My Spirit Sang All Day

I'd like to share with you two wonderful YouTubes from Chanticleer - Hopkins' Past Life Melodies and Finzi's My Spirit Sang All Day.

Chanticleer are an all-male professional choir based in San Francisco, and they're awesome. Their CDs are a great investment if you're new to the choral music scene and would like to grab a good listen - a great starter CD is Chanticleer's Sing We Christmas, and it is ideal as a gift idea too (no, they're not paying me - it really IS that good!)

These vids demonstrate the flexibility of Chanticleer - I was stunned to find them performing the Hopkins, which is definitely an "alternative" piece, and not one I would have expected from "guys in suits". Which shows you can never judge a book by its cover!

The first vid is a performance of Sarah Hopkins' Past Life Melodies:



Sarah Hopkins is a well-known and respected Australian composer, and a lovely and very talented lady. Past Life Melodies is the work for which she is best known, and it is regularly performed in Australia and around the world.

Past Life Melodies uses harmonic overtone singing - you can hear the beautiful, eerie, bell-like overtones dominating the piece from about 6:00 onwards in the recording. Overtones aren't difficult to produce or to learn how to do, but there is a knack to them - some people seem to have a real talent; others have to practice hard to get the overtones happening.

You can read more about harmonic overtone singing here and here (excellent videos and recordings in this site that are well worth taking a look at if you are interested in this sort of thing).

The second piece I'd like to share is "My Spirit Sang All Day" by Gerald Finzi:



This is simply beautiful. Their diction, balance, clarity and tuning are all spot on. It's simply a pleasure to listen to. I could listen to it over and over - in fact, I did, while writing this post!

The reason I have chosen these two pieces is to illustrate how varied the world of music really is. New forms and styles of music are becoming available to us, in the West, all the time, and we're becoming more aware that our own traditions and patterns are just one way of exploring and celebrating the human voice - and celebrating the gift of music.

The solo is given, and the solo is taken away, blessed be the name of the solo

“They'll never know how tough it is...To be the one who isn't chosen; to live near the spotlight and never step in it. But I know. I see more than anybody realises, because nobody's watching me.”

- Xander in Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Potential (Series 7)

I still keep in touch with a number of chorister friends from Australia and around the world, and I thought I'd share this anecdote with you that happened recently in a choir some of my friends sing in.

A quartet was needed for a piece of music last week. Not much, just two or three bars, but the choir director in question surprised everyone in the choir by asking a female alto who he NEVER asks to sing the required alto line.

She looked really pleased at being asked. The piece started, and when the choir got to the quartet, the alto made a couple of mistakes. Not huge ones - she was tuneful, has a nice voice, and sounded fine - but enough to need to run over the few bars again.

Not exactly surprising, either - she hadn't seen the piece, and didn't know she'd have the solo up until about two minutes prior! According to my friend who related the incident, you could just about hear the rest of the choir thinking, "Fair enough! Give it another run!"

The choir director gave the few bars another run through, but didn't think to let the alto - who was unused to singing in quartet without the support of her fellow altos - hear the line she was supposed to sing by itself. The alto did better, but still made a single small error.

At this point, another alto standing next to her piped up and said, "I know the piece. I'll do it!"

And the choir director let the second alto, who had made this offer (and who was NOT a much better or more tuneful or more accomplished singer!), do the piece instead.

Well!

The alto who had been given the solo initially had enough grace to say nothing, but her face said everything for her. My friend said her expression could have curdled milk. Naturally, she was very angry and very upset.

The solo had been given, and the solo had been taken away. Blessed be the name of the solo. Yeah, right.

And instead of a happy, friendly alto section, with everything running smoothly, the choir had antagonism, anger, depression and misery.

My friend said she didn't think the choir director even noticed what he'd done, or how it had affected the alto in question.

What did the choir director do wrong?

Solos are tricksy things. Some choirs continally send solos in the direction of the best and most experienced singers. That sort of thing does make me wonder how newer, younger, less experienced singers are supposed to gain the experience they need.

Choirs like this typically end up with an excellent, experienced chorister or two on each line, if they're lucky, but things completely fall apart if one of the absolutely vital soloist choristers leaves. Which inevitably happens. In short, this isn't good choir management or long term thoughtfulness.

