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Ode to Autumn Newsletter 2017
 Is it Resonance or Voice Quality?
We’ve made a couple of important edits to our author information. With apologies to Dan Ihasz and Elizabeth Ann Benson.
“The inspiration for this issue arose during a Voice Foundation presentation when Dr. Ronald Scherer quietly commented to me in the back row, ‘Does she mean voice quality or resonance?’ Brilliant! “
– Kim Steinhauer
- Page 1
The Voice of the Editor
by editor Kim Steinhauer, PhD - Page 2, 3, 4
Voice Quality vs Resonance
By Ronald C. Scherer, PhD - Page 5, 6
Terms of Use
By Michelle Horman, MS, CCC-SLP, SVS - Page 7,8
Resonance and Voice Quality in Musical Theater Voice Training
By Elizabeth Ann Benson, DMA - Page 9
Tools for the Voice Box: Glissando(i)
By Dan Ihasz, MM - Page 10
2018 Voices of Summer Gala (hints!) - Page 11
NATS Chats - Page 12
Annual Symposium Information
Ode to Autumn by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’erbrimmed their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind,
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies
