Stage presence

At the heart of the vocal method developed and tested by Adeline Toniutti, which she explores further in La Bonne Voix, are the stage reflexes: what the entrance, the gaze, the head, the pelvis and the hands convey before the very first word.

These reflexes for the stage entrance can be developed, and there are keys to make the body respond. All of it is trained and lived in advance. Great artists and great athletes never stop saying it: work and awareness of who we are and who others are are the great keys to achieving what we undertake, and they build self-confidence. So close your eyes, motor, rolling. Action.

What if our eyes took care of the staging? While we speak, our eyes must skilfully create a bond at the same time as the speech is produced. The most charismatic people have a natural gaze that encompasses the entire audience as well as the cameras. Look at Freddie Mercury: apart from his tongue-out moment at the camera live on air, he paces the stage like a panther, throwing glances that command the crowd.

Adeline's father saw Freddie in concert and told her that, leaving the show, you feel as though Freddie looked at you, personally. Her best friend Emily felt exactly the same thing coming out of a Mylène Farmer concert: she was sure Mylène had looked at her, at her alone.

What a strange feeling, to be moved by a personal glance from the star of the show. That is the panache of the greats: they have their heart in their throat and their soul in their eyes with such force that each person feels singled out and loved. They send glances that tip the audience over like a laser beam. Everyone, at their own level, can work on their gaze movements in order to strengthen their energetic radiance and give greater reach to their words.

Among the markers of the method:

When Lady Diana, the people's princess, kneels down to the height of the children who came with their parents to cheer her, she is not only kneeling for the child, but for the whole people. It is an immense mark of respect and humility that has touched the world forever.

Who has not noticed the pelvis and torso tilts of singing stars? Celine Dion, Freddie Mercury, Steven Tyler: we think this rock gesture is for style. It is rather the vocal gesture and its prowess that created the style. When an artist leans backward, they summon more contractions of the abdominal belt; and we need this, because the higher we go, the more pressure we need.

One can hardly picture the President of the Republic leaning back during a televised address. There is, however, one essential element to keep for every speaking person: the retroversion of the pelvis. It happens when we tilt the pelvis forward, and we can add a slight unlocking of the knees. This is the ideal posture.

Everything is movement: you were not hired to play the wax statue beside James Bond at Madame Tussauds. With this pelvis in the right position and the whole abdominal belt ready, you are set to support every voice inflection, from the softest and most sensual to the strongest and most daring.

Researchers have shown it: the stage puts us in a modified state of consciousness, "in the zone", the flow state described by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Adeline likes to recall the words of her friend Marie Zheng, who has massaged and accompanied so many artists before they stepped onto the floor of the Opera Garnier: stress and stage fright are the antechamber to the state of grace, like a bow being drawn before the arrow is released.

The body must be elastic; it tightens before taking the stage and will release everything at the right moment. Once the arrow is released, it cannot be retrieved; what matters is the preparation beforehand, the visualisation of the target, and the act of shooting.

Adeline remembers her first prime-time show at the Star Academy, a vertiginous moment. That evening, just before the live broadcast, she went to Nikos's dressing room where he, like a guardian angel, said a few sentences to her with the assured and benevolent tone that only he knows.

That evening, it was Nikos himself who opened the state of grace for her. Before going on stage, the last song Adeline listens to is Show Must Go On by Queen. Everyone has their own ritual for moving from stress and stage fright to the state of grace.

And this gesture shared by so many artists: they close their eyes and the hearts open. When we close our eyes, we switch off part of our mind and find ourselves with ourselves.

Adeline likes to recount the day when, in the basement of the Opéra Bastille, after years of hard work on La Traviata, her vocal coach told her she had finally found it: her potential was open, she was ready to stand before any conductor or director, and all that remained was to hold the pressure of auditions.

It is there, standing in the sun on the forecourt of the opera house, that she questions the very particular bond performers keep with their roles. She had the impression that lyric singers are forever chasing their tails, constantly connecting to dark emotions attached to the roles they want to perform to perfection in order to give everything to the audience; she wondered whether she had truly pierced the secrets of emotional connection and acquired the right method of interpretation. That very question is the starting point of her method.

When you start out, you always try to refer to a real emotion in order to "connect that emotion" to the song. Casting directors often use this expression as a guarantee that if the singer is connected, the audience will be happy to hear them.

I am often asked: "But how do I connect to an emotion I have never lived?" I answer: "You can feel that emotion through empathy for the person who lived through that situation." If Barbara sings a rape in L'Aigle noir, and she sings it that way, it is with all the restraint she holds for the trauma suffered, and if I in turn sing that song and I have not been raped, it is to say to her: "OK, message received, dear Barbara, I will sing your song with all the empathy I have for you and will transmit the emotions I felt listening to L'Aigle noir."

There comes a moment when you are connected, and enthusiasm (divine possession in Greek) pierces me and I connect to what I call the Artists' Eden. Marie Zheng, my friend and tai-chi-chuan master, calls it "the divine shower". Others give it another name, it makes no difference. And then there is no need to suffer in order to express suffering: it passes through us so as to move the audience who came to hear us, and to vibrate to soothe their sorrows or to vibrate with joy.

The watchword of the method: suppleness. Adeline is an artist who uses the oxygen between her fascia and her muscles, and who places herself entirely at the service of the Music she must serve. She frees her body from the traumas that both forged her character and severely tested her sensitivity. She stands there, ready to take the stage, to merge with the audience, knowing that stress and fear are the sign that she is ready to deliver what the audience expects to receive: Music and a piece of the Eden.