Let’s talk about the neighbours

We're going to talk about the thing that nobody talks about in singing teaching: the actual, embarrassing reality of starting to practice at home when other people can hear you.

I know this is on your mind because it's on everyone's mind. In a poll I ran on my YouTube channel, 62% of people said that the fear of being heard was stopping them from practicing at home. 

Think about that for a second. We are silencing ourselves. Not because we can't sing, not because we don't want to, but because the neighbor two walls away might form an opinion. A neighbor who, statistically speaking, is probably playing video games with their headphones on and couldn't pick you out of a lineup.

I have this conversation with almost every student I teach. It goes something like this:

"I love doing the exercises, but I can't really practice at home because my boyfriend is there." Or: "My walls are thin, and I don't want to bother other people." Or: "I only practice when everybody's out of the house."

That phrase: I don't want to bother other people always gets me a little angry. You have a right to sing in your own house. That is not a metaphor, it is a literal, legal fact. And even if it weren't a law, it would still be true on a human level. Your voice, your self-expression, your desire to grow: these things matter. The neighbors will survive.

The I’m Doing This Talk

Here is what I want you to do. If you live with someone, whether it's a partner, a roommate, parents, whoever, I want you to sit them down and tell them what you're doing. Don’t apologize for it. Tell them.

When I was twenty-one, I sat my parents down and it felt like I was coming out: “Okay, listen. I have something to tell you. I started taking singing lessons and I need to practice in my room.”

Their response? “Great. Good for you. Bye.” That was it. All that anxiety, and they couldn't have cared less.

But I also told my dad something else, because he tended to shower me with compliments. I said: “I don't want you to make any comments about my voice. Also no compliments. Pretend that I'm not singing.”

Because that's what I needed. His well-meaning “that sounded beautiful, sweetheart!” would have made me just as self-conscious as criticism. I needed to be invisible while I figured things out.

You can give your roommates these kinds of instructions too. Whatever you need. The point is that you set the terms.

Maybe you can say something like: “Hey, I'm working on my voice. I'm going to be making some noises in there and some of them might sound a little weird. That's all part of the plan. Just so you know.”

You could add a touch of humor: “My voice teacher is a bit crazy, so she's going to make me do all kinds of ugly sounds. Don't call the police.”

Own it. Never apologize for working on your voice. That's the key. 

If you want, you can let them know when you plan to sing so they're not caught off guard. You can even ask what times work best for them — as long as you're asking, not begging permission.

One of my students, who'd been afraid to even play the harpsichord decades ago (you can barely hear the thing!), started practicing in her walk-in closet. I told her: “whatever works. Whatever gets you to sing, I'm all for it.”

But I also asked her to start pushing the boundaries a little more each time. Thirty seconds without the closet. Then a minute, then two.

My neighbor actually came to complain about my singing once — this was when I was a professional singer. Just to say, a complaint is not a reflection on how well you sing. If anything, it's a bit of a compliment, because it means your voice is powerful enough to travel through walls.

When it happened to me, I was polite about it. In the Netherlands, where I live, you don't mess with the neighbors. So I told her to let me know when it was more convenient for her that I practice. The bottom line was clear, even if I didn't say it specifically: “I'm going to sing anyway.”

And that's the stance I want you to take. Even if you're reading this book because you just want to sing in your living room without cringing, you have the right to do this. You get to make sounds in your own home.

Start Making Sounds

I know what some of you are thinking. "That's easy for you to say, you have a voice. I don't even know what to do yet."

Fair enough. So let me give you something practical. Two tools you can use to start making sounds today, even if you're terrified, and even if your roommate is on a work call in the next room.

Tool 1: The Buzzy Sounds

I want you to make a sound, but not a singing sound. More of a buzz. A 'brr' with your lips, or a hum, or a rolled r — something small and continuous. An NG (as in the end of the word tongue) is also an option. If you go for the ‘zzz’, pucker your lips a bit: that gives the sound more space inside your mouth.

These are all what we call semi-occluded sounds, which is a fancy way of saying you're narrowing the airway so your vocal cords don't have to do all the work by themselves. The back-pressure this creates is like a gentle massage for your voice. Speech therapists and professional singers use these sounds daily.

So just pick one and sustain it for about five seconds. Essentially you just hold one continuous sound. Repeat it a few times. The volume is almost nothing, so your roommate won't hear this through a wall. But your vocal cords are waking up, and they're learning to close efficiently without you having to push air at them. 

Once you're comfortable holding the sound steady, try sliding up and down through your range. Go as high and as low as feels good, like a little siren. Don't aim for specific notes. You're just gliding. If something flips or cracks, that's completely fine. In fact, it's a good sign: your voice is stretching. As long as it feels good in the throat, keep going. That's my rule of thumb for everything in this book: if it feels good in the throat, you're on the right track.

Tool 2: The Pillow or Blanket

This one is beautifully low-tech. Grab a pillow or a blanket, hold it up against your face, and sing into it. It has to make contact with your mouth. A pillow works great. A bundled-up blanket works even better. I've demonstrated this in masterclasses by singing full-on opera into a blanket, and the people in the room could barely hear it. It absorbs the sound and takes the volume down by roughly 90%.

One thing: you do need to take the pillow or blanket away from your face to breathe between phrases. Don't suffocate yourself for your art. Sing, take it off, breathe, put it back on and sing again. You'll look absolutely unhinged, but your vocal cords won't care.

What I love about this is that it lets you actually use your full voice. With the buzzy sounds, you're working at a minimal level, which is great for warming up and building coordination. But the pillow or blanket lets you go for it. You can practice being loud and free, without any of the volume reaching the outside world. It's particularly good for those moments when you want to practice late at night, or early in the morning before the rest of the house is awake.

There's an extra benefit here that you won't expect yet, but will make sense later in this book. When you sing into a pillow, you can't rely on what you hear. The sound is muffled. So you have to start paying attention to what you feel: the vibrations in your chest, the sensation in your throat, the way the air moves. That feel it, don't listen to it approach is actually one of the most important principles in singing, and the pillow accidentally teaches it.

Here's my challenge to you, and this is important. 

Every single time you practice, I want you to have a little bit of time — even just thirty seconds — where you sing without the pillow or blanket. Just experience it. It will feel uncomfortable, and that's okay. You can tell yourself: “I have a right to do this. I get to do this.” Bit by bit, those thirty seconds will become a minute, and then two minutes, and so on.

This is the first step toward realizing your singing dream. It’s not glamorous! But it’s where it begins.

So whenever you next have five minutes alone, close your door, take a breath, and go.