“understanding your voice is understanding your personal journey”

I teach grade one to six art, but I am also supposed to teach them music and drama. I`m on a big learning journey here. My mom is a highly experienced music teacher and I never really got into music-learning as a child. I think that, later, I actually rebelled against being taught music. I recall frustration episodes: leaving my music homework until the last hour and scratching over my theory homework and ripping the page. I joined the choir in school just to be able to be with my friends and go on camps and to concerts. Now, decades later, I find myself in front of classes of 20, 30 kids and I am singing as if there´s no tomorrow. I can read music, so I play songs on the keyboard and sing songs for the children. It is so liberating, using my voice in that manner for the first time.  As a teacher your vocals is a very important tool. I really want to learn how to sing. I always thought that you can train yourself to sing, but I´m not so sure if it´s possible. I found this piece by Dimitri Voudouris and his phrase “understanding your voice is understanding your personal journey” really moved me. It made me think about the concept of the inner voice as well:

“· Vocal and emotional capacity and expression cannot be ‘taught’, but they can be ‘released’.
· Vocal perception does not match reality.
· Voice is a kinaesthetic experience first and foremost.
· There are no right or wrong answers or methods, only personal insights.
· No single path will suffice.
· Manipulating personal sound offers the opportunity to deal with habitually poor body and mind patterning, which is a result of the way we use that energy to present ourselves in the world.
· Of the jigsaw of independent, hierarchical and necessary elements of voice, breath is the keystone for all vocal work, for which posture is the foundation.
· Understanding your voice is understanding your personal journey.
· Any pedagogy for the development of vocal intelligence must recognise the intricate connection of duality such as the emotional and rational brain, the effect of left and right brain hemispheres, and the extent of unconscious and autonomic functioning as well as conscious processes.
· It is impossible to teach yourself to sing – we do not hear ourselves as others do.
· Work on voice is,therefore, by nature, sometimes directive.”

-reblogged from the kagablog


Oh, please don’t give me that!

Yes, I’m a witch,
I’m a bitch
I don’t care what you say,
My voice is real.
My voice speaks truth,
I don’t fit in your ways.

I’m not gonna die for you,
You might as well face the truth,
I’m gonna stick around for quite awhile.

We’re gonna say,
We’re gonna try,
We’re gonna try it our way.
We’ve been repressed,
We’ve been depressed,
Suppression all the way.

We’re not gonna die for you,
We’re not seeking vengeance,
But we’re not gonna kill ourselves for your convenience.

Each time we don’t say what we wanna say, we’re dying.
Each time we close our minds to how we feel, we’re dying.
Each time we gotta do what we wanna do, we’re living.
Each time were open to what we see and hear, we’re living.

We’ll free you from the ghettos of your minds,
We’ll free you from your fears and binds,
We know you want things to stay as it is,
It’s gonna change, baby.

It’s gonna change, baby doll,
It’s gonna change, honey ball,
It’s gonna change, sugar cane,
It’s gonna change, sweetie legs.
So don’t try to make cock-pecked people out of us.

lyrics by alan moore

(performed by David J, lyrics by Alan Moore)

They say that there’s a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
They say that life’s a game, then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret…

In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in kitties.
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair.
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime,
But at least the trains all run on time but they don’t go anywhere.
Facing their Responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The ballet on the burning stage.
The documentary see
Upon the fractured screen
The dreadful poem scrawled upon the crumpled page…

There’s a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endeavours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees.
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with a brutal eye,
That have never brushed a lover’s thigh but have squeezed a nation’s threat.
But he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The Situation Tragedy
Grand Opera slick with soap
Cliffhangers with no hope
The water-colour in the flooded gallery…

There’s a girl who’ll push but not shove and is desperate for her father’s love
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing What You Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop’s peel and the sets give way and the cast gets eaten by the play
There’s a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The torch-song no one ever sings
The curfew chorus line
The comedy divine
The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings

There’s thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
There’s something hear for everyone (reserve your seat today)
There’s mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Within this bastard’s carnival, this vicious cabaret.

Read more about Alan Moore on record here