Other choirs share things around. They may not get as professional an outcome at any particular time, but people learn more quickly, and the "vibe" in these choirs is usually friendlier and more positive. These choirs are more like places of learning and support than arenas of competition and potential divahood (not just the women!).

Choirs like this tend to go from strength to strength, building new membership and growing in size, quality and reputation. Members who leave for various reasons are happy and keen to recommend their alma mater to potential new singers coming in.

In the case I'm discussing in this post, the choir director handed out a gift on a platter, then took it away. He was thoughtless and inconsiderate, and it hurt the alto in question.

My friend says she didn't think the choir director was hurtful intentionally, but unintentional cruelty is still cruelty. Sometimes this sort of blow hurts the most - it shows he didn't even care enough to think about the damage he was doing.

Chorister egos can be fragile. We're all a bit delicate about our singing - even the soloists among us. We worry, even those of us with great pitch, whether we're a bit under. Or if we have a lovely voice, we struggle for the approval of our peers and feel depressed when we don't get it.

If sight-singing is our weakness, we feel afraid that others will find out just how weak in this area we are. And if we're strong in all areas and we typically get all the solos in our choir, we worry that someone new will come along who will be that bit better and we won't matter any more.

We all need approval and support, no matter where on the spectrum of ability we reside. Every one of us needs to know that we are respected, and that our input is valued and cherished. By our peers, by our audience, and especially by our choir director.

By offering the solo to this alto, who never in the last six months at least, (to the recollection of my friend), got offered the weekly solos that were up for grabs - and then taking it away thoughtlessly - well, what message do you think the choir director sent to her?

Hearing the story, I'd be very surprised if she didn't go home that day, lock herself into her bathroom, and have a good cry. That's what I'd have done.

Hearing the story, any chorister would feel empathic towards this alto, because we can all imagine ourselves in her place, and how we would feel if we were she, with all our peers seeing the whole thing.

Making amends

How can this choir director - or any like him - improve the situation?

Some people (like me, I admit) only realise what a complete arse they've been when they review the day's events in the dark of the night, when they're lying in bed and thinking everything over.

If I'd done something like that, and was actually sensible enough to realise it, I'd make amends by taking the alto aside and quietly apologising. And if I didn't have the gumption to do that, I'd request that alto to do a solo as soon as possible.

But next time, I'd give her time to look the solo over, think about it, and learn it so she can sing it confidently and do herself credit.

Everyone makes mistakes in their relationships with others. The choir director in this instance made a real big one. But it can be healed.

We grow as individuals by acknowledging our errors and tackling them head-on, not by pretending they never existed, or by refusing to admit we were wrong.

Solos can be nasty. Not just for the people whose self-esteem is on the line when they sing them, but for those who are not chosen.

Especially those who are chosen, then whose chance at glory, however small, is taken away by someone in a single, swift, thoughtless moment.

The experts - and the rest of us

"Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me!"
- Abba, Thankyou For The Music.

Recently I criticised Howell's "Behold, O God, Our Defender", and the blog post was picked up in a few places on the net and commented on.

A few agreed with my comments. A few didn't. That's fine - that's what every writer who expresses strong opinions expects.

However, I also received comments in one sector from individuals who suggested that someone such as myself, who knows little music theory, should not venture to judge someone like Howells.

This made me think.

Maybe the critics who have this attitude - that only knowledgeable theory experts should dare to criticise - are right. Maybe ignoramuses like me should hold our tongues?

What do you think?

I know little. I have no background, no credentials except that I love to sing and have been singing for years. The "experts" have deemed Howells a great composer. If they're experts, they must be right. They have the pieces of paper to prove it.

The experts - and the rest of us

"Amateurs built the Ark. Experts built the Titanic.
- Anon.

Most of my friends are choristers or musicians. Many of them are also "experts". Some are forging international musical careers for themselves, some not. Some are "just" hobby singers.

When they talk or voice an opinion, I try to respect that opinion. I don't think to myself, "Oh, so-and-so has qualifications and expertise, so I should pay more attention to their view than that of such-and-such, who just sings for fun."

Instead, I value all their opinions. I listen, judge, and decide which in my view has merit. What I do not do is question whether any of them has the right to voice an opinion in the first place!

Experts can be wrong. Or they may just have an opinion most of us - experts or not - disagree with. I mean, experts think this is good architecture:



I'm no expert at all on architecture - I know very little about it - but I think aliens should blast Federation Square from the face of the earth with a Great Big Ray Gun.

Or should I just shut up, and only voice my opinion in public once I have a few degrees in the subject?

Choir - Experts only?

Choir numbers are down all around the world. Choirs are merging, reducing, folding. Ours is a dying art.

I'm an oddity in my choirs because I didn't get the training everyone else got. And, when you think about it, that's a problem - not to me, but to the choirs I sing in.

Because unless our choirs start attracting more people like me - people with no background, no training, no expertise; people to whom choir is something new in their lives - choraldom will shrink further, and maybe one day die altogether.

So few of us talk about what we do outside of choir. We're like a secret society with special clothes (uniforms or cassocks) and special, secret training (years of music lessons). Heck, we even have our own language (notation)!

Before I joined choir, I thought everyone who sang in choir was a religious nutjob. I really did. I thought all choristers were like those types who have WWJD bracelets and pray twenty times a day and don't have sex or even kiss before marriage (heck no!), and who think everyone who is even a little bit different is Spawn Of Satan[TM]. I'm exaggerating a little bit, but choirs were definitely for Other People. A religious breed apart. Not for normal, ordinary people like me.

Choir has a real image problem, at least it did for me. It was only the fact I was going out with a guy who sang that made me think choir might be even vaguely okay.

No wonder we're not getting new members from outside to join. No wonder we're struggling to maintain our numbers. Choir is really scary - and more than a bit weird - to people who haven't grown up with the experience. It really is.

Worse yet, choral "experts" sometimes have a go at anyone who doesn't also have expertise and who dares express an opinion! Shame on those plebs! They should keep quiet! They know nothing! Get a degree or two first! Learn the secret language! How dare anyone criticise one of the Choral Gods like Howells!

I'm no expert. Far from it. I'll never be an expert, either - no matter how many pieces of music I write, or how many choirs I sing in. Poor me. I just didn't grow up in the right family, I guess. Not that choir is elitist. But some would like it to be.

I guess that means that I, and the rest of the plebs out here, should put up and shut up. If I think a piece stinks - well, what would I know? I don't have training! The opposite holds true, too - if I love a piece, well, I have no right to an opinion. I'm not qualified!

Music - a gift for everyone!

Music is for everyone, and everyone has the right to say what they like and dislike - and the right to say why they like and dislike it. Feedback is incredibly important, as any composer will tell you. Sure, Howells is dead (or maybe he's hangin' with Elvis!), but the opinions of people like me help decide whether Howells will be programmed and performed. In speaking, we shape history.

Silence is not golden, not when it comes to music. Audience feedback - and the feedback and opinions of ordinary performers - makes a huge difference.

I love music. At the start of this post, I specifically chose to quote a popular band - Abba - not some academic or classical genius from Ancient Rome. Modern, ordinary words can strike home and have honesty just as much as can great prose from the past.

I do think the Howells piece I criticised last week is rather crap. And the typesetting of the version we had access to is atrocious.

I also think I have every right to say what I think, and to voice my opinions, despite my lack of expertise. Everyone has the right to their opinions, regardless of expertise.

If one, or several, of my readers has a different, and very strong opinion on the work, then it is their right to write an article about the piece that discusses its merits and worth, such as they see it. That is the nature of a free and vibrant musical community.

I look forward to the next piece by Howells that is dumped in my direction. I hope it is better than "Behold, O God, Our Defender."

Quite frankly, that wouldn't be too hard.

Howelling in pain

I have problems enough with sight-singing. But occasionally a piece of music comes along that doesn't just stump me. It also wrecks the brains of just about everyone in the choir.

On Thursday in St. Pauls, we had a look at a piece by Herbie Howells called "Behold, O God Our Defender". It should have been called "Behold, O God, How Not To Write A Piece Of Music Or Typeset The Bloody Thing When You're Done".

