As mentioned already above, we all have to do two things before saying anything: thinking and breathing. Only then is speech possible. This is even truer of music. The expansion of time in an arching musical melody demands the appropriate breath, plus the corresponding emotional span. Therefore it is eminently necessary to be ‘ahead’ of the music. Only then can the singer seem as if he himself is creating the music in that very moment; only then can his voice and body form a unity. While the singer is singing one phrase he must already be preparing himself inwardly for the next so as to connect it to the first. And, above all, he has to use the upbeat of his breath to make the orchestra his servant, his vehicle of expression, in order to explain to the audience the meaning of the music emerging from the pit. It happens all too often that singers breathe when they already should be singing, while the orchestra stampedes away without any visible reason. This is a sure sign that the singer did not think – more generally, he did not ‘switch’ on time. Lagging behind the music like this, instead of ‘creating’ it in good time, can often be involuntarily comic.

The decisive element is the upbeat. Anyone watching me teach might be irritated by my frequent interjection: ‘And – ’ just when the singer is singing at his most beautiful. His concentration on the sheer beauty of his sound makes him forget the upbeat to what's coming next. In my childhood we had an old housekeeper who had the habit of ending her sentences with ‘and –’. As in: ‘I'm going shopping now, and –’. The effect was magical because the whole family would be waiting to hear what came next. It was the magic of the upbeat. ‘And –’ is the magic formula for all types of upbeats. Long ones drawn out over several bars, and short ones; hard, soft, exalted or graceful upbeats. Upbeats for every type of music and movement.