Pianists can press a couple of keys, brass players can press a valve or two, and the result will usually be the same each time. Singers learn intervals by feeling the resonance in their heads and throats, while listening to the sound that come out of their mouths — and that can mean endless variety of pitch. A tuner can help singers identify intervals before they begin to associate them with a “feeling” in their own bodies.

Music teachers always use common melodies to teach intervals; for instance, the perfect fourth interval sounds just like the beginning of “Here Comes The Bride,” and the opening notes of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” comprise an octave. Other intervals are harder to quickly identify in music because  . . . they sound weird, they aren’t used in music that people can recall instantly, or they’re hard to sing. To the rescue, a few YouTube videos that I found helpful:

1.  “The Interval Song,” a Latin-beat ditty by a British composer named Django Bates. May also make a good drinking game for college theory students. Sing it a few times and you will know it forever.

2. “Interval Song” by Anonymous. I have never heard this one before but the song and the performer are both really cute. I like any song that attempts to rhyme “octave” and “provocative.”

3. “Intervals In Inversion Song,” by David Newman. I’d like to hand this guy a rose for coming up with this hilarious song. I love the wonderfully sappy piano accompaniment.

4. For kinesthetic and visual learners, check out Leonard Bernstein’s “Young People’s Concerts,” which devotes an entire hour to intervals called  “Musical Atoms.” Might be interval overkill for some, but if you’re at all interested, it’s an hour well spent.

Do intervals really matter? Ask him.

Beatrice (Stella Gonet) and Evangeline (Louise Lombard) from "The House Of Eliott". No copyright infringement intended.

The series, which aired on the BBC in the 1990s (and is now available on YouTube), follows a pair of sisters who launch a fashion house in 1920s London. The plot twists are pure soap opera, mixed with leftover costumes from Brideshead Revisited. But the foundational story is the process of growing a business from scratch.

The sisters — plucky, Kate Hepburn-esque Beatrice and luminous young Evangeline — discover that their selfish father’s bad business decisions have rendered them destitute, while their sheltered upbringing has left them unable to find work. Talented at sewing and little else, the sisters began to turn their deceased father’s expensive old clothes into fashions for themselves. The naturally organized Beatrice finds work as a photographer’s assistant, a few society ladies see their creations . . . and the House of Eliott is born.

As the opportunities grow, so do the challenges. They hire additional help to keep up with demand. They debate closing the doors to become designers at a Paris fashion house (they decline, and then Evangeline has an affair with the boss). Beatrice and the photographer fall madly in love.

Successful but cash-poor, The House of Eliott is under constant stress. Beatrice and Evangeline negotiate loans with condescending bankers who steal from them. Their workers fight. Their first ready-to-wear line is undermined by cheap copies. The photographer, who becomes a filmmaker, is elected to Parliament. The Great Depression begins to affect sales. Even though both sisters marry and Beatrice becomes a mother, the House of Elliott remains their most precious creation.

Jack Maddox (Aden Gillet) with the sisters Eliott. It's always the photographer.

Like Beatrice, I’m a mom in a creative profession, married to a dashing photographer! We’re working and learning about growing a business together — his photography and printing, and my voice studio. We’ve already faced some of the same challenges the sisters faced, and we’ve also enjoyed some of the same happiness when things actually go right. (I also have a beautiful younger sister, but she’s an RN and wears scrubs.) The House of Eliott is a great way to unwind after a long day at the home office. Yes, there are other shows about family businesses, but they don’t have such fabulous gowns.

Intrigued? Here’s another British-accented actress dispensing business advice.

Margaret Tyler, mezzo soprano and Eden Casteel, soprano singing “He Shall Feed His Flock/Come Unto Him“ from Handel’s Messiah. Directed by Joseph Ripka, with Josh Stafford on the organ. Recorded live, Sunday December 18, 2011 at Calvary Church, Stonington CT.

Eden and Margaret, doing the Handelian thing. Photo by the shivering Ronald Cowie.

Sounds of hounds, come hither and get ye flesh! CAMERON NATION!

This is what you do on Provincetown beach at sunset

Teaching students, and learning more about the art and science of singing. You all enrich my life.

Joining The Chorus of Westerly. I’m honored to be part of this community of high-quality choral music makers! Thank you, George Kent and Chorus, for just being you. (Mr. Kent is retiring in 2012, a mere 53 years after he founded the chorus. Godspeed!)

