Teaching Corner
Why I Teach. Article for July 2009 Classical Singer Magazine
by David Small, baritone
Associate Professor of Voice/Opera
The University of Texas at Austin’s Butler School of Music
May 14, 2009
Ten years ago I got a call from the head of the Voice/Opera division at what is now the Butler School of Music at UT Austin, asking if I would join the faculty as an interim replacement. I had moved from NYC to Austin in 1998 after singing Figaro for the Austin Lyric Opera and marrying their assistant principal ‘cellist, Betsy Sanders. After a bit of soul-searching I accepted the one-year position, which became a tenure-track position and in due course I earned tenure. So when CSM asked me for an article it seemed an ideal time to reflect on the last 10 years and share my thoughts about the interconnected careers of teaching and performing. This article is in honor of all the teachers who nurtured my performing and inspire my teaching, especially Richard Miller, whose friendship, validation and generous mentoring was invaluable to my growth as a teacher as I began to straddle the two worlds.
I fully admit that in my college days at DePauw and then CCM with Italo Tajo, teaching was never a conscious goal. Only after years of performing some 50 different roles did I feel like I had anything of value to offer. However, I vividly remember my very first nudge toward teaching.
I was living in NY with a steady regional singing career in the late ‘80s/early ‘90s and whenever I was home I sang in the Marble Collegiate Church choir. In one year we lost the wonderfully gifted men who sat to my left and my right in choir to AIDS. About that time I read an article about how AIDS was devastating the irreplaceable mentoring link between generations of artists. I remembered how vital Tom Fitzpatrick, Italo Tajo, Ken Griffiths, Donna Loewy and others had been to my development. I remember considering, for the first time, the debt I owed mentors and the debt I owed the art that had opened the world to a kid from an Indiana farm.
When UT Austin called me I was reluctant to accept a teaching position, however, it was soon clear I’d found the balance my life was missing. The balance between the somewhat necessary egocentricity of a performing artist and what I see as the egoless-ness of a teacher. Today I cannot imagine ever doing one to the exclusion of the other, because each informs the other so beautifully and both add immeasurable good to my life.
Having the ability to regularly share my experiences as a performer with other singers, while helping them become more efficient in their singing and expressive in their performing is a profound joy. (The side benefit is that I feel my own singing has gotten more efficient and expressive as I’ve spent the last ten years explaining it to others.) Seeing these singers grow in their work and find their way in the world is a deeply beautiful experience.
As a part of the vibrant artist community at UT Austin’s Butler School of Music I’ve been encouraged to expand into recitals with thrilling collaborative artists such as Anton Nel and Anne Epperson. I’ve been afforded the opportunity to sing George Crumb and John Adams with the composers in residence. Next Fall I start collaborating with the Mirò Quartet, Rebecca Henderson and Daxun Zhang to perform and record both solo Bach cantatas. At the same time, I am still performing 2 or 3 operas a year. Of course, teaching also means I have had to turn down some projects in order to be in Austin for my students, but I have never felt deprived in any way by having those priorities.
Obviously one of the advantages of a tenured position today is a dependable income and all that can mean to one’s family. That said, my first and strongest piece of advice to anyone considering teaching is to make the choice because you are drawn to teach. Please do not pursue teaching solely for the ‘steady paycheck.’ We choose to perform because it is something we deeply crave, something we need to do. Please choose to teach on the basis of the same persistent need.
You see, since our son Jamie was born in 2001 I’ve seen the singers who work in my studio differently. Jamie’s birth made it clear that each student that walked into my studio was someone’s baby boy or baby girl, and that each of them deserved the education and respect I would desire for Jamie.
Sherrie Morris’ baby girl, Mandy, moved to my studio from Gilda Cruz-Romo’s studio when Gilda retired. Mandy’s quirky personality and brilliant smile were as infectious as her radiant inner beauty was inspiring. A gifted actress with a seemingly limitless, beautiful soprano voice, her unique spirit made her truly (as her email address announced) an ‘Intrepid Bohemian’.
In late February 2002, Mandy had been hired as an apprentice artist with the Des Moines Metro Opera Company and was excited about that immersion into the business. She was preparing her senior recital, including Barber’s Knoxville Summer of 1915.
Mandy had just successfully auditioned for graduate school in Binghamton, New York. She called her parents to tell them how it had gone, and was walking to dinner when she was struck by a car.
