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        Article contents

  Introduction
  Of Boys, Beasts, and Postfeminist Heroes
  From Cock-Rockers to Crooners: The Changing Voice of Masculinity
        “A Whole New World”
  “I See the Light”
“Lost in the Woods”
		“Heaven’s Light”
    Conclusion
		Footnotes
    


    
     
		
	

    ARTICLE
    
“That’s How You Know He’s Your Love”:
    

    The Male Singing Voice and Disney’s (Re)interpretation of the Male Romantic Lead
		

    Maria Behrendt
    


    Sound Stage Screen, Vol. 2, Issue 2 (Fall 2022), pp. 5–32, ISSN 2784-8949. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. © 2022 Maria Behrendt. DOI: https://doi.org/10.54103/sss17410.


		

    In the 2007 Disney movie Enchanted, soon-to-be princess Giselle is
    expelled from the magical (and animated) kingdom of Andalasia and separated
    from her betrothed prince Edward who, just like her, is known to burst into
    song on romantic occasions, dazzling everyone with his operatic timbre.
    Giselle eventually finds herself lost in New York City, where she meets
    divorce lawyer Robert. She is puzzled by his matter-of-fact behavior
    towards his fiancée Nancy and asks him (in song, of course): “How does she
    know you love her?” She suggests that he should sing to her, to reassure
    her of his affection, but he quickly states: “I really don’t sing.”
    Naturally, in time, they fall in love and Robert starts to sing to Giselle,
    even if only with a quiet, breathy voice. Enchanted presents
    Edward as the classic Disney prince and Robert as his realistic
    counterpart, creating a clash of two different ways of expressing love:
    while Edward is happy to share his feelings by singing about them, Robert
    is bewildered by Giselle’s suggestion that he address Nancy in song. This
    is unsurprising when considering that many boys and young men seem to view
    singing as a gender-inadequate activity—and associate it with femininity or
homosexuality.    [1]



    Enchanted
    thus suggests a juxtaposition of the “Disney way” of expressing love, which
    is mostly done in song, and the “real world way,” where such behavior
    conflicts with traditional gender roles. The term “Disney” refers here to
    the studio as a supra-agent, which, through its franchise, aesthetics, and
    marketing “set the standard for gendered representation in children’s
motion picture production.”     [2]
    This juxtaposition is also visible in the overall habitus of Edward and
    Robert, who stand for two different models of masculinity. Edward is a
    typical example of the “boy” as a cultural icon. According to Ian Biddle
    and Freya Jarman-Ivens, the “boy” is “man enough to be desired and
desiring, and yet boy enough to be unthreatening.”     [3] His
androgyny, however (“the hairlessness, his ‘pretty’ face”     [4])
    comes with the danger of disrupting the binaries of sex and gender, thus
upsetting the structures of desire that are based on such binaries.    [5]
    This is precisely what motivates Robert’s more masculine habitus: by
    refusing to sing, Robert makes sure not to appear too feminine. In the same
    way, his outer appearance shows no sign of androgyny: he appears more
    mature, is not as clean-shaven and—as an amazed Giselle finds out—even has
    chest hair.



    My evaluation of the soundtracks to sixty feature-length Disney animated
    movies (excluding PIXAR-productions and direct-to-DVD-sequels) reveals that
    the musical display of romantic masculinity is less coherent than the
    juxtaposition in Enchanted suggests. The results do not align with
    the “Disney way” of expressing love through song. Instead, genuine love
    duets are relatively rare. I have only detected five examples: “Once Upon a
Dream” from Sleeping Beauty, “So This Is Love” from    Cinderella, “A Whole New World” from Aladdin, “If I Never
    Knew You” from Pocahontas (featured only in the extended version),
and “I See the Light” from Tangled.    [6]
    Solo love songs sung by the male protagonist are even rarer—I found only
three titles: “One Song” from Snow White, “Heaven’s Light” from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and “Lost in the Woods” from Frozen II.    [7] In
    many iconic romantic scenes, a third party performs the song, for example
the teapot in Beauty and the Beast, Sebastian the crab in The Little Mermaid, the Italian cook in    The Lady and the Tramp. This frequent use of the observer love
    song can be understood as a storytelling mode—the cinematic adaptation of
the “once upon a time” in a fairy tale. Ray’s love song to Evangeline in    The Princess and the Frog is a hybrid form: he sings about his own
    feelings and uses this song at the same time to comment on the emerging
    love between the leading couple Tiana and Naveen.



    Despite Enchanted claiming otherwise, the combination of
    masculinity and the musical expression of romantic feelings seems thus to
    pose a challenge, even in the Disney universe. In this essay, I will
conduct a comparative analysis of the love duets “A Whole New World” from    Aladdin (1992) and “I See the Light” from Tangled (2010),
as well as the solo love songs “Lost in the Woods” from Frozen II (2019) and “Heaven’s Light” from    The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996). By choosing songs from the
“Renaissance Era” as well as from the era of the “Deconstructed Diva”    [8] it
    becomes possible to link the analyses to a historical timeline of vocal
    masculinities, in order to discuss if and how male singing contributed to
    and coincided with Disney’s changing approach towards masculinity. To this
    date, this development has only been analyzed with regard to the
    princesses. Liske and Zelda Potgieter observe that “over the span of the 76
    years of her existence we see Disney’s princess transformed from one who is
    always virtuous and never evil, and who has no other desire or purpose but
    to be a wife and mother, to one who knows her own strengths and weaknesses,
    her good side and her bad, and who no longer needs a man in order to feel
fulfilled.”     [9]
    Jennifer Fleeger observes a similar development and links it to changing
    vocal styles:



The first wave of princesses, the eponymous hand-drawn characters inSnow White (1937), Cinderella (1950), and    Sleeping Beauty (1959) sing operatically. The second and largest
group, which begins thirty years later with the computer-aided color of The Little Mermaid and then goes on to Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), Pocahontas (1995), Mulan (1998), and    The Princess and the Frog (2009), performs as if they were on a
    Broadway stage. The final category is characterized by 3D computer
    animation and pop vocalizations. In that vein, Tangled (2010), its
first entry, stars Mandy Moore.    [10]



    Building on these findings, I will focus on three central questions: (1)
    whether various models of romantic masculinity are mirrored in specific
    stylistic musical or vocal devices; (2) how these connections relate to the
    longstanding tradition of voice categories (Stimmfach) in opera;
    and (3) in which ways the music, and especially the singing, comment on or
    even contradict the portrayed masculinity.




    Of Boys, Beasts, and Postfeminist Heroes



    Romantic love is a key topic in most Disney films. According to a 2003
    study of twenty-six Disney films, falling in love is an almost inevitable
and immediate consequence of a meeting between a man and a woman:    [11]
    “In The Fox and the Hound, after Big Mama realized Vixey and Todd
    [sic] were about the same age, she got a big smile on her
    face and began to tell Vixey about how handsome Todd was. As soon as Vixey
and Todd met, they fell in love.”    [12]
    The indispensability of this narrative becomes evident in sequels to films
    such as The Hunchback of Notre Dame: while Quasimodo’s love for
    Esmeralda is unrequited in the first film, he successfully wins the heart
of the girl Madellaine in the direct-to-video sequel    The Hunchback of Notre Dame II. By giving in to this narrative,
    the sequel “both addresses and cheapens the previous movie’s notes of
melancholy.”    [13]
    According to Amy M. Davis, this concentration on romantic love is due to
    its low-risk potential. She argues that Disney shies away from being too
    experimental and progressive in its depictions of gender due to the risk of
losing audiences and thus losing money.    [14]
    In contrast, the “tried and true plotlines found in traditional tales,”
mostly based on romance, have proven to appeal to a mass audience.    [15]
    Of course, they pose the constant conflict of deciding how to navigate the
    space between the values transported in traditional folklore and
contemporary ideas of relationships and gender.    [16]
    For example, the aforementioned 2003 study found that many Disney movies
feature relationships with unequal divisions of power.    [17]
    In the same way, Laura Béres claims that there is a tendency to romanticize
men’s control over and abuse of women.    [18]



