Silence is Best

When I was 18, I performed Jacques Brel onstage for the first time. My big number was the English version of Le Chanson De Jacky (or just Jackie) and I had a lovely 4-piece band to accompany me. The performance was at Hove Town Hall, a building renowned across the galaxy for having the worst acoustics in the known universe. In order to overcome this disadvantage and ensure Mort Shuman’s lovely lyrics could actually be heard by the audience we rehearsed hard.

In the week leading up to the performance we went over our material again and again. My father performed Jackie to great acclaim at the famous Latin Quarter nightclub in the 1970s. I didn’t want to come up short with my rendition. The night before the show I collapsed into bed having sung my little larynx out throughout a four-hour band call. I was tired but confident that we were as ready as we could be.

The morning of the show I woke up with a bit of a sore throat. At first, I didn’t think it was a big deal, I’d sung before with a tired instrument. It was only when I attempted to talk that I realised, I was in big trouble. My speaking voice was strained and constricted. Every time I attempted to speak it felt like someone was squeezing my larynx. I now know that this was the first tell-tale sign of laryngitis. In my case, laryngitis brought on by over rehearsing my singing and not resting properly.

I should point out that this incident occurred before I began at Arts Educational Schools, London. My brilliant teachers there took me firmly in hand and ironed out the numerous deficiencies in my all-too instinctive technique. After graduating in 2004 I never lost my voice through singing again. Thank you, Andrew Charity and Stephen Dickinson. My voice and I owe you so much.

To find out more about how I learned to look after my voice you can read the rest of the blog here. Don't forget to leave your comments and please subscribe for more blogs.