The Pupil's Recital

by D. A. Clippinger

Opinions differ as to the value of the pupil's recital. Some believe in it, others do not. Some teachers think it is good publicity, others think it helps to keep pupils interested by giving them a definite objective. The craving to get before the footlights makes many pupils look upon the recital as an interesting and valuable part of their study.

Still others say the principle of the whole thing is wrong; that it is doing the pupil an injustice. That when one is far enough advanced to sing in public he should not be billed as a pupil. That it gets people to thinking of him as an amateur (which he is), rather than a professional (which he is not). They argue that a singer should keep off of the stage until he is prepared to go on as an artist, instead of some man's pupil. Perhaps there is some truth in this. It is at least a high-minded attitude and saves the trouble and expense of recitals. But like most things the subject has two sides.

It recalls my first youthful experience as a debater. In a certain literary club of which it was my good fortune to be a member for a number of years, we were much given to debate. We attacked the most gigantic subjects with the utmost fearlessness. We shied at nothing, and a proposition involving, the whole of philosophy, history and ethics was a toothsome morsel.

On a certain occasion I had prepared an address which was intended to dispose of my adversary completely and effectually, in other words to publicly humiliate him, and make him resemble the proverbial franc-and-a-half. It was to be a gatling-gun effect, punctuated with heavy siege guns. It was bristling with oratorial climaxes and sagging down in spots with the weight of ponderous facts. My big guns were trained and I had his range to an inch. I intended to demolish his works then and there. I would teach him not to be so presumptuous in the future.

But when I arose, like Bob Acres, I felt my valor leaving me. I rested my weight on the right foot, when suddenly my left began to beat a tattoo on the floor. I shifted to the left and the right foot immediately took up the refrain. My tongue stuck fast to my teeth and I lisped, a thing I never did before. My speech vanished like a dissolving picture, and what was intended to be thirty minutes of heavy-weight eloquence dwindled

down to three minutes of insipid commonplace conversation, delivered in a pale, sticky, chills-and-fever style. What became of that speech heaven only knows! It was never heard of in that locality. I had' no more control of myself than I had of the north wind, and it was only after repeated attempts that I learned to think on my feet, a thing which to my mind is a professional man's most valuable asset.

I have seen singers, young and old, go through the same experience. Self-consciousness, fear, anxiety resulting in nervousness causing the throat to become dry; a complete loss of breath control whereby all semblance of artistic phrasing is destroyed, throw the singer into a panic and he stands with a glassy stare and an expression which seems to say, "Isn't this awful?" And it is.

If professional singing is to be the joyous thing it should be such a condition must be overcome. Here enters the pupil's recital. It is true the audience is invited for the sole purpose of being practiced upon, but they pay nothing, and it does give them an opportunity to practice some of the Christian virtues, while the pupils is practicing self-control.

In preparing a singer for an artistic career, it is the business of the teacher to take into consideration everything necessary to success. If he can work out of self-consciousness and fear in the studio, very well. But there are some things that can only be worked out in front of an audience, and here the advocates of the pupil's recital certainly have an argument.