    While the portrayal of the feminine is well researched, to some extent
    (e.g., by Potgieter, Fleeger) even with regard to changing vocal
    aesthetics, the vocal aesthetics of its male counterpart have widely been
    left undiscussed. Despite a significant increase in gender-focused
    research, including studies analyzing the evolution and categorization of
    “Disney men,” the singing voice and its role in the process of
    characterization remains undiscussed. Amy Davis’s monograph
    
        Handsome Heroes & Vile Villains: Men in Disney’s Feature Animation
    
    (2013), which twins with her earlier study on femininity
    
        Good Girls & Wicked Witches: Women in Disney’s Feature Animation
    
(2007),    [19]
    identifies three broad depictions of Disney men: boys, heroes (both princes
and non-aristocratic), and villains.    [20]
    Many of the following studies have made Davis’s categorization their
    starting point, such as Benjamin Hine et al.’s article, which examines
    representations of gender in prince and princess characters in Disney
movies released between 2009 and 2016.    [21]
    In an extensive statistical overview, they compare actions such as
    “fighting” and “crying” in order to shed light on the portrayal and
    evolution of gender-specific behavior. The category “shows emotion” is of
    particular interest in this paper, as it is a key aspect of the male
    romantic leads’ singing. While no Disney prince has been caught crying so
far,    [22]
    Hine detects that Disney princes show more emotions in films from 2000 on.
    His statistics reveal that “shows emotion” accounted for almost 25% of the
    princes’ behavior between 2000 and 2010, which is striking given that
stoicism is regarded as an important masculine characteristic.    [23]
    He concludes that “the largely absent, passive princes of the 1930s and
    1950s, and the muscular, brave heroes of the 1980s and 1990s appear to have
    been succeeded by a troop of sensitive, fearful, but dashing men in the
    21st century, thus supporting the argument that the men of Disney are
complicated, to say the least.” [24]


    Michael Macaluso, who also observed this shift in the princes’ behavior,
links it to the phenomenon of postfeminist masculinity.    [25]
    He identifies a number of Disney men “who [experience] some type of crisis
    or vulnerability, usually in relation to [their] understanding or
    performance of masculinity connected to work, family, partner, expectation,
etc.”    [26]
    To illustrate this finding, he offers two models of Disney masculinity: the
    first is based on the categories established by Davis, the second includes
    his newly formed category of postfeminist Disney men. This category
    encompasses amongst others the romantic male leads Flynn Rider, Kristoff,
    and Prince Naveen, who all struggle with finding their identity and place
    in a romantic relationship.


	



    Table 1. Model of Disney Masculinity (Michael Macaluso).
	
	

		




    Table 2. Revised Model of Disney Masculinity (Michael Macaluso).



    The phenomenon of postfeminist masculinity has been widely discussed within
    Media Studies. Diane Negra and Yvonne Tasker understand postfeminist
    masculinity as a discourse that “celebrates women’s strength while lightly
critiquing or gently ridiculing straight masculinity.”     [27]
Valerie Palmer-Mehta speaks of “mediocre masculinity.”     [28]
    In contrast, Melissa Zimdar understands postfeminist masculinity as a new
    version of hegemonic masculinity that includes both the alpha male and the
new male, who stands for a kinder and gentler masculinity.    [29]
    This is closely linked to the concept of “hybrid masculinity”, which
    Tristan Bridges and C. J. Pascoe define as “the selective incorporation of
    elements of identity typically associated with various marginalized and
    subordinated masculinities and—at times—femininities into privileged men’s
gender performances and identities.”    [30]
    With this, new tropes of masculinity in the media are introduced. For
    example, Negra and Diane identify a regular use of “gay male identities,”
especially in wedding films.    [31]
    John Alberti understands the “bromance” as a “splintering of the idea(l) of
a unified construction of masculinity itself.”    [32]
    With the example of animated films, Berit Åström demonstrates how the
    depiction of postfeminist fathers is strengthened at the expense of
    mothers, who “may be allowed, if they remain in the background, supporting
    their husbands. But it is best for everyone if they are removed, leaving
father and son to create their own family.” [33]


    Hine offers two contrasting explanations for the emergence of hybrid and
    postfeminist masculinity. On the one hand, the showing of emotions
    characteristic of these types of masculinity could serve as a means to
    discourage feminine behavior, as these traits are often portrayed in a
    negative way—the fearful and tentative Naveen and the affectionate and
    sensitive Kristoff being prominent examples. However, it is also possible
    that filmmakers want to act as a “catalyst for a dissection and
re-evaluation of masculinity,”     [34]
    and, in doing so, to present their younger audience with alternative role
    models, offering “important models of feminine behavior for boys amongst a
plethora of hyper-masculine messages present in child and adult media.” [35]    



From Cock-Rockers to Crooners: The Changing Voice of Masculinity



    Previous non-Disney related research shows that many of these questions
    attached to masculine emotionality, and especially romantic masculinity,
    are mirrored in discussions about male singing. Simon Frith and Angela
    McRobbie identify two main types of pop music which they label “cock rock”
    and “teenybop”: Cock rock is “music making in which performance is an
explicit, crude and often aggressive expression of male sexuality.”    [36]
    In contrast, teenybop, which is mostly consumed by girls, transforms “male
    sexuality… into a spiritual yearning carrying only hints of sexual
    interaction. What is needed is not so much someone to screw as a sensitive
    and sympathetic soulmate, someone to support and nourish the incompetent
male adolescent as he grows up.”    [37]
    Closely related to this is the genre “Bubblegum Music,” meaning pop music
    in a catchy and upbeat style. It was strongly marked by the teen idols of
the 1970s, with figures like Shaun Cassidy and Donny Osmond,    [38]
    developing into the boy band style of the 1990s, where harmonies, tenor
    voices, and outbursts of falsetto were frequently used to create a more
juvenile male presence.[39]    



    This categorization of linking music styles in general and singing styles
    in particular to masculinity is of course far more complex, and there are
    overlaps and contradictions. For example, Ian Biddle and Freya Jarman-Ivens
    argue that in popular music, “vulnerability, multi-vocality, and falsetto
    are seen to be the stuff of ‘anti-masculine’ musics, situated in a dialogic
    relationship with the traditional ‘cock-rock’ canon and thereby exposing
something of what we perceive to be ‘masculinity’ in musical expression.”     [40]
    In a similar way, Georgina Gregory observes that “boys are often reluctant
to sing high notes when they approach their teen years.”     [41]
    However, there are at least two different varieties of voices belonging to
    the “cock-rock” genre, that do not exclude falsetto and vulnerability: the
    “power ballads” of the 1980s, with Robert Plant and Freddie
    Mercury’s heldentenor, and the bluesier, huskier sound of singers
like Paul Rodgers.    [42]
    Another example for the complexity of this topic is the technique of
    crooning, the singing of “popular sentimental songs in a low, smooth voice,
especially into a closelyheld microphone.”     [43]
    According to Biddle und Jarman-Ivens, intimate and soft crooning performs
    “a gendered work very different from an imprecisely pitched, half-shouted
    voice that seems to come from a large space, such as is favored in various
rock musics.”     [44]
    This style of singing has often been criticized for being too feminine;
Allison McCracken links this to historical and contemporary tendencies of effemiphobia.[45] At the same time, it seems to be powerfully attractive to many
    women, as McCracken demonstrates with singers such as Justin Bieber, for
example,    [46]
    and Glee’s Darren Criss, who portrays a gay character and is “more
than happy to be an erotic object for both sexes.”     [47]
    Thus, “the pop crooner has been operating both in the commercial mainstream
    and on the fringes of gender normativity for decades and has been
culturally stigmatized because of both associations.”     [48]



