I wrote this review over a year ago for some magazine that never sent me a copy. Sometimes when you're promoting a record they'll ask you to do this sort of thing. I don't know if the mag ran it or not. I kind of wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Anyway, here it is.
When this DVD arrived at the post box there was no note attached, so I assumed the good people at Fat were trying to send me some sort of message by shipping me an instructional video on proper voice technique. True, Fat recently released Weasel Mania, the 34-song, budget-priced collection of the best Screeching Weasel songs (hey, I'm not getting paid for this review, so cut me some slack), but other than that, since 1998 they've been none too keen to hand over the big bucks for my various and admittedly often ill-advised forays into the realm of recorded music. "Learn to sing," the message seemed to say, "And maybe you can re-join the ranks of Lagwagon and Sick Of It All from which you've been banished lo these many years." (That, by the way, is exactly how Fat Mike speaks). Which is mighty tempting, let me tell you, but those who know me well know that laziness and indifference invariably win out over ambition in my world. I've always wanted to learn to sing properly but as I've been singing for twenty years without seeking instruction, I guess it ranks in importance somewhere below watching Rachael Ray slap around a pork roast at 11:00 a.m. and maybe a tick or two above getting my first colonic. In short, it's not real likely to happen anytime soon.
But as it turns out, the DVD is not a message at all. Rather it's something that Vanessa at Fat claims I promised to review for this fine publication. I don't remember making that promise, and I've considered asking for a copy of the alleged oath in writing but I haven't the energy this morning, sick in bed as I am. So, onward and upward.
The Zen Of Screaming is an instructional video that plays like an infomercial. Our host/instructor is one Melissa Cross, a fifty-something self-proclaimed "vocal coach" who favors Oriental fashions and red hair dye. She looks like a kooky aunt who, if too young to have been naked and tripping at Woodstock might have at least been spotted at a Jackson Browne show in the mid 70s, sporting Earth shoes and a Stevie Nicks shawl, perhaps sharing a bong with a bearded gentleman friend.
Ms. Cross' pragmatic and good-humored approach at first puts the viewer at ease, making us feel safe as she leads us into the seemingly confusing and frightening world of proper voice control. However, as the video proceeds, one finds oneself questioning whether her cutesy-pie terminology ("Take a 'by the way' into the 'strapless bra' and then feel the 'dump/baby' as you sing 'over the pencil'") is adorable or deranged. One can't help imagining that an afternoon spent in her company might potentially range from a delightful and inspiring chat to the unfolding of a high-tension melodrama culminating in a slew of vicious accusations, some screaming and broken glass, several superficial cuts and bruises and a call to 911. But maybe that's just me.
What Ms. Cross provides in The Zen Of Screaming is an introductory singing lesson, focusing primarily on methods for breathing and singing from the diaphragm. Singing from the diaphragm, rather than from the throat, will keep you from shredding your voice. It's the correct way to sing, but it doesn't feel very natural, which is why those of us who never took voice lessons do it all wrong and end up losing our voices after a gig or two.
I've always found singing from the diaphragm to be extremely difficult - try as I might, it's something that seems to happen only occasionally, on its own and regardless of my efforts. But according to Ms. Cross and her satisfied clientele, learning to sing properly is simply a matter of engaging in a few minutes of breathing exercises over a few nights. My deadline for this review prevents me from testing this claim myself, but I find it to be highly suspect. I'm sure Ms. Cross is very good at what she does, and I imagine that if I dropped the coin for a few sessions with her, my tortured yelping would improve immensely. She doesn't aim to help you sing in key, so I'd still be lost there, but as far as the mechanics of singing go, I have no reason to believe that Ms. Cross doesn't know what she's talking about.
But I do have a sneaking suspicion that, as is the case with most things, proper diaphragmatic breathing can't really be taught via DVD. Especially when forced to endure so much nonsense: in pitching this video to morons in shitty metal bands, the director and producers probably figured that the average viewer will possess the attention span of a sparrow. Which is undoubtedly accurate, but those of us who don't subsist on a diet of Budweiser, sinsemillia and potato chips are likely to be irritated and distracted by the DVD's short, choppy segments, liberally peppered with cable-access quality graphics and gushing testimonials from the likes of H20 and Madball. As to the latter, I have an idea that I could probably do quite well for myself in life if I were to record the opinions of H20 and Madball on the proper course of action regarding every conceivable scenario I might face during my time on earth and, when in doubt, simply do the exact opposite.
And while I've no doubt that Ms. Cross is an excellent vocal coach, and while watching her is a not entirely unpleasant experience, like attending a lecture given by a kindly high school art teacher (who probably makes a mean batch of scones to boot), there are moments when her attempts to connect with her male deviant target audience might cause the sober, sane viewer to recoil in horror. For instance, after inviting us to hiss along with her dramatically like a cartoon flat tire for a few seconds, Ms. Cross asks, "Boys, do you feel something pushing down into the floor that feels like you're taking a dump?" Really, I'm sick in bed trying to keep a promise to write this review, and write it I shall, but I don't think it's fair to test the limits of my nausea like that. I had to pause the video and curl up under the covers holding myself and crying for about ten minutes before I regained my composure enough to continue.
In short, as ignorant as I am on the subject of singing properly, I must assume that Ms. Cross' methods are stellar, but I remain unconvinced that purchasing this video and following its instructions will really help you improve your singing. If I had the opportunity, I'd set up an appointment with Ms. Cross and receive my instruction directly from the source. I'd probably get outstanding results and as a bonus, I'd likely walk away with stories that would impress the squares at my dinner parties for years to come.