Vocal Warm-Ups For Your One-Person Show

You’ve written it, you’ve blocked it, and your godmother has financed it. It’s ready for the world. But is your voice?

True dramatists know that when this many people take the stage, the audience does not understand who to look at or give all of the credit.

The one-person show is the original theatrical performance. Before Shakespeare, before Aeschylus, before podcasts, attention-seekers were speaking truth to power in the very first theaters — caves.

Though the theatre arts have benefitted in many ways from progress, modern comforts have produced a modern actor with a voice that is evolutionarily inferior to its ancestors. Long ago, man’s voice was louder and more resonant because:

1. People were routinely stalked and mauled by sabertooth tiger. In order to survive an attack, one’s diaphragm needed to produce enough sound to alert allies at the nearest village.
2. The ubiquity of plague, famine, and rockslides resulted in daily denunciations of god’s will. At least once an hour, a person would lift their voice to the heavens and curse the tragedy of their fickle existence. This was the Golden Age of theatre.

To prepare your instrument for its four-hour journey to the center of your truth, it must be stretched, plied, and tenderized. By adhering to this vocal warm-up schedule, you will produce a voice worthy of performing ILL-ennial Blues: Dispatches From My Timeline, or whatever you’re calling this public masturbation.

30 mins to curtain:

Rest your voice by smoking four to nine cigarettes in front of the theater, standing directly beside the window with your show poster in it and thinking about how to make your performance more lived in.

20 mins to curtain:

Remind the stage manager that your rider included unsalted almonds. Repeat yourself a dozen times with increasing volume, or for as long as it takes for them to Postmates what you asked for. Focus on breath, intention, and being present.

10 mins to curtain:

Loosen the mandible, lips, and tongue by enunciating each syllable of the Our Father and spitting on the dressing room mirror between stanzas.

5 mins to curtain:

After counting the house, explore your upper register by rasping voicemails to all who clicked “Interested” on your Facebook page, reminding them that their tickets are at will call and that it’s really not cool of them to deprive dedicated theatergoers of a brave, authentic experience just because their “anxiety disorder” is preventing them from taking advantage of the half-price tickets you specifically set aside for them.

1 min to curtain:

Dredge your larynx by plugging your ears and humming when the technical director informs you that it’s time to take the stage.

4 mins after curtain:

Exercise the trachea by engaging in a shouting match with theater staff. From the wings, accuse the artistic director of “corrupting your process” with slurs that animate the diaphragm, expand the lungs, and remind the room that you are an actor.

8 mins after curtain:

Utilize all vocal faculties by wailing the dirge of a theater artist in breach of their contract.

Finally, you are ready for your big debut. Break a leg!