Chapter 7: Playing the Opposites

One of the most persistent pitfalls in singing acting — especially for young or inexperienced performers — is the gravitational pull toward the dominant emotional coloration of a song. A ballad becomes “sad,” regardless of its actual emotional architecture. An uptempo song becomes “energetic,” even when the character is unraveling internally. In both cases, the performance collapses into generalization. The actor submits to pathos rather than interrogating specificity.

This emotional flattening is not merely an aesthetic problem; it is a conceptual misunderstanding of how dramatic action unfolds. Songs — even lyrical ones — are not monolithic emotional gestures. They are sequences of competing impulses, contradictory desires, clashing memories, and shifting stakes. A ballad is not inherently melancholy, and an uptempo number is not inherently manic. The truth of the moment must come from the character’s evolving inner life, not from a simplistic reading of tempo or mood.

Thus emerges a critical tool for the singing actor: playing the opposites.

To play the opposites is not to ignore the emotional core of a song, but to enrich it by seeking out its complexity — its fractures, ruptures, contradictions, and unexpected textures. It is to resist the easy choice in service of the truer choice. It is to honor the multidimensional nature of human experience.

A character rarely feels one thing at a time. Why should a song?

Why Opposites Matter

Human emotions rarely move in a straight line. Grief contains relief. Joy contains fear. Anger contains tenderness. Nostalgia contains bitterness. The singing actor must honor this emotional polyphony if performance is to feel truthful.

Playing opposites accomplishes several essential goals:

• It resists cliché. A sad ballad performed simply as “sad” becomes sentimental rather than specific.
• It injects dramatic tension. Opposing impulses pull against each other, creating emotional electricity.
• It mirrors psychological truth. People contradict themselves constantly; so should characters.
• It energizes performance. Opposites create movement — internal and external — preventing stagnation.
• It restores agency. When you play only the dominant emotional wash, you relinquish choice. Opposites restore intention.

Opposites are not ornamental; they are structural.

Working Against the Text — Carefully

Most techniques in this book emphasize working with the text, with the score, with the author’s intention. Playing the opposites introduces a productive counterpoint: working against the text when doing so reveals deeper truth.

This does not mean ignoring tempo, style, or narrative logic.

It means asking:

• What would surprise the listener without betraying the character?
• What emotional truth lies beneath the expected choice?
• Where might an opposite create greater clarity?
• Where does the character resist the emotional journey the song seems to demand?

This technique is not about contradiction for contradiction’s sake. It is about illuminating complexity.

Songs as Sequences, Not Singularities

A song is not one event; it is many. It is a chain of micro-events, each with its own need, obstacle, impulse, and emotional temperature. Opposites emerge naturally when you treat the song as a sequence rather than a single mood.

For example:

• A character may begin a song with bravado but reveal fear two lines later.
• A lyric may present euphoria, but the harmony beneath it may reveal dread.
• A phrase may sound triumphant, but the punctuation may indicate hesitation.

By examining the song moment-by-moment — a technique I would call microscopic dramaturgy — you discover where opposites can live.

Opposites reveal themselves only when you look closely.

A Case Study: Sondheim’s “I Remember”

Sondheim is a master of emotional contradiction, and “I Remember” from Evening Primrose offers fertile ground for exploring this technique. On its surface, the song is wistful, elegiac, suffused with longing. Left unexamined, it tempts the singing actor into a single, melancholy hue.

But look closer.

I remember snow,

Soft as feathers,

Sharp as thumbtacks…

Already, the lyric contradicts itself. Snow cannot be both feather-soft and thumbtack-sharp — yet emotionally, memory holds both sensations simultaneously. Here is the invitation to play opposites:

Soft as feathers → a moment of pleasure, nostalgia, sensual texture

Sharp as thumbtacks → a moment of discomfort, intrusion, perhaps grief

The performance becomes richer when the actor allows these opposing sensations to produce distinct physical and emotional responses.

Instead of a single wash of sadness, the song becomes a kaleidoscope of memory — warm, cold, tender, painful.

The result? A performance that is lived, not generalized.

Ways to Integrate Opposites Into Your Work

1. Identify the Expected Emotion — Then Complicate It

If the lyric suggests joy, ask: What fear lies beneath?

If it suggests grief, ask: What desire disrupts it?

2. Look for Tonal Shifts in the Music

A sudden change in harmony or rhythm often indicates a moment of emotional rupture — an ideal home for an opposite.

3. Track Breath Impulses

Opposites often manifest in breath:

• A held breath amid joy can reveal dread.

• A sudden release amid grief can reveal acceptance.

4. Avoid Monochrome Acting Choices

Whenever you feel your performance arriving at a single “color,” disrupt it with an opposite impulse that still aligns with the character’s truth.

Exercises for Finding Opposites

Line-by-Line Opposites

For each lyric, write the dominant emotion, then write its opposite. Experiment with embodying both.

Opposites in Physicalization

Let the voice carry one impulse while the body carries its opposite — noticing how this tension generates dramatic electricity.

Micro-Event Map

Break the song into 8–12 small emotional “beats” and assign an opposite to at least three of them.

Opposite Spectrum Improvisation

Sing the same phrase three times, each time playing:

• The dominant emotion
• The opposite
• A fusion of both

Notice which feels most psychologically alive.

A Final Word on Courage

Playing opposites requires courage. It demands risk, experimentation, and a willingness to deviate from the expected path. It asks you not to please the audience but to tell the truth. Opposites pull you away from comfort and toward complexity — which is, after all, the terrain of great acting.

Not every song requires this approach. Not every moment can bear it.

But knowing that it exists — and being able to recognize when it will deepen the story — equips you with one of the most powerful tools available to the singing actor.

Opposites are not rebellion.

They are revelation.

They are one more color — bold, unexpected, essential — in the vibrant palette of dramatic song.