Category Archives: Uncategorized

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.”  


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. 

Knowing a piece in your bones

Today I am going to talk about the physicality of music.  It is sometimes seen as an intellectual pursuit, but we make music with our bodies.

This is, of course, true of everything we do. We can only live our lives through this one body we have been issued with.  Changes in your body – whether that’s through the passage of time, hormones, an accident or illness, even gaining or losing weight – will affect many of your daily activities, including making music.

Last week I talked about ageing and how it affects the voice.  We all know having a cold affects the way you sing, and if you have burnt your left index finger on the oven it will affect your piano playing.  That index finger might affect your singing, too, because it will take a bit of your attention away from your focus on your voice, and there might be some tension in your left shoulder because you keep fiddling with the little burn.

Learning to make music, whether with the inbuilt instrument of your voice, or another instrument, is a process of physical training just as much as learning to run or do keepie-uppies with a football.  Improving your scales or learning the bass part of “Hail, Smiling Morn” are not things you do purely by mental effort.  You embody the learning and develop the physical habit of getting the music as you want it to sound. 

It may be more obvious with an instrument like the piano, because you can see your fingers on the keyboard in a way you cannot see the physicality of singing.  You cannot see your vocal cords, or as they are called more accurately these days, vocal folds. Your breath is invisible.  But look at all the physical structures that enable you to make a sound:

For every instrument the music works better when you involve your whole body.  Breathe deeply, stand or sit in a balanced way, and don’t let anything be tense that could be relaxed. Engage your core muscles.  Then you need to practise the music.  Using your ears to know when it’s right, go over it in sections until it’s right all the time.  The messages received by your ears – and if you are reading music, by your eyes – start making neural pathways to your fingers or your larynx.

The wonderful thing that happens when you have spent the hours going over and over whatever it is you are learning, is that your body remembers it without your brain having to get involved at all.  Thinking too much, in fact, can put you off your stroke. If you consciously prepare your body to get in the right position for the beginning, hands on the keyboard or feeling where the first note sits in your voice, your body will perform the music and you will experience a wonderful sense of flow.

This really struck me when we sang before Christmas on the hill in Meersbrook Park.  Someone suggested we should sing “Hail, Smiling Morn” and we just went for it.  None of us had sung it for roughly 360 days, and it was marvellous.  We knew it in our bones.  Each of these songs we learn is an invisible gift we carry around with us and they are priceless.

The Voice as We Age

It always makes me sad when people choose to leave the choir, but the reason that makes my heart hurt the most is when people say, “I’m too old. My voice is going.”

I always try to talk them out of it, but usually they don’t tell me until they have thoroughly made up their mind to leave.  I’ve always felt that singing together is tremendously good for us and that we should keep it in our lives as long as possible.

It is a universal challenge: we are all getting older, and the modish hair colour in most choirs is grey or vibrantly dyed.  So I have been looking into this and I have great news – science is on my side.

The British Voice Association lists all the physiological changes that can affect our voice, and some of them are surprising.

  • muscles weaken, including those in the face, the neck, and between the ribs
  • joints stiffen and the spine loses some of its flexibility
  • hearing deteriorates
  • tooth loss affects articulation
  • lung capacity diminishes
  • digestive system is less efficient – acid reflux often causes hoarseness
  • neurological input becomes less effective, affecting balance and coordination
  • forgetfulness means remembering words (and learning new lyrics) is harder

I know, it’s a daunting list.  Not everyone will experience all of these things, but it’s interesting how the voice is intrinsically linked to our whole body.  Voice problems can be a symptom of something systemic, and a weakness in an area we think of as unrelated can affect our voice, both in speech and singing.

Now for the good news.  One of the best things to do to keep your voice strong is to join a choir

The best way to maintain – or improve – the quality of your voice is to keep using it.  Talk, do vocal warmups and exercises, and sing!

Singing keeps the voice working well, improving breathing and wellbeing.  Singing requires you to breathe a little deeper, stand a little taller, and project your voice more.  It can actively improve your speech in terms of volume, articulation and confidence.  Doing breathing exercises will help you control your breath, use more of your lungs and tone up the intercostal muscles and the diaphragm.

If you feel your voice is becoming weaker, you could try improving your general health:

  • Regular exercise helps your muscles, your breathing, and your balance.
  • Keep hydrated (pee pale – your pee should never be darker than straw-coloured)
  • Have a healthy varied diet
  • Don’t smoke
  • Reduce alcohol consumption – for the acid reflux and neurological impact
  • Keep mentally active (choir is good for this one too)
  • Have your hearing checked and consider a hearing aid sooner rather than later.

Yes, our voices change as we age, and you may mourn the fact that your singing voice is not the same as it used to be.  Try to observe and accept this. Sing more often – not just on choir day. When it comes to choir, maybe try singing a different part. Swap to soprano so that you can hear the tune better, or move to tenor if you feel uncomfortable singing the high notes.  As always, let your director know if you need to hear something again.  As a choir we value our members’ unique voices and we want people to keep feeling that they belong. 

Learning to Listen

Recently I’ve been trying to learn bird songs with Lucy Lapwing, and it’s delightful to be able to pick out individual voices, rather than hearing a general noise that is all “birdsong”. She recommends using a recording of the song you are currently learning as your ringtone.

You hear people say, “Classical music is boring,” which shows that to them, it all sounds the same.  This is a shame, because there is so much variety to enjoy. Listening more, picking out small pieces and repeating them until you can identify them, is the way to go.

In the first week of Music A-level, our teacher Mr White gave us a test.  There were ten opening phrases of famous classical pieces and we had to identify them. Luckily, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik was there but it was the only one I knew.  I could read music well enough to sing the tunes in my head but naming the pieces? Nope.   I felt stupid and hopeless. What was I doing studying Music A-level when I knew nothing?

There was one where the second half sounded a bit like Star Wars.  I wrote down “Star Wars”.  I didn’t like to leave an answer space blank, so I filled in something for all of them.  (It was Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 2, and I still think of Star Wars when I hear the second phrase.)  

The result of us all doing so badly in this test was a wonderful lesson called General Listening.  Every Thursday morning we would spend an hour listening to music and talk about its features. What makes Beethoven so Beethoven-y? What gives you a clue that this is Brahms?  It might be the choice of instruments, how long the phrases are, a particular pattern in the bass line. The harmonies and how they are used often give you a pointer about what era the piece was written in.  We talked at the end, or when the music was off, and he didn’t like us writing notes. Mostly we just had to listen.

These hours on a Thursday were absolute magic. Rather than a lesson, it was like a banquet. I couldn’t believe we were allowed to do this.  Mr White inspired me to take records out of the library and to monopolise the sitting-room while I listened to little sections repeatedly to try and remember them.  Because it was a school lesson it gave me authority to do this – I would not have listened so intensely or methodically without it, and I have not done so since.

There is no great secret, beyond listening many times. Some specific vocabulary helps to categorise what you hear, and singing melodies somehow takes the knowledge from your brain into your body, deepening the learning.

I’m eternally grateful for those lessons, and not just when watching University Challenge.  There is still a whole ocean of music – even within the mainstream classical back catalogue – that I don’t know. But I have pegs I can hang things on – composers and pieces I know that provide reference points. My ears can pick out the difference between a clarinet and an oboe.  It’s accessible to me because I learnt how to listen.