Riley Jordan

For centuries, singing technique has been fraught with superstition, ego and reckless assumptions. Various singing teachers would purport to have the most effective methods and wars between various technical factions would be as vehement as the famous singing rivalry between opera stars Maria Callas and Renata Tebaldi.

What’s this old stuff got to do with modern singing techniques? Well for a long time, the so called elevated study of operatic singing was considered the most superior model for teaching singing.   Many a voice was battered and bruised on the rocks of classical voice technique.

While I was not a casualty of classical singing.   It was a bad choice for me as a modern, belt based singer.   Unfortunately, when I was learning there was no other option. But there is now!

The life of Jo Estill is has been dedicated to researching how the voice works.   She originally started as a talent young opera singer, but she could never get past one question.   How am I doing this?   She was never 100% sure if she could reproduce those notes because she did not know exactly how it was happening.   No-one could answer her questions. Everyone had their theories but no facts.

She set off on an extraordinary career of vocal research and developed a whole method of training for all styles of singing.   This includes modern belt or rock singing as well as all the usual classical to cabaret styles.  You can get some more information about her here : http://www.trainmyvoice.com/

I was lucky enough to attend one of Jo Estill’s two day workshops when she came to Melbourne a number of years ago. Lucky me.

What are your favouite vocal techniques? Please feel free to leave a comment.

http://rileyjordan.com.au/diary/

© 2009 Riley Jordan All Rights Reserved

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Nightingale had moved from Adelaide to Melbourne not long before I had arrived in town.   She had a difficult upbringing, with a wicked witch alcoholic step mother and a father who had all but abandoned her to the world. She was a couple of years older than me and she was a good singer.   She had done a bit of acting work and seemed very worldly to me.  She knew all these session singers, who did all the ad work on telly and I was very impressed.

Nightingale was a survivor. She was doing the night shift at the local 7/11, as well as the odd gig and hawking around town for acting work. I was so lucky in comparison. I had family support, a job and I was resourceful.

My first gig came about as a result of the Entertainment section at the back of  ‘The Age’ newspaper.  This 20cm column was the repository of hopes and dreams for musicians all over Melbourne.  Every Saturday cover bands and original bands seeking singers, drummers, bass players etc.. would post an ad.  The ones to look out for had ‘work waiting’.

The music scene was healthy, with gigs for up to three or four nights a week not uncommon, six or seven nights a week if you were really in demand.  There were about 40 singers turning up for lead vocalist auditions for cover bands, usually in someones garage or in a grungy rehearsal shed where you’d inevitably end up playing next to some heavy metal wannabes in the next tiny cubical.  The PAs were small and crappy, the Marshall stacks were huge and the drummers only played at 11.  It was a nightmare for a singer.  In these early days I often got the gig.  I didn’t think twice about it.  For me, being in a cover band was just experience, it was never the end goal.

So soon after moving to the big smoke, I got my first official gig in a cover band. Woo Hoo!   I remember rehearsing with them for a couple of months and then it all fell apart. I can’t remember why. It gave me valuable experience with a full professional band. Learn your songs, turn up for rehearsals, negotiate relationships – all good.

The day that first professional band fell apart, I remember receiving a letter from my summer romance saying that he had moved to the USA and was getting married.  So this is life huh?    © 2009 Riley Jordan All Rights Reserved

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I had just moved from central Victoria to Melbourne and I had no idea where to start.  You might as well have put me in a barrel and thrown me over Niagara falls.  So I began auditioning for cover bands and I had also landed my first day job. A clerk at an electronics company.    As if that was not enough, I had just finished a summer romance which had left me a little dazed and confused.

Hi, my name is Nightingale.”  She said with a big smile full of even white teeth.  Her name was not Nightingale but she had this bent of giving everyone, including herself, animal names.  She would get to know you for a while and then you would be christened with your new name. I was to become the Chameleon.  A big frill necked lizard with iridescent colors that changed and flowed…whatever.

