1.1.3.d Origin Stories Part 3

Mar 10

Origin Stories Part 3

YouTube changed everything. I’ve used it to learn cabinet-painting techniques and to rescue a tractor from the mud—and chances are you discovered Singers at Play there, too. If you don’t remember life before YouTube, let me tell you: it was different. Singers couldn’t instantly compare dozens of recordings of the same piece or see performers of all abilities tackling those songs. You might buy an album—if one even existed—and it typically featured only top-tier professionals. Today, between YouTube, and its rivals you can find singers of all types performing songs of every possible variety. I embraced this new opportunity from the start, encouraging students: “Find a singer you like and do a deep dive. Find someone whose voice is similar to yours, then see what else they’re performing.” It became a fun research tool, offering real singers on video.

One day, my student EC burst into her lesson with a must-see video. She was right—it was amazing. The vocalist, CM, had Broadway credits but was moving toward concert work. Her technique was flawless—if you could bottle it, you’d be rich. EC was so inspired she wanted to sing the same piece. It was a stretch, so I suggested we look for more of SD’s repertoire to find something EC could tackle. A week later, EC returned with more videos—still impeccable—and discovered that SD was also writing her own music, though it wasn’t published. EC pushed me: “Here’s her email, Piero. Ask for the songs.” I hesitated, but eventually did. That simple step started a correspondence with SD, and about a year later, she agreed to come to Vermont for a workshop with my students.

One day, my student EC burst into her lesson with a must-see video. She was right—it was amazing. The vocalist, CM, had Broadway credits but was moving toward concert work. Her technique was flawless—if you could bottle it, you'd be rich. EC was so inspired she wanted to sing the same piece. It was a stretch, so I suggested we look for more of CM's repertoire to find something EC could tackle. A week later, EC returned with more videos—still impeccable—and discovered that CM was also writing her own music, though it wasn't published. EC pushed me: "Here's her email, Piero. Ask for the songs." I hesitated, but eventually did. That simple step started a correspondence with CM, and about a year later, she agreed to come to Vermont for a workshop with my students.

Everyone was thrilled but also anxious. By then, I'd met CM in person—she was warm and encouraging, yet her talent could be intimidating. We planned to end the workshop with a performance, and she arrived in time for a rehearsal the night before. Personally, I love rehearsals; performances can be magical, but the playful, spontaneous give-and-take in rehearsal is its own kind of wonder. Sitting at the piano, hearing her up close, I had to ask how she'd discovered such spot-on technique.

We'd already discussed what she did and how, but not how she discovered it. That's crucial because it's often a mystery without a clear explanation. Fortunately, CM had a vivid memory.

She started with her impressive background: a stellar children's choir in elementary school, formal classical training from middle school, acceptance at NYU as a "legit" soprano. Although she enjoyed legit roles, she really wanted to belt. Her teacher wasn't anti-belting so much as, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," and it's hard to argue with an institution whose grads dominate Broadway. Left to her own devices, CM experimented in her dorm room, sometimes singing full-throttle into a pillow so no one would hear.

Everyone was thrilled but also anxious. By then, I’d met SD in person—she was warm and encouraging, yet her talent could be intimidating. We planned to end the workshop with a performance, and she arrived in time for a rehearsal the night before. Personally, I love rehearsals; performances can be magical, but the playful, spontaneous give-and-take in rehearsal is its own kind of wonder. Sitting at the piano, hearing her up close, I had to ask how she’d discovered such spot-on technique.

We’d already discussed what she did and how, but not how she discovered it. That’s crucial because it’s often a mystery without a clear explanation. Fortunately, SD had a vivid memory.

She started with her impressive background: a stellar children’s choir in elementary school, formal classical training from middle school, acceptance at NYU as a “legit” soprano. Although she enjoyed legit roles, she really wanted to belt. Her teacher wasn’t anti-belting so much as, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” and it’s hard to argue with an institution whose grads dominate Broadway. Left to her own devices, SD experimented in her dorm room, sometimes singing full-throttle into a pillow so no one would hear. “I just played around with my voice,” she said. Eventually, she felt brave enough to share her discoveries publicly, and before long she was booked in a national tour of Wicked. Not bad, and if you’ve heard her recordings, you know just how remarkable those discoveries are.

