Phlegm a la Modim

Last shabbes I was in terrific voice. I realized this during the torah reading, while preparing to re-vocalize for musaf, by method of single malt throat lubrication. After the liquor, I chased it down with a few coffees and a very cute raspberry rugelleh. I wasn’t the least bit hungry, but had to eat something for two reasons: A) I felt it was owed to me for a decent Shacharit, and B) I needed to find the spot.

Vus meynt the spot?

Oh, not much; just my reason for living is all…

Ask a singer how they sing; what’s their process etc., they’ll say stuff like, “Well, It’s all about support. See, I breathe low, fill up my diaphragm, and hold my belly OUT as I sing; or, I tuck my belly IN, as I sing. Some will talk about blending the registers with more head voice going up, and chest voice going down. Some will talk about jaw tension, and tongue placement. Others will yap about placing the tone, as in the mask, or the bones of the face. Oh, don’t forget about vowel modification as the voice rises and falls. Enough bullshit to keep you guessing and striving for the better part of a lifetime. Now, I deal every day of my life with all of the above. That’s why I think singing is the most fascinating of art forms.

Your instrument is in your body.

You can’t really feel it at the source.

It’s subject to all outside elements such as the weather, what you eat, are you sick…

For me, It’s always been about finding the spot. That perfect embouchure, way in the back of your throat, as close as you can get to your actual vocal chords, where you can make the most efficient sound using as little air as possible. I remember back in my early 20’s kicking THE subject around with my singing buddies. (those who spoke the same vocal language, and had similar taste in singers) We’d call one another and say: “Hey, check it out! I got a new SPOT!” We then would regale one another with the most famous phrases from every tenor aria that we knew. Then another day would come, and we had to start from square one, as the SPOT had changed, and we had to find it all over again. Here I am, 66, and still cocking around with new spots every day, and loving the challenge.

So, down goes the rugelleh, followed by a swig of coffee, and I start my search for the perfect spot. Robert Merrill once said that if you’re lucky, you’ll really feel like singing once a year. I won’t classify my voice that morning as exactly in the Merrill category, but it was in the ballpark. My voice had that liquid feeling that I associate with a 1972 Carmen I sang, when I had a big chewy slice of pizza right before I brought down the house with Don Jose’s Flower Song.

Heaven.

Up and down the scale I went, the voice a single column of sound, effortless.
Back into Shul I march, sing the Chatzi Kaddish like a God, put back the Torah, and take my seat for the sermon wondering why I’m not doing a PBS broadcast from the Met. Twenty minutes later, I stride confidently to the Shtender (podium) to begin musaf. The voice is sweet and sure in the beginning part of the Avot, but as I get to the Gevurot, I notice that every time I go up into the passagio, (the dreaded passage from chest voice to head voice) Phlegm latches on to my vocal chords, producing a loud rattling sound. I sip from my trusty water to no avail. Going through musaf, I gingerly test out the high voice in different sections with the same result.
Phlegm city.

Because of no B’nei Mitzvah, a fast Torah reading, and a reasonably short sermon, I’m blessed with all kinds of time, and I’m dying to sing a Modim. As I get closer to the text, I resolve to forget the phlegm, and go for it. I start, and I’m surrounded with the stuff, but hell; I WILL NOT PUSH. The Modim is a combo blue plate special, with an outline by Max Wohlberg, and a middle section courtesy of Rappaport, with a healthy dash of Mendelson. Rattling away, but not forcing, I finish with a freigish cadenza, and go on to finish Musaf.

At the kiddush after, I didn’t expect too many YK’s, (yasher koach’s) but was surprised when Jew after Jew came over to thank me for the Modim! Were they all deaf or what? I guess that what I tell my own students when they apologize for good singing, is true.
“THEY DON”T HEAR WHAT YOU HEAR IN YOUR HEAD” The sound is magnified to us, as it comes to our ears through cartilage and bone. I guess we all have to learn how to trust a little more. I remember what my late uncle Chemmy (cantor Nechemia Mendelson) used to say when I would complain of too much phlegm. “Jackie, you’re lucky. It’s much worse to be dry…”