    Of course, these questions are not exclusive to popular singing styles of
    the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, but have a longstanding tradition
    dating back to the operatic Stimmfach. The term Stimmfach
    emerged in nineteenth-century Germany when composers such as Carl Maria von
    Weber aimed to transfer the role categories of traditional drama to opera.
    While role categories had been present in opera since its beginnings (e.g.,
    “prima soprano” and “buffo” in 17th Century opera), it was only in the
    nineteenth century that the description of voice types became more
differentiated.    [49]
    With the changing musical aesthetics and especially the growing orchestra,
    a need for heavier and more dramatic voices arose. This led to new
    categories such as the “tenore di forza” in contrast to the “tenore
leggero.”    [50]
    In the twentieth century, the German conductor and musicologist Rudolf
    Kloiber made the first systematic approach to define voice types based on
traditional role categories stemming from traditional drama. HisHandbuch der Oper (1951) led to a normative understanding of the Stimmfach, which is influential to this day.    [51]
    In contrast to the overall term “voice type,” Stimmfach refers
    specifically to the operatic tradition and its subcategories are much
    richer with semantic connotations. The Fachsystem also plays a
    vital part in musicals. There, new categories like “pop soprano” or
    “Broadway soprano”—and the attribution of voices to specific styles such as
    blues, gospel, and rock, or techniques such as belting—amend the
traditional categories.    [52]
    And, as will be demonstrated, it is also vital for voice casting in Disney
    films, especially the princes from the early era—i.e., Snow White’s,
    Aurora’s, and Cinderella’s love interests, who are classical tenors and
    sing with a classical operatic technique.



    As the aforementioned literature makes clear, the reception of the
    portrayal of masculinity in Disney films is just as ambiguous and
    complicated as the portrayal itself. Indeed, there seems to be a thin line
    between the exact amount of emotionality men tend to display: on the one
    hand, making men emotionally available; and on the other, overriding their
    masculinity. This balancing act is also crucial for the male protagonists
    of the love songs analyzed in this chapter: as my analyses will show, they
    each struggle with specific aspects of what is considered “masculine,”
    especially when it comes to negotiating this masculinity within the context
    of a romantic relationship. With Aladdin from the 1992 movie of the same
name, Eugene from Tangled (2010), and Kristoff from    Frozen (2013, as well as its sequel Frozen II in 2019),
    we meet three characters who have a lot in common. All three stories
    feature couples with different social backgrounds, with the men being poor
    orphans and the women princesses. Moreover, all three men are more
    experienced in the ways of the world than their respective princesses and
    they introduce the female characters to “real life.” Aladdin and Eugene
    sing a love duet with their princesses, making these duets a part of the
    very small number of genuine Disney love duets. Kristoff sings a solo love
song, just like Quasimodo, the protagonist from    The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996). While Kristoff, Aladdin, and
    Eugene are the male romantic leads in love stories with happy endings,
    Quasimodo is less fortunate: the beautiful Romani girl Esmeralda only cares
    for him as a friend and falls instead for the dashing soldier Phoebus.



“A Whole New World”



    In his revised model of Disney masculinity, Macaluso places Aladdin between
    the categories “boy” and “hero/prince” and this categorization is visible
in the production process:    [53]
    in the Oriental-Chinese fairy tale Aladin, which served as
    inspiration to the film, Aladdin is a young boy from China. While
    the studio decided to reset the tale in Arabia, they originally intended to
keep Aladdin as a 13-year-old boy.     [54]
    After looking at the original sketches, which made Aladdin look boyish
    (some filmmakers even noted a resemblance to Michael J. Fox), Walt Disney
    Studios’ chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg began to worry that Aladdin might not
    seem masculine enough. Thus, he asked the animators to watch Tom Cruise
movies as a reference point and redesign the character,    [55]
    and it was ultimately decided that he needed to be older, more independent,
and rougher—a “kind of Indiana Jones character.”    [56]
    Aladdin is thus a good example for the “boy” as a cultural icon: he is “man
enough to be desired and desiring, and yet boy enough to be unthreatening.”    [57]
    This negotiation of masculinity is also mirrored in Aladdin’s voice acting,
    which is done by two different actors: 17-year-old Scott Weinger (speaking
    voice) and 19-year-old Brad Kane (singing voice). There are contradictory
    information on this casting process. In interviews, Kane and Weinger make
    it sound as if Weinger had already been casted as speaking voice but had
then experienced problems with the singing part.    [58]
    Hischak however states that originally Kane was meant to do the speaking
    and singing voice, but at the last minute it was decided that Weinger
    should do the speaking, who succeeded in making Aladdin “young and
appealing even as he was a bit of a playful ruffian.”     [59]
    In any case, Weinger’s speaking voice sounds somewhat rougher than Kane’s,
    which corresponds to the producers’ wish to make Aladdin less boyish.



    In the duet “A Whole New World” (music by Alan Menken, lyrics by
    Tim Rice), Aladdin, disguised as Prince Ali, invites Jasmine onto his magic
    carpet and starts to sing: “I can show you the world | shining, shimmering,
    splendid.” Throughout the song, Aladdin underlines his ability to introduce
    Jasmine to a “new world,” to “open [her] eyes” and to “take [her] wonder by
    wonder.” She confirms this by singing lines such as “a dazzling place I
    never knew,” and “now I’m in a whole new world with you.” In terms of the
    lyrics, Aladdin thus asserts his masculinity by presenting himself as the
    more dominant, mature, and active party in the relationship. The music adds
    a different notion, however: Aladdin’s boyish singing has the charm of an
    untrained voice. This becomes mostly noticeable in the lower register where
    his vocal cords do not always properly close and air leaks through,
    resulting in an altogether breathier voice with rather unbalanced registers
    (especially when singing “now when did you last let your heart decide?”) In
    addition, his pitch is not always fully accurate. This vocal roughness
    represents vulnerability and youth—a girl of the same age would probably
    have more control of her voice. This becomes especially audible when
    Jasmine sings, voiced by 21-year-old Lea Salonga who moves elegantly
    through the registers and whose voice is equipped with a subtle and
    well-balanced vibrato. But there is more to the use of the lower register
    than just youth: when Kane’s voice rises in pitch it becomes apparent that
    he is more at home in a slightly elevated tessitura, as the higher pitches
    are more resonant and colorful than the lower ones. His youthful voice and
    the higher register fit well into the dawning era of the boy bands of the
    1990s, which the film just predates. Moreover, all singing characters
    listed by Macaluso as “hero/prince” (Prince Charming, Prince Philipp,
    Hercules) or between the categories “boy” and “hero/prince” (Aladdin, John
    Smith, Quasimodo) are tenors, which matches the tradition of romantic
opera.    [60]
    Aladdin, despite having an untrained voice, thus fits vocally into the
    Disney-prince tradition. He does, however, not yet trust in his inner
    prince and tries to conceal his insecurity by giving his voice a low, husky
    sexiness, in order to charm Jasmine. Especially in the beginning of the
song, he acts like a lyrical tenor trying to play a “cavalier baritone”—a    Stimmfach, that is used to portray a gallant gentleman
    irresistible to women. Prominent examples are Don Giovanni, who “has his
way with every woman he sees”    [61]
    or Eugen Onegin, who is responsible for Tatjana’s romantic awakening.
    Cavalier baritones often have an easy tenor top, as does Aladdin, but also
    a recognizable baritone vocal color, which is what Aladdin tries to obtain.
    It is noteworthy that the voice actors in the German and French version of
    the film—Peter Fessler and Paolo Domingo—face similar challenges, due to
    the overall vocal range of Aladdin’s part in this song. This reveals that
    the vocal negotiation of masculinity in Aladdin is not so much the
    result of an individual casting choice, but rather of a compositional
    decision by Alan Menken, whose choice of vocal range makes Aladdin’s
    struggle with his romantic masculinity inevitable.



