Writing Our Own Map

From next Monday, 19th July, we will be able to meet indoors to sing in a group of more than six.  A whole choir can sing together again without wearing waterproofs.  I’ve been looking forward to this for so long.  So why am I not ecstatic?

Here are the current statistics on Covid.  You can see the numbers for yourself.  Those lines look a bit like smiles – the red smile, the green smile, and that blue lopsided one in the corner.  They are bad news, though, nothing to smile about at all. They show the rising rates of infection, serious illness and death.  

The government has decided to, as they would put it, “grant us our freedom”.  We can now make our own decisions about how close to stand to each other, whether or not to wear a mask, how many people we can squeeze into a venue, and whether to open the windows or not.  

There may be new Performing Arts guidelines coming along – but nobody knows for sure. Maybe they are considered unnecessary.  We will just have to work on “common sense”, which is open to multiple definitions.

Passing the buck, putting the responsibility for decisions on to individual organisers, is predictable behaviour for this government.  Choir directors and committees now have to each plough their lonely furrow, working out for themselves what a safe and responsible rehearsal looks like.

We have a lot of factors to consider.  First and foremost, we want to ensure the safety of our group members.  The science says that singing is no more risky than loud talking, but the simple fact that singing in a big group has been banned makes it seem like a dangerous activity.

People with chronic health conditions are particularly worried about catching the virus.  They will be more vulnerable if existing limitations are scrapped, and many will retreat into a self-imposed isolation, because there are no statutory measures in place to protect them.

I worry that some singers with health issues, or family members whose health is vulnerable, will start to feel that nothing will reassure them.  They will not trust any gathering outside their immediate family to be safe.  This is very sad. 

We are all craving the sound of voices close together.  It is a very different sound, hearing twenty voices, each two metres away from the next, and twenty voices coming from people standing side by side.  The essence of choir is the individual voices blending into one complex sound.  Being outside adds another level of distance between the voices.  If people have come to one outdoor rehearsal and then no more, is it because the musical experience was less than they wanted?  

The bums-on-seats question, of course, is also at play.  We have to have enough people coming to sessions for it to feel like a choir, and for us to pay the room hire and the director’s fees.

For my part, I think we should move forward cautiously.  Hooray to being able to sing indoors again (why does it always rain on Monday evenings?) but when we do, we will still acknowledge that there is a pandemic happening.  

National Anthems

I have divided loyalties when it comes to football.  I’m half-Scottish, married to a Welshman. My first team is Wales and my second team is Scotland.  When I was growing up nobody in my family was interested in sport, except for my Scottish grandpapa.  His first team was Scotland and his second team was whoever was playing against England – especially if they beat them.

I’m not in that camp. I’ve lived in England all my life but I would always call myself British, not English.  However, this incarnation of the English football team has completely won me over. They play for each other, they play as a team, they are modest in victory and resilient in defeat.

I have watched most of the matches in this tournament, and as a choir leader I probably pay more attention to the singing of the anthems than most viewers.  I love some powerful group singing, and I think it says something about a team when they all know the words and sing their anthem confidently.  At the beginning of the tournament I was sure I could see a correlation between strong singing and strong performance on the pitch.  

The Welsh football team sing as loud and proudly as their rugby counterparts, and they played well – to start with.  The Italians are also very good at singing their anthem – which looked and sounded so rousing I had to look it up.

Brothers of Italy, it starts, Italy has awoken… It finishes off with them declaring – twice – that they are ready to die for Italy.

Allons, enfants de la patrie, sing the French.  Come on, children of our homeland, the day of glory is here!

Land of my fathers, land of warriors, poets and singers, great people who have shed their blood for freedom… Land! Land! I am true to my land.

There is a beautiful country, sing the Danes, where the beech trees spread wide by the salt eastern shores…  this is Freya’s hall, where ancient warriors rest.

I’m starting to see a pattern here. Most national anthems involve people singing about the land they inhabit, or about their links to past generations of the country, ancestors, heroes and warriors, inciting a feeling of camaraderie with other people of that nation.

Compared to that, the English have a rough deal.  I have a problem with England using the British national anthem as their own, since it should belong equally to the four home nations, but in addition to that it’s a poor anthem.

Instead of singing about their country, and a feeling of belonging to either a nation – a physical land, or an ideal – or a brotherhood, they are asking God to look after the queen. I’ve nothing against the queen, but the words of our national anthem don’t commit us to taking any action. We don’t commit ourselves to each other or our homeland, we just say a prayer for an old lady.  I wish they would sing Jerusalem instead – the old radical Blake’s words are stirring, and specifically about England, although I’d prefer something without religious affiliations.

