No, "Technique" Actually Can't Fix All Your Voice's Problems

Did you gasp reading the title of this post?

I get it.  A former version of myself would’ve probably gasped, too.

A lot of classical singers are told, from the moment they begin their vocal training, that “technique will get you through anything.”

And so we work our tails off for years, chasing the elusive “perfect technique” that will, someday, be able to solve all of our vocal troubles.

This is a really problematic line of thinking, and I’m going to share why.

First of all, can we just acknowledge that the word “technique,” when used as a monolith to describe the way someone sings, is kind of a vague and subjective term? 

Even using the qualifier “good technique” comes with issues.  What is good technique, anyway?  When we say someone’s technique is good, what does that mean?  Often, the implication is simply that that person is a good singer.  But why?  What makes them a good singer?  What makes their technique good?

Is it sounding a certain way?  Is it breathing a certain way?  Is it being able to execute fancy things like trills and melismas cleanly?  Does it simply mean sustainable singing, regardless of the sound?

And is “good technique” all that is required, then, to be a good singer?

And why do we often talk of “technique,” in the singular?  Don’t singers use different techniques, plural, for

various things, depending on the demands of the music?  Don’t we use a certain technique to sing staccato and a different one to sing legato, for example?  

When we say that someone’s technique is good, does it mean they’re good at everything about singing?  Can they have really good breath technique but not very good resonance technique and still be considered to have “good technique?”  Can they have excellent choral technique but not very good operatic technique and still be considered to have “good technique?”

And if there really is a “good” technique, does that mean that anything that is not that technique is bad?

If a teacher teaches you a technique that doesn’t really work for your voice, does that make it bad technique?  What if that same technique works wonders for another singer?  Is it good then?

I hope you get the point.  And we haven’t even talked about how “classical” vocal music isn’t the monolith that most people think it is, with different subsets of the genre requiring very different approaches and having wildly different tonal expectations.

So, the first reason the phrase, “Technique will get you through anything” is problematic is that, often, we don’t even define what “technique” is.  

The second reason is that, contrary to what many young singers are told early on in their vocal development, there actually ARE vocal problems and issues that technique cannot fix.

And I don’t just mean issues caused by illness, injury, trauma, or hormones. 

I’m talking about inconsistencies, difficulties, and seemingly unresolvable issues in your singing that seem like they should be able to be resolved by technique, but persist despite our best efforts.

Things like that register break that has never really smoothed out.  The way your breath locks during long melismas, despite everything you do to try to free it up.  That weird vibrato you get over your passaggio that you wish would go away.  That tension and fatigue that start to creep in even over the course of a short practice session.  Struggling for focus and balance in your high notes for years and never pinning down what the reason is.  Ever-present jaw tension (or any kind of tension) that inhibits your projection.

Many of us have been told that technique can fix these things.  So we go into the practice room, fixated on whatever the issue is, and try to beat our voices into submission until they do what we want.  We just need a breakthrough in our technique, right?  

And when technique doesn’t seem to be solving these issues, we frantically schedule an appointment with an ENT to get scoped, only to be told our vocal folds look fine, and all is well.

But we know that all isn’t well.  We know that struggles like this should not persist.

If this describes you, dear singer friend, I’d like to gently suggest that perhaps your “technique” isn’t the issue.  

Nor is more or better “technique” the answer.

I can feel the resistance from here, as I type this.  And believe me, I know it well.  Because the conditioning we receive early on in our training is SO strong.  

But think about this.  If the answer really was about technique, don’t you think you’d have found it by now?

Can I share a personal story here?  

Take it from a singer who’s been there.

My Journey With Vocal Technique

After I finished undergrad and started kind of doing things in the bigger singer world, I realized I had significant

gaps in my technical training.  While I didn’t have any bad vocal habits, per se, I recognized that my peers who had had more rigorous training at the top-tier schools were, technically speaking, far ahead of me.  My unique background as an instrumentalist meant that there were, of course, skills I had that they didn’t, but those skills alone were not going to get me very far.  So I made it my mission to get into grad school so I could learn enough vocal technique to be viable in the industry.

I eventually did, and studied with a wonderful teacher who gave me an excellent technical foundation, much of which still serves me well to this day.  After grad school, I assumed I had all the training I needed to get somewhere as a singer.  I kept taking lessons, of course, but in my mind, they were really just for maintenance.