    Halfway through the ballad, the balance of power shifts: when Jasmine sings
    “Now I’m in a whole new world with you,” Aladdin repeats it, acknowledging
    for the first time that he is experiencing something new as well. Jasmine
    then takes the musical lead by starting the second verse, with Lea Salonga
    singing even the highest notes with confidence and clarity (e.g., “I’m like
    a shooting star”). Earlier in the song, the lovers had sung alternately,
    imitating and finishing each other’s verses. But in the final lines, they
    start to sing simultaneously (“Let me share this whole new world with
    you”). As the song ends, Jasmine realizes that Aladdin is not a prince
    after all but the boy she met at the market earlier in the film. These
    developments shed light on the changing of Aladdin’s masculinity in this
    romantic context: in the beginning, he presents himself as the more
    experienced and mature partner. At the same time, his uneasiness with the
    low register reveals the gap between self-understanding and actual
    abilities—he is still a boy, not yet a man, and most importantly not yet a
    prince. Yet, when Jasmine takes the lead, assuring him of her consent and
    accepting his boyishness and unrefined mannerisms, they start to act as
    equals, allowing Jasmine to eventually recognize Aladdin’s true self.
    Aladdin’s vocals here already imply the eventual happy ending, as his voice
    clearly has potential: his voice comes across as that of an untrained
    tenor, a “diamond in the rough,” as the cave of wonders calls him at the
    beginning of the movie. Given that most Disney princes are tenors, his
    singing implies that it is indeed possible for him to win Jasmine’s heart
    and to earn the status of a prince—which is precisely what happens next.



“I See the Light”



While Aladdin represents the shift between boyhood and manhood,    Tangled’s Eugene is considerably more masculine. The character
    design of Eugene came from a process called the “Hot Man Meeting,” a
    one-time event held for Tangled. The producers set up a meeting
    with all the studio’s female employees, and asked them what made a man
    good-looking regarding eye color, hair color and style, and body type—all
    in order to create Eugene’s character design:



    All the ladies of the studio came into the “Hot Man Meeting,” where we
    gathered pictures of their favorite handsome men [e.g., Johnny Depp, Hugh
    Jackman, Brad Pitt, David Beckham, and Gene Kelly]—we collected pictures
    from the Internet and from books and from women’s wallets. They were very
specific about what they liked and what they didn’t like.”[62]    



Thus, to quote the producers, they “created the ultimate man.”    [63]
    It is noteworthy that several of these men are not only song- or dance-men,
    but tend to have a vulnerable quality; while Jackman and Kelly appear more
    mature in a physical way than Pitt, Beckham and Depp, they nevertheless
    strongly portray interiority and sensitivity.



    Given the characters he was based on, it is therefore no surprise that
    Macaluso categorizes Eugene as a postfeminist hero, despite this physical
    hypermasculinity. The crisis, which defines the postfeminist hero, is here
    caused by his emerging love for Rapunzel, which puts in question his former
    self-understanding and goals. By this, he differs from Aladdin: Aladdin
    falls in love with Jasmine at first sight and bases all his actions on the
    aim of winning her. Eugene first agrees to accompany Rapunzel with the hope
    of winning back the tiara she took from him. It is only during their shared
    adventures that he falls in love with her. While the attraction between the
    two soon becomes clear, it is only in the duet “I See the Light” (music by
    Alan Menken, again; lyrics by Glenn Slater) that they realize and express
    their feelings for each other.



    For the songs in Tangled, Alan Menken took inspiration from 1960s
folk rock, especially Joni Mitchell’s songs.    [64]
    “I See the Light” is much simpler and more folk-like than “A Whole New
    World,” and prominently features the sound of an acoustic guitar adding to
    the folk-like tone. The first two verses are sung in the characters’ heads
    as an introspective comment on their respective situations. Rapunzel,
    voiced by 26-year-old Mandy Moore, is singing about the overwhelming
    feeling of at last seeing the floating lanterns which are lit each year in
    memory of the lost princess. It is only in the last line that she makes the
    connection between these feelings and her love for Eugene (“all at once
    everything is different | now that I see you”). But Eugene, voiced by
    30-year-old Zachary Levi, makes this connection much quicker. Halfway
    through his first solo verse, he sings: “Now she’s here, suddenly I know |
    If she’s here it’s crystal clear | I’m where I’m meant to go” and gently
    takes her hand. This action—taking her hand—makes Rapunzel realize that
    Eugene returns her affection. The beginning of the second chorus finds them
    finally singing together, and openly professing their love. While Mandy
    Moore’s Broadway-like singing resembles Jasmine’s style in “A Whole New
    World,” Zachary Levi sings completely differently than Brad Kane; the song
    is vocally less demanding than “A Whole New World” and voice actor Zachary
    Levi is able to sing comfortably within his range. In contrast to Brad
    Kane’s Aladdin, Levi’s Eugene is more of a baritone, both in terms of the
    tessitura of the song as well as in terms of a warm, lush, and more “manly”
    color. Combined with the overall sexualization and cockiness of the
    character, this places him near the operatic category of “cavalier
    baritone”. His voice is well-balanced with rich low notes (e.g., “shining
    in the star light”) and an effortless middle register (“never truly
    seeing”). He sings with a rather straight-toned, breathy voice and is
    almost crooning (“all those years living in a blur,” “all that time,” “and
    it’s warm and clear and bright”). With this, he takes on the typical
    qualities of the pop crooner, with his “alignment with the cultural
    feminine through his preference for romantic songs and commercial pop… his
beauty and sensitivity, his emotional openness and transparency.”    [65]
    However, in some moments, a slight vibration of the voice shines through
    (“it’s crystal clear,” his last “see you”). This vocal ability reveals that
    the use of breathy moments is a conscious choice to create an impression of
    vulnerability and emotionality, unlike with Brad Kane’s singing.



    The way romance develops throughout the song is thus profoundly different
    from “A Whole New World”: Aladdin takes action from the very beginning. He
    courts and eventually wins Jasmine by singing to her and inviting her to
    fly—and sing—with him. While Eugene eventually also takes action (by taking
    Rapunzel’s hand), he never intended to court her and was actually caught by
    surprise by his feelings for her, making him much more passive and
    undetermined in his courtship. For the “boy” Aladdin, romantic enthusiasm
    seems fitting, and he makes no secret of his infatuation. For Eugene, in
    contrast, allowing himself to fall for Rapunzel demands courage. For the
    boy Aladdin, falling in love is a sign of growth and masculinity. For
    Eugene, it is a crisis of vulnerability. In both duets, however, the male
    lead’s singing voice does somewhat contrast this confidence or, in Eugene’s
    case, lack of confidence. Aladdin, although being confident and active,
    sings with a boyish voice and almost oversteps his vocal limits. Eugene’s
    crooning voice sounds much deeper and more mature; it is not only
    reminiscent of the “cavalier baritone,” but also corresponds to current
    popular aesthetics: in 2013, a British study found that women tend to find
    tender, deep, and breathy voices most attractive in men—all qualities that
    are inherent to “crooning.” While the deep pitch suggests strength and a
    large body size, the breathiness could be a way of neutralizing the
aggressiveness associated with these features.    [66]
    Moreover, huskiness sometimes has a hormonal cause, and can be a cause of
sexual desire. As Mary Talbot bluntly argues in her book    Language and Gender, if a woman is aroused by a man’s breathy
voice, “this just means she is turned on by the fact that she turns him on.”    [67]
    Thus, the vocal timbre serves as a counterbalance to the character’s
    overall coping with romance: the boyish timbre hinders the boy Aladdin from
    appearing too masculine, whereas postfeminist Eugene reasserts his
    masculinity through his mature and breathy voice. The same applies to
    Chayanne, who voices Eugene in the Latin Spanish version of the film.



