It was an unusual Friday night: I was joining friends from the Music department to see a concert by the Donaghadee Male Voice Choir, that included an ensemble called Fiddlers’ Galore and the Tara School of Irish Dancing.
Two of the men we work with are choir members and they are huge supporters of Drama and music; so we went to support them.
We went for dinner and struggled to find the church/ huge concert venue and then we sat at the back and giggled and misbehaved like children…
I love music, never would there be a day that I don’t listen to something. My tastes are eclectic and not particularly cool but it’s my life so it’s my soundtrack: ok? I don’t play an instrument, I can’t read a note and as my songstress of a soul sister Belle Fierce will testify, I can’t sing a note either, and yet, quite tragically I do.
Not everything I heard last night was something I would add to an iTunes playlist but there were moments that the music reached me, touched something in my inner self and I was somewhere else for a while. I was reminded of the feeling I’d had at the school Carol service at Christmas as a member of the staff choir (offering enthusiasm rather than musical prowess). We sang The Coventry Carol: and again during rehearsals I’d been the girl giggling into her music, promising to behave next time. On the night of the performance I realised just how wonderful it was to be part of something, to be one in a community of voices: the mediocrity of my musical ability no longer mattered, for a mere moment I got a little insight into the power of talent.
I wish there was a Rock Choir I could join, that UK mainland (or perhaps worldwide) phenomena of singing for music’s sake, singing for fun. Experts say that anyone can be taught to sing, I don’t quite believe that…but how I wish, wishing made it so.