Sadly, the correlation I observed didn’t last beyond the group stages.  Before their match with Denmark, Wales sang as well as ever.  Denmark didn’t sing particularly strongly and they won 4-0.  

Whatever the outcome on the field, singing a song together is one more way to pledge allegiance to your team and country. I wish England had a better tune and better words!

Choir and the Secret of Happiness

I am not going to claim that singing in a choir will bring you back from deep despair.  It will not mend your broken heart.  But I whole-heartedly believe that choir is a very good thing and it nurtures our mental health.

In many small ways, choir helps our mental health, starting with the physical body.  Breathing more deeply and taking some gentle exercise are always recommended. (As is spending time outside, so we can help there – at the moment!)

We know anecdotally that our singers say, “I need choir for my mental health”, or “I think choir should be available on the NHS,” but there is plenty of solid psychological research that supports this view.

Self-determination is a concept which is important for psychological growth – it’s about being able to make your own choices and feel in control of your life.  According to self-determination theory, what people need to be motivated is a simple ABC.  The three things that inspire people to do things are Autonomy, Belonging and Competence.

I know, long words.  What they mean is not too complicated, though. Autonomy means the feeling that you are choosing to do something, and that thing makes a difference.  You choose to open your mouth and sing, and the sound of the choir is transformed. How you sing is up to you – loudly, sweetly, in an Irish accent – and your effect on the whole sound is audible.  Without your contribution, the sound is diminished.

Belonging is a more straightforward word.  It is really important for human beings to feel that they are part of something bigger.  We all need to feel connected to others.  When we are bound together with other people in a shared endeavour, a shared work of art like a choir song, we feel close to the singers nearby even if we’ve never had a conversation with them. 

Competence means knowing how to do stuff.  We feel safe with people who are good at what they do.  Learning to do things better gives us self-esteem.  When we start learning a song in choir and you think, I’m never going to learn that, and then you do, it feels good.   Developing new skills makes us feel powerful.  

If, as a leader, I can help you feel these three things – autonomy, belonging and competence – I will be doing something right in my job.  You don’t need to label them in this way, I’m just making a connection with an established psychological theory.

All that our singers need to know is that 

You Belong

You Can Sing

Your Singing Matters

Start Singing!

The Rights and Wrongs of Singing in June 2021

Tonight we will be singing at the Walled Garden again.  I’m looking forward to it, and I’m less nervous than I was before the first session, but it’s colder today.  There is a chilly wind blowing and despite the chance of precipitation being only about 9%, it’s been raining gently for most of the afternoon.  We’ll be OK, everybody will wear the right clothes and the garden will smell particularly lovely as a wet garden does, but it’s brought back my feeling of deep injustice.

Every afternoon and evening on TV we’re seeing football fans singing enthusiastically together, arms draped round the shoulders of people I’m pretty sure they don’t live with.  We’re talking about thousands of people here – I think they estimated 22,000 people came down from Scotland to London for the England game.  They were shouting and singing and hugging, and nobody stopped them.

But non-professional choirs still cannot sing indoors, standing still, not facing each other, 2m away from the next person, with all the windows open.

Some choirs who charge money for tickets and employ professional soloists have had it confirmed that (in the view of their insurance company) that makes them a professional outfit, and I’m delighted that they can now proceed with indoor rehearsals.  Sadly, that doesn’t include us.

I was talking to my stepmother last night and at her Methodist church they have decided it’s time to start singing again.  Their minister said that the mostly elderly congregation have all been vaccinated, and that the impact on their mental health was important enough to override the guidelines.  Everyone wears masks and they sing softly together in the chapel, and it makes a huge difference to the feel of the service.  This seems a considered and kind decision – but it contravenes the guidelines.  

My father’s Church of England church is still not including singing in their services.  Like us, they are going to follow the guidance even when it seems illogical.

I do get irate about people feeling entitled to break the rules, because they feel their situation is special and more important than other people’s.  I don’t want to be part of the Cummings crew.  I had a wonderful indoor sing with five choir people last week, and we will be happy enough with our group of 30 in the walled garden for the next four weeks.  What happens then is, I realise, anyone’s guess.

But as I print off a copy of Singing in the Rain – just in case it seems appropriate – and put on an extra jumper, I can’t help feeling that life is unfair.

Singing Together at Last

We did it! We had a live session, 30 of us singing together in the Walled Garden of Meersbrook Park.

The weather smiled on us: it was a warm evening, but not bright enough to have the sun in our eyes.  There was no wind, so I didn’t have to worry about music blowing off my stand.  The birds were busy in the trees and the garden itself was looking lush and lovely.