Apparently it was composed on Christmas Day. Yep, that explains it. Someone put too much figgy in the pudding, I reckon. Or maybe old Herb just downed a bit too much Christmas Spirit before setting nib to paper.

Whichever the case, this is not one of his finer pieces. And for me to say that means a great deal, because I am not a member of Herbie's fan club.

It's awful. There's no climax, the words are insipid, the harmonies ill-conceived, and the whole thing reeks of a bad case of the Von Trapps.

The typesetting is worse. The thing has those horrible back-to-front rests and starts with a what I very unaffectionately called a "dotted doodad". Here it is:



Absolutely guaran-darn-teed to ensure that the start of the piece is sloppy and all over the place. I look at this, and go "huh?" and I know I'm not the only one.

No-one around me is sight-singing confidently. Instead, the vocals are quiet and uncertain. Also, the entry is unison, so anyone getting their note wrong is going to be blatantly wrong. And we are. Yuckedy yuck.

It gets worse. Every ending is on a long note, pretty much - ensuring that unless everyone is watching, cut-offs are going to be sloppy and, well, vague. As they were in the rehearsal of the piece and are pretty certain to be in performance.

This isn't going to glorify God, I don't think. God might want to bring His Ipod to Church this time around. I wish I could. Sometimes we sound divine, and the music we sing is heavenly, but this one is shaping up to be all too earthly for my liking. I feel sorry for my fellow choristers who are putting up with my errors in a very patient manner.

There are these long-ish, vague-ey vague endings, followed by more weirdo rests, some forwards, some backwards, before the next entry. I mean, look at this for an example of an entry almost guaranteed to be screwed up by a lot of people (including me, if I didn't go over and over this piece at home until it is drilled into my brain!):



I don't know about you, but I get real confused about which rest is which. Can you blame me?

So my MOTS (Male Of The Species) reminded me which rest is which and wrote in the full crotchet rests over the back-to-front nasties for me. And then he wrote in the numbered beats for me. You can see his helping hand here:



But old Herbie Howells hasn't finished with us yet. He goes on to introduce splits of sections on the same line - Soprano 1 & 2 on the same line, Alto 1 & 2 together etc. Yuck. So we have these wacky bunches of grapes and people like me aren't sure which note we're suposed to sing*.

Do I sing the first note or the second? I'm singing second Sop in this piece, so do I just go for the lower of the two notes? My brain hurts.

Maybe I should aim for something in the middle in this example? A very flat D or a sharp C? Or are these C sharps and D sharps? I don't know, because no-one has ever bothered to explain key signatures to me - why would they? I'm just a chorister! We're all just supposed to know this stuff from goodness-knows-where. Like, magically. Without being taught it in choir, at any rate:



Whingeing - who, me?

Okay, we've done the crappy entries and exits. We've done the bunches of crotchets resembling grapes. We've done the "what the hell key are we in anyway?" thing. We've done the "what a great idea to start a choir in unison yeah sure" thing. And we can't forget the back-to-front and forwards-backwards old-fashioned rests which confuse all but the most able. I'm feeling spectacular.

It should be a breeze from here on. We're half-way through the piece, after all!

But wait! Now we have what looks like a scale happening in the soprano line - except it isn't. Hehe - old Herbie was just trying to trick us by presenting something that looked vaguely normal and sensible.

You expect the next note after a C-sharp D-sharp and E-sharp to be an F-sharp. But it isn't. Herbie skips the note in the scale right on the page turn, and the next note is a G-sharp. What a bastard. They should never have named that cute car after him.

The second half of this piece includes more grape bunches, more notes that you have to pull out of nowehere (my favourite!), and rests that resemble "G" Runes from The Lord Of The Rings. I'm thrilled.



I know I'm not the most able chorister around, but I'm not the least able either. I'm sure Howells has written some competent stuff, but this ain't it.

And just to prove his point, he finishes this travesty of a piece with a loooooooong note that is just going to sort of...drain away. With the other sewerage.