Years ago, I hoped she’d reveal a “magic belting formula” that my students were eager to learn. There she was, about to unveil her big secret. But it was simple: no magic recipe—just a playful process. Maybe you lock yourself in a room, bark like a dog, or jam to the Bee Gees. It’s all good, but the first step is letting go of whatever preconceptions hold you back. As with those “don’t think of a pink elephant” scenarios, the more we cling to rules, the harder it is to break free.

Origin Story Part III(b)

One more thing. CT, another student at the masterclass was already a great belter, one of the very best I’ve worked with. She’d glide over incredibly rough passages with ease, but they were often followed by conversations like this.

CT - “yeah that was fine, but it wasn’t belting.”

PB - “It sure sounded like belting to me.”

CT - “Maybe, but it doesn’t feel like belting.”

PB - “How so? Does it hurt? What’s wrong?”

CT - “No, it’s just too easy.”

We could not get over this hurdle, so I was interested to see what happened when she sang for CM. She did, and a near repeat of the conversation above started up. CM stopped her quickly and said, “Ok, makes sense, sing it again and try to make it feel the way it’s supposed to.” There was a difference, CT’s sound was still great, but more forced, maybe a bit more twangy, I can’t remember the details. At the end, they had a conversation.

CM - “How was that?”

CT - “Better, That was belting.”

CM -”How’d it feel?”

CT - “I was definitely working harder. It wasn’t painful, but things were tighter, maybe.”

CM - “Well, personally, I thought the first one sounded better, and if it’s easier, that’s what I’d do.”

CT - “But I wasn’t belting.”

CM - “Yes you were.”

CT - “Oh, really? Wow! I thought it was supposed to be harder!”

CM - “Well, clearly it isn’t for you!”

CT - “Thank you so much! Amazing!”

Yep. Teachers, parents, friends, we all know that feeling. Same message, different messenger, and voilà!

In this case all CT needed was reassurance from a more knowledgeable other (more on that peculiar phrasing in a moment). Of course, I was one of those people too, but in this case, not knowledgable enough. CT trusted me, but I was a 45 year old dude, how could I know what it was really supposed to feel like. She was right! I didn’t and never will because I’m not her. CM being a young, female, exceptionally well trained star had more than enough credibility to bust through.

The roadblock on display here “that’s not belting,” is a variation of “that’s not my voice.” Before I married a psychologist, that line made me bristle—“Then whose voice is it?” Okay, I still bristle sometimes, but as a properly retrained husband I respond differently. My frustration masked my ignorance, both physiologically and psychologically. Now, I respond differently: “Yep, I know that feeling. But I wonder, should we get to know this new voice, or send it away?” This response sets up a playful exploration, my old line sets up a conflict over who knows best.

Think back to the the “strawberry” lesson. A singer might doubt a breakthrough if the sensation doesn’t match their expectation. If a teacher once insisted “belting should hurt” or “falsetto must feel light,” that belief is lodged in the singer’s mind, ready to override real progress. Moreover, adults’ brains become more rigid and skeptical. When new sensations arise, the adult brain tries to wedge them into a “round hole.” If the new feeling is a “square peg,” the brain deems it wrong—leading to “That’s not my voice” or “That’s not a real belt.”

Scientific Principles from Origin Story III

The challenges and opportunities in this story can be explained along two lines of thought. The first is grounded in established cognitive development theories—material you’ve likely encountered in educational psychology courses or everyday teaching practice. The second, the Default Mode Network (DMN), is a newer line of inquiry that first popped onto my radar through Michael Pollan’s How to Change Your Mind. We’ll touch on both briefly here, and if you want to dig deeper, you’ll find links to white papers on these topics in the lesson’s materials.