Having my little girl ask me to braid her hair.

Writing, producing and directing Quonnie: The Musical! And releasing it on DVD and in songbook form!

Rehearsing with kids from "Quonnie: The Musical"

Having my son play DJ in the car with his iPod. Even when I don’t like it, I like it.

I’m so blessed to love and be loved by these three people — one tall, one medium, one short.

My family, putting together a new IKEA chair for my office

What’s coming up in 2012:

In May, I’m teaching a week of master classes at my old stomping grounds, Dublin Coffman High School in Dublin OH.

I’m going to cheer for my husband in his second NYC marathon. I’ll run some kind of race, but probably not a marathon.

I expect to continue to practice important life skills I learned from Kenny Rogers.

Quonnie: The Musical gets an encore production in August. I’m going to tweak several scenes.

I really hope this is the year I sell my house in Michigan.

I’ll be singing more, teaching more, creating more. . . living and loving more! I wish the same for you. Have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy 2012. XO EC

Now that I’ve removed my fingernails from the ceiling, let’s talk about flatness. We all do it sometimes. Singing under the correct pitch can be caused by singing notes that are out of one’s natural range, insufficient breath support, or mismatched vowels. Try this: Sing or speak a bright “ee” sound, very nasally, in the front of your mouth. Now, sing or speak the same “ee” in the back of your throat. The pitch goes down, doesn’t it? Try it in reverse: Think of singing “Somewhere, over the rainbow.” Sing the “some” in the very back of your throat, then try to vault up to “where.” It’s eight notes away, but unless you really know where you’re heading, you probably feel very insecure finding that high note. People who sing flat fail to quickly adjust to changes in vowels and changes in pitches, or they fail to maintain adequate air flow while they sing. They don’t hear it or feel it, so they don’t fix it.

Can you fix flatness? Yes! First, hear it: Record yourself singing and then listen to the results. Most people dislike hearing the sound of their own voice, but try to be detached about it, and just listen for pitch accuracy (or ask a friend to listen, and be honest with you). Do you have trouble matching pitch on the highest notes, on the descending lines, or ascending lines? Then, think about what’s going on when you’re flat. Which words or syllables tend to make you sound flat? What’s happening in your mouth and throat when flatness occurs? Do you feel sensations in your throat such as squeezing, stretching, tightening, grimacing? What are your abdominal muscles doing (or not doing) when flatness happens?

Now that you are aware of your particular recipe for flatness, bring in the technology. I love my Sabine MetroTune 9000 tuner (about $29.95 on Amazon.com) for its awesome, Harry Potter-esque name and model number but also for its ability to show singers exactly which pitch they are singing. Even though I have perfect pitch, I’m not infallible — I need help hearing sharp and flat pitches, too. When the tuner tells me I’m singing a flat note or series of notes, I adjust my mouth shape and reinforce my breath support, and sometimes I’ll draw an “up” arrow over the pitch in my music to remember to make those modifications every time I sing. Like many people I have a tendency to go flat on descending lines (think of the beginning of “Joy To The World”), so I slightly adjust each pitch as I head down — I might open my mouth or slightly brighten the vowel. It’s amazing how just a slight change can make all the difference.

There is computer software to test and train the flatness out of your voice as well: The Pitch Perfector can do this in the privacy of your own home, for only $67. If you like sitting in front of a desktop computer, this is probably a good option.

For flat-fighting on the go, use a smartphone app. I just purchased ClearTune for $3.95 and don’t know how I managed without it. It’s a little slower than the Sabine, but it gets the job done. Last week I used it to reinforce intervals with a children’s theory class. Several kids were absolutely certain they were singing a fourth interval (think “Here Comes The Bride”) when in fact they were singing sharp thirds and very flat fourths. I held up the tuner, and they realized how far off they were. Immediately they increased their breath support and sang a brighter tone to achieve the correct pitch. The tuner will save us hours of practice time, because we’ll know instantly if we’re singing on pitch.

When you’re a world famous singer, you can use Auto-Tune to cover all your pitchy sins. But it’s cheaper and better to fight flatness with healthy vocal technique — just tell ‘em you’re using “Ought-To-Tune.”