It was fun gathering all my things together, preparing for a real-life session. I My new toolkit worked well. From a PE equipment store, I ordered 50 mini-cones, which stack onto a central handle and are very light to carry. My husband helped me carry everything up to the garden, and we put out the markers 2m apart to show everyone where to stand (or sit if they had brought a stool/chair/mobility scooter).  These were colour-coded for the different parts, and the altos even had a two-tone system to indicate whether they should go high or low for the two-part song.

We had a gatekeeper marking people off on the register as they arrived and we locked the gates to stop any random people wandering in.  A few of us chose to wear masks.  My “director’s mask” with a window in it didn’t really help people to see my mouth as it got misted up and felt a bit damp. One choir member said I looked a bit like Hannibal Lecter, too, which wasn’t the trustworthy, approachable look I was going for.  

I used a microphone so that people could hear me better – this wasn’t perfect as I found it hard to hold the mic in the right place while conducting.  I’ve got a couple of different options to try for next time – amplification is invaluable as the choir now extends for about 14 metres widthways and 8m in depth!  We kept our warm-up exercises tall and narrow so that we didn’t touch, and we avoided the spitty vocalisations.

We closed our eyes, listened and hummed, breathing together, then opened our eyes to smile and greet the people around us.  And then we sang. How lovely to hear voices again, blending in unison and meeting in harmony.

I was glad that the new venue meant I had to ask people to help with some tasks.  Sometimes being in charge of everything is exhausting, so I must remind myself that people really are happy to help.

So many people have been in touch thanking me for the session. It was just as wonderful for me as it was for them – without the singers I would just have been standing in a garden waving my arms about.  It was a beautiful place to sing, and we are already thinking that we might come back here now and again even when we are allowed to rehearse indoors.  “Sorry if I lost concentration for a while there,” said one singer, “I was watching the swallows.”  

Starting Again

Tonight is our first live choir rehearsal for 448 days.  That’s extraordinary.  I am very excited and very nervous.  What if I’ve completely forgotten how to conduct?

I know some of my singers are nervous too, worrying that they have forgotten how to sing. Those of us who have sung during the pandemic have done so on our own. We have got out of the habit of adjusting to singers around us, and watching a conductor in real time.  I’m going to put an emphasis on listening and looking tonight, staying responsive to what is happening around us, because the physical fact of being together with 30 people is going to feel very unusual.

I have no idea how the choir will sound.  You cannot get a lovely blended sound when each voice is 2m away from their closest neighbours.  Will the sound just fly away in the open air? I am going to try singing at a wall, so that we get some reverb back from it.  It is always difficult, we have found, for each singing part to hear the others properly when we are performing outside.  Now that will be even harder, since they will be spread so thinly and the two sides of the choir will be 9m away from each other.  I’m going to amplify my voice, which I’ve never been comfortable with before, but I think it will help me to feel that I’m not shouting.  I need to talk to the singers gently and support them as they take their first steps into singing together again.

I am prepared for the sound to be different – I think it’s going to be very moving and exciting just to hear the singers’ voices again after the Zoom-on-mute experience.  I hope everyone will be able to relax and sing naturally – at least by the end of the session.

I attended a fantastic conference run by the Association of British Choral Directors a couple of weeks ago, talking about the emotional aspect of starting to sing together again.  One of the speakers, Liz Garnett, talked about how our nervous systems behave when much-anticipated events happen.  There is a rush of adrenaline and everyone is in a fight/flight mood.  This is not just any choir rehearsal, this is an M&S… oh sorry, no, this is our First Rehearsal After Covid.  It is much more like a performance than a practice, because we’ve all been longing for it for so long. There is great potential for people to be overwhelmed, and it’s helpful just to acknowledge this and be prepared for it. As the leader of the choir, I’ve decided not to sing our “Banging Greatest Hits” tonight but some gentler, more meditative songs to try to counteract all the excitement.

I have many new props for this rehearsal.  My old simple kit list was music, music stand, register, tuning fork.  The new list adds in keys for the walled garden, microphone and amplifier, mini PE cones, 2m measuring stick, clipboard, sanitiser, mask, spare mask, labelled copies of music for singers, and tissues.  Because whatever happens tonight, I think it might be emotional.


This blog is always my personal opinion, but I don’t usually get emotional.  I have not used this platform before to have a full-on red-in-the-face rant.

However, there’s a first time for everything. There is only one thing on my mind to write about this week, and I am furious.