    However, in the Italian (Massimiliano Alto) and French (Emmanuel Dahl)
    version, this is less clear: while Alto’s voice has breathy moments, his
    timbre is not as low as Levi’s, and Dahl’s singing sounds much more boyish
    than Levi’s. Thus, unlike with “A Whole New World,” the negotiation of
    romantic masculinity is not so much integral to the composition, but rather
    to the respective singer’s interpretation. While Levi’s Eugene definitely
    does not sing like a traditional prince, he seems to have wonderful control
    of his vocal mechanism, contrasting his lack of emotional control whilst
    falling in love. Thus, despite his postfeminist insecurities, Eugene
    appears a more mature Aladdin, with the same rough background but a much
    better command of his voice and body.



“Lost in the Woods” 



    As the analyses of the two duets have shown, romantic masculinity
    oscillates between dominance and vulnerability. The expressed feelings are
    consensual in the duets and the man is rewarded for taking the risk to
    navigate between these poles. This is different when the man sings a solo
    love song, as I will show through the example of Frozen’s Kristoff
(who, like Eugene, is a “postfeminist hero”) and    The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s Quasimodo (who, like Aladdin, is
    placed between “boy” and “hero/prince”). Similar to Aladdin and Eugene,
    Kristoff is an orphan, too, and stems from a different social background
    than his love interest, Princess Anna. And just like Aladdin and Eugene, he
    has more life experience than the princess, who seems much more innocent,
    almost childlike. In his outer appearance and overall behavior, he does
    however differ from Aladdin and Eugene—i.e., he is of the “loner”
    archetype, yet bashful and quirky at the same time. This becomes especially
    apparent in his friendship with the reindeer Sven, with whom he shares
    food, sings duets, and talks—all while ventriloquizing the reindeer, which,
    unlike many other Disney animal sidekicks, cannot talk. Kristoff’s outer
    appearance—the bulkiness, the working-class vibe—responds to newly-arising
    masculine ideas such as the “lumbersexual.” This traditional masculinity is
    however paired with an emotional sensitivity which Heike Steinhoff
    understands as a sign of postfeminist masculinity: “Like the Beast
    representing the New Man, Kristoff is also kind, gentle, and caring. Thus,
    Kristoff’s portrayal aligns with contemporary hybrid ideals of heterosexual
masculinity.”    [68]



    The song “Lost in the Woods” (music and lyrics by Kristen Anderson-Lopez & Robert Lopez)
    appears in the sequel Frozen II and marks an emotional turning
    point in Kristoff’s relationship with Princess Anna: when Anna, once again,
    seemingly puts her sister first and embarks on an adventurous quest with
    her, he starts to doubt her love and sings the power ballad “Lost in the
    Woods.” With this, Kristoff is one of the very few male romantic leads in
    Disney films who sings a genuine solo love song, and the only one who sings
    about the fear of losing love, rather than pining over a secret affection.
    This is even more remarkable when one considers that the producers had had
difficulties in picturing Kristoff as a singing character: in the first    Frozen movie, Kristoff did not sing, apart from the short ditty
    “Reindeer(s) Are Better Than People.” Instead, Princess Anna sang a love
    duet “Love Is an Open Door” with Prince Hans, who turned out to be the
    villain of the story. One reason for this lack of song was apparently
    Kristoff’s gruff and solitary character, which did not make it very likely
    for him to break out in song. In an interview, voice actor Jonathan Groff
    stated: “I couldn’t personally imagine how they were going to get a
    mountain man to sing. The first one, okay, he’s got a lute, he’s singing a
    ditty with his reindeer, I buy that. … But how are they going to get
Kristoff to sing? I couldn’t even imagine it.”    [69]
    Groff here touches on the problem of singing as a gender-inadequate way of
expression, which had already kept Robert from singing in    Enchanted. Besides the overall roughness of Kristoff’s character,
    there is also a narrative reason for this lack of singing which has its
    roots in the first film. Kristoff is presented as a counterpart to the
    false prince Hans, who—unlike Kristoff—looks and sounds like a Disney
    Prince, especially in his duet “Love Is an Open Door” with Anna. Denying
    Kristoff a classical Disney song underlines the juxtaposition of these two
    characters, who are also rivals in love.



    Yet, before shooting the first Frozen film, Groff had
    already established himself as a successful musical theater actor, starring
    for example in the TV musical series Glee. This led to many
    viewers being disappointed by Kristoff’s lack of song—and demanded that he
get a solo in the sequel.    [70]
    To solve this dilemma, the composers Robert Lopez and Kristen
    Anderson-Lopez drew inspiration from both karaoke and 1980s bands such as
    Journey and Queen: “There’s nothing better than a man feeling his
    feelings in a real way at a karaoke bar,” according to Anderson-Lopez
herself.    [71]
    Groff states that he has “seen a lot of drunk dudes singing Journey at
    karaoke. … And it’s ‘funny’?… There’s also a level of necessity for
    expression. And Queen is a part of that. Queen was so theatrical and big
    and when you do something that’s theatrical and big like that and it’s sung
    by a man, it gives boys the opportunity to really be theatrical and express
themselves.”    [72]
    Lopez’s and Groff’s statements imply that, in order to allow themselves to
    express their emotions, men need a catalyst, such as alcohol, or an
    explicitly dramatic or theatrical setting, allowing them to construct an
    ironic distance to their emotions. This is also visible in Kristoff’s
    singing scene: in the beginning, it seems like he is only reprising the
    ditty from the first movie. He sings, unaccompanied, to Sven: “Reindeers
    are better than people | Sven, why is love so hard?” Suddenly, the light
    changes and Sven answers: “You feel what you feel | And those feelings are
    real | Come on, Kristoff, let down your guard.” With a nod, Sven invites
    Kristoff onto an imaginary stage; a piano starts to play, distorted guitars
    join in, and Kristoff begins to sing “Lost in the Woods.” Interestingly, it
    is only after his best friend has assured him that his emotions are valid
    (and after the changing light and talking reindeer make clear that this is
    a dream-sequence, an introspective musical moment and not a public display
    of emotion) that Kristoff starts singing the actual ballad (“Again, you’re
    gone…”), thus letting out feelings he cannot express otherwise. The song is
    filled with visual and musical references to 1980s ballads: the solo piano,
    the background chorus, the singing into a pinecone, the hair flip, and the
    diva pose (“I probably could catch up with you tomorrow”) are all
    reminiscent of mid-1980s MTV music videos. The extreme close-up on the face
    resembles videos by Journey, and the montage where Kristoff sings with a
    visually multiplied Sven (“Wondering if you still care”) alludes to Queen’s
    “Bohemian Rhapsody.” All these features create an almost ironic distance to
    Kristoff’s showing of emotions. Groff suspects that the “element of comedy
    might make the flood of Kristoff’s emotions go down easier, especially with
young boys.”    [73]
    This aligns with Konrad Paul Liessmann’s idea that it is possible to take
    the pleasures of kitsch with a grain of salt—one can keep an ironic
    distance to the conveyed message and at the same time indulge in the
transported emotions.    [74]
    Thus, the cheesy visual references and the music both ridicule and enable
    Kristoff’s postfeminist showing of emotion.



    While the music and the visual effects evoke comedy, the voice, however,
    does not, or at least not to the same degree: Groff, in fact, does not only
    voice Kristoff, but also Sven, as well as the complete reindeer background
    chorus and a multiplied version of himself, resulting in 18 different vocal
    tracks. For this, he uses a variety of vocal timbres and colors, all of
    which correspond to different types of masculinity. As Kristoff also dubs
    Sven—and the reindeer almost seems to serve as his alter ego—it is
    worthwhile to examine Sven’s voice, too, in order to shed light on
    Kristoff’s masculinity. In the opening bars that he sings to Sven, Groff
    uses a raw and breathy voice, combined with a heavy sigh, reminiscent of a
    recitativo. For Sven’s answer, he employs a slightly comical puffed-up
    voice, which underlines the scene’s surreal tone. When the actual song
    starts, Kristoff’s voice changes once again into a typical Broadway sound,
    with a soft and tasteful belting and numerous affective voice breaks (“When
    did I become the one who’s always chasing your heart?”, “When you’re not
    there”). The fact that he sings with a belt voice, rather than with a
    vibrato, matches his overall character: he is more of a down-to-earth
    nature boy, not a fairy tale-like prince charming.



