I’m not ‘boring’. I’m English.
Posts tagged singing
Hark, The Frog Chorus Sings
Dec 25th
Mulled Wine followed by Southern Comfort followed by several Black Russians does not a good pre-Church mixture make.
It does, however, make for a good night out talking.
But back to the church thing.
Last night was the traditional Midnight Mass (which in previous years has both enchanted and disappointed me in equal measures… and weirdly I have never blogged about it). I think I expect too much – it always starts off quite well, friendly face hands you a service sheet and you sit in a warmed church, candlelight flickering lightly as the choir gathers at the back of church ready to sing something beautiful before they walk through church to something everyone knows (this year it was Hark, the Herald Angels Sing) and then there is a bit of a prayer and it’s usually shortly after that the magic goes and my head starts to hurt.
Someone switched all the lights on. I don’t like it bright anyway but going from candlelight to far too many bulbs always feels a litle to me like that moment in Bond films when the bad guy turns the light on him and says, in a bad accent, something along the lines of ‘I expect you to not talk, but quip a little and then escape in a totally obvious way while I laugh maniacally’
Now, I know I have become a ‘bad church goer’. I go, at most, 5 times a year. I have not really felt like church is the place to get my faith on (yes, I am making bad white girl gangster signs right now – hip hop hooray) as it mostly just annoy me with little petty things.
I mean, for Pete’s sake, the Lord’s Prayer was SUNG with the wrong words (I say wrong as I feel it should be trespasses and not sins… but that’s just me.)
This year the choir was magnificent. I was worse than usual. Although the alcohol from my pre-church meeting with friend (which went splendidly) had lubricated and opened up my hacking death cough throat, but still everytime I opened my mouth to sing I sounded like a tuneless version of what I imagine The Nails Down a Chalkboard Symphony (also known as that X-Factor abomination) will sound like. And, ooo, it hurt! Singing carols is for me almost as pleasurable as having a good ol’ patriotic sing along with the Last Night of the Proms. This year not so much. Damn.
And then there was a moment of pure hell for me.
At a totally random moment in the service a woman I had never seen before got up and started to sing O Holy Night. My joint first favourite carol (along with Carol of the Bells). She may have hit all the right notes, but she hit all the ones in between as well, and ran round the melody like she was being chased by a pack of hungry wolves. It felt cold and emotionless. I didn’t think it was possible to sing that particular carol with no emotion. She succeeded, and it totally ruined what little Christmas joy I had managed to collect up. It was showboating, and didn’t feel like it was for any reason other than a vocal exercise.
It did one thing though. It has finally given me the push I needed to get my own vocal issues sorted. It’s going to be one of my New Year’s resolutions.
Anyway, we are going out in a few minutes for Christmas dinner and I really have to say:
Far Far Better
Aug 12th
This is far far better than anything I could do today. This guy has quite the talent.
Found at Wonderflonium
Gotta Sing, gotta dance!
Feb 8th
So singing is quite a big part of my life. I have enjoyed doing it from the age when, as a little girl, I realised I could get everyone to look at me by doing it – y’know, real centre of attention whore activity! And I used to be really good at it. Recently, with various bad things happening to my throat and, well, just not having the unction to do it means I currently sound like a drunk joke X Factor entrant.
I was in a church choir and left after 13 years as I was a perfectionist and could hear the cracks from not practising enough, starting to show. It fell to the levels of drunk joke X Factor entrant who is so bad they get their oen novelty single released. But you will know this if you heard the poor poor effort made at the Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert. If you didn’t hear it don’t torture yourselves. Really. It’s that bad.
I am now considering two options. One: to go back to the church choir with all its politics and pretensions (or maybe it has changed? Who knows?) or Two: to go back to the amateur dramatics/light opera side of things. The last time I was in the choir was in 2000, and the am-dram? 1997 when I was chorus in Fiddler on the Roof. (yes, I could play young Jewish spinster as well as… well… any 19year old Christian girl could – badly).
I really enjoy getting up on stage and performing. I mean, obviously huge stage fright, but hen I remember the incredible high I feel and I’m desperate to get out there! I remember at school while doing a musical adaptation of Lucinda Coxon’s adaptation of Tarjei Vesaas’ The Ice Palace for a BT National Connection’s competition that I felt the high first hit.
It was during the day of the first night, I was doing work experience at the local newspaper (because, obviously, I was going to be a world famous columnist, and I got a call there. Fearing the worst I discovered my music teacher on the other end telling me that one of the leads who sick and could I learn the two songs and little bit of choreography that afternoon? Stepping up with a sure, he faxed the sheet music over (how glamorous did I feel – very!) and told me he’s drive out and pick me up.
Being a lumbering klutz I panicked about the choreography which required me to mirror the actions of another cast member (as I was playing her in the future) without looking at her and, oh, would it be possible to not wear my glasses? So remembering to not fall off the stage became an issue too. Opening night came and went and all went well. Afterwards I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I wanted more of the limelight, more of the stage. More! The girl I was understudying was back by the next night so my moment was over but it didn’t end my obsession.
Back in 1997 I organised a fundraising concert while I was in the choir. We raised practically nothing but for me that wasn’t the point. It was feeling part of something and wanting to be the very best we could be – a group effort. I haven’t felt that in a long time.
Now I need to seep for in no time at all I will be up to my head in plastic bags and trying to keep everyone organised. Nightmare. Love to all.
