Desire
I desire to express in my songs all that
I have found lovely, bittersweet, ugly, desperate, burdened, riveting,
inscrutable, and all too human in my time. "Kleinkunst" (small or
intimate art) and "Kabarett" (cabaret) are my favorite mediums, for
though performing in larger halls with a cabaret ensemble or a big band
can be thrilling, the larger the space, the less I feel the audience.
My audience is a part of what identifies me as a singer. I like to
think that as a chanteuse, one is not so much before an audience as in
it, exchanging experiences, emotions, laughter and
"Blickgeplänkel" (eye play). This is what it's all about for me. I
hope that when people leave my shows, they'll go make love, or plans,
or chocolate mousse.
As Artist
My art is an art of nuance. I use my
body to channel air through space, my intelligence to communicate what
someone has composed lyrically and musically, and my spirit to set it
free. I like to chuckle, choke, whisper, sigh, growl, breathe and moan.
I like to sit, stand, bend, twist, and face the audience with my back.
I
am a painter, a scene-maker. I want my audience to see a scene unfold
through me. I use tools I've brought from vocal studies and theater,
using a singing voice as well as a "Sprechstimme," (speaking voice) to
turn songs into "un drame condense," a mini-drama. Going first by words
and then by melody, and using a broad palette of expressions, I seek to
bring color to my songs and thereby to illuminate my subject, the
atmosphere, and the age.
I am a choreographer. I use gesture to accentuate an idea, a line or a
word. My sensuality is expressed gesturally. I am a masquerader. I love
to dress the part. I am also an exhibitionist; the most essential Karen
Kohler exists before a receptive and open audience.
I
am a thief. I don't borrow something; I steal it and put my own
signature on it. There will only ever be one Lotte Lenya, Marlene
Dietrich, Maria Callas. Imitation may be the highest form of flattery,
but I leave it to the men, the male impersonators, to transform
themselves into these ladies. I prefer to call myself an evoker and
honor those who have come before by giving myself fully to what I
appropriate. The mentors and muses whom I've heard and watched, from
whom I've stolen and whose humanity and style have influenced my own
are, most notably: Lenya, Dietrich, Connee Boswell, Jo Stafford, Elis
Regina, Eva Cassidy, Fred Astaire and Frank Sinatra. Among the living,
KD Lang and Lyle Lovett inspire in equal measure. If Yvette Guilbert is
the long-gone mother of my song, Leonard Cohen is its our pater
familias (hearing him live is like being in church). And Tom? Tom Waits
just makes me grin into my gin.
I am a preservationist. From the moment I came upon the songs of early
20th century Europe — inventive, fresh, daring, lyrical, ironic, dark,
sexy — I was hooked. I became committed to the preservation of this
music, to the authentic re-interpretation of these lyrics, in my own
time. Toward that end, I am a passionate singer.
I am a bridge. Born in Germany, raised in the U.S. and now a dual
citizen, I know that I am uniquely suited to this art form. I have made
my own journey across time and place, as have my songs.
Words & Diction
Singing
is minimally about technique and tone. For some it is very much about
text. Every word has its own life, form, line, color, sound, body and
soul. Words are something like directions in a song that point to the
meaning. I frequently sing in languages foreign to my listeners, so I
must use my body, face, mouth, and gesture to contour the mass of
meaningless utterances and make something useful and real for the
listener. Of course, knowing French may be helpful to one's experience
of "Je ne t'aime pas," but if the singer is doing her part, it's
utterly unnecessary. Doing my part requires believing in words,
committing to them, opening them up at the core and revealing their
emotional essence, the kind that knows no language and binds every man
together. The truth can always be conveyed without words.
Before
I take on a new work, I have to accept what the text and the tune
propose, and to accept the proposal, I have to have an unconditionally
strong feeling for it. There are songs I don't sing, perhaps because I
haven't yet experienced their meaning, or because I cannot bring
anything new to them. The songs I sing are the ones that mesh with my
outlook and understanding of things, and with my experiences, and I
believe it is important to continually broaden these in order to
accommodate more text and song.