I wasn’t aware of Jay-Z’s hilarious “D.O.A. (Death Of Auto-Tune)” until recently, but I think he’s right — it’s overused. (Maybe by his wife, too?) So, get a tuner and practice basic vocal technique, and you’ll never sing flat again. Unless you want to end up on YouTube. . . . I like it when she takes out her gum . . . .

When I was a music teacher at St. Michael School in Annandale VA, dear Sister Renee wrote a saints’ play for the Second Graders, and I used to read an illustrated, book version of “I Sing A Song Of The Saints Of God” to the kids as they learned the song to perform along with her play. The lyrics, by the wonderfully named Lesbia Scott, are colorful and engaging: “I sing a song of the saints of God, patient and brave and true/who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they loved and knew/And one was a doctor, and one was a Queen and one was a shepherdess on the green/they were all of them saints of God, and I mean God helping, to be one too.” Verse two lists that “one was a soldier and one was a priest/and one was slain by a fierce wild beast.” Awesome!!

Gabriel Faure’s Requiem is sometimes heard on (or around) All Souls’ Day, right after All Saints’. It’s a beautiful way to remember and honor our loved ones. Trinity Episcopal Church’s choir in Newport, directed by my friend Brent Erstad, performed the work last weekend. Faure actually joked that he composed the work “for fun” but it was inspired by the loss of some of his family. It’s short and quite  .  . . sweet, especially the Sanctus and the In Paradisum. I managed to wrangle a volunteer choir together to sing the Offertoire once  at St. Anthony – it was worth it! Faure is always worth it.

Most recently I sang the Faure Requiem on September 11 with a small volunteer singing group in Stonington, CT, headed by Dara Blackstone and accompanied by my friend Kim Lewis. Here’s my performance of the “Pie Jesu”.

Rest in peace, all the faithful departed. May perpetual light shine upon them. PH, EJ, LG.

imagine your thumb is being nailed by a hammer and say, “Ow!”

From Wintercampers website . . . or Live From The Met

Each teacher likes her own set of images, and they inspire mystery and awe in students. “She’s awesome — she told me to sing into my hips!” “So I’m like, ‘yawning’ into the sound now.” Imagery can help an unskilled teacher cover her tracks, but it’s no substitute for solid pedagogy.

Sometimes the imagery gets in the way. I remember my dear college teacher’s exhortation to relax my tense muscles in the back of my mouth — or, as she put it,  ”keep your throat so open that I could take this box of Kleenex and send it down your throat, and it would never touch.” Exactly how was I supposed to stretch my throat to the width of an air conditioning shaft? I was far more interested in imagining the sound and feel of a tissue box banging around my metallic throat than actually trying to do it — whatever “it” was.

The wonderful teacher Jeannette LoVetri insists that teachers should use clear scientific explanations in vocal pedagogy. “Telling you to move your larynx is as bad, albeit in a different manner, as telling you to vibrate your forehead or send the sound across the room. Useless information that just makes it harder, not easier, to sing,” she writes on her blog. She’s right. Imagery is a way to call attention to what’s happening or what’s requested, but it should always be paired with an appropriate scientific explanation.

So, if you’re a voice student and you’ve been wondering what your teacher is talking about, here is a friendly little translation guide: “Inhale the rose” means close your mouth, breathe through your nostrils, and release your tongue. “Throw up into the sound” means lower your tongue and sing a vowel from the back of your throat. “Squeeze your Kegels” means activate your lower abdominal muscles. “Raise your eyebrows to sing that high note” means don’t be flat. “Sing into the mask” = sing with a little nasality. “Sip the air through a straw” – don’t gulp when you inhale. “Push out your guts” = not a clue. “Imagine you are a unicorn and the sound is coming out of your horn” = what?! “Imagine you are a marionette and the sound is like a string being pulled at the top of your head” = okay, take your meds.

Of course, all of my images work brilliantly. I routinely tell my students to “make whale sounds”, which means to slide smoothly from one vowel to another in a random pattern to help the throat and tongue free of tension. I told a group of young choir students to ”imagine they were flying squirrels” by jumping into the air with arms and legs outstretched, landing in a kind of karate-ready position, all because I wanted them to activate their abdominal muscles and not just stand there listlessly. I remind singers that “breath is like manna — take only what you need for the phrase”, because I don’t want them to breathe too early and hold the breath, or too late and not have enough. I can also tell who’s read their Old Testament when I use this imagery. I do try to make sure I give an age-appropriate scientific explanation right along with the imagery.