This piece has been a nightmare for me. I spent last night working on it, and I know I'll be working on it again tonight. The only way I'm going to get it right is just to memorise it completely, because I'm buggered if I can figure out the notes and what they are supposed to mean.

I'd already given myself up as a lost cause in the sight-singing stakes. This is just another nail in the coffin, and anyone who can sing this through at first glance without an error deserves an Olympic Medal of Music Theory. Or something.

I'm not sure when we're going to be presenting this to the public. If they're lucky, a Hercules will fly over and do victory laps during our performance.

Or maybe God will turn his Ipod up real loud and treat us to some Enya.


***** ***** *****

* MOTS says: It's very simple really: if there's only one stem the second sopranos sing the lower of the two grapes. If there are two stems then the seconds sing the note with the downwards pointing stem.

And if the composer is a Real Bastard (tm) (or the female equivalent) then they'll have stems that cross over so you need to decode which notes belong to which part.

Oh, and if there are no stems then you sing the lower of the two notes (and I'm not sure how a composer would indicate otherwise without stems). Ain't music notation marvellous!

We are the music-makers...

"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream."

- Arthur O'Shaughnessy.

I love music.

I love my Ipod. I love my music collection. I love my CDs.

I love attending concerts - it doesn't matter what sort of music, and I'm as much a fan of Elgar as AC/DC. John Denver rocks my world, and Wendy Rule - well, she rules!

But most of all, I love to create music. In these tough financial times, we all need music more than ever.

Yet more than ever, we find that we can't afford the latest CD, the recent release by our favourite artist, the newest tickets to whoever is touring. Sometimes it is even too expensive to go out to a hotel and listen to a band. By the time you factor in drinks, and entry, and transportation, your wallet takes a real hit. Professional music is getting too rich for the everyday Jane's (or Joe's) blood.

It's time to think differently about music.

It's time to remember the past. Before there were Ipods, or Top 40 charts, or CDs, or cassettes. Back before LPs, and reel to reels, and gramaphones. Before recorded, paid-for, professional recorded music. Back to when practically everyone played, and sang, and just did music because they loved it.

There were families like mine who have a piano and sing together at night. The piano - or the guitar, or the harp, or the harmonica, or the accordion - took the place of television and radio and stereo and boxed, packaged, prefabricated entertainment.

There were people like my brother who plays his guitar just for the hell of it, and doesn't worry if he is good or not. There were people like my friends who are choristers and sing in choir - not because they are religious, but simply because they love to sing.

There were people like me who made up songs and wrote them down and shared them freely, not caring for profit. There were people like a friend of mine who conducts a university choir without payment, and often without recognition or acknowledgement, simply because he loves to share his joy of music.

There were people like my grandma who sang all her life in church choirs and barbershop groups. There were people like the MOTS who is a really good pianist, but will accompany anyone who loves to sing and needs a handy piano player.

It didn't matter if you weren't 'recording quality', because no-one was recording anyway. It didn't matter if you didn't draw an audience, because music wasn't generally a for-profit exercise. Music was just a part of life, as basic to our existence as going for a swim at the beach or kicking a footy around at the park or going for a walk in the forest in the evening and smelling the scent of the trees and the earth.

In these days when the professionals are costing too much, we need to remember O'Shauhnessy's words. Because they hold truer than ever. We are the music-makers. We are the dreamers of the dream. We've only forgotten it, and let our dreams sleep a little while.

Music doesn't belong to just a few - a talented, wealthy, chosen elite who can make a living by selling their product to us, the plebs who listen and admire and kowtow and buy posters and tickets and merchandise.

Music belongs to all of us - to the most awesome voice in the choir that soars to the heights and makes you feel as though you could fly, through to the least able person who just grooves along with the beat yet still has a great time.

Fact is, it really doesn't matter if your compositions will never be as good as Beethoven's. Beethoven is dead - he's not writing any more - what our world needs now is you, and me, and our friends and family. All together.

It doesn't matter if you'll never sing like Dame Nellie Melba, or like Freddie Mercury. They're gone too. But you're here. You have a voice, and our world is aching for melody, and for rhythm, and for the sound of fresh voices that come from the real world - not from a world of recording studios and echo chambers and 'fixit' machines that alter pitch and tone and everything else beyond recognition.

