Working With the Singer in Front of You

Decluttering my Gmail this morning, I came across emails from 2016 containing MP3 recordings from my singing lessons with Gareth Roberts.

For about a year and a half, I used to take the 8:50am coach from Devon to Wembley Park once a week for a one-hour lesson. Three hours each way, almost every week… but I loved it!

Gareth was a retired vocal professor from the Royal Academy of Music. Beautiful tenor voice, incredible pianist.

When I started going to him, he was retired and not really teaching much anymore. He was in his late 70s, if I remember right, and already unwell. I knew our time together would be limited, which made it feel even more precious.

Before lessons we’d sometimes sit in his kitchen just talking, looking out into the garden. Wildlife would come and go. I remember him getting very excited about a deer, and talking about the fox family that lived there.

Working with him was the first time I had a teacher who supported non-classical singing. It felt like permission to explore parts of my voice I hadn’t really been allowed to use before. I remember the thrill of trying sounds other teachers hadn’t made space for. It felt exciting, but also vulnerable.

Up until then, many of my singing lessons had felt very different. I thought fear and pressure were just part of learning, and “tough love” was normal.

If a teacher didn’t stop me after the first phrase, I assumed something was wrong. I was used to feeling not good enough, always focusing on what needed fixing, and being expected to sight-read immediately and getting told off when I struggled.

After a while, I became very good at anticipating criticism before it arrived. For years, I thought this was just what serious training looked like. That anxiety and constant correction were evidence that somebody had high standards.

But I think it makes you doubt yourself.

It makes you cautious instead of curious, more focused on avoiding mistakes than discovering what might actually be possible. Stops you from experiencing JOY in your music making.

Gareth was the opposite of that.

He was encouraging, non-judgmental, and had a wicked sense of humour. I remember the day he told me it would be our last lesson. I thanked him for everything and how much my confidence had grown through our work together.

He seemed surprised.

He said there had never been any question in his mind that you should always “work with the singer in front of you.”

Listening back to the recordings almost ten years later, I think that’s what stayed with me most.

Not just what he taught me about singing, but how different learning feels when fear isn’t at the centre of it.

Gareth never made me feel smaller in order to improve. He made me feel safe enough to explore, to experiment, to actually enjoy music again.

Photo: Steve Wong (Unsplash)