Cognitive Development (Piaget & Vygotsky)

Jean Piaget (1896–1980), a Swiss psychologist, is famous for his theory that we develop our thinking in four stages:

Sensorimotor
Preoperational
Concrete Operational
Formal Operational

Each stage ushers in more structured thinking, which can make true “play” tougher as we get older. What felt natural and uninhibited to a six-year-old can seem forced or awkward to an adult.

Lev Vygotsky, a Soviet psychologist, also made a profound impact by exploring how social interaction, culture, and societal norms shape our learning. His concept of the More Knowledgeable Other (MKO) suggests that if someone we trust—like a respected teacher or mentor—says, “Belting will wreck your voice,” or, “You can’t sing,” we’re likely to believe them, sometimes for years. This can hold us back until new evidence (or a new MKO) overrides that belief.

The Default Mode Network (DMN)

A more recent area of study related to our sense of self and internal “narratives” is the Default Mode Network (DMN). In the simplest terms, the DMN is the part of our brain that lights up when we’re not actively focused on a specific task—like when we’re daydreaming or reflecting on our own thoughts.

So how does this tie into singing? When we say, “That’s not my voice” or, “That can’t be belting,” our DMN might be kicking in, protecting the identity we’ve built around our voice. Any new vocal technique can feel foreign—almost as if it’s not ours—so the DMN raises a flag: “Hold on, this isn’t how we sound!” This can create internal conflict that stifles experimentation. But here’s the good news: the DMN also has a creative side. It helps us imagine different possibilities and even adopt playful mindsets. This is where “pretending” to be another singer can short-circuit those rigid self-perceptions. By immersing ourselves in a persona, we coax the DMN to loosen its grip and make room for fresh, more liberated ways of singing.

Connecting the Dots

You’re probably connecting the dots—from those baby call-and-response lessons, to the “strawberry” analogy about the intangible nature of voice, to RJ’s Bee Gees breakthrough, to Felix’s barking lesson with the ski-racing singer and finally, the revelations of the masterclass weekend. It all comes down to play. These stories highlight a method that can work for anyone. At the same time both long-established science and new lines of inquiry reveal how your brain is tuned to resist. Piaget and Vygotsky show us that human development and social influences can nudge us into rigid categories of thinking—and singing. While, the Default Mode Network locks in sense of “this is who I am” that can run deep. These neurological adaptations can be frustrating, but they are ingredients in a complex evolutionary stew that has kept the species going. If you try to just bulldoze your way through them, you’ll lose, but you can get them to play nice with the right approach.

Brief Summary

This story underlines how deeply ingrained beliefs and mental frameworks can either stifle or unlock our full vocal expression. Through examples of students who discover belting and new vocal qualities by experimenting playfully, it becomes clear that fresh, uninhibited approaches often trump rigid, preconceived notions. By recognizing how cognitive development (Piaget, Vygotsky) and the Default Mode Network shape our sense of self, singers can work with—rather than against—these mental patterns to embrace a freer, more authentic voice.

Rigid Self-Perception: Adults often resist new vocal sensations, believing, “That’s not my voice.”
Influence of Trusted Mentors: Vygotsky’s “More Knowledgeable Other” can validate or invalidate our singing beliefs for years.
Default Mode Network (DMN): This brain region manages our self-image; loosening its grip allows experimentation and vocal breakthroughs.
Power of Play: Fun, exploratory approaches help override limiting narratives, revealing unexpected ease in singing.

Exercise or Activity: “Shift Your Vocal Identity”

Baseline Recording: Record yourself singing a short passage as you usually would (just one verse or chorus of a familiar song).
Self-Awareness Note: Jot down any immediate thoughts or judgments—e.g., “That doesn’t sound like me” or “This style is uncomfortable.”
Adopt a New Role: Mentally imagine yourself as a different singer or character—someone whose vocal style you admire.
Re-Record: Sing the same passage while adopting that persona, focusing on how your body and voice might adjust when you “become” this new singer.
Compare & Reflect: Listen back to both recordings. Did this role-play ease tension or spark unexpected qualities in your voice? Note which approach felt more natural and how you can incorporate that ease into your regular singing practice.