Sherrie Morris’ baby girl, Mandy, died of those injuries on March 5th, 2002.
What we do as guides for talent, regardless of the skill level, is a sacred trust and responsibility. It is important because our time together is entirely too brief, and the world desperately needs the beauty the next generation of artists will create.
I teach to give back to that which opened the world to me.
I teach because I don’t know what this student is seeking; I don’t know where their search will lead them, or how important their journey is; and I don’t know how much time they have for that journey.
I teach, because with the selfless and loving examples of Richard Miller, Roy Finney, Tom Fitzpatrick, Orcenith Smith, Stan Irwin, Robert Larsen, Italo Tajo, Lorenzo Malfatti, Gary Kendall, Gene Cline, Donna Loewy, Kelly Hale, Ken Griffiths and so many others... how could I refuse?
I teach to pass on, in part, what those selfless teachers gave me.
My teachers helped me discover and solidify the single most important thing for any opera singer. An efficient, healthy, reliable way of singing that will carry over an orchestra, for the purpose of communicating the humanity of a character.
My teachers gave me:
• A clear understanding that you don’t have to be a jerk to be a good artist.
• The ability to prepare a project thoroughly and efficiently, and on time.
• Quality performing opportunities with tireless personal mentoring in all the skills of the singing actor.
• A deep appreciation of the great artists on whose shoulders we stand, the legacy they’ve left us and our responsibility to that legacy. My teachers encouraged hero worship; encouraged me to be inspired by greatness, past and present.
• Respect for the possibilities and limits of my voice. What repertoire am I suited for, and what is best left for others?
• A good working knowledge of the major languages; which is even more important for the next generation as most of the English-language companies I started with now produce in the original language.
• A deep respect for the craft of the singing-actor, the composer’s score and for rehearsing. Mr. Tajo often referred to the theater as a ‘church’, the craft as ‘religion’ and the composer’s score (with Tajo’s staging) as ‘the Bible’.
Additionally, I believe we should be honest with our students about the lifestyle of a performer and the stress it can put on relationships. And we should be frank with our students that life on the road can be very lonely and insecure. Those very real feelings can be dealt with many ways, several of which are not particularly healthy.
We should be honest with our students about their financial prospects as classical singers today. They should know that 99.9% of us have filled in the gaps with a myriad of temp jobs. There is no shame in thinking and planning in college for alternative sources of income.
We should do all we can to help them enter their career with eyes WIDE open, and prepared for as much of its uncertainty as possible.
So, what is my advice to someone considering moving from a performing career to teaching?
First, as I mentioned, please don’t teach simply for the ‘steady paycheck.’
Secondly, although you’ve achieved success as a performer, realize that what works well for you may not work for someone else. Seek out approaches and pedagogical ideas other than those you yourself use. As foreign as some ideas may seem to you, it is possible to find solutions for your students outside your own experience as a singer. Don’t be afraid to read a book, or attend a pedagogy seminar. If you’ve been busy singing over the past twenty years, you’ll be surprised how much valuable information is now readily available thanks to teacher-researchers like Richard Miller, Scott McCoy, Paul Kiesgen and others.
Realize that as a career performer you have been among exceptionally skilled and gifted singers. In academia your students will have a much wider variety of skill levels and gifts. Teach them where they are, not where you wish they were. Your students will also have a variety of career goals or may be just discovering their goals. Do what you can to help them find and achieve their goals, not yours.
Don’t be afraid to admit you don’t know it all. No one does. While trusting what you do know, develop a circle of trusted colleagues whose experience and wisdom can supplement yours. If you don’t have the answer for a student, ask someone who might. Don’t be afraid to admit you don’t know something; it’s always the first step in learning.
Finally, realize, trust and accept that your job as a teacher is to give the best information you can, and where possible inspire singers to do whatever is necessary to explore, nurture and grow into their unique talents. But realize that you are typically with them for an hour or two weekly, maybe slightly more. The burden of their improvement is on them, as that responsibility has always been on you in your singing. Your students’ singing is theirs, not yours. As difficult as it may be to accept, your influence over the excellence of the outcome may be much less than you experience as a performer.
Years ago, someone gave me these ‘rules for life’, which apply to teaching and with which I’ll close:
Show up.
Pay attention.
Tell the truth.
Release the results.
(Copyright 2009, by David Small. All Rights Reserved)