    Despite his roughness and the comic elements, the high level of training in
    Kristoff’s tenor voice proves that he is the rightful hero of the love
    story. Just as with Aladdin, being a tenor makes Kristoff a worthy
    candidate for the male lead. The song repeatedly features rather high
    pitches that he hits with comfort and ease. His registers are well-balanced
    and his voice has the same color from top to bottom. He mixes in head voice
(“forever!”), as is typical of a 1980’s power ballad,    [75]
    but never goes into full falsetto. It is likely that the use of this high
    range, combined with a belt voice, is meant to appeal to young girls—not
    too blatantly masculine, yet also definitely not feminine. In the choruses,
    Sven joins it, but not with the reindeer voice he used in his short reply
    to Kristoff. Instead, the reindeer chorus is dubbed with the Broadway-voice
    Kristoff uses throughout the ballad. Especially in the visual references to
    “Bohemian Rhapsody”, the background chorus sings much higher, but still
    within a range which seems fitting and not exaggerated for a 1980s power
    ballad. This giving up of irony in the vocals, combined with the strong
    emphasis on his professional tenor voice, assure a balance between the
    ridiculing and the acknowledging of Kristoff’s heartache.



    This balance does however not necessarily translate to other languages. In
    the German version, for instance, Leonhard Mahlich does not sing with a
    belt voice and uses considerably less head voice and voice breaks. This
    makes his singing somewhat more natural and less theatrical. Also, there is
    less struggling with showing emotions in the lyrics: unlike the English
    version, where Sven encourages Kristoff to show his feelings (“let down
    your guard”), German Sven says: “Sorg’ dich nicht mehr” (“Do not worry any
    more”), thus omitting Kristoff’s negotiating of masculinity and
    emotionality. While the references to the 1980s ballad and the connotations
    linked to this are thus still present in the music, Groff’s interpretation
    as a Broadway singer is much more subversive.



“Heaven’s Light”



    Just as he does with Aladdin, Macaluso places Quasimodo between the
categories “boy” and “hero/prince.”    [76]
    Quasimodo shows several character traits typical of the boy—innocence,
    youth, sweetness, and an enthusiastic infatuation for Esmeralda, with whom
    he falls in love at first sight. Moreover, as his love song “Heaven’s
Light” shows, he is “man enough to desire,”    [77]
    although his love for Esmeralda is depicted as a gentle and romantic
    feeling, in contrast to the lust Frollo displays in the corresponding song
    “Hellfire.” While Quasimodo is “man enough to desire,” he is not portrayed
    as desirable himself: he has a large hump, a squashed face, a lump above
    his left eye, a receding chin, and a central incisor—all reasons why his
    master Frollo decided to keep him hidden in the cathedral where he leads a
    lonely life.



    After having experienced Esmeralda’s kindness, Quasimodo dares to hope that
    she returns his affection (a hope encouraged by his friends, the stone
    gargoyles) and sings the song “Heaven’s Light” (music by Alan Menken, lyrics by Stephen Schwartz). It is a short song, much less dramatic than
    his opening song “Out There.” Despite its shortness, it serves as an
    important dramatic device to underline Quasimodo’s changing angle towards
    romantic masculinity. Lyricist Stephen Schwartz states: “We thought
    Quasimodo needed a moment to express his delusion or hope that Esmeralda
might actually think of him in a romantic way.”    [78]
    The song is reprised when Quasimodo realizes that Esmeralda prefers
    Phoebus. The producers considered placing a song there for the lovers, but
    ultimately decided that the focus should remain on Quasimodo, who once
again realizes his exclusion from romantic love.    [79]
    As the song also serves as a contrasting element to the following
    “Hellfire,” it underlines once more Quasimodo’s moral superiority to
    Frollo. Quasimodo looks down on the city and reflects on both his own
    loneliness as well as the lovers he sometimes observes below, who “had a
    kind of glow around them | it almost looked like heaven’s light.” Despite
    being already forty-three years old and thus twenty-three years older than
    his character, voice actor Tom Hulce sounds very bright, young, tender, and
    at ease in every register. For most of the tune he lets a lot of air leak
    through the folds and is much closer to a spoken voice than an operatic
    singing voice. This evokes an atmosphere of intimacy and honesty. The
    person whose voice we are hearing in this scene is apparently an honest,
    sensitive introvert and no pseudo-masculine show-off. When Quasimodo
    concludes that his own hideous face “was [never] meant for heaven’s light,”
    he even briefly touches on the falsetto register with a high F, evoking an
    angelic, very innocent feeling, and indicating a vulnerable and rather soft
    personality. The accompaniment is discrete, featuring a soft string
    ensemble, solo harp, recorders, and solo strings. But in the second part,
    when he mentions Esmeralda (“But suddenly an angel has smiled at me”), the
    string accompaniment suddenly swells, touching on common romantic Hollywood
    aesthetics. The melody rises and changes again into falsetto (“I swear it
    must be heaven’s light”), followed by the bright and happy sound of the
    bells which sound much less tremendous and solemn than before. This
    falsetto is also audible in all other dubbings of the song, as it results
    from the composer’s choice of range, making it an integral part of the
    song’s aesthetics.



    Falsetto holds a special place within the discourse of musical gender. It
    is much more associated with male singing than female singing. The castrati
    of the eighteenth century were considered desirable partners, and in the
    twentieth and twenty-first centuries, in some styles such as gospel, such
    high voice can stand for a certain kind of masculine bravado, notably in
the “power ballads” of the 1980s.    [80]
At the same time, falsetto is often understood as “anti-masculine.”    [81]
    Given this ambiguity, it is worth taking a closer look at its dramatic
    function. Quasimodo repeatedly remarks that, due to his appearance, he
    feels excluded from society in general and specifically from romance—and
    thus also from traditional discourses of masculinity. This exclusion also
    means that he is not familiar with the conventions of masculine behavior
    and, even if he were, they would not apply to him. Thus, unlike Kristoff,
    he does not need to distance himself ironically from his feelings and is
    free to sing with whatever voice he likes.



    This is different when the song is reprised: when Esmeralda tends to the
    wounded Phoebus, Quasimodo witnesses them kissing and is utterly shocked
    and saddened. He starts to sing “Heaven’s Light,” but unlike the first
    time, only in his head. Here, sound design plays an important part in
    altering the meaning of the song: Quasimodo’s voice is blurred and the
    overtones are reduced, thus making his voice sound less bright. With the
    beginning of the second part he stops singing and lets go of the card with
    the ace of hearts, which the gargoyles had given him as a symbol of
    Esmeralda’s love for him. As the strings swell, he starts to cry. The
    concluding confident falsetto disappears along with his self-understanding
    as a romantically desirable man. Humiliated, he does not dare to express
    his feelings openly. However, unlike Kristoff, society does not force him
    to musically comply with contemporary conventions of masculinity and seek
    shelter in ironic theatricality: Quasimodo has always been at ease with his
    own emotionality, and this ultimately helps him overcome his heartache.



