great.

I try to understand myself by figuring out the wider context—what we call the world—but this is always a limited perspective, a small collection of impressions. No matter how many books I've read or experiences I've gathered, pure in to out is hard to write and hard to read. It is a one-off brand that requires a lot of inner cultivation before becoming presentable, and even then, it can take a century before the rest catches up. And of course, I had to have a go at this most difficult of forms, just to keep the bar unreasonably high.

Does anyone recognise this particular type of perfectionist? It is the inner judge that invites you to be relaxed about whatever and then lashes out with the harshest verdict when the target is missed. Hey, but you said…..

Whatever anyone calls 'the world' might feel complete, be recognisable to others, but is always, always, a poor excuse for the actual massive reality of the planet. Just a collection of details and broad strokes. Saying our picture has holes is an understatement.

I do stuff, not so much for the stuff of it, but to learn more about that incredible pile of stuff so easy to get lost in. Translated to proper language, that means I try new ways of figuring out the world. New to me, but often as old as the painted caves. As a secondary effect, I hope to find out how I fit into all of it.

I am the jigsaw piece; all else is the puzzle. I've often lost myself in the process because, of course, it's smart to know the shape of oneself to recognize where the bit goes. A logic I missed for the greater part of this visit.

People tried to tell me. I stuffed my ears. I feared finding out, unwilling to accept the implied presumptions. The shape of me clearly wouldn't be enough to fill the voids in the bigger picture. I had high expectations. I clung to an intuitive sense of fluidness, resisting coagulating into a mold that couldn't possibly be the entire me.

I tried, but as soon as crystallisation set in, I moved on, evaporated. Broke the mould, pierced the shell, leaked away.

It made me an endless beginner. Good at flow, bad at holding shape. While I have a talent for seeing things as they are, that is above average. I drop way below the standard for recognising who I am in all that. (What standard is that Bertus? You sure it ain’t yours?)

Because only part of me is fluid. I do have form. Limits. Blind spots. Habits. A body shape, a hair colour, a skin type. However connected I feel to buzzards, snails, trees, rivers, or fire. I am a human male in the last stretch of a life lived in the strangest of times. I am a child, a son, a father, a husband. I have tried many roles but succeeded in none. Not according to the world. Or my fabrication of it.

But maybe it is time to leave the world. I mean leave the world for whatever it is, before I really leave. Perhaps it is time to arrive at me. To begin with mapping me, with discovering this strange person in this specific body with these specific relations a little better. It could be time to land. Time to start.

A means to a beginning.

My voice.

It is the most outgoing part. The other exits have none of the means to shape what comes out. Mouth, lungs, throat, tongue and face are tools of expression unrivalled.

As you may know, I am a massive fan of the hands as the core tool of 'handling' the world, of course, with the whole body behind it. But the human voice, I must admit, is number one.

And I neglected it. In favor of other more prolific voices. I have let others do the talking, the singing, the tone shaping, the wording, the meaning.

Yes, the meaning, as in making meaning. Expressing sense.

Last week, I established my actual vocal range for the first time in sixty years. It took three minutes, with some YouTuber guiding me through it, behind the piano in a vacant house next to us.

Something fell into place. After a lifetime of singing attempts, I discovered something revealing. I have always considered myself a crappy tenor, incapable of hitting the important notes in the higher half of almost any song. I turn out to be a bass. Spot on. No wonder I have trouble singing along with Jason Mraz. I often am three octaves away from my comfort zone. I told you I suck at self-knowledge.

When young, I was loud, imitating others, but through the years, I became a mumbler. In social settings, I now keep silent or avert attention. A voice dull and dark, very unlike how I feel.

I have decided to begin learning to sing as me. Not to perform, but to find out how I sound without the shame. To put the trauma of being shut up behind me. And yes, probably way back, someone started the tradition of shutting up, but long since, I am the single employee to execute that task. I wish to accept that what exits me is no reason for shame.

To learn to sing. Even typing this brings tears to my eyes.

