Pub Quizzes, Hidden Beauty, and the Problem with First Impressions

Idid a pub quiz last week. A number of the questions revealed holes in my general knowledge that I found surprising — some less so, such as my ability to recognise the faces of actors in Australian soaps — but there were some that really showed me I ought to do better. One that sticks in my mind asked which ancient monument sits on the Albert Embankment in London and is over 3,500 years old.

Since moving back to London, I’ve walked past this spot at least once a week, but I had no clue of the answer, and so chose to spend the next few minutes getting as much mileage as possible out of the last finger-width of Asahi Zero, paying as little attention as possible to the other teams enthusiastically writing answers, and eagerly waiting to move on to the Broadway Musicals round (never came). I’m sure I came up with some rubbish about the Golden Hinde, knowing full well it was incorrect. But more to the point, had that same monument been displayed in a museum, or charged me some sort of entry fee, or been encased in glass to ward off those who might dare enter its vicinity, the likelihood that I would have known the answer would have been infinitely larger. I don’t know if this is something I’m particularly prone to, or something that almost all of us have in us to some degree — with the exception, I might add, of every single other player in the pub who thought the answer was completely obvious — but I am constantly reminding myself that beauty exists in all sorts of unexpected locations, and I must remain open to seeing it.

Knowing that has been one of the great joys of my teaching studio.

I’m in the extremely fortunate position of reviewing applications to my studio — and on behalf of my network of associate teachers, The Vocal Coaches — every day. Looking beyond the packaging of an application is a task the importance of which I continually try to remind myself, yet it’s never become fully instinctive. Applications to my vocal school tend to fall into a handful of categories: the student themselves, the parent/guardian of the student, the management of the student, the record label of the student, the production company contracting me to train the student for a role, or a friend/partner looking to buy a gift of lessons for their loved one. By and large, applicants fit into these categories, but it gets slightly more interesting when you have one purporting to be another: the student creating a new email address and writing as the fictitious manager of the singer, or students “appointing” parents as managers.

What does it achieve? Well, it establishes the sense that they have a history in the profession, sufficiently so to merit and require representation. Whether or not it is true, that sense is undeniable. Beyond that, does it create an expectation of ability, skill or potential? It shouldn’t do, but maybe it does. Clearly there are those who believe the application will be taken more seriously if written from the perspective of a manager. Looking beyond that packaging is something that I try to do with every application. Likewise, we need to look beyond the recording quality of a pre-screen submission, whether or not the applicant has a professional backdrop, beautifully produced backing tracks, or even whether it’s the right song choice for them, to see whether there is an innate talent which is yet to be nurtured.

“The less polished the presentation, the higher the quality of the contribution.”

I liken it to a radio show. If you listen for enough weeks to a phone-in radio show, you will notice that the same names often call in, regardless of the topic of discussion. Their priority is to be heard, and they are most enthusiastic to share opinions of whatever is put in front of them. The bigger the audience the better. But then, for each topic, you have contributors who start the call shakily explaining that they’ve never called in before, and that they are nervous. Those are often the calls where the gold lies. That caller, who has never felt compelled to share an opinion on air before, felt their knowledge or experience of that specific subject to be so profound that they overcame their reservations about the spotlight, and genuinely contributed. In this case, we have an inverted relationship between packaging and quality, between content and form. The less polished the presentation, the higher the quality of the contribution.

So what then, do we make of a singer who stands on stage and holds their hands in front of them, with an apologetic stance, a face that shows nerves, or who doesn’t hold the room after the final blow-the-roof-off moment? Do we look beyond those things, to the skill of the vocal, which might have been truly extraordinary, or do we accept that those things, the packaging, are actually the performance? I suppose the answer is, it depends on the context. I’d like to think, with applications to my school, I’d choose the latter, and fix the former myself or with my colleagues. But I do think it’s worth remembering that sometimes, the person who shows the most internal battles when it comes to putting themselves out there, might actually have the most to share.

*Of course, this whole episode had nothing to do with pub quizzes, but the answer was Cleopatra’s Needle.