Ever since the road map was announced in February, choir leaders have believed that from May 17th, with risk assessments in place, Covid-secure venues, physical distancing and good ventilation, we would at last be able to sing in the same room as each other.  All the leaders I know have been working hard to get everything organised for a return to hearing each others’ voices.  We have prepared our singers for limited numbers and a strict booking system. We are responsible people who like to get things right.

On Monday 10th May, Mr Johnson announced that easements planned for Step 3 would go ahead on May 17th.

On Tuesday 18th May, without any hint of this in advance, we were told that non-professional singing could only take place indoors in one group of six.

That’s the DAY AFTER Step 3 came into force. The timing of the announcement, together with it being completely out of the blue, adds insult to injury.

This delayed announcement makes me feel simultaneously that singing is a Cinderella activity that is only thought about at the last minute, and that we have been singled out for an undeserved punishment.  Indoor sports are allowed, as long as they are organised by a charity or official group.  Brass bands can play indoors again.  Compared to a dozen sweaty people running about in a sports hall, I think our plan for 19 people to stand still and breathe in and out in a large church is reasonable.

Is it that we don’t generate enough income for the economy?  The money involved in community music is paltry compared to pubs and football matches, but not insignificant to me and my fellow choir directors.  Nor, in fact, to many professional singers, who rely on paid engagements with amateur choruses. This feeds into my suspicion that too many people think that anyone who can bash out a tune can lead a choir, and that running music groups mostly done by volunteers.  

There is no good reason for this change in the rules.  Government-funded research was undertaken last summer, and as a result, singing was allowed again in August. Many choirs rehearsed safely in the autumn, following strict guidelines.  We never managed it: by the time we had a venue and had done all the risk assessments, infection numbers were on the rise and we felt it unwise to go ahead.

Singing in a choir is the most wonderful remedy for depression and isolation.  It brings people together across political and social divides, bringing proven benefits both physically and psychologically.  Creating beautiful music with others brings an unbeatable sense of joy and belonging.  It means a great deal to the people who take part.

We have all been longing to sing together again. The sense of disappointment and betrayal is palpable. Keep the faith, singers.  Write to your MP. When we raise our voices in song at last, it will be very sweet indeed.

Breaking the Rules

Music in four-part harmony, for four voices of different pitch, has been written since the sixteenth century.  When I was at school, I was required to write music according to the rules. It made composing very hard work, and I always felt I was creeping through an obstacle course trying to avoid all the pitfalls.  There are so many things you have to avoid. Parallel fifths and octaves, doubling the leading note, and omitting the third are all capital crimes. “Unsuitable leaps” are also a no-no.  

These rules of harmony, as I understand it, were developed in the 1800s based on the work of Johann Sebastian Bach, who had already been dead for over 50 years.  Let’s make this clear: Bach wrote sublime music, and he did not write any rules for other people to follow.  The rules were reverse-engineered. People who like rules and instructions dissected his work and from it extracted patterns which shaped the lovely harmonies he created.  These have been fossilised as “the rules for harmony” ever since.  This is an interesting sentence from a current A-level textbook:

Overlaps (where the bass leaps higher than the tenor’s last note) and part-crossing (when, for instance, the tenor sings higher than the alto) are best avoided, although they were used fairly frequently by Bach. 

This makes it explicit: Bach did not follow the rules of harmonising like Bach. 

Generations of musicians have now learnt to harmonise in the style of Bach. Examinations – both A Levels and practical Associated Board exams – still require this rigorous exercise. 

Nowadays I love writing and arranging in four-part harmony. The big difference is that I am writing something to be sung, and it is not going to be marked.  The official rules are in my head, but I choose not to follow them.

My priority must be that the song is singable, which has two factors to it.  First of all, each part must be in a comfortable range for the person singing it – not too low, and not too high.  My community choir singers are not professionals and we don’t like squeaky voices, so the top note for the soprano line is five or six notes lower than you would find in Bach’s choral works.

If the soprano does not go very high, and the bass does not go very low, we will be left with plenty of potential for voices overlapping. All our tenor singers are female, so the alto and tenor lines are in much the same range. If they don’t overlap, they end up very monotonous.    

This leads us to the other aspect of singability: a singable line has to feel good in the mouth and appeal to the ear. The notes must move up and down, otherwise it’s boring and difficult to learn. When the voice jumps from note to note, it should not be too surprising. I’ve taught a couple of songs with awkward jumps and often people leave them out, make up something they like better, or sing that section very loudly to show they’ve got it right and throw the balance off.  There are good reasons, then, for avoiding “unsuitable leaps”.

Sometimes, though, when I’ve written a section and played it back, it doesn’t sound quite right. That’s when it’s worth dusting off the rule-book – if I fix the crimes against Bach, it often sounds better!