The
enjoyment I get from producing sound, using vowels and consonants, is
the motivation behind my diction. To have great articulation, one has
to feel how words glow, know how to extinguish them by dipping them in
light and shadow, how they like to be nuzzled or bitten, accentuated or
concealed. One has to understand how to give everything verbal life,
color and strength, and then how to let these things die. Diction is
all about beginnings and endings of words, and truly majestic tones are
born healthy, live strong, and have dignified deaths.
Training
A person wishing to become a chanteuse
must study the voice. But to be able to color a song requires not one
but many voices, perhaps many registers in a single song! For that,
theatrical training is helpful. A chanteuse who both sings and speaks
her songs is continually in danger of damaging or even losing her voice
if it does not rest on a solid foundation of technical training. It is,
however, possible to over-train the voice. The principle behind most
vocal regimes is to identify the singer's voice and focus it, thereby
whittling down to one the many voices we start with. Singers can in a
way become more limited through study than expanded by it. The
antithesis of disciplined training is instinct — easily as valuable as
training and perhaps more so. Unlike a trained voice, good instincts
cannot be taught, but only acquired with life experience, mostly in the
form of painful mistakes. If one has instincts about singing, they have
likely come at a price. To allow instinct to be trained away is to
squander good artistic investment.
Breathing
Breathing is a matter of never-ending
visualization, exercise and practice, and still challenges me. One must
learn to suck in air slowly, hold it as long as possible, and regulate
its release. Swimming helps, as does yoga. A teacher once suggested
that the ultimate goal is to sing through 24 measures on a single
breath. Knowing how best to breathe can be diffiicult. Knowing where to
breathe can be easier. The natural breaks reveal themselves
automatically when one sings for words and speaks the text aloud as one
is learning it.
Carriage & Silhouette
From her first appearance on stage, before an
artist has done anything to prove her talent, her posture will inform
the audience. Even the grandest of introductions from a master of
ceremony will be compromised if she walks on slouching. A singer must
know how to move on stage, how to hold the head, the shoulders, the
hands, where to place the feet. This isn't always taught in voice
classes, but it is taught in the theater. And one can study it in the
mirror. It is said that a singer is ready for the stage when she is
able to sing in front of a mirror naked.
How to hold oneself upright and what to do with the body, ought to be
partly rehearsed and partly left to the moment. Being comfortable on
stage, in one's silhouette or costume, and feeling relaxed and in one's
power is what creates natural movement. Nervousness is expressed
through awkward movements, fidgeting and lack of intent. Nervousness is
normal — it is the respect we pay our audience. We must simply learn to
flow with it.
Sometimes a gesture or some patter will emerge from the creative flow
and feel completely wrong. One should commit it to memory as a thing
not to be repeated. Sometimes a gesture or patter happens that feels
completely right. It should go into the reference manual in one's mind,
ready to be accessed again. If something really unique and sublime
happens, it should be taken home and rehearsed until it is natural.
Grace is a thing you can learn if you aren't born with it.
As important as carriage is the silhouette: how a singer looks, what
she embodies, her physical style, her costume. I found my silhouette
among the characters and the era of my songs. I love details and the
era provides an abundance of them. Since my repertoire is diverse and
rangy, I must choose an ensemble that will suit the many songs in the
program. It is important that one's silhouette reveal something of what
one feels inside. Clothes can be worn or they can be expressed.
The Face
A singer's face is a map. When
the audience closes its eyes, her face should burn through their
eyelids. I love faces. All my life I've studied them. Staring is a tool
of the trade. The face relays the health of the body and the soul. A
doctor always knows when we have a fever, and an audience always knows
when we are lying. Watching a singer sing one song and express another
is distressing. The muscles of the face, the eyes, the mouth, all
convey the depth of one's inner commitment, or lack thereof.