But a year or two out of grad school, stuff started happening.  When I’d practice, my body would be riddled with tension in various places - my neck, my jaw, my back, my hips and legs, even my feet.  Singing began to feel increasingly effortful.  I began to fatigue really quickly.  Rep that should have felt comfortable for me just felt weird.  My voice began to become inconsistent.  I felt like I couldn’t make anything work reliably.  

And when I got up on stage, it showed.  Every time I’d perform, I felt like I had no idea what was going to come out.  I had no idea what was going to stick.  I had no confidence that I’d sound anything like I had in the practice room.

And I eventually started shrinking back.  My energy from the stage was lacking.  I was afraid to commit and follow through on a totally all-in performance, because I was afraid that it just wasn’t going to be good.  What’s the use? I’d think.

The self-sabotaging was really strong.  I’d walk into the audition room basically low-key apologizing (with my body language) for being there and wasting the panel’s time.  And even when I was in front of friendly, low-stakes audiences, I was overly critical of myself and still unable to create the sound I wanted.

But I kept on going.  I had technique.  It all made sense to me.  Why it wasn’t working, I didn’t know, but surely if I just kept at it, it would all just resolve, wouldn’t it?

Audition after failed audition, and performance after shaky performance, I kept practicing.  I made recordings and submitted them for stuff, even though I didn’t like how they sounded.  I was getting increasingly frustrated, but just knew there was a breakthrough waiting for me just around the corner.  

Meanwhile, my practice sessions were continuing to leave me feeling very uncomfortable physically, and depleted mentally.  The vocal fatigue was also starting to interfere with my work, which, at the time, was teaching 20-30 students a week - so, basically, constant voice use.

Voice lessons were marginally better.  I’d make some progress, but be unable to replicate it on my own. 

It took a rejection from an audition I was really hopeful about, in late 2019, to realize that, if I kept going this way, I’d be boxing myself out of career opportunities.

I remember reaching a point where I looked around at my peers, just as I had when I was entering the singing world fresh out of undergrad, and realizing that I sounded like I was way behind - again.  Why didn’t I sound like them?  Why were my high notes anemic and full of weird, fluttery vibrato?  Why wasn’t I able to figure out that pesky open e vowel over my passaggio?  Why did my voice keep getting stuck around B4, no matter what I did with my breath or my resonance?  And why was it perpetually fatigued?  Why did I have such a hard time being heard over any instrument other than a piano with its lid down and soft pedal in use?  

And why were my peers advancing in their careers, singing with prestigious organizations and companies and getting high-profile engagements, while I was struggling to get basically anything anywhere?

They say that the definition of insanity is doing everything the same way, and expecting different results.  That’s the loop I’d been in for far too long, and I was finally ready to get out of it.  If I wanted the opportunities that were necessary to advance my career, if I wanted to have confidence in my instrument again, if I wanted a voice that could function consistently under pressure, then I had to do something different.

In the late fall of 2019, I made the decision to put my voice lessons on hold for a while, and take the time to sort

out what was going on.  I felt like I needed the space to explore my voice on my own, without the pressure of having to prepare for lessons, auditions, or performances.

Giving myself this kind of space was a radical move for me at the time.  I was in a place in my life, generally, where I believed I could not afford to make this kind of commitment to myself, and it felt strange and somewhat selfish to care for myself and my voice in this way.

Also, acknowledging that I needed time off from the rat race of auditioning and performing to heal some things felt both freeing and shameful at the same time.  There was almost instant relief at not having to prepare for the next thing, but also an element of “what is wrong with me?” 

And acknowledging that there were some vocal issues that regular voice lessons and consistent practicing were not fixing felt like a HUGELY humbling thing to admit.  It felt counterintuitive to stop taking voice lessons in order to work on my voice.  That was not a thing that I’d ever heard of anyone else doing.  I felt like I was breaking some kind of rule and operating outside the parameters of what was considered “acceptable.”

But I knew I had to try something, even if it felt like I was breaking every rule in the book.

Over the next several months, I dove headlong into the things that were going to help me release my ever-present tension.  That was the thing that felt the most uncomfortable, mentally and physically, so I knew I needed to start there.  

My practice sessions, at first, were solely about exploring alignments and positions that felt free and natural and easy.  I sought support from a movement specialist for singers, whose work enabled me to find an alignment for my body that felt comfortable and sustainable, and allowed my breath to move more freely.  It involved a lot of un-learning what I’d previously been told about posture and alignment.  

After a couple weeks of just focusing on physical alignment, I began to revisit my breath.  I’d learned “how to breathe like a singer,” of course, and how to use my ribs and diaphragm to support my sound - but now I needed to relearn how to do this in the context of my new, more comfortable physical alignment - and without any unnecessary tension.  It was not easy.

