When Lauren Elkin was a child, she took lessons with a voice teacher in Northport, Long Island, who would get her to perform in front of a mirror. Singing songs from the Italian classical repertoire, Elkin – who was a soprano – was required to smile and lift up her eyebrows as she sang since “it helps with placement”. She was told her breathing should come not from the chest but the diaphragm, and that she must smooth over the vocal break, which is where the chest voice changes into the head voice.
Elkin practised hard to make her voice “nearly featureless”, even though she secretly wanted to rebel. Looking back, she wishes she’d understood that she could “work with, not against the imperfections in my voice … with its different colours and resonances, its scratches and cracks like skips on a record, its atmospheric flaws … Embracing the flaws can strengthen the work; through vulnerability can come power.”