As for me, I know I'll never be a great composer. I know I'll probably never write a 'Magnum Opus' that makes the music world sit up and listen. But that won't stop me writing music, and it doesn't make what I do produce any less valuable and beautiful. I'll write till I go deaf and can't see the notes any more and my brain is soup and my voice is gone. And I'll probably write even beyond then, because I love music so much.

I know I won't ever be a great singer either. My voice will never make men weep (although the choristers next to me might cry a little at my top Cs!). I'll never be center stage in a ballgown, singing The Queen Of The Night, but I'll sure as chickens have a go at it at home, and laugh at my inability to hit the top notes! Who knows - maybe one day!

You see, it really doesn't matter. Because when I do sing, I sing with joy and with happiness, and I love what I do and I do it with others who also love to sing. That's what it is all about.

Music isn't supposed to be about perfection, although we can admire those who do it well, and enjoy performances that come close.

I think the professional music industry has forgotten this. They've become so obessed with getting everything perfect that the soul of music - humanity's intrinsic flaws - has been lost from it. So much of the modern music scene may as well have been written and performed by computers. It probably has been.

Judges and Critics

We hear so much perfect music in our everyday that we're often afraid to make music ourselves, for fear of falling short in the comparison. I hear the girl next to me who sings with the beautiful voice, and I become afraid to sing out, because I worry that my own voice lacks the same beauty and clarity. Another person hears a great guitarist, or pianist, and so is afraid to play in front of his friends because he fears he will be compared, and in comparison look sad and low.

We fear to make music because in our networked world we see and hear the excellent and extraordinary musicians of the world daily. This is a shame. Too many adults are afraid to sing, and afraid to dance, because others are watching and possibly judging, comparing us to the one-in-a-millions who live in some distant country and who are really quite irrelevant to our own reality.

Perhaps, above all, we are afraid of the harshest judge of all - ourselves.

In choir we sing quietly, afraid our mistakes will be heard, and we will feel foolish. So we make no sound, and the person next to us does the same and is also quiet, and the whole choir, instead of singing loudly and clearly and learning by our mistakes, mutters and learns nothing. Because of a stupid fear that someone, somewhere, might think we are silly.

My life changed as a chorister when I realised this, and I started to sing out. I'm still not great, but if I make mistakes, so what? Everyone else is making mistakes too - that is what rehearsals are for! And there isn't a singer alive who didn't pull a dud note here or there!

In the end, I realised I'd rather sing out and enjoy my voice and my contribution than forever be what a friend dubbed a "plastic alto" - you can see these people in choirs, but you'll never hear them!

We are all musicians. Every one of us. Go to any babies' music class, and you'll be convinced of this. Every single baby is loving the music, wanting to participate and make sound, and be a part of the music and the rhythm and the fun. It is only when we become ridiculous adults with inflated egos and insecurities that the musician inside us hides and disappears.

We are the music-makers!

Get music back in your life, if it isn't there already. The options are endless. Even if you can't keep a tune, you can still share in the joys of real music by singing carols at Christmas with friends (trust me - your friends won't care if you're off-key!). Try learning to play a hand drum like a bodhran - it doesn't require pitch but does require good co-ordination! Handbells can be fun too.

Join a choir - you really don't have to be religious! I've sung in choirs since 1992, and the vast majority of choristers I know are not churchgoers, or religious in the slightest. They just love music.

There are choirs that focus on swing music, on gospel music, or on any type of music you care to name. There are also choirs for all different age groups, so don't think for a moment that you will be the only 20 year old stuck in a room of 60-somethings - or vice versa! Check out your Yellow Pages, the Internet, or your local University.

Start, or join, a band. If you play an instrument already, check out cafes and hotels that have noticeboards. Often bands that are looking for instrumentalists or vocalists will post notices.

Dust off the piano, if you have one. Get it tuned, and take some lessons. If you already play, schedule a regular sing-a-long with friends. Or if you play guitar or another instrument, invite some friends over and sing together. It really is fun!