I began to practice mindfulness prior to and during my practice sessions.  This was crucial in helping me regulate my breath and nervous system, and get my mind into a state where it could observe without judging or going into hyper-focus-fix-it mode.

I cannot understate how hard it was at first to slow down and allow myself to put all of the fancy technical stuff aside to focus on these fundamental principles.  I felt a huge temptation to just jump right back into how I’d been operating before.

But I kept reminding myself that what I could expect, if I returned to my old ways, was more tension, more frustration, no growth, and probably no opportunities.

When the pandemic lockdowns began just a few months later, I was glad to be armed with tools to be able to explore my instrument at my own pace, try new things, practice mindfully, and keep my nervous system regulated.  I kept a regular practice routine during those stay-at-home days that provided some much-needed structure to my days, and also provided a self-expression release I hadn’t known I’d needed.

The pandemic also afforded me the opportunity to do a lot of online professional development.  I learned a lot about different pedagogical approaches and ways to think about the voice.  I began to see how the fundamental principles of alignment, breath, and resonance could be applied across styles - not just to classical singing.  And how, building on those fundamentals, a singer could choose the techniques that would produce the desired results in that style, based on what was comfortable for their unique voice.  Coupled with the mindset shifts and lifestyle changes I’d been making as a result of my wellness coach training, I was able to develop an entirely different approach not only to teaching, but to my own singing - one that emphasized choices instead of prescription, play instead of mindless work, curiosity instead of shame and frustration, and exploration instead of perfectionism.

By the time live performing started up again in late 2021, I’d finally found a way of singing that was sustainable, felt comfortable, sounded consistently good, and that was able to reconcile all the fundamental work I’d done over the past year and a half with the technique I’d learned in school.  

I felt like I finally understood how my breath worked, and found different ways of supporting my sound that produced consistently viable results.  I finally felt like I had the knowledge and the agency to choose how I might use my breath to adapt to different circumstances - not simply breathe one way all the time because I’d been told it was “right.”  

I was able to sing without tons of tension in my neck and shoulders.  I was able to notice tension in my body, and

work to release it in a way that was productive to the practice process.  I was able to discover tons of connections across my body that I had never noticed before, enabling me to become more in tune with what my instrument was telling me on any given day.  

I was able to achieve that bright, forward resonance my teacher and I were always working on without straining and causing fatigue.  I was able to project and be heard over other instruments and voices without pushing or straining.  I was able to smooth out my register breaks and sing over my passaggio with much more ease.  I was able to find the focus and dynamism in my high notes that I’d been looking for for so long.

I was able to stay grounded during auditions and performances, even when things didn’t quite go the way I wanted.  Instead of spiraling or self-sabotaging while singing in front of people, I was able to maintain presence and control of what I was doing, and was gradually building up my confidence that I could consistently execute under pressure.  

And by late 2022, I was getting compliments on my singing that I’d never gotten before - from people I respect and trust.  I was finally singing with my whole body, performing with confidence, and owning what my voice was, instead of wishing I sounded more like my peers.

The crazy thing was that I didn’t change anything about my “technique.”

I didn’t adopt some radical new way of singing.

I didn’t stray from the tonal principles of classical music.

I didn’t break into a new fach.

I simply focused on fundamentals in a way that let me get to know my own instrument intimately, and shifted my mindset.

Now, I say “simply,” but simple does not mean easy.  

It was incredibly difficult to take a step back, put the technique aside, and acknowledge that there were gaps in my understanding of the fundamentals - or that some of those fundamentals had been taught to me incorrectly.  It was difficult, at first, to spend time with my instrument, and really listen to what it was telling me.  It was difficult, at first, to be patient enough for it to show me how it worked, what felt good, and what felt unnecessarily effortful.  And it was difficult to give myself permission to try new things and deviate from “the expected norm” until I found something that felt right.

It was incredibly difficult to practice mindfulness during my practice sessions - to stay open to new things, and to put self-judgment aside; to approach challenges with curiosity rather than frustration; and to remind myself that if it wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t right - no matter how good it sounded.

It was incredibly difficult to make my own choices about my voice, because my entire singing education up to that point was about my teachers telling me what to do, and me following their instructions without question.

It was difficult to own the fact that what had been holding me back from advancing in my career was ME - my approach, my mindset, my beliefs, and my fears.  Taking this kind of responsibility, instead of blaming my circumstances or “the industry,” felt like a radical move.

