Sometimes Too Much Technique Is a Bad Thing

Yes, the caption really does say “too much technique can be a bad thing.”

And yes, I confess, it’s a little bit of a baiting line.

But that doesn’t detract from the underlying truth bomb I’m about to hit you with.

I’ve been a vocal coach for a long time. I’ve worked with singers from complete beginners to advanced vocalists, from hobbyists to outright award winners and West End professionals.

And there’s an ongoing, recurring issue that comes up time and time again.

Too much thinking.

Now, I’m not one to pull down other coaches. Whether or not someone is a good vocal coach ultimately comes down to a few pretty important things: whether you, as the singer, feel that you’re improving, whether you connect with them, whether you feel listened to, and, arguably most importantly, whether they actually know voices.

Do they take the time to understand your voice?

Because what applies to one voice doesn’t necessarily apply to another. How one singer understands and experiences their instrument can be completely different from how another singer does.

And a good coach needs to know how to keep your voice developing safely and healthily.

I completely understand why singers become fascinated by the technical side of singing.

The voice is fascinating.

From what’s happening at vocal fold level, to the relationship between the voice and the body, to the emotional impact that the voice can have on another human being.

That last one, by the way, is its superpower.

But over the years, I’ve had more and more students come to me with an incredibly impressive technical vocabulary, often picked up from online vocal coaches or previous teachers.

They’ll talk about resonance.

Registration.

Support.

Laryngeal position.

And the cricothyroid.

The cricothyroid is probably the one that drives me up the wall most effectively.

Not because understanding the cricothyroid is inherently bad. It isn’t. Understanding the anatomy and physiology of the voice can be incredibly useful.

The problem comes when knowing the terminology gets confused with knowing how to sing.

I’ve sat with singers who can explain, in impressive detail, exactly what their vocal folds, larynx or cricothyroid muscle are supposedly doing…

…and then they try to sing the note and absolutely nothing happens.

Or worse, they become so focused on doing all of the things they’ve been told they should be doing that they completely lose the actual singing.

And this is where things get interesting.

The voice is one of the most unique instruments we have, if not the most unique.

It’s also incredibly difficult to learn.

Why?

Because it’s the only instrument we cannot actually see.

You can look at a piano.

You can see the keys.

You can watch a guitarist’s fingers move.

You can see a drummer hitting a drum.

But with singing?

You can’t look inside yourself and watch your vocal folds coordinate. You can’t simply look down and see whether your resonance is “right”.

You have to feel it.

And this is something I preach day in and day out.

Bear with me here.

I always say that if you want the techy stuff in a session, I’ll talk techy.

If that’s how you learn, fantastic.

Some singers genuinely do learn brilliantly through technical explanations. If understanding the anatomy or mechanics helps you connect the dots, then absolutely, let’s go there.

But for the most part, I believe singers develop their voices and their performance most effectively when they understand what good singing feels like.

And here’s the slightly crazy bit.

You often don’t know that you don’t know what good singing feels like… until you feel it for the first time.

Read that again.

Seriously.

I had to.

Because once you experience it, something changes.

Suddenly you have a reference point.

You know what it feels like when a note comes out without you fighting for it.

You know what it feels like when your voice feels connected.

You know what it feels like when something that previously felt difficult suddenly feels easy.

You know what it feels like when you stop trying to sing and actually start singing.

And that feeling is incredibly valuable.

Because then we can start working backwards.

Instead of constantly thinking:

Am I doing this correctly?

Is my larynx in the right position?

Am I engaging the right muscle?

Is my cricothyroid doing what it’s supposed to be doing?

You can start thinking:

“Oh. THAT’S what that’s supposed to feel like.”

And then we can build from there.

Technique absolutely matters.

Of course it does.

I wouldn’t have spent years studying, teaching and obsessing over the voice if I thought technique was irrelevant.

But technique should ultimately serve the singer.

It shouldn’t become the performance.

Because the audience doesn’t care whether you successfully engaged your cricothyroid.

They care whether you made them feel something.

They care whether they believed you.

They care whether they connected with what you were singing.

They care whether, for three minutes, you made them forget about everything else.

That is the magic of singing.

So yes, learn the technical stuff.

Understand your instrument.

Be curious.

Ask questions.

Learn how the voice works.

But don’t let the knowledge become the thing that gets in the way of actually using it.

Sometimes the best technical development happens when you stop thinking about the technique altogether.

Feel it. Experience it. Find it. Then repeat it.

Because ultimately, you don’t need to be able to explain exactly why your voice just did something amazing.

You just need to know how to find that feeling again.

And if you can do that?

Now we’re singing.