First, an art of screaming? Yes, screaming is an art: it’s expressive, nuanced, and it’s a skill that can be taught. You can become better at it. Some can do it without much training, and some people struggle to learn it.
In this essay, you’ll learn about different kinds of musical screaming and I’ll share a bit about my experience learning to scream.
Screaming in the American Music History
Like most things associated with rock music, the musical art of screaming has a long history in Black American music and society. Prince, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, “Screaming” Jay Hawkins (duh!) and, from the punk direction, Death and Bad Brains participate in a tradition of musical screaming that can be connected with Black Christianity.
For a collection of first-hand accounts of the roots of Black American music and dance, please check out Stearns and Stearns’ Jazz Dance and Sterling Stuckey’s Slave Culture, along with some of the other books suggested here:
Why I learned to scream
My reason for deciding to learn to scream was very practical, but what I’ve gained is unlimted.
First of all, this is not a time to be silent. It is a time to be vocal. Sometimes articulate, and sometimes screaming. My desire to scream came about as I’m usually soft spoken, and I have trouble being heard in crowds.
In my solo music project, other Twin, I scream in some of the punk songs. At one gig, I let loose my blood-curliest scream. Went great, and doubled my audience involvement (from 1 person listening to two!). But I quickly realized I’d wrecked my voice for the rest of my set.
Not good.
So I decided to learn to scream with safety and control.
Learn to scream with safety and control?
Every word of that sentence seems contradictory. That’s because most of us assume:
- Screaming is innate.
- Screaming damages your throat.
- Screaming is an undamable glottal flood.
Read on to see why only one of these is true.
Natural born squealers?
True, we do scream from birth, but there are pressures to stop screaming as soon after that as possible. Metal heads might be among the few who are able to marvel at and envy after a colic infant’s screams. Empathy and envy aside, it is truly amazing that something so small can create so much sound.
Evolutionarily, it makes sense that it’s to the infant’s advantage to have the ability to create sound that can cut through trees and other animal sounds (or walls and earbuds). Relaying its emotional state brings succor. And, to paint with a brush as large as Bob Ross’s afro, as we age we are not rewarded reciprocally for screaming out our complaints. So most of us don’t scream, and maybe are shocked when one comes out.
Screaming = hurting?
I definitely believed this one. Because we’ve all heard stories of singers wrecking their voices over the years. But if you think about it, the most famous singers who have received attention for damaging their voices aren’t screamers. It happens to belting opera singers and unbelted John Mayers, so vocal damage isn’t exclusive to screamers.
But the fact is that screaming doesn’t need to be damaging to your throat at all. Not long term. Not short term.
First, there are a number of vocalist who pay the bills by giving stuck pigs and neglected tea kettles serious competition. And they do this for their whole careers. But don’t take my word for it:
Even more immediately shocking is watching screaming tutorials where the teachers rip out enormous screams, and then return to their normal speaking without so much as clearing their throats:
In my experience as a screaming newbie, when I perform the scream well, I have no pain. When my technique is off, I’m more likely to experience pain. (That said, there is some discomfort that accompanies the conditioning of using your body in a new way. But, if I’m still experiencing pain the next day, I know that I was doing something wrong.)
A Rainbow of Screaming
If you shove your fingers in your ears the second you hear screaming, you’re shutting yourself off to the richly varied acoustic platter of screaming. For there are many ways to scream, even within the world of singing alone.
Let’s look at soft/quiet fry screaming, vocal fry, fry scream, and false cord screaming.
Soft/quiet Fry Scream
This is a quieter sound that, when done well, can sound like milk frothing, or a frothing beast. It’s often where people start, and it has the advantage that you can practice without alarming housemates (or neighbors).
As my teacher, Emil from ScreamTheory, points out, you can learn to fry scream without soft screaming. And for many people, myself included, it’s more likely you’ll scream before you whisper.
What is vocal fry?
When you wake up or are trying to sound nonchalant, you might automatically engage in vocal fry. If you try to speak or sing at the bottom of your threshold, you’ll fall into fry. And if you speak with as little air pressure as possible, you’ll probably use vocal fry.
Oh muh gahd: Fry gals!
Vocal fry is more common than you might think. It’s all around you. It might even be in your throat.