The eyes that sing… they greet us or reject us, they are cool,
confused, accusing, defending, stroking, killing. The eyes that ask and
answer, that open and close, that look out through wide orbs or narrow
slants… they glow and throw sparks. What an excellent instrument we
performers have who know how to use them.
And the mouth — especially the mouth of a woman! It is the top of the
instrument, the keyhole, the promise. What opportunities lie therein!
What bewitching expressions, coyness, humor, spirit, tenderness, lust,
mystery, excitement! And pride, arrogance, greed, revenge… all played
out on two bands of red flesh. It is the mouth of a lover, a mother, a
muse. An incredible instrument that one can lighten or darken through
the precise showing of teeth, pretty teeth or deadly teeth, whose gleam
can seduce. The audience loves a good mouth, especially on a singer. If
you sing with a mic, beware of holding it in front of your face and
covering your good mouth.
Gesture
Every singer, actor and anyone who
doesn't have their hands full on stage, struggles with what to do with
them. Should they hang down straight? Should they point and lead?
Should they give visual cues as to the words being sung or spoken?
Should they be cut off? How easily they can be underused, overused, and
simply misused. How to hold the hands isn't always taught in voice
classes, but it is taught in the theater.
The hand, attached to the arm, gloved or bare, is as expressive and
sensual a thing as the eyes and mouth for the performer who knows how
to use them. The important thing is that the entire limb, from shoulder
to middle finger be completely relaxed. Then if one opts to stand with
the arms hanging down at one's side, or held as in prayer, or secured
behind the back, or used to accentuate a word or a part of the body, or
to beckon and otherwise gesticulate, it will be natural. That said, the
limb should not be so relaxed as to flop around. You must still give
your limbs weight and move them with intent. Intent is the key behind
my gesture. I may make it look spontaneous, and sometimes it is that,
but usually there is forethought and intent behind it. A part of my
artistic head, separate of the one concentrating on making good sounds,
is actually calling out the moves seconds before they happen. This is
how they can be remembered later as successes or failures.
Gesture is a risky thing. It can easily steal focus and interfere with
the music and the rest of the scene. Less is always more. An audience
is accustomed to seeing a trained singer hold her arms at her side.
Everything else is extra. If she has good gesture, it's called a nice
touch. If she has exceptionally good gesture, it's called style and
people will attend concerts for that alone.
Gesture is the reason that I, when singing with a microphone, prefer
one that is standing to one I must hold in my hand. At a standing
microphone my hands are free to be used as tools in my song, extensions
of my spirit, heart and intelligence.
Charm
What is charm? It is a magnet, a thing
that attracts. It is “personality” and self-knowledge. Yet how many
performers take to the stage lacking in personality and charm. Why?
Perhaps because they have as yet little self-knowledge or
soul-consciousness. They have little connection to the thing that binds
all of their spiritual riches and their understanding of the heart, the
head, the flesh, of art and life. An artist requires multiple heads and
hearts for her journey, and a little charm. Charm is another of those
magical traits that need not be in-born, just practiced.
Silence
Listening
is a talent — being able to really concentrate on somebody else.
Watching other artists perform is an invaluable part of one's craft. It
is the way we learn what works and what doesn't work for us. Listening
to other artists, especially intrumentalists, is how I came to
understand silence in music.
Silence creates a distance to time and place, therefore most people
avoid it. It makes us uneasy. As actors, we work on tightening beats,
avoiding the silence that sucks life out of a scene. As musicians, we
adapt to the loud drone of electrified instruments, amplifiers and
fans. As people, we escape into the harried world of sound and sight
bites and the ever-present background noise. Silence has become a very
precious commodity. My songs and the era from which they are drawn are
inherently more silent. The mere fact that they are performed in a room
where people can actually listen already sets this kind of music apart.
Gradually, as people become tired of being assaulted, they are
returning to the listening rooms and the salons where music played for
centuries.
