I began my introduction to the world of music at a very young age. When I was four, I was hit with a case of strep throat. In order to ease my discomfort, my parents let me sleep the day away in their waterbed (it was the 70s after all.) My mother put on some classical music to soothe and lull me.  I was soothed, but far from lulled. Instead my fascination with what was playing struck me profoundly. I asked my mother what she was playing. It was the Beethoven Bicentennial Collection put out by Deutsche Grammaphon. The pieces played—Bagatelles, Sonatas, Concerti—were wonderful. I insisted that I wanted to begin studying piano. As chance would have it my parents were babysitting a piano for some friends and set all of the children to study. I stayed with it and continued my keyboard studies on through high school, having the fortune to study with the renowned JoAnne McNiell, whose technique can be traced directly back to Leopold Godowski, the legendary pianist.

When I was eight, I began composing. I was hearing melodic and harmonic structures in my head and sat at the keyboard, trying to work them out into my hands. As this process became faster I began writing the music down. I had caught the “composition bug.” Often, when I was supposed to be practicing, I spent the time composing instead. My mother jokingly called it “de-composing,” teasing me into practice.

When I entered middle school, I joined the string orchestra. I took up the double-bass. It was fun to learn a new instrument, but, in all honesty, it was really tough hauling that instrument to and from school. I am not a tall guy as an adult. In seventh grade I was even shorter. UGH! I continued to play in the orchestra when I entered high school, but moved to the cello. I loved playing the cello, although I was never really fantastic at it. However, I had the chance to play in a youth symphony orchestra, which was a terrific thrill. It was at this time I began accompanying musicians and participating in chamber music. One of my closest friends and musical colleagues in school was Juliana Brown (now Zolynas.) She was an astounding violinist. Through accompanying her and playing in a piano trio with our friend Peter Morgan, I was introduced to some magnificent string works. I did the “piano competition thing,” with some successes and some failures. Yet, as much as I adore the instrument, I never felt like I fully found my stride as a solo pianist. I was able to create music with great expression and always had a knack for finding the right “feel” for a piece, but I often lacked the technical proficiency to fully realize them. In the back of my mind I wondered if something else was musically in store for me.

As I graduated from high school and began college I was introduced to choral music. The power of voices united in message was overwhelming for me. The human voice is such an astounding means of expression—so pure, so honest. To hear a group of voices together in unified expression, thought and spirit is a potent experience.  I had found my place.

I was fortunate to continue my keyboard studies with Laurel Brettel at San Jose State University, and equally as lucky to work with the late Jeanne Garson in voice. My musical life seems to have been guided by the mastery of women, and the final culmination of this training fell to Dr. Charlene Archibeque. Her sheer technique as a conductor is unsurpassed, and her rehearsal technique is prodigious. She was a wonderful and challenging mentor.

I completed my MA in Conducting at SJSU. In this program, I had one final musical transformation from my work with Dr. William Meredith, Director of the Ira F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies. Not only did he persevere to see me through the program, but constantly challenged the way I thought about music. He pushed the boundaries of my concept of music, making me question gender issues in music, cultural representation in music, and sexuality in music.

As a result, I find myself today making music with three diverse, inspiring choral organizations and helping singers unlock their vocal potential through voice instruction. I count my blessings every day that I can be so fulfilled in what I do. The journey here was far from easy, and my choices were not always the best. However, I am the culmination of all my experiences and I am proud to be the man I am today.

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Teaching Philosophy

In the choir….
Expressive, unified & free, potent: these are the paramount qualities I seek in a choral ensemble.


Expressive
The only thing that separates instrumental music from vocal music is a text. Understanding the cultural, poetic, symbological and historical aspects of a text is fundamental to the approach of a work. Only from here can one determine vocal color, tempo, articulation and, of course, emotional connection (subtext.)

Unified & Free
Unifying the sound of an ensemble is integral to a fulfilling musical aesthetic. Without this, the ensemble is merely a group of singers making sounds at the same time. Creating an ensemble sound that is totally unified, but without any tension or lack of complete release of each individual’s voice, is the core of my philosophy of choral sound. Aspects of vibrato and tone (bright versus dark) are secondary to tuning, style and balance. A heavy production and dark color, for example, are out of place in an early music work in which the musical sounds of the time (as indicated by the instruments of the day) were clearer, lighter and more “pure.”  Works that contain a lot of clusters require less vibrato since the close pitches create a “vibrato” effect of their own as the out of phase pitch frequencies “beat” against one another. But all of these attributes can be achieved through a free, spinning tone that is “equalized” and balanced across the section and the choir. Interestingly, the more fully produced the tone, the easier it is to unify. The result is a sound that is at once complete and satisfying to hear, but never disturbed by individual voices.

Potent
When the ensemble truly understands what they are singing, why they are singing it, and how to sing it, the result is a performance experience that totally resonates physically and spiritually with the listener. In a Jungian sense, the listener is hearing the message through the “collective conscious,” the universal meanings of the words and music transcending time and space.

With the solo voice….

When working with the solo voice, I attempt to help the singer discover their true sound, without artificial or “muscled” production. Finding the even balance between breath-release and laryngeal phonation makes for an efficient, full, free and natural sound. The focus of my teaching lies in process, not product. When the singer can truly understand that the sound generated is a by-product of a series of muscular gestures in the body, then they can start to understand how to coordinate their instrument. I attempt to help the singer make these discoveries though:

• negotiating the difference between the breathing system (which muscle groups draw the air in and out) and the support system (which muscles are used for support)
  
  
• posture correction
  
  
• vowel production (specifically how one shapes each vowel)
  
  
• simplification of breathing (for singers often over-breathe)
  
  
• identifying and developing strength and flexibility of the support muscle groups (lower abdominals and obliques)
  
  
• maintaining a loose jaw
  
  
• keeping the shoulders and neck muscles loose
  
  
• keeping the umbilical region (from the solar-plexus to the belly button) unclenched

Freeing the instrument’s technique is only a means to an end. Ultimately, the expression of the work, the drama, the character, and the subtext all need to be there as well, else the performance is flat and one-dimensional. Often, freeing the dramatic considerations of a piece can help a singer free their voice. A block such as this usually stems from a performer’s fear, paralyzing them from singing more freely and prohibiting them from dramatically connecting to the work.

While there is a basic process I follow when I teach, each person is unique, with their own vocal issues and fears. Working through these fears and re-directing the bad vocal habits is as extraordinary a journey as each person. Whether the piece requires a “legit” sound (for lack of a better way to put it) or a musical theatre belt or a “smoky” jazz sound, the technical process for the singer is fundamentally the same.

My greatest joy comes from helping a person discover their voice—their means of expression—relinquishing their fears and empowering their instrument.