I am only two weeks in, after fifty years of reluctance and avoidance. And yes, it is a literal attempt at finding my true voice and what it is capable of. But it also circles back to writing. Because I want to enter the next level. I desire to soar with my voice and use the full range for telling the truth. My truth, yes, in my voice. Because it is all I have.

I don't have a real-life voice-coach. But the internet is a rich resource, and because I am not trying to build a career as a singer, I can muddle all I like.

I have learned a lot in these two weeks.

• Singing is incredibly difficult, and it is the most natural of all arts.

• Fear inhibits the voice more than anything.

• I use, like most people, only a small part of my vocal spectrum.

• Imitating is a great way to become more expressive, more authentic.

• Judging if a note is flat or sharp while listening is a different skill than hitting the right note with your voice. The latter asks for audiation. For having the note, or the melody, available inside before it comes out. You need to be able to hear the note in your head before you can sing it. Connecting that inner hearing to the physical skill of producing that note is what you learn when learning to sing.

• Talking is much more akin to singing than I thought. Intonation, melody, phrasing, timing, rhythm, expressiveness are all key in both. I dare even say that talking equals singing. The meaning is carried by the singing quality of what is being said.

• Exploring the 'ugly' sounds you can produce is another of those natural ways nipped in the bud by schooling/education much too early. We do not encourage, the loud, annoying cacophony of young kids. Imitating the characteristics of adults is considered insulting, and therefore discouraged. We only want kids to sing the beautiful, the right notes. Forcing them to conform and filtering out expressiveness.

• Singing is cultivated screeching, used to create contrast. To be heard. To stand out if needed.

• Harmony itself is tension, not the absence of it.

Pure expression isn't convenient, or consonant. Good songs have tension. Good singers have flawed voices. It's called character.

The only real perfect is maximised tension. It is making the rough part of the smooth. It is making what is difficult to fit in, right at home in the context. Discovering how it belongs.

It definitely is not about trying to be a tenor when blessed with a low timbre. I don't know where my voice quest will lead, but I deeply believe in the following line that didn't make it into the approved canon of bible texts. It rings true more than ever:

“If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

Notice two things about this little quote. It clearly says it is not done to you, or for you. Not by Jesus, not by an empathy-chip implanted, nothing external will do it, make this happen.

And the other thing that is not often emphasised is this: It will save you, it says, or destroy you. It doesn't mention the world. It doesn't say it will save the world, or destroy the world.

For me, these words sing. They tell me how to radiate, to shine from the inside out, to open my mouth and let out my inner truth. And it never asks for it to be pretty, or fitting, or according to. I think it points at reconnecting to the bigger you that has no boundaries. It is about the way we can have a relationship with where we are, with what we are, and who we are in the context of that mysterious realm we call the world.

And if making stupid, loud noises, doing silly imitations, and blowing bubbles in a glass of water are part of learning that skill, then so be it.

If you like ‘listening’ to me busking here, then I don't mind you throwing in some coffee-coins in the open guitar case….

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Once I was in a church, filled with a few hundred people singing. When the song ended the spirit took over and filled the room with sound. It is the most angelic thing I have ever experienced and I since wonder if ‘holy spirit’ refers to our innate ability to sing collectively….

The above photo is a still from an improvised session with Jacob Collier and a ‘choir’ of random people invited in through social media right before filming. Here’s a link to a first response video of a guitar teacher. It gives a great sense of how exceptional the performance actually is. Little Blue

Another fun example of how our relationship to singing has changed over the last decades, is the Netflix docu ‘The Greatest Night in Pop’. About what happens when you lock fifty great singers (and big egos) into a room for a long night. Bob Dylan turning timid, Al Jarreau unable to remember a single line of text, Stevie Wonder shut up by a shining Bob Geldoff. The whole thing a close call to becoming a castle of naked knights….

Another great example of the power of voice in community is the Swedish film, As It Is In Heaven.

I have written before on voice, here: