A curious vocal pattern called vocal fry has crept into the culture and become disturbingly popular with young women, Science Magazine and the blogosphere are now reporting.
What's vocal fry? It's a language fad, formerly considered a speech disorder, that has gained popularity with young women who speak American English. Apparently, pop singers like Britney Spears have slipped these low, creaky vibrations into their music, and now it's a vocal style.
I've heard it--long before I ever knew what it was--and always hated the sound of it. Makes an intelligent woman sound stupid and shallow.
"Vocal fry, or glottalization, is a low, staccato vibration during speech, produced by a slow fluttering of the vocal cords (listen here)," reports Science. "Since the 1960s, vocal fry has been recognized as the lowest of the three vocal registers, which also include falsetto and modal—the usual speaking register. Speakers creak differently according to their gender, although whether it is more common in males or females varies among languages. In American English, anecdotal reports suggest that the behavior is much more common in women."
In British English, the pattern is the opposite, apparently. Huh. Culture is strange. At any rate, scientists at Long Island University investigated the prevalence of vocal fry in college-age women, recording sentences read by 34 female speakers, and listened for two qualities, called jitter and shimmer. The study found that two-thirds had fried their voices.
Oops, Britney, I think you did it again.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
How Not to Give a Reading: Thoughts After My Bar 82 Reading
OK, so I did my Bar 82 reading. Thanks to my friends who came out to hear me read! Thanks to We Three Productions, who asked me to read! (A little snippet of the story below, in case you're interested, using an incidental character from a novel I'm working on.)
Anyway, I don't give many public readings, maybe once a year, and I really thought I was ready for this one. Spent the entire day before, writing, rewriting, practicing out loud, editing, re-reading out loud, reading to my husband, reading to myself, reading to myself in the mirror, which Dave suggested and was horrible, because I felt self-conscious already, and seeing myself only made it worse, which I guess was Dave's point, that I should confront my fears and not back down, maybe even practice naked....
So I get up the next day on the Bar 82 stage to read, feeling super-prepared, but then...seeing the glaring spotlights and dim faces in the dark crowd and having to talk into a microphone and realizing that I wasn't just expected to read but would have to perform, holy mother of god it suddenly became an out-of-body experience, and as I floated above the reading, I saw down there on the stage a woman who looked a whole lot like me, but couldn't possibly be me, because she didn't have a personality, only she was very formal and serious, and just looked like a stiff stick up there on the stage, with words coming out of her mouth, and that couldn't have been me, because I do have a personality and like to have fun besides!
Oh, I suppose I did the right things--I read clearly, didn't stumble over my words, spoke with expression, remembered to look up at my audience every now and then, But that woman up there on that stage clearly wasn't having any fun, was she?
So my advice, if you're planning on giving a reading, is to get super-drunk and watch a bunch of Three Stooges movies ahead of time, and not do any preparation at all, and make the guy who reads before you do a really lousy job of it. In his underpants.
The problem, I later realized, was that I read not just one but two linear stories with a beginning, a middle and an end in the space of just 12 minutes, with lots of multi-syllable words, when what I should have done was stay on the stage for five minutes and just tell Tommy Cooper jokes. Example: A woman tells her doctor, 'I've got a bad back.' The doctor says, 'It's old age.' The woman says, 'I want a second opinion.' The doctor says: 'Okay - you're ugly as well.'
Tommy Cooper was such a brilliant performer that he died of a heart attack while on stage doing a funny bit, and kept the audience laughing the whole time.
And now, for a snippet from my reading, from a story called "The Marquis de Morès:"
See? The words aren't so bad. It's my delivery that sucked.
For more advice on giving a reading, check out:
Nine Ways to Give a Better Book Reading
(Your audience can read your book themselves. Little is more monotonous than hearing someone else reading words aloud. Great authors elevate the text by using a compelling vocal delivery to emphasize key phrases, increasing the tempo to build suspense, and modulating their volume to match the content. )
How to Give a Good Reading Despite Your Myriad Neuroses
How to Give a Reading on Mushrooms
(Arrive early and talk to Rita and her friends, unsure if they’re all also on mushrooms (as they’d previously agreed) because Rita giggles nonsequiturly even when sober, until an unsmiling woman in her 40s—the event organizer—approaches saying something about “housekeeping.” Follow her into the backroom and learn it’s important you speak clearly tonight, “into the microphone,” as the reading and Q&A are going to be “livestreamed” onto the internet.)
Anyway, I don't give many public readings, maybe once a year, and I really thought I was ready for this one. Spent the entire day before, writing, rewriting, practicing out loud, editing, re-reading out loud, reading to my husband, reading to myself, reading to myself in the mirror, which Dave suggested and was horrible, because I felt self-conscious already, and seeing myself only made it worse, which I guess was Dave's point, that I should confront my fears and not back down, maybe even practice naked....
So I get up the next day on the Bar 82 stage to read, feeling super-prepared, but then...seeing the glaring spotlights and dim faces in the dark crowd and having to talk into a microphone and realizing that I wasn't just expected to read but would have to perform, holy mother of god it suddenly became an out-of-body experience, and as I floated above the reading, I saw down there on the stage a woman who looked a whole lot like me, but couldn't possibly be me, because she didn't have a personality, only she was very formal and serious, and just looked like a stiff stick up there on the stage, with words coming out of her mouth, and that couldn't have been me, because I do have a personality and like to have fun besides!
 |
| Photo: Phillip Giambri |
So my advice, if you're planning on giving a reading, is to get super-drunk and watch a bunch of Three Stooges movies ahead of time, and not do any preparation at all, and make the guy who reads before you do a really lousy job of it. In his underpants.
The problem, I later realized, was that I read not just one but two linear stories with a beginning, a middle and an end in the space of just 12 minutes, with lots of multi-syllable words, when what I should have done was stay on the stage for five minutes and just tell Tommy Cooper jokes. Example: A woman tells her doctor, 'I've got a bad back.' The doctor says, 'It's old age.' The woman says, 'I want a second opinion.' The doctor says: 'Okay - you're ugly as well.'
Tommy Cooper was such a brilliant performer that he died of a heart attack while on stage doing a funny bit, and kept the audience laughing the whole time.
And now, for a snippet from my reading, from a story called "The Marquis de Morès:"
Antoine de Vallambrosa, the Marquis de Morès, dragged his wife off to the northern Dakota territory in 1883, just after she had given birth to their first child.
A retired French cavalryman with a taste for adventure, he dreamed of starting up a meat-packing plant. By going straight to the source of cattle production, where the Northern Pacific Railroad came through, he could cut out the middlemen who ran the Chicago stockyards and process his meat right there on the Great Plains.
New York banker Louis von Hoffman, who financed the plan, spared no expense because the Marquis de Morès was his son-in-law.
So although he was a successful businessman with a sharp eye for a bad deal, Von Hoffman decided anyway to spend vast sums on the purchase of 26,000 acres and the construction of a meat-packing plant in the middle of nowhere. The banker also shelled out money to build a 26-room château so his daughter and grandchild could live a life of comfort in the godforsaken Badlands.
“You won’t regret this!” Antoine bellowed to his father-in-law on the day they signed their deal. “My plan will completely change the meat-packing industry! I am inventing the way forward into the 20th century!”
“We’ll see,” said the banker.
See? The words aren't so bad. It's my delivery that sucked.
For more advice on giving a reading, check out:
Nine Ways to Give a Better Book Reading
(Your audience can read your book themselves. Little is more monotonous than hearing someone else reading words aloud. Great authors elevate the text by using a compelling vocal delivery to emphasize key phrases, increasing the tempo to build suspense, and modulating their volume to match the content. )
How to Give a Good Reading Despite Your Myriad Neuroses
(Some people lack the confidence to give a reading because they lack confidence in themselves as a writer. They are plagued by feelings of being an impostor. These folks think, “How can I be sure I’m even a real writer? What make me think I have the right to get up and read?”)
How to Give a Reading on Mushrooms
(Arrive early and talk to Rita and her friends, unsure if they’re all also on mushrooms (as they’d previously agreed) because Rita giggles nonsequiturly even when sober, until an unsmiling woman in her 40s—the event organizer—approaches saying something about “housekeeping.” Follow her into the backroom and learn it’s important you speak clearly tonight, “into the microphone,” as the reading and Q&A are going to be “livestreamed” onto the internet.)
Saturday, January 07, 2012
Bar 82 NYC Reading Jan. 9--come hear me read!
My first reading in NYC! Please come (I'm the second reader):
We Three Productions Present Biweekly Readings of
Poetry and Prose at
Bar 82
136 2nd Avenue @ St. Marks
Subway: 6 Train to Astor Place, F Train to 2nd Ave., L Train to 3rd Ave.
FREE
Monday, January 9th at 8 P.M.
Brendan Costello
Brendan Costello teaches Creative Writing at the City College of New York, where he earned his MFA and also won the Irwin and Alice Stark Short Story Award. His work has appeared in epiphany magazine, smokebox.net, and Salon.com. He is also one of the organizers of the City College MFA reading series here at Bar 82 -- their next event will be February 17th.
Joyce Hanson
Joyce Hanson is a Brooklyn writer who's going to read a couple of stories about the wilds of North and South Dakota. One story was written by her dad about his Dust Bowl Great Depression childhood days. The other story comes from Joyce's novel in progress, which uses her research about rebelliouswomen in history. Normally, to pay the bills, Joyce is a journalist and a
web editor. You can read more of her stories at her blog, Bad Girl Blog.
web editor. You can read more of her stories at her blog, Bad Girl Blog.
Matt Grasso
Matt is the host of Fahrenheit, a monthly open mic series located in the East Village. He completed a fellowship at The MacDowell Colony in 2011 and is currently wrapping up his first collection of short stories. His nine-to-five credentials comprise work in the fields of Industrial and Exhibit Design.
“Producing Biweekly Readings since 1995”
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Prayers for Etta James
Etta James, the blastingly hot and juicy soul singer who has inspired so many performers, is terminally ill and hanging on to life by a thread this holiday season.
“I am Southern and Christian and would just ask for the prayers of her fans and friends,” her family doctor, Elaine James (no relation), told The Press-Enterprise in Riverside, Calif. “They know she’s been sick, but not how sick.”
As I write this post, I'm listening to Etta James sing "Something's Got A Hold On Me" in a televised performance from 1962.
Wow. What a voice. What a soul. She owns that song, taking it places it didn't know it could go, growling and shouting when she wasn't delivering a deep melody line in pure low tones.
And look at her face, that round, joyful l'il face peeking out from behind her beehive hairdo and thick dark eyeliner (hello, Amy Winehouse). It's the sweet and hopeful face of a sure-footed girl. The girl who gave us "I'd Rather Go Blind," "At Last," "All I Could Do I Cry," "A Sunday Kind of Love," and the list goes on.
After a life of tough times and beautiful music, Etta James, now 73, is suffering from chronic leukemia and it's not looking good for her. Despite her love troubles, drug addiction and legal problems, she gave us so much during the course of a long career. I hope she knows how much we loved her. I know I did. I'm glad she lived to see her induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993.
Peace and prayers and many thanks to Etta James.
“I am Southern and Christian and would just ask for the prayers of her fans and friends,” her family doctor, Elaine James (no relation), told The Press-Enterprise in Riverside, Calif. “They know she’s been sick, but not how sick.”
As I write this post, I'm listening to Etta James sing "Something's Got A Hold On Me" in a televised performance from 1962.
Wow. What a voice. What a soul. She owns that song, taking it places it didn't know it could go, growling and shouting when she wasn't delivering a deep melody line in pure low tones.
And look at her face, that round, joyful l'il face peeking out from behind her beehive hairdo and thick dark eyeliner (hello, Amy Winehouse). It's the sweet and hopeful face of a sure-footed girl. The girl who gave us "I'd Rather Go Blind," "At Last," "All I Could Do I Cry," "A Sunday Kind of Love," and the list goes on.
After a life of tough times and beautiful music, Etta James, now 73, is suffering from chronic leukemia and it's not looking good for her. Despite her love troubles, drug addiction and legal problems, she gave us so much during the course of a long career. I hope she knows how much we loved her. I know I did. I'm glad she lived to see her induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993.
Peace and prayers and many thanks to Etta James.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Uh Oh—Christopher Hitchens Is Dead
Christopher Hitchens is dead. Now who's going to tell women they're not funny?
Hitchens died of complications from esophageal cancer at the age of 62, reported Gawker, calling him a "Clinton-loathing, religion-mocking, Kurd-loving, war-mongering, ball-waxing British drunk who contained multitudes and seemed to be insulting you somehow even when you agreed with him."
And then there were the times you didn't agree with him, or at least thought you didn't agree with him, until you started to read his clever prose and started to get swayed by his sinuous writerly logic, the jerk.
Remember when Hitchens wrote this "provocation" in the pages of Vanity Fair?:
Why are women, who have the whole male world at their mercy, not funny? Please do not pretend not to know what I am talking about. All right—try it the other way (as the bishop said to the barmaid). Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men. In fact, she equips many fellows with very little armament for the struggle. An average man has just one, outside chance: he had better be able to make the lady laugh. Making them laugh has been one of the crucial preoccupations of my life.
In writing this, I just went back to that Vanity Fair article, and I dreaded having to re-read it because I remember how viscerally annoyed I got the first time I read the piece. To my surprise, Hitchens' elegantly argued thesis actually started to convince me...and then I got to thinking, "Wait, is he right? Are women not funny? Maybe he's got a point." How maddening!
Then again, Christopher Hitchens was a genius of the abrupt statement that makes people laugh in spite of themselves. For example, he managed to find a way to criticize Mother Teresa, claiming that she was more interested in glorifying God than in helping the poor.
Daily Hitchens, which bills itself as an unofficial Christopher Hitchens site, notes that the author's memoir, "Mortality," will be published early next year.
Hitchens died of complications from esophageal cancer at the age of 62, reported Gawker, calling him a "Clinton-loathing, religion-mocking, Kurd-loving, war-mongering, ball-waxing British drunk who contained multitudes and seemed to be insulting you somehow even when you agreed with him."
 |
| Christopher Hitchens, smoking, as he led his life, down to the nub. (Photo: jeffsingerphotography.com) |
Remember when Hitchens wrote this "provocation" in the pages of Vanity Fair?:
Why are women, who have the whole male world at their mercy, not funny? Please do not pretend not to know what I am talking about. All right—try it the other way (as the bishop said to the barmaid). Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men. In fact, she equips many fellows with very little armament for the struggle. An average man has just one, outside chance: he had better be able to make the lady laugh. Making them laugh has been one of the crucial preoccupations of my life.
In writing this, I just went back to that Vanity Fair article, and I dreaded having to re-read it because I remember how viscerally annoyed I got the first time I read the piece. To my surprise, Hitchens' elegantly argued thesis actually started to convince me...and then I got to thinking, "Wait, is he right? Are women not funny? Maybe he's got a point." How maddening!
Then again, Christopher Hitchens was a genius of the abrupt statement that makes people laugh in spite of themselves. For example, he managed to find a way to criticize Mother Teresa, claiming that she was more interested in glorifying God than in helping the poor.
Daily Hitchens, which bills itself as an unofficial Christopher Hitchens site, notes that the author's memoir, "Mortality," will be published early next year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