The year was 1981 and we met at the ‘Academy of Entertainers’.   A dubious institution which was really just a front for a bunch of second rate music teachers.  Nightingale and I had rocked up for a course in sight singing.  It soon became clear that we weren’t going to learn much, as by the third lesson, we were still on ‘what is the major scale’ and so we nicked off.  But a seminal friendship in my life was born.

So Nightingale was my first anchor.  She lived in a funky part of the inner city called Windsor.  This was an interesting place for a country girl to visit.  It was a hangout ‘hood for wannabe actors,  lost souls and screaming queens.  With my typical easy going attitude I took it all in stride.   So began my life long love of larger than life characters.    © 2009 Riley Jordan All Rights Reserved

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When Big Brother burst onto my TV screen I was hooked, but not for the same reasons most fans were. While most people were glued to the set with voyaristic expectation, I was relating to what was going on in the house in a deja-vu kind of way.

It was the TV show that most resembled life in a rock band. Let me set the scene.

“Hi my name is Riley and I’m just calling about the ad in the paper for lead singer” (This is the equivalent of applying for Big Brother) “Great Riley, we’re getting together for reheasals tomorrow night, can you make it?” (This is like attending the Audition for Big Brother) “No worries, what songs should I bring?” “Do you know Mustang Sally?” (This is the equivalent to pretending that you love doing daggy things to get a spot on the show) “Yea, Great. See you then.”

Then you get the gig and all of a sudden your in a rehersal room with people who have been chosen for their looks and/or skill and possibly with little else in common. Then you start to rehearse 4 times a week. Then it turns into the Big Brother house.

• Aliances are formed and sides lobby for musical directions.
• The drummer thinks he can boss around the lead singer because he’s an accountant by day and he doesn’t answer to chicks.
• The guitarist cannot stop playing too loud even between songs.
• The bass player is winging about geting publishing points for the originals even though he’s never written a song in his life.
• The keyboard player is picking songs that he personally likes and no-one else does and he’s digging his heels in unless he gets his way.
• The singer who is also the songwriter sees everyone elses song ideas as inferior.
• The accountant doesn’t want to spend money on posters because he just wants to pull a bird after the show (even though he’s married) and doesn’t want to spend money.
• The bass player doesn’t want to do country gigs.
• The keyboard player knows the booking agent personally so he has all the power.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I think Big Brother was a very watered down version of this but the dynamic of putting people in a situation with no clear leadership from totally diverse backgrounds is pretty evident. The main differences between being in a band and Big Brother are twofold. Firstly, as a band you are not together 24 hours per day (although you are if you are on the road).   Secondly, there is no ‘Big Brother’ to save you.              © 2009 Riley Jordan All Rights Reserved

Have you got a band story that curls the toes??  Please feel free to leave a comment.

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There’s nothing like owning your first car. Living in central Victoria meant open roads and speed limits of up to 100kmph. Accelerator goes full on, accelerator goes full off, accelerator goes full on, accelerator goes full off.

I had taken to improving my stature around school by driving myself in.

I remember the morning of my last exam for HSC (pre VCE). In those days your academic future rested 100% on the end of year exams and some young minds literally blew circuits because of it. In fact two of my friends had nervous breakdowns in that year.

So I’m speeding along the Calder Hwy on the way to my last exam (maths). I was literally wired on adrenaline. I swerved out to overtake a semi-trailer on the double lane when there was a huge bang.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!

I pulled over. Accelerator says no. Bugger.

I didn’t know it at the time but I had blown a piston. Boy, THAT was loud. I can’t remember how I got to the next town but I have a vivid memory of running through the streets to the exam. Fade to black.

The next memory is vividly etched in my mind. I’m standing on the corner of the main street, waiting for my ride, out front of the Safeway supermarket. The Highway swings around 90 degrees right in front of here, so that I am looking right down the barrel of a never ending road.

I was so pumped with excitement. My life was finally starting and the road was ahead of me – literally. I had endured school for 12 long boring years. I had secretly made a decision at the age of 14, to have a life in music and now I was finally free to start. The moment was so full of meaning. I was having my own little inner ritual right here on the pavement. The past was over, turn the page…

© 2009 Riley Jordan All Rights Reserved

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