I
use “Kunstpausen” (artistic pauses) to frame my songs, create mystery
and maintain my power. Simply put, I draw whatever energy there is in a
song out beyond its boundaries. I insert them at the beginning of songs
so I can focus and gather myself into character. I pause within the
song if I wish to emphasize something or be playful with the text. At
the end of many songs, I maintain my character for seconds before
acknowledging my audience — my aim being to allow the scene to drift
away rather than be jerked away by a habitual "thank you," or a change
in my expression and focus. I am quite aware of the effect this has on
my audience. They want to linger in the moment with me, relish the
space, their thoughts and their mood. To achieve the best results, be
sure that your lighting technician is your partner here and times his
fades and blackouts according to your wishes for the song.
Atmosphere
How does one create atmosphere? By employing all the tools of one's
physical presence, one's artistic palette and the music, and allowing
the singing and speaking voices to blend them into a mood. In every
song there are a hundred opportunities to paint atmosphere. Words and
music can stimulate the imagination from moment to moment.
The scene begins when I look slowly into the audience and let my eyes
say these words: I am Master of you and of all I survey. Now you shall
hear what I have to say! And then I begin to sing…
The Reality of the Theater
What is real and what is fantasy is open
to personal interpretation. I recently heard this in the film, Being
Julia with Annette Bening (and I am paraphrasing): “The real world
is nothing but fantasy. The theater is the only reality. Don’t let the
world outside cheapen your gifts.”
Understanding
To become great, an artist cannot imitate,
cannot be a carbon copy of someone else. The artist who does not
continue growing falls backwards. The power of observation rests in
seeing with an artistic eye, judging and drawing conclusions.
A good singer builds herself a mental reference book. She excels in the
art of seeing into someone else's eye to glimpse the truth or a lie, or
of hearing into someone else's voice. Every artist can be inspired by
another person, another artist. Every interpreter can have her models,
but in the end our own signature must go on the work. We must become
Creator and use everything that exists to make something new and to
reveal a soul, an original soul. Can one learn to be observant if one
hasn't always possessed this quality? Very definitely, yes! One can
learn anything one wants to learn. One can become anything one wants to
become.
There is no real art without understanding. It is our responsibility as
artists to combine sensitivity with intelligence. Sensitivity enables
us to beautify our work, but that can only happen if it is supported by
knowledge. It is the job of the actor to present human truths
artistically, but not in some kind of precise and mechanical mirroring
process. If he shows an ugliness, he must show the beauty in that
ugliness too. I am reminded of what the actor Bruno Ganz said in an
interview for the movie, Downfall, in which he portrays Hitler (and I’m
again paraphrasing here). “As a man I feel hate for Hitler. But I
cannot just hate him, or else I cannot play him.”
The actor is not a photographer but a painter and must derive his
inspiration from the myriad sources around him. So it is for the
singer, who paints a picture with each tone, word, and gesture.
Destiny
Every person is born with a gift for
success and a particular talent. It is up to us to discover that for
ourselves. Countless people born as musicians, painters and sculptors
become lawyers, doctors and accountants. Why? Perhaps this is what
their parents did or wanted for them. Or the material rewards appeared
to be greater. Regardless of the reason, their artistic gifts often go
unused. Is it true that only very few people hear the inner voice and
are in a position to grasp its meaning? It isn't important when we
follow that voice, but that we follow it… wherever it leads us. And
that journey is uniquely our own. I can only say that I spent years in
lucrative, powerful and rewarding situations outside of music, and that
none of those years fulfilled me as much as does each day that I spend
making art. The soul, once awakened to its own true power will make its
needs known. Trusting ourselves, increasingly, is what much of this
game is all about.
The fight of anyone who strives for something great is tough. There's
bad luck and bad timing, the headtrips that others give us and the ones
we give ourselves. But the truth cannot be denied and the world will
reward us for our courage and take care of us. The true artist, who
feels the fire of passion and purposefulness in her belly, will not be
stopped by failure or criticism, bright will be her radiance, and
magically, she will draw everything and everyone she needs to her, each
and every day. I tell myself: Sing as though your life depended on it!
Because it does.
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