‘As soon as the roaring trombone sounds, go this way’ says the Priest to Tamino and Papageno during their trials in Mozart's Magic Flute. To underscore his command, his right hand points somewhere up in the air, while his left hand holds a burning torch. Tamino and Papageno would have to fly in order to follow his instructions. Instead of simply pointing to the (clearly visible) dark passage awaiting them, the Priest pretends that he is showing the way. No idea of space or intent directs his gesture. And this happens not only with small gestures but also with great emotions. The singer pretends that he loves or hates, but without actually feeling either emotion. One can experience it all the time: the orchestra in turmoil, the vocal line at fever pitch of passion – and yet something's missing, namely the actual emotional and physical state of being, the breath of big emotion that alone could make all this believable. The singer's body betrays him – especially his hands, which are telling us: ‘It's not really that bad. There's no reason for the orchestra to get so worked up.’ There is no reality created by imagination whatsoever. The singer offers merely ‘pretend’ theatre.

This refusal to depict a character's true physical and mental state is one of the capital problems in opera. It's one of the reasons opera can seem awkward and ridiculous. But perhaps singers do this instinctively with good reason. Because singing (and making music in general) is a far more technical activity than acting. The famous violinist Yehudi Menuhin once said: ‘Expression is the enemy of technique.’ In opera, this means that the more a singer immerses himself in the condition of the figure he is portraying, the more he runs the risk of neglecting his vocal technique. This is why it is so important that singers should learn to unite the voice and the body during their training, both of which must be controlled by the breath demanded by the emotional and physical situation.