Manna, I feel like a good voice student

Yesterday, I came up with a doozy! “Your voice sounds like peanut butter smooshed onto bread, and I want it to sound like jellied cranberry sauce.” Translation: You are making a nice legato line here, but your vocal tract is small and flattened out because your tongue is up, and consequently your sound is muffled and soft. Keep your palate raised so your tract assumes a rounded, cylindrical shape — which will help you resonate better and then we will hear a nicer sound.

I was hungry, so I went for the food imagery. Peanut butter is smooth but flat. The only cylindrical food I could think of was jellied cranberry sauce. Even though he didn’t like cranberry sauce, the student understood.

Same time next week? Don’t forget to nail your thumb with a hammer!

Adele in August 2011. Courtesy www.contactmusic.com. No copyright infringement intended.

I’m talking about Norah Jones, Adele, Dido, Corinne Bailey Rae, Colbie Caillat, Sade, and the dear departed Amy Winehouse. It’s thrilling to hear a singer performing the vocal equivalent of walking a tightrope — will she hit that note or will she fall off? However, I spend a lot of my professional time trying to keep young singers from dwelling too long in this style. It’s not healthy.

Adele, the 21-year old British chanteuse who sounds like Dusty Springfield’s illegitimate daughter, recently canceled her U.S. tour due to a vocal hemhorrhage. In fact, this was her second major vocal crisis in a year. Adele’s grainy, uneven vocal tone, exacerbated by smoking and the demands of touring, is not sustainable. I gather they’ve told her to go to vocal rehab and thankfully she has not said “no, no, no.”

I have to admit I’m drawn to song of hers. Rolling In the Deep is an almost-great song and fun to hear. However, the  lyrics, co-written by Adele and Paul Ellworth, don’t match the strong melody and performance. Every time I hear this song I think, “Almost!” I like the chorus the best —  a great match of words and music: You had my heart inside your hands/and you played it to the beat. Until I read the lyrics I thought she was singing You had my heart and soul in your hands, and I like that image and soul rhymes slightly better with the beginning of the chorus, We could have had it all – even if technically having two items in a jerk’s hands (one’s heart and soul) would therefore demand changing played it to played them to the beat. I know . . . nitpicking.

Verse One: Reaching a fever pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark – did they forget the “of” as in “out of the dark,” or was that intentional? Or does she mean she’s bringing out the darkness of her mood? I can’t figure it out. And why did she repeat these opening lyrics at the end of the first verse? She didn’t do it on any other verses. Finally I can see you crystal clear/Go ahead and sell me out and I’ll lay your sh-t bare. Sell out? What the heck happened, Adele? I’m confused! And, why use a scatological word in the first verse? To a 21 year old it might not be a swear word, but really, girl, once you go blue here’s nowhere left to go, just ask Cee-Lo Green. And can we rhyme clear with something else? How about extending the whole fire metaphor: Smoke and cinders fill my eyes with tears /Burn up the past but it won’t help me forget the years. I know, it’s not great — but neither is yours.

Bridge to the Chorus: The scars of your love remind me of us  . . . they leave me breathless. Wow, those must be some scars if they interfere with your ability to breathe. Diagnosis: Love Pneumonia.

Musically, I am puzzled by Adele’s “rolling in the deep” on the highest notes in her head voice range. She sings “deep” on the C above middle C. It’s an odd juxtaposition of that good melody and that good lyric. Maybe only picky voice teachers find it odd.

Verse two: Baby, I have no story to be told/but I’ve heard the one on you and I’m gonna make your head burn. I understand she’s trying to connect the fire images from verse one and also keep the tone angry, but it’s a weak link. Told and burn do not rhyme. Eminem manages to rhyme when he’s ticked off, why not you, Adele?

Courtesy of "Straight From The A."

What about Baby, I have no story to be told, but I’ve read the book on you and now your head will roll. What’s wrong with that? Makes me think of Henry VIII! Or, I heard it all from her, it’s seared into my soul. Why not confirm that there was another woman? That would be justifiable, rhyming anger.

Verse three: Throw your soul through every open door. Who’s doing the throwing, Adele or the jerk? Each scenario is plausible. But, the whole stanza is a jarring mix of images: Soul-throwing, then counting blessings, then sorrows becoming golden, then reaping what you sow (my favorite of the four). All of the lines end in half-rhymes or oblique rhymes.