But as soon as I took this ownership - of my own instrument, of my career, of my current place in the singing world and of where I wanted to go - I began to step into new layers of confidence, and especially, peace.

I no longer felt troubled about my sound, because I’d created it - with the help of my instrument, which I had learned to love and accept for what it was.

I no longer self-sabotaged in performance.  I was able to commit 100% to what I was doing on stage, because I’d committed 100% to myself in this process.

I no longer low-key apologized for myself when I was on stage.  I leaned into my worth and embraced the space with energy and gratitude.

Voice Lessons

1. The Fundamentals of Singing Are Different from Technique

I had good technique.  I’d learned the “how” of classical singing.

But that technique wasn’t serving me, because there were gaps in my training surrounding the fundamentals of singing.

You see, fundamentals are different than technique.  Fundamentals are the principles that can be applied to any

style of singing.  Technique, on the other hand, is specific to the style and to the demands of the music at hand.

Technique says, “Breathe like this.”  Fundamentals training says, “This is how the breath mechanism works, and here are the many different ways it can support your sound.”

Technique says, “Do exercises to ‘line up’ your voice.”  Fundamentals training says, “Do exercises that will help you calibrate your voice’s needs for that day.”

Technique says, “Focus on your breath support to help release your jaw tension.”  Fundamentals training says, “Let’s explore what the cause of your jaw tension might be.”

When you’re experiencing challenges in your singing, the first step is not to revisit your technique - it’s to revisit the fundamentals.

Why?  Because the techniques that serve your singing the best are going to change throughout your life.  Your voice is not some finalized product you arrive at when you finish grad school, and your technique shouldn’t be, either.  Much like your body, which will require different kinds of nutrition and physical activity to remain healthy at different life stages, your voice will also have different technical needs as it grows and develops.  Please, please, please do not fall into the trap that the technique you learned in school will serve you for the rest of your singing career - because it probably won’t.  And that is okay.  It is okay to leave something behind if it’s no longer working for you.

If you have an understanding of the fundamentals of singing, you will be on much more solid ground as you figure out what your voice’s changing technical needs are.  If you understand your instrument intimately, and the mechanics of how it truly works, and how to listen to the information that it is giving you, you will be well poised to make technical choices that allow you to sing well for the rest of your life.  If you allow yourself the freedom to play with different sounds, different ways of breathing and aligning your body, and keep your tonal outcomes in mind, you will eventually find a way of singing that produces those outcomes easily, naturally, and sustainably.

This is why my approach to teaching singing is about fundamentals first, and technique second.  A singer cannot learn style-specific techniques, such as how to sing legato, how to float high notes, or how to sing senza vibrato, if they do not first understand how their voice works, and the principles of breath, alignment, and release that are going to facilitate freedom in their vocal mechanism such that they can make the technical choices they need and want to.  Trying to put technique into a voice that has no understanding of the fundamentals of singing is like putting the cart before the horse.

2. The Importance of Non-Vocal Professional Development

Second - ongoing education about your instrument is crucial for your singing career.  This may mean voice lessons and coachings; but it also may, and probably does, mean that you will need to invest in programs, training, and education that do not necessarily involve singing.  To solve my issues, I invested in programs, classes, and specialists that helped me with body work, mindset, mindfulness, stress management, career and business skills, and holistic vocal pedagogy.  Your investment in your career does not stop with your degrees, and your post-academia investments need to include more than just regular voice lessons.

3. There Is No One "Right" Path for Everyone

Third - there is no one right “path” for everyone.  What works for someone else may not work for you, and vice

versa.  There is no one right answer to what a successful career in singing looks like.  This is very freeing, but this realization also confers a great deal of responsibility, because you and you alone are responsible for the trajectory of your career.  It is up to you to decide what success looks like.  You are the CEO of your singing life, so you need to start taking ownership like one, and exercising resourcefulness to make the hard, unconventional-but-necessary choices in the face of challenges - not simply blame the state of academia or the industry for your struggles.

And so I ask you, fellow singer, if you feel you’re in a place where you need to re-focus on the fundamentals of singing but aren’t sure where to start, please reach out.  I love working with experienced adult singers who are in the process of discovering or rediscovering their voices, and helping them to see all the amazing possibilities in their instruments, regardless of the style of music they sing.

If you want to learn more about my studio, and how we might work together, you can schedule a free 20-minute call where we can talk all about what your needs and goals are.  I’d love to hear about where you’ve been and where you want to go.