Me on the mic

At the root of my voice work is a deep love of story. I’ve always been enamored with this thing that draws us out of ourselves and into some other place. Stories have offered me fresh perspective, taught me about myself and the world, bridged gaps and opened doors in my heart and mind. My favorite stories are the ones that have the calibrating effect: they somehow restore my internal balance, click things back into place. When I encounter one of these stories, it’s as if by some work of magic I find I emerge from the final scene a little more whole.

I love the intimacy and immediacy of oral storytelling. It’s one of humanity’s oldest traditions, yet it’s so present, it’s happening right now. It’s this direct current connecting me to you, to transmit something valuable and intangible.

It’s all in the articulation. The words are there on the page, but when we articulate them with the voice, we can imbue them with space and tone and weight that imply all of this feeling and meaning. If you’ll permit me a little poetry (which I’m certain I did not invent): through inspiration — the literal act of breathing, one of the human organism’s life-sustaining processes — we can imbue life into language which can then fly off into the world and inspire others. It’s like we’re literally breathing life into each other.

It’s kind of… miraculous! And so ordinary. So human.

Before I started voice work, I spent a decade reading aloud to myself. Or to cats. I think what I wanted was to do more than just scan the words. I wanted to really drop in, to thoroughly experience what I was reading. I did this by peeling the language off the page, breathing it out into the room, and listening.

I have an extremely sensitive ear. It’s one reason why I left New York City — the city’s soundscape is enormously stimulating, and this degree of input tends to either overwhelm or dull the senses. And I like the sensitivity. I want to walk down the street and be struck, as I often am, by the patterns of birdsong, or the sounds of brittle leaves skipping across the pavement. There’s all this rich texture in the subtle sounds of life on planet Earth.

I bring all of this to my work: this love of story, this presence with the material, and the precision that comes with a highly sensitive ear.

Now, I would be remiss to tell my story without mentioning podcasts, which have long been woven into the fabric of my daily experience and have brought the world straight to my ears. I’ll list some all-time favorites: WNYC’s Science Friday, interviews from icons like Terry Gross and Marc Maron, NPR’s Politics and Code Switch, epic 12-hour history lessons from Dan Carlin, culture and comedy on Las Culturistas and Comedy Bang! Bang!, short stories read by the one and only LeVar Burton, actual facts on Factually! with Adam Conover, sci-fi and soundscapes on the BBC’s Forest 404, and last but not least, cathartic anecdotes of love and heartbreak on Erin McGathy’s This Feels Terrible. Years and years of listening attentively to these and more has made me highly attuned to the nuance and timing that makes for a truly engaging and exceptional vocal performance.

To those who have made it to the end of my little novel, I thank you so much for reading! If you’d like to work with me, tell me your story, or just recommend a stellar podcast, I would love to hear from you.