Another great alternative is hiring one of the famous musicals on DVD, and singing along with it. Sure, this is getting the professionals to help you out a little, but so what? 'The Sound Of Music' and 'Grease' (among others) are both available in sing-a-long DVD versions. Both are available at good DVD rental stores.

Connect, connect, connect...

Creating your own music is completely different to listening to boxed music. Compare being in a choir or a band to listening on an Ipod - the one builds community and friendship, the other is a solo activity where you are tuned out from the world. One connects, the other is an almost complete disconnect.

I'm not saying that Ipods are evil. I love mine, and I love listening to music. But I think that a balance is called for, and I know that in my own life I spend far more hours in choir each week (between 9-11 hours) than I do listening to recordings (possibly 3-4 hours). On top of that I rehearse at home, compose music, and sing with friends on an ad hoc basis.

The amount I do isn't for everyone, but a balance between creating and receiving music sure is a good idea. Even a couple of hours of music-making a week is a wonderful experience for anyone who loves to be with friends, have fun, build community, and have a good time.

So what am I trying to say?

I'm saying that music only comes alive with participation. Music is meant to be shared - and you can share music with little or no money at all. Music is environmentally-friendly too - from music libraries that lend scores out through to just improvising with a hand drum and a group of people who want to sing, it uses few resources, yet contributes greatly to wellbeing.

Bring music into your life, and you won't regret it. If you are musically active already, introduce a friend who hasn't had this in their life to the joys and wonders of making music.

Music is a gift that I give thanks for every day. There are millions of people all around the world who agree with me - we'd like you to join us!

---

The above post was originally published at Cluttercut, on 17 November 2008, and is copyright.

Sick chorister

I've got the lurgie.

I especially hate this sort of lurgie. It's the type where I'm not sick enough to warrant my husband staying home to look after the kids. Nor am I sick enough to miss rehearsal, as I'm not coughing everywhere and passing the nasties on.

This is just the type of lurgie that affects my voice. My singing voice is GONE.

Normally at choir I can hear myself singing away, more than the others around me. Last night, all I could hear was everyone else, and a wee ghostie little voice coming from me.

As for high notes - forget it. Everything above the stave was non-existent completely.

So I'm feeling very sorry for myself.

I am taking my patented cure all, but it hasn't cured me yet. This might just be one where time has to do its work.

I'm a bit aggro about getting sick too. I eat well and do everything I can to stay healthy, but since a really nasty illness when I was 19 that did its best to finish me off and only just failed, my immune system has never been quite the same. It seems I get sick a lot more often that I should which is a real bummer.

Anyway, the upshot of all this is I'm sick. I feel like crap, my body aches all over, and I feel like I need a week's worth of rest to get over it, which isn't going to happen for the mother of preschoolers like me.

At the moment I'm debating whether or not to go to choir tomorrow night, as I doubt I'll be able to make any sort of sound. But I know that I can learn without singing, and every time I do I'm patterning down more of the repertoire for next time. So I might dose up on the paracetamol, go anyway, and use it as an opportunity to learn, trying not to infect my fellow choristers!

In the meanwhile, I'll try to take it easy today, get some more work done on my novel if the kids are good enough to allow me to (I'm a writer by profession), and try not to get too distracted by the hailstorms crashing against the windows.

Have you got a problem with that?

Over the last few days, I've been doing a lot of thinking about how I sing, why I sing, and my sight-singing abilities - or lack of them.

I've been a bit of an anomaly ever since stepping foot in my first choir, back in 1992. Even back then, I soon realised that everyone around me seemed to have a magical, musical background that I didn't have.

Most of the people I was singing with had sung in choir all their life. They'd taken the music option at school. They'd learned the basics. And a lot of them came from church going families, so they were familiar with a whole stack of religious music that I didn't know.

This didn't worry me. Why would it? You see, from the moment I joined my first choir (Flinders University Choral Society / FUCS), I was made welcome. The members made me feel happy to be there.

That choir's director, the now internationally known and respected Kynan Johns, was incredibly supportive of his members, no matter what their ability level or depth of knowledge. He is one of those rare people who is able to understand that if the music is in you, nothing will stop you from singing. Nothing. Not ever. You might come to music early or late, but you'll come to it, because it is in you, and of you, and that is all there is to it.

