Subject: RE: Unaccompanied Singing - How & Why!
From:
Don Firth
Date: 12 Mar 03 - 01:51 PM
For years I always sang with accompaniment. It never occurred to me not to. The first time I ever heard someone singing without accompaniment was the late Ewan MacColl at the 1960 Berkeley Folk Festival. He carried a chair on stage, set it down backwards, straddled the chair, leaned his arms on its back, put a hand behind his ear, and started singing. For about forty-five minutes he sang classic Scottish ballads—no accompaniment, just his voice spinning tales of battles, treacheries, thwarted loves, foul murders, fierce loyalties, and heroic deeds—all in stark, pure, undiluted song.
It was a revelation! Ballads. The telling of a story—unadorned. Nothing to draw your attention away from the narrative. None of the usual distractions of "Hmm. Nice picking pattern" or "Tricky bass run" or "Wow! I never would have thought of using a minor chord there!" Just the story. I think I learned something basic that evening. Singing ballads, singing any song, is telling a story. Even a comic song or lyrical lament with no perceivable narrative always implies that there is a story behind it.
But for some reason, it never occurred to me to set the guitar aside. Lately, though, I've been learning a lot of songs, especially adding Child ballads to my repertoire—the ones I had on a list and was going to get around to, but never did—and in the process, instead of my usual routine of starting to learn the song with my guitar in my lap, I leave the guitar in its case. I first consider the story in general and try to make sure I fully understand what's going on, including the parts where there is no explanation (why did Edward murder his bother-in-law? No clear reason given in the ballad, just a dark hint). Then I learn the words as if it were a poem. Then I add the melody, and sing it until I have it down pat. Then, I reach for the guitar to begin working out an accompaniment. But at that point, sometimes I find that an accompaniment doesn't really enhance the song. It can actually distract from it. I go ahead and work one out anyway, but very often now, I decide not to use it.
One evening a few months ago at a songfest, I uncorked a few unaccompanied ballads for the first time—including singing, unaccompanied, one that I had been doing with the guitar. And the response was most gratifying. A couple of people commented that they had never really paid that much attention to the stories before. A couple others said they'd been hearing me for years but hadn't realized 'til then what a "great voice" I had (always nice to hear!). One fellow who has been playing and singing for years said, "God! Ballads. I wish I had the kind of voice to sing them like that!" Actually, he does, but he's so used to hiding behind his guitar that he'd probably feel naked and embarrassed without it.
An accompaniment is only that. It should be like the frame of a painting. If people look at a painting and say, "Gee, isn't that a nice frame?" then someone has screwed up somewhere. Oftentimes the accompaniment is compelling enough that it's about all people pay attention to, and a wonderful, powerful story told in a centuries-old classic song or ballad gets lost in all the fancy fingerwork.
I love playing the guitar, and I always will. But I've recently discovered that singing without it is a very freeing experience. If you haven't done it, give it a try. You might be surprised!
Don Firth
P.S: Now the trick is to get the compulsive accompanists to keep their hands off their instruments when I want to sing without accompaniment.
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sj
