Perhaps to the sports-minded I could explain my point in terms of sport. For instance, in golf we all know that the object of the game is to get our ball down the fairway and into the cup in as few strokes as possible. We also know that there is such a thing as a swing in perfect form—a swing that, because of the perfect co-ordination, relaxation, and easy effort of the body, propels the ball as far as the player’s strength will allow.
We know that all these things are true, yet how many of us attain this perfect form, this absolute co-ordination ? What do we lack? What do we need? Every golf professional or teacher will tell us it is something else. One insists that if the shoulder is kept low we will attain perfect form. One declares if we pivot correctly all is well, another insists that it is the correct flick of the wrist we lack, and another says to simply keep the eye on the ball. Which is right? Aren’t they all?

There appear to be hundreds of varieties of golf strokes, some of them far from beautiful. Some men hunch up over the ball and give it a terrible swat and—Wham! It goes! Another stands as far away as possible and cocking his head to one side, after a bit of nervous twitching, takes a half-way swing and again—Wham! It goes! If these men were stopped suddenly from using these ungainly habits they would lose all their ability. Although they themselves would be the first to say that perfect form is the ideal they strive for, they would be highly indignant if one were to point out to them that their form doesn’t even approximate the ideal. "What of it?" they would protest. They hit the ball, don’t they? Of course, sometimes they don’t hit it well, and sometimes they hit it to the right or to the left, and sometimes they are "off their form" and can’t hit the ball at all, but isn’t that a common fault?

They were taught a certain method, or at least they learned a certain method, although it might be far from what the teacher had intended, and they are sticking to it because they know it well, and if these men were to become teachers they would in turn pass on all their bad habits to their unsuspecting pupils.
In golf, however, it is only the good player, the professional who has at some time made good, who qualifies as an instructor. One wouldn’t think of studying golf with a teacher who couldn’t at least outdrive one. Yet in singing it is too often the singer who couldn’t make good, or who has never sung at all and is not qualified to teach, who is permitted to pass on to his pupils the bad habits that held him back.

Despite the diversity of results achieved by the exemplars of the various schools and methods, one finds comfort and encouragement in the fact that ever so often one hears a singer who does know his business. Such a singer performs with beauty and ease, and his technique is such that he sings the same way all of the time. True, there may be occasions when he sings even better than is his usual wont, but never can it be said that because of a sudden indisposition or because of unfamiliar surroundings, or inadequate rehearsal (the most usual alibis), he falls below his own high standard. Such a singer never falls below a certain standard; he sings always at a certain high level of excellence because he works upon a firm foundation, i.e., a good method.
All good singers agree that their goal, technically, is to bring the voice up and out, forward and high, covered and resonant.
Admittedly there are many and devious routes by which one can reach any one goal. For example, if your nose itches and you want to scratch it, do you wrap your arm around your neck in order to get your hand to your nose? Of course, you don’t. You simply reach up and scratch. You don’t go through unnecessary and awkward contortions in order to do anything that can be done more easily in a simple, direct manner.

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