Conclusion



    As my analyses have shown, the music is more than a mere mirror of the
    various categories of Disney masculinity: it is only in the music, and
    especially in the use of the male singing voice, that the contradictions
    inherent to these categories become apparent. This is especially true for
    characters who find themselves in transition between two categories, like
    Aladdin and Quasimodo who are placed between the categories “boy” and
    “hero/prince.” In Aladdin’s case, the transition between the stages of his
    character development becomes audible in his vocals. He is a “diamond in
    the rough” with an untrained voice. At the same time, his tenor and hence
    prince-qualities are clearly audible, especially when he stops pretending
    to be more than he actually is by disguising himself vocally as a baritone
    in order to win Jasmine’s heart. Quasimodo in contrast has never had the
    chance to approach Esmeralda in a romantic way or to approach anyone at all
    in song. He is unburdened by traditional gender expectations, and this is
    audible in his voice which remains pure, soft, boyish, and, due to the
    falsetto and the overall airiness, lacking body and being almost
    androgynous. This creates a strong contrast to Phoebus, whose muscles,
    beard, and low voice (he does not sing) correspond to contemporary concepts
    of masculinity. However, unlike with the “boy” as a “cultural icon,” the
    androgyny of Quasimodo’s voice does not threaten to disrupt the binaries of
    sex and gender, as he is presented as non-desirable, at least in the first
    film. Future research may further investigate to what extent these
    observations apply to the dubbed version of the films as produced by Disney
    Character Voices International. Especially since the 2000, voice actors are
    not only chosen for their resemblance to the English original, but also for
    their appeal to the local market. Also, as has been demonstrated with the
    reprise of “Heaven’s Light”, sound design and post production can add
    additional levels of meaning to the singing which are worth examining.



    Besides the transition between various categories of masculinity, music is
    an important factor within the balancing act that is the display of
    emotions with male characters, especially when expressed through song.
    Eugene counters the vulnerability his character experiences by falling for
    Rapunzel with a deliberately manly and alluring voice. Despite his alleged
    weakness, his baritone voice proves that he is still desirable. Kristoff
    takes a different approach: he counters his vulnerability with irony,
    allowing the spectator to choose how deeply to engage with this pain. While
    the music creates a comic relief, his tenor voice hinders the musical irony
    from covering the emotional sincerity necessary to touch the audience and
    vice versa. By combining the double-edged concept of postfeminist
    masculinity, the music, and particularly the vocal timbre, it is possible
    to determine how the hybridity of the male characters’ emotional displays
    is both allotted and received.






    

    

   
        
            
                [1]
            
            For statistics and possible reasons see Scott D. Harrison, Graham
            F. Welch, and Adam Adler, “Men, Boys and Singing,” in Perspectives
            on Males and Singing, ed. Scott D. Harrison, Graham F. Welch, and
            Adam Adler (Dordrecht: Springer, 2012), 3–12. This issue exists in
            many genres, as previous research has shown. For example, early
            2000s R&B songs often pit female singing against male rapping.
            This reinscribes a longstanding “stereotyping of music as feminine,
            concerned with senses, and of language as masculine, a rational
            structure.” Ian Biddle and Freya Jarman-Ivens, “Introduction: Oh
            Boy! Making Masculinity in Popular Music,” in Oh Boy! Masculinities
            and Popular Music, ed. Freya Jarman-Ivens (New York: Routledge,
            2007), 10.
        

    

    
        
            
                [2]
            
            Katia Perea, “Touching Queerness in Disney Films Dumbo and Lilo
            & Stitch,” Social Sciences 7, no. 11 (2018): 225, 2.
        

    

    
        
            
                [3]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, “Introduction,” 6.
        

    

    
        
            
                [4]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, 6.
        

    

    
        
            
                [5]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, 6.
        

    

    
        
            
                [6]
            
            There are a few others, which for various reasons I do not
            consider genuine love duets: in “Love Is an Open Door” from Frozen,
            Hans only pretends to love Anna. The exchange between Simba and
            Nala in “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” and between Duchess and
            Thomas O’ Malley in The Aristocats’ “Everybody Wants to Be a Cat”
            are too short to be considered true love duets. The same applies to
            “Something There” from Beauty and the Beast.
        

    

    
        
            
                [7]
            
            “Hellfire” from The Hunchback of Notre Dame is in my opinion not a
            love song, as it only speaks of desire (and hatred) and not of
            love.
        

    

    
        
            
                [8]
            
            These categories follow Potgieter’s analyses of the Singing
            Princess in Liske Potgieter and Zelda Potgieter, “Deconstructing
            Disney’s Divas: A Critique of the Singing Princess as Filmic
            Trope,” Acta Academica 48, no. 2 (2016): 49.
        

    

    
        
            
                [9]
            
            Potgieter and Potgieter, 55.
        

    

    
        
            
                [10]
            
            Jennifer Fleeger, Mismatched Women: The Siren’s Song Through the
            Machine (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 108. For the
            third group, Fleeger also mentions Frozen (2013) and Brave (2012).
        

    

    
        
            
                [11]
            
            In 18 films, falling in love only takes minutes (Dwarfs, Bambi,
            Cinderella, Lady, Sleeping, Dalmatians, Stone, Jungle, Aristocats,
            Robin, Fox, Mermaid, Beauty, Aladdin, Lion, Pocahontas, Hunchback,
            Hercules). In The Aristocats and The Lion King it takes a little
            longer—about a day. Litsa R. Tanner et al., “Images of Couples and
            Families in Disney Feature-Length Animated Films,” The American
            Journal of Family Therapy 31, no. 5 (2003): 364.
        

    

    
        
            
                [12]
            
            Tanner et al., “Images of Couples and Families in Disney
            Feature-Length Animated Films,” 365.
        

    

    
        
            
                [13]
            
            Jesse Hassenger, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Mulan Are From
            Disney’s Artistically Vital Years,” PopMatters, March 14, 2013.
        

    

    
        
            
                [14]
            
           Amy M. Davis, Handsome Heroes & Vile Villains: Men in Disney’s
            Feature Animation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2013),
            251.
        

    

    
        
            
                [15]
            
           Davis, 251.
        

    

    
        
            
                [16]
            
            Davis, 251.
        

    

    
        
            
                [17]
            
            Tanner et al., “Images of Couples and Families,” 365.
        

    

    
        
            
                [18]
            
            Laura Béres, “Beauty and the Beast: The Romanticization of Abuse
            in Popular Culture,” European Journal of Cultural Studies 2, no. 2
            (1999): 191–207.
        

    

    
        
            
                [19]
            
            Amy M. Davis, Good Girls & Wicked Witches: Women in Disney’s
            Feature Animation (New Barnet: John Libbey Publishing, 2007).
        

    

    
        
            
                [20]
            
            Davis, Handsome Heroes & Vile Villains.
        

    

    
        
            
                [21]
            
            Benjamin Hine et al., “The Rise of the Androgynous Princess:
            Examining Representations of Gender in Prince and Princess
            Characters of Disney Movies Released 2009–2016,” Social Sciences 7,
            no. 12 (2018): 245.
        

    

    
        
            
                [22]
            
            This makes the crying king in Tangled, whom his tearlessly
            grieving wife consoles, even more striking.
        

    

    
        
            
                [23]
            
            Hine et al., 11.
        

    

    
        
            
                [24]
            
            Hine et al., 10.
        

    

    
        
            
                [25]
            
            Michael Macaluso, “Postfeminist Masculinity: The New Disney
            Norm?,” Social Sciences 7, no. 11 (2018): 221.
        

    

    
        
            
                [26]
            
            Macaluso, 221.
        

    

    
        
            
                [27]
            
            Yvonne Tasker and Diane Negra, “Introduction: Feminist Politics
            and Postfeminist Culture,” in Interrogating Postfeminism: Gender
            and the Politics of Popular Culture, ed. Yvonne Tasker and Diane
            Negra (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), 21.
        

    

    
        
            
                [28]
            
            Valerie Palmer-Mehta, “Men Behaving Badly: Mediocre Masculinity
            and The Man Show,” Journal of Popular Culture 42, no. 6 (2009):
            1053–72.
        

    

    
        
            
                [29]
            
            Melissa Zimdars, “Having It Both Ways: Two and a Half Men,
            Entourage, and Televising Post-Feminist Masculinity,” Feminist
            Media Studies 18, no. 2 (2018): 278–93.
        

    

    
        
            
                [30]
            
            Tristan Bridges and C. J. Pascoe, “Hybrid Masculinities: New
            Directions in the Sociology of Men and Masculinities,” Sociology
            Compass 8, no. 3 (2014): 246.
        