Singers with feathers

At this time of year, birds are singing industriously from dawn till dusk. It’s sound that lifts the heart – for me, anyway.  I once spent a May night in a lodge at the Glencoe ski resort, and they had a notice pinned up which said, “Sorry about the cuckoo”.  I loved him cuckooing his heart out till 11pm in the light evening, but I guess some guests found it irksome. 

Birds don’t sing for us, they sing for each other. Why do humans find the sound so appealing?

Birdsong includes squeaks that are harsh and metallic like a train braking, rasping croaks like frogs, hollow woody sounds and sliding whistles. They rarely sing what we might call actual tunes.  Their notes change pitch and don’t use our human-invented scales. They have rhythms but rarely a sense of pulse. This means they fit the definition of “noise” rather than “music”. Nevertheless, birdsong appeals to our human ears and can fill us with joy.

Birds’ voices work differently to ours.  Their amazing anatomy means that they can not only sing while breathing in, but make two noises simultaneously.  Birdsong can be incredibly loud compared to the size of the creature – particularly the diminutive wren.  Luckily emus and ostriches don’t have the same volume to mass ratio, otherwise they would deafen everything within earshot.

Learning birdsongs is something I’ve said I’d like to do many times.  It’s only in the last 10 years or so that I could reliably identify a blackbird singing and my progress is slow.  There’s a lovely bit in one of Simon Barnes’s books – it might be How to be a Bad Birdwatcher – where he and some friends are outside a bar in Slovenia naming the birds they can hear, and the waitress says, “And so you can tell which bird it is just by listening?” in the same awed tone of voice as she might say, “And so you just turn the water into wine?”

Lucy Lapwing is a birder who does lovely social media and she has put up some Youtube videos teaching birdsongs.  She takes them one by one, and she says this is how she learnt, listening repeatedly to one song – for instance, using a recording of the song as a ringtone.  She had the song of the blackcap as her ringtone for so long that she still can’t hear a blackcap without putting her hand to her phone.

I am very much enjoying my journey from all birdsong sounding like generic “birdsong” to it being a collage of many individual voices – ooh, there’s a nuthatch.  Sometimes I even say out loud, “Who are YOU?” when I hear a bird I don’t know.  But I don’t think it matters whether you can attach a name to what you hear – it is still a delight to know we are sharing our space with other, non-human singers. 

Getting Down to Basics

It’s a nice idea, isn’t it? Getting rid of all the fol-de-rol and the bells and whistles, so that you can concentrate on the essential things.  

I’m thinking about this particularly with regard to music, and the teaching of music.  A year ago, I thought all my face-to-face work would disappear and I’d be destitute.  Fortunately, that didn’t happen and I managed to maintain a high percentage of my work, keeping many people engaged with music in their own homes.  But at the beginning of the pandemic, I came up with a project I could do – not to make money, but to connect with people and help them learn about music.

I thought my idea was a simple one: make a series of YouTube videos explaining and illustrating the basic principles of music.  There are plenty of tutorial videos out there, some of them very good, but many more are too complicated, too simplistic, too excitable, too dull, too confusing, too American, or just plain wrong. I wasn’t aiming to be an influencer, just to find a way of doing what I do in Covid times.

This project has been on my “To do” list for a year now and it has not progressed very far.  I tried making a couple of videos and I discovered several things. Firstly, that I look really grumpy if I’m not actively smiling.  Secondly, that I say Um quite a lot.  And also that even when I understand things well, off the cuff I don’t always describe them clearly.  There were technical things too: the microphone I bought didn’t work and getting the lighting right was tricky.

I was aiming to keep each video short – five minutes or less, to suit the medium.  This was why I was trying to really pare back to the essentials.

I started off with what I thought was a basic building block of music.  Easy, I thought, I will just introduce this one concept.  Soon, though, I realised I’d used another word that had a specific musicky meaning which needed to be explained.  So maybe THAT should be part one and this other thing should be part two?

There are many terms in music that are words we use in everyday life.  Words like bar, note, pulse, beat, even high and low – when you use them in a musical context they have a specific meaning.  In addition, some words like note* and beat have more than one meaning, and it’s worth spending some time on precisely what is meant.

*Just to elaborate on this one: This can mean 1. the sound you hear, 2. the symbol on the page or 3.the physical thing you press down on a keyboard.  These are three quite different things.

I’m glad I had this idea. I haven’t scratched it off my list yet and it has really helped clarify my thinking about the fundamental elements of music. Even if I don’t upload videos, it will inform my teaching.

I am now filled with admiration for everyone who makes a half-way decent video on YouTube about anything. Especially music.