Vocal fry or “creaky voice” received a lot of attention in the recent past due to its prevalence among young women. Here’s a presentation (and small critique) of the study that singled out the fry gals:
And, a bit less sympathetic critique of creaky voice on the show, Louderman:
Fry Scream
This is more of the blood-curling scream that attracted me toward learning to fry (learning to fryyyyyy) from the outset. The motivation that I didn’t mention above is that I’d really like to do a cover of Marylin Manson’s “Killing Strangers” (on ukulele, of course!), and I love the scream he does here:
I watched a few videos (most of which I shared above) and practiced. I spent some time with Dr. Emil Azzam (doctor of physical therapy) of ScreamTheory’s 3-part lesson.
Given that I’m a body nerd, I jived with Emil’s use of anatomical language. But he is also really able to step away from that to try different techniques, images, and metaphors to get you where you want to go.
I wasn’t really getting it as well as I wanted, so I contacted Emil to set up a lesson. But more on that later.
False Chord Screams
The false cords are part of your anatomy; they’re only false because they’re not the vocal cords we usually speak from. Singing with your false cords produces the unmistakeable metal growl.
But it’s also at work in Benedict Cumberbatch’s Smaug:
Interestingly, a false chord scream is distinguishable a “jazz growl” or use of the arytenoid cartilage for screaming. I kept falling into use of these two when I was trying to use the false cords. False cords are used in throat singing, making your vocal cords into vocal chords.
At first, I thought it was the kind of scream I was least interested in. But I realized how much it opens up the vocal palate. For example, I’ve been trying to sculpt the voice of God in my song, “Benediction for Benedictions.” What does ancient, threatening, insecure, and pitiless sound like? The false cords call upon that monstrous, primal acoustic resonance.
Vocal anatomy: is it helpful?
Generally, I’m a big proponent of learning anatomy. While some have criticized that anatomical knowledge quickly morphs into mental congestion, I have only found that learning anatomy has deepened my practice and teaching.
However, in the case of learning to scream, I’ve not found that an abstract/textbook understanding has done tons for me. Nonetheless, here are some tutorials I’ve found informative:
But, having a teacher who knows the anatomy has been very useful. Because my teacher, Emil, was able to hear where I was working from, and then translate that into cues that made sense for me. His anatomical knowledge was able to intuit which part of my throat I was using and direct me accordingly.
Along the way, I’ve improved my embodied anatomy (that is, internal/self-sensing/proprioceptive understanding of my anatomy). So I developed an ability to feel, hear, and identify the difference between singing from my false chords or arytenoid cartilage. But beginning from a textbook and trying to sing according to that understanding probably wouldn’t have been very successful.
Screaming towards Empathy
As I’ve been struggling and learning to scream, I also discovered a strange way in which learning to scream made me more empathetic. Well, maybe it didn’t make me empathetic, but it provided a window for empathy I didn’t have. We’ll call it screampathy.
In my day job, I provide non-medical manual therapy and teach Pilates. Since I came to this trade with a background in dance and martial arts, I have pretty good body knowledge. Sometimes I have a hard time empathizing (i.e., intuitively understanding) people who struggle to feel where they’re moving from or where their weight is distributed.
But trying to learn to fry scream I was in uncharted waters. There are many wrong places to growl from, and only one is correct for a given technique. You can’t see it. You can feel it, but have you developed the sensitivity to distinguish vibrations in the arytenoid cartilage versus the false cords? If not, can listening help you change which musculature you’re using? Why don’t I sound like my teacher? Should it sound just like him when I do it, or will my own structure make me sound different? That is, do I not sound like him because I’m not doing it right?
I also get told a lot to let go of tension. Many of my clients would love to hear this, since I joke that I’d be a rich dude if I got paid every time I told them to relax.
Screaming as a Supra-power
I’m now able to create gnarly sounding screams at will. I can do them really loud, or not so loud. I can create scary sounds rather quietly. So what?
Well, most immediately, I’m incorporating this into my performances so I’m able to scream when musically necessary without damaging my throat.
But what does it mean to have at your immediate access that which previously required you to dig deep? Or to be able to repeat—as many times as you’d like—something that would previously wreck you for days? Or to be emotionally neutral while riding that singular sound so wound with wrecked passion? Is it a super power? No. But the ability to submerge and remerge endlessly.