    

    
        
            
                [31]
            
            Tasker and Negra, “Introduction,” 21.
        

    

    
        
            
                [32]
            
            John Alberti, Masculinity in the Contemporary Romantic Comedy:
            Gender as Genre (New York: Routledge, 2013), 37.
        

    

    
        
            
                [33]
            
            Berit Åström, The Absent Mother in the Cultural Imagination:
            Missing, Presumed Dead (Cham: Springer International Publishing,
            2017), 254.
        

    

    
        
            
                [34]
            
            Hine et al., “The Rise of the Androgynous Princess,” 11. With
            this, Hine is especially referring to the research by Sarah Coyne
            et al., “Pretty as a Princess: Longitudinal Effects of Engagement
            with Disney Princesses on Gender Stereotypes, Body Esteem, and
            Prosocial Behavior in Children,” Child Development 87, no. 6
            (2016): 1909–25, and Davis, Handsome Heroes & Vile Villains.
        

    

    
        
            
                [35]
            
            Hine et al., “The Rise of the Androgynous Princess,” 11.
        

    

    
        
            
                [36]
            
            Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie, “Rock and Sexuality,” in On
            Record: Rock, Pop and the Written Word, ed. Simon Frith and Andrew
            Goodwin (London: Routledge, 1990), 374.
        

    

    
        
            
                [37]
            
            Frith and McRobbie, “Rock and Sexuality,” 375.
        

    

    
        
            
                [38]
            
            Kim Cooper and David Smay, eds., Bubblegum Music is the Naked
            Truth (Los Angeles: Feral House, 2001).
        

    

    
        
            
                [39]
            
            Georgina Gregory, Boy Bands and the Performance of Pop Masculinity
            (New York: Routledge, 2019), 95–96.
        

    

    
        
            
                [40]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, “Introduction,” 7–8.
        

    

    
        
            
                [41]
            
            Gregory, Boy Bands, 96.
        

    

    
        
            
                [42]
            
            Allison McCracken, Real Men Don’t Sing: Crooning in American
            Culture (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015), 318–19.
        

    

    
        
            
                [43]
            
            Oxford English Dictionary, OED Online, s.v. “croon, v.”, accessed
            July 18, 2022.
        

    

    
        
            
                [44]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, 10.
        

    

    
        
            
                [45]
            
            McCracken, Real Men Don’t Sing, 34.
        

    

    
        
            
                [46]
            
            McCracken, 319.
        

    

    
        
            
                [47]
            
            McCracken, 327.
        

    

    
        
            
                [48]
            
            McCracken, 327.
        

    

    
        
            
                [49]
            
            Thomas Seedorf, “Stimmfach / Stimmfächer,” in Lexikon der
            Gesangsstimme: Geschichte, wissenschaftliche Grundlagen,
            Gesangstechniken, Interpreten, ed. Ann-Christine Mecke et al., 2nd
            revised edition, Instrumenten-Lexika (Laaber: Laaber, 2018),
            587–88.
        

    

    
        
            
                [50]
            
            Seedorf, 588.
        

    

    
        
            
                [51]
            
            Seedorf, 587, 589. The reference is to Rudolf Kloiber, Handbuch
            der Oper (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse, 1951).
        

    

    
        
            
                [52]
            
            Seedorf, 589–90.
        

    

    
        
            
                [53]
            
            Macaluso, “Postfeminist Masculinity,” 3.
        

    

    
        
            
                [54]
            
            Thomas S. Hischak, Disney Voice Actors: A Biographical Dictionary
            (Jefferson: McFarland, 2011), 220.
        

    

    
        
            
                [55]
            
            Steve Daly, “Disney’s Got a Brand-New Baghdad,” Ew.com Entertainment Weekly, December 4, 1992, retrieved on December 1,
            2022.
        

    

    
        
            
                [56]
            
            Hischak, Disney Voice Actors, 220.
        

    

    
        
            
                [57]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, “Introduction,” 6.
        

    

    
        
            
                [58]
            
            “Brad Kane Recording Session - One Jump Ahead from Disney’s
            Aladdin (Behind the Scenes),” Disney’s Behind the Scene interview,
            uploaded on February 21, 2021; “A Disastrous Audition (Alan Menken & Scott Weinger
            Featurette),” Disney Music VEVO, uploaded on September 12, 2019.
        

    

    
        
            
                [59]
            
            Hischak, Disney Voice Actors, 220.
        

    

    
        
            
                [60]
            
            Macaluso, “Postfeminist Masculinity,” 3.
        

    

    
        
            
                [61]
            
            Paul Yeadon McGinnis, The Opera Singer’s Career Guide:
            Understanding the European Fach System (London: Scarecrow Pres,
            2010), 38.
        

    

    
        
            
                [62]
            
            Roth Cornet, “Zach Levi on Being a Disney Hunk in Tangled, A
            Singer, A Superhero & Chuck,” Screen Rant, November 18, 2010. The names of the men discussed in this meeting are listed on
            “Flynn Rider,” Disney Wiki, Fandom.
        

    

    
        
            
                [63]
            
            Cornet, “Zach Levi on Being a Disney Hunk.”
        

    

    
        
            
                [64]
            
            Todd Martens, “Unwrapping the Music in Tangled: It All Begins with
            Joni Mitchell, Says Alan Menken,” Los Angeles Times, November 24,
            2010.
        

    

    
        
            
                [65]
            
            McCracken, Real Men Don’t Sing, 327.
        

    

    
        
            
                [66]
            
             Yi Xu et al., “Human Vocal Attractiveness as Signaled by Body
            Size Projection,” Plos One 8, no. 4 (2013): e62397.
        

    

    
        
            
                [67]
            
            Mary Talbot, Language and Gender: An Introduction, 2nd ed.
            (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010), 32. Italics in original.
        

    

    
        
            
                [68]
            
            Heike Steinhoff, “‘Let It Go’? Re-Inventing the Disney Fairy Tale
            in Frozen,” in Heroes, Heroines, and Everything in Between:
            Challenging Gender and Sexuality Stereotypes in Children’s
            Entertainment Media, ed. CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Christopher J.
            Olson (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2017), 169. For Bridges and
            Pascoe’s definition of “hybrid masculinities,” see note 30.
        

    

    
        
            
                [69]
            
            Joanna Robinson, “Frozen II: The Story Behind Jonathan Groff’s
            Surprising ’80s Ballad,” Vanity Fair, website, November 15, 2019.
        

    

    
        
            
                [70]
            
            See Robinson, “Frozen II.”
        

    

    
        
            
                [71]
            
            Robinson.
        

    

    
        
            
                [72]
            
            Robinson.
        

    

    
        
            
                [73]
            
            Robinson.
        

    

    
        
            
                [74]
            
            Konrad Paul Liessmann, Kitsch oder warum der schlechte Geschmack
            der eigentlich gute ist (Wien: Brandstätter, 2002), 74.
        

    

    
        
            
                [75]
            
            McCracken, Real Men Don’t Sing, 318–19.
        

    

    
        
            
                [76]
            
            Macaluso, “Postfeminist Masculinity,” 3.
        

    

    
        
            
                [77]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, “Introduction,” 6.
        

    

    
        
            
                [78]
            
            Carol de Giere, Defying Gravity: The Creative Career of Stephen
            Schwartz from “Godspell” to “Wicked” (Milwaukee: Applause Theatre
            Books, 2008), 245.
        

    

    
        
            
                [79]
            
            Paul R. Laird, The Musical Theater of Stephen Schwartz: From
            “Godspell” to “Wicked” and Beyond (Lanham: Rowman &
            Littlefield, 2014), 243.
        

    

    
        
            
                [80]
            
            McCracken, Real Men Don’t Sing, 318–19.
        

    

    
        
            
                [81]
            
            Biddle and Jarman-Ivens, “Introduction,” 7–8
        

    




    



                

            

                

            

          
          
        
        
        