I didn't read music at all back then, and never needed to. I just did everything by memory. Hear a piece once - or maybe twice - and all I needed was the words on the page for prompts, and to glance at the up-down movement of the little black dots on the page for a reminder every now and then. And I know there are lots of choristers out there, willing to admit it or not, who pretty much work the same way.

Since then, I've sung with lots of choirs. Some good, some not as good. I've learned what real talent is, being fortunate enough to work with musicians who went on to forge international careers for themselves. All of these incredibly talented and gifted people have supported me as I learned and enjoyed my hobby, and never once questioned my method of learning by listening.

I never heard any of these great talents ever criticise even the least able chorister either. It seems that petty bickering and snide comments are reserved for use by the 'almost rans' - those choristers and musicians who would like to think they are good, yet in their hearts know they have no genuine ability. And this irks them, so they try to get ahead by putting others down and making them feel uncomfortable. Which is pathetic.

Different doesn't mean bad

So I come to talk about my lack of skills in sight-singing. I'm here, 17 years on, and I still do almost all my learning by ear. It's how I work, it makes sense to me, and it gives me a quicker and fuller appreciation of how the music fits together than looking at little black dots on a page, and trying to make sense of something that way. I can sight-read a bit, but not well at all. Not well enough to pass any sort of test.

Yes, I should have learned to read better by now, probably. But why? Every choir I've been in until now runs over each line of the music many more times than I ever need. I've always learned the music so thoroughly by ear well before concert date that taking the time to puzzle out an illogical, imprecise and often error-ridden written version of the music seemed foolish.

Then there's the issue of copies that are blurred and hard to read, and receiving scores that are covered in scrawled rubbish and notes from the former user. It seemed much more sensible to just listen properly the first time, pay attention, and use my brain cells to remember and learn - that's why I have a brain and a good ear, after all! A different point of view, but that's the way I work.

One could argue that my system only works when I work with others who do know how to read music well, and that is absolutely true. When I have to learn music without hearing it first, then I have problems.

But so does every musician I know. No-one is absolutely fluent on a first reading. Even the best readers I know (and my husband is one of them) miss dynamics and emphases on the first reading. And even polished, rehearsed performances are rarely perfect.

I've been in choirs 17 years, and I've decided to be honest here and now. I can't sight sing. I really can't. It is not a skill I possess. But as Paul McCartney, arguably the most successful musician who has ever lived (and who can't read music), would say, "Do you have a problem with that?"

The interesting thing is, if someone like me can be in choirs for 17 years and still not need to sight-sing, not even in what are reputedly some of the best choirs in Australasia, maybe some hard questions should be asked. Is sight-singing an over-rated skill? Is it as necessary as we think it is? Maybe not.

Getting over my insecurities

I've had a bee in my bonnet over this one for a couple of year now - ever since a few friends of mine, who really are excellent musicians, started telling me that I should learn to sight-sing, and I realised that their methods didn't work for me. I've been overly sensitive about the whole sight-singing 'thing'. It has troubled me.

But maybe, instead, I should have wondered why my methods, which I find so much easier, don't work for my friends who DO sight-sing? Everyone is different, and what works, works. The only time I have real problems, after all, is when people try to test my sight-singing! Maybe I should have just accepted that if I'm good enough to be in a choir, then I'm good enough. Whether I can read music or not!

I am thankful for the fact that music has come into my life, even at that ripe old age of 21, seventeen years ago, when a friend heard me singing in the shower and first suggested I join a choir! I'm glad when I sing, I love to sing, and I'm not going to stop for anything!

I'm not the greatest chorister, but I haven't met that person yet. I'll let you all know when I do! I'm not a soloist standard either, but that's why this blog is called "The Chorister" and not "The Soloist".

I'm okay, and that's fine by me. And if anyone else has a problem with how I sing, and how I learn music, that's their problem, not mine.

The fact that I am here, and have sung, in some of the most elite choirs, proves that music is a gift for everyone, for all people, no matter where we're from or who we are or what we know or what methods we use to understand the music - if only we'll have the courage to listen, and to open our minds and our hearts and our voices.