For those seeking an advanced degree in Adele Lyrical Studies: Please figure out whether these rhyme schemes were intentional. As for me, I’ll continue to enjoy deconstructing and rewriting Rolling In The Deep every time I hear it. Adele, during your vocal rest I know you’ll be writing songs. Just be sure to have a thesaurus and a rhyming dictionary next to your Throat Coat tea. Or, call me up!

Can’t wait to hear what you do next.

This fall I am teaching voice lessons in four locations around Rhode Island: Salve Regina University in Newport, Jacqueline M. Walsh School for Performing Arts in Pawtucket, Rhode Island Philharmonic Music School in East Providence, and St. Luke Episcopal Church in East Greenwich. I also teach a few students voice and piano at my home in Charlestown. I am teaching six days a week at the moment. Looks like Sunday will be my Sabbath rest, at least for the next month or two, and that’s good!

I’m also subbing as a cantor and organist when asked, and I’m in the middle of singing my first High Holy Days with Temple Beth-El in Providence. Some of the members of the eight-voice choir have been participating for decades, and I’m honored to be with them. It requires every bit of focus I have to sight-sing 30 to 40 choral works in phonetic Hebrew  (sometimes transposed!) for three hours at a stretch — and that’s just rehearsal! I have learned that I need to rest and eat more before the services; when I’m hungry and tired, I miss entrances. I am in awe of Cantor Judy Seplowin, who will be singing her heart out for ten hours on Yom Kippur while observing the fast. The choir is 95% Gentile, so we’re sneaking out for lunch! Apparently it’s tradition.

I spotted some of my fellow choir members at a stunning performance of the Bach B Minor Mass last Friday in Providence . . . the Ecclesia Consort draws (and deserves) that kind of support. I brought along a score and happily read along, even though they had tuned down about half a step (which tends to throw off a gal with perfect pitch).

Does all this singing and teaching leave me tired? Absolutely. Would I appreciate a three hour long massage if I could ever find three hours in a row? Sure. Do I want to stop any of it? No way! It’s too much fun!

I was talking with my True Love about this. I was telling him about the retired lady student who had lived and worked near the same places I lived and worked — and who sang Puccini to relax; the road-tripping student whose grandkids are in my daughter’s class — who got rid of some vocal tension; the student whose part time jobs matched my sister’s part time jobs at the same age — and was learning how to make a rounded “oo”; the smart, shy high schooler who was becoming aware of her talent as well as her technique — and getting compliments from her choir teacher for the very first time. And that was just Monday!

Music enriches my life — by deepening my prayers in a house of worship (even if I don’t completely understand them); by bringing satisfaction and joy as I hear my fellow musicians at the top of their game; and by giving me a way to meet students, who often become great friends. I’m grateful for those who taught me music, and grateful for those who I teach now.

(But yeah, I really would like the three-hour massage. On a Sunday.)

Every church in town had a prayer service that night. At Mass, I wanted to sing The Battle Hymn Of The Republic, but we got On Eagle’s Wings instead, which made me angry. I wanted St. Michael The Archangel and was dissatisfied with the Paraclete.

The next morning the sky was empty and quiet. My 3 year old son told his preschool teacher, “The tower got an owie.” A friend emailed that her cousin was missing from Cantor Fitzgerald, would everyone please pray for him. Some veterans from the Greatest Generation were visiting the school that morning, after speaking at the college up the hill. We found out that one of the veterans had lost his son and brand new daughter-in-law on the flight that crashed into the Pentagon. The young couple was flying off to their honeymoon. The college was arranging to drive the man home; we didn’t see him. The choir performed “America The Beautiful” for the veterans. We had always planned to sing all four verses. It seemed slightly excessive the day before and absolutely necessary the day after. They sang it beautifully and reverently. I wanted it to go well, and it did.

We watched the Tribute To Heroes telethon a week later and I liked Billy Joel and Tom Petty the best. We watched The Who bring catharsis to all the surviving first responders at the The Concert For New York City. God Bless The U.S.A., God Bless America, and Imagine played in endless rotation. Samuel Barber’s Adagio For Strings was . . . even sadder.

On September 11 I’ll be singing, too, and I’ll remember.