Voice Lessons
In a TikTok for the Met Opera, Anthony Roth Costanzo shows the process of waxing his entire body for his title role in Philip Glass’s Akhnaten.
It sounds a bit excessive (though actors have gone to greater extremes to “get into character”). But it serves a clear purpose.
In Akhnaten’s opening scene, Costanzo is naked onstage. He appears, hairless, even more otherworldly, reinforcing that image of monotheism’s founder.
Chiedu Egbuniwe writes for the Advocate about how Costanzo’s portrayal of Akhnaten is queer- and trans-coded. In the countertenor’s duet with Nefertiti, sung by mezzo-soprano Rihab Chaieb, there is an especially beautiful moment when the vocal lines cross.
The portrayal makes sense, as reliefs and sculptures of Akhnaten, the historical figure, show him with androgynous features. (It’s debated whether this was due to religious symbolism, genetics, or something else.)
When I wrote to Costanzo after seeing Akhnaten last June, expressing my admiration for his performance, and asking for advice on a voice teacher, he graciously recommended countertenor Daniel Moody.
Coincidentally, I’d seen Moody perform two week earlier, without even knowing it. He’d made his Met debut stepping in as Rosencrantz in Brett Dean’s Hamlet, the first opera I saw after moving to New York City.
Wayne Koestenbaum writes of the gay-male obsession with opera divas in The Queen’s Throat. I, on the other hand, have long listened to, and somehow identified with, countertenors.
I don’t always like my speaking voice, which feels like it has a mind of its own. While I can, very consciously, lower it — luxuriating in its warm, throaty register — it’s easy to let slip.
The moment I get excited — or frightened, or fawning — it rises back up, sometimes to an almost comical squeak.
Any dysphoria I have, however, doesn’t apply to my singing voice. Though high, I’ve always felt there is something timbrally “masculine” about it (though that may be something only I hear).
Even so, I never had a voice lesson until this year. Any apprehension dissipated, however, during my first lesson with Moody. Working on Handel’s aria “Lascia ch’io pianga,” which I’d heard Costanzo sing in a recording, felt incredibly gender affirming.
In one lesson, I asked obsessively, “What is my voice type?” as if the answer would reveal some profound personal truth. “Am I a soprano? A lyric mezzo? What am I?”
Moody looked at me blankly. He explained that, as you can train your voice to do lots of things, the question is largely meaningless.
Lately, we’ve been working on Cherubino’s aria “Voi Che Sapete” from Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro. We’re still working mostly on vowels, which feels at times ridiculous. (You can hear my practice tape of what I like to call “oy eh ah eh eh” below.)
In this famous trouser role, Cherubino is a pubescent boy singing of his horniness for the countess. Later, he’s disguised as a girl, creating layers of irony, like in the film Victor/Victoria.
Sometimes, I, too, feel like a girl that is a boy that is a girl. While I’ve thought about going on T, I’ve mostly concluded that now is not the time. But even if I were to, I think I’d try and keep some of my high singing voice, if possible.
On Thursday, Feb. 9, I had my first “gender-affirming voice group” meeting as part of NYU’s speech clinic. We practiced phonating through a straw, and I downloaded a vocal pitch analyzer on my phone.
Much like a tuning app, the pitch analyzer provides immediate feedback. This is useful, as my speaking voice often sounds lower in my head than it does to others. But some of it feels quite rigid.
For example, stray too high and I’m in the pink “female” territory. The blue “male” territory feels impossibly low. I aim for the “androgynous” territory — the thin, grey line between the two.
Obviously, my gender cannot be reduced to an arbitrary number of Hertz. And besides, a lot more things contribute to a “female-” or “male-” or “androgynous-” sounding voice than pitch.
I’m certain I’ll be writing about these lessons, both singing and speaking, again on Poison Put to Sound. But for now, I’m thinking of a lyric from “Voi Che Sapete”:
“Ricerco un bene/ fuori di me,/ non so chi'l tiene,/ non so cos'è.”
“I look for a treasure/ outside of myself,/ I’m not sure who holds it,/ or what it is.”