It was a relief this week to resume rehearsals; the concert-hall has been silent since March, but, for the first time, choral rehearsals for the University Chamber and Cecilian Choirs resumed – although a little differently to the way they took place before…
The floor of the concert-hall has been marked out with a grid, and chairs placed evenly at a distance of three metres; each choir only uses one or other set of chairs at either end of the hall, and rehearsal time is limited to one hour with the COVID-compliant air-conditioning running throughout (not a problem at the moment, but it’ll be interesting as external temperatures start to drop as we head towards winter…). And there’s no socialising before or after rehearsals, no mingling in the foyer; the singers have to sit socially-distanced outside, come into the hall in line, and leave the rehearsal in rows and follow the one-way system out from the building rather than mingling afterwards.
A socially-distanced Chamber Choir rehearsal
Sitting so far apart from one another, in rows rather than the usual gentle crescent-shape, is going to take some getting used to. No longer can you rely on those either side of you for support, drawing your sound and theirs together as part of the overall ensemble sound. And the singers at the back row are languishing a considerable distance from the front row, from the piano, and from the conductor. The wonderful intimacy of singing as part of a cluster of people has been replaced by a stark arrangement akin to an examination hall.
A first, socially-distanced rehearsal with the Cecilian Choir
But – it might yield different skills. The singers are going to have to develop a more confident sense of robust, internal rhythm; they’re going to have to watch more; they are going to have to listen harder to relate to what’s going on around them. Whilst we are working in this new, strange set-up, it might actually lead us to develop other skills to the ones we would normally develop in ensemble rehearsals. This term, repertoire includes richly-hued works by Will Todd, Steven Griffin, Michael Haydn, and the wonderful Advent antiphons; it will be fascinating to see how we learn them under the new ways of working – how differently, more quickly or slowly – and what the finished product will sound like.
And who knows; taking those newly-developed skills back into singing in traditional formation (whenever that might be) might lead to a better overall ensemble sound. Like choirs everywhere at the moment, we are just going to have to wait to find out…
Set amidst the rolling orchards and fields of rural Kent, the countryside was filled, on a perfect summer day, with choral music ranging across the centuries, from Tudor polyphony to a modern Lenten motet by composer Sarah Rimkus, with at its heart the dramatic Stabat Mater by a youthful Pergolesi, completed shortly before the composer’s tragically early death. Assistant conductor, second-year Matt Cooke (pictured in rehearsal), also led the Choir in music by Rachmaninov and Passereau.
The audience at St Michael’s church responded with enthusiasm and rousing applause at the conclusion of the performance, and we’re delighted that the retiring collection, in support of the church’s much-needed renovation funds, raised close to £500.
And yet…there’s always something new, some new direction the choir takes, some undiscovered aspect to its performing that emerges. And this week was no exception; as we picked started our first piece, the dynamic level reached new depths of piano and pianissimo that were entirely unpremeditated; we hadn’t elected to explore singing much more quietly than before, but there was an empathetic, collective response that found us singing much more intimately than we ever had before; and it worked. As the rehearsal unfolded, this contrast appeared in other pieces, and was particularly exciting. Where had it come from ? As the conductor, I certainly hadn’t asked for it; instead, it emerged as a result of the choir’s renewed confidence and trust in one another and in the music; the singers know the pieces extremely well, and can afford to take more risks, broaden the dynamic scope, push with greater energy, bolstered by their confidence in the unity of ensemble sound. The effect of reaching a much quieter sound served also to heighten the contrast with forte passages, which felt much louder (and more exciting) without our having to exaggerate them.
That’s the best and worst thing about this point in the year; having worked so hard together since those first early steps in October, the choir has become a fully integrated musical unit, and is at its apex; in a few weeks’ time, the group will disintegrate as members graduate or go on a year abroad, and that will be that. I’m reminded of that line from Blade Runner: ‘The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long.’ This choir is burning very brightly now – we have only a few short weeks left in which to enjoy it, but enjoy it we shall; next month’s revitalised programme will be quite something.
Continuing the #EarBox series exploring the dialogue between music and visual art, this Friday’s event will see the choir perform amidst the gallery’s latest exhibition, Soft Formalities. An exploration of line, form and colour in painting, tapestry and ceramics, the gallery will host an equally exploratory programme of choral music, ranging from the stark, haunting beauty of Tavener’s setting of William Blake’s The Lamb to an almost-minimalist dream awakening by Alec Roth; there’s also a tour de force Lithuanian folk-song for double choir by Vaclovas Augustinas, madrigals by Lassus, richly colourful pieces by Peter Warlock and Alexander Campkin, and more.
Join the Chamber Choir either live or online, as it presents a concert exploring dreams, sleep, desire, dance and lullabies in the echoing space of Studio 3 Gallery this Friday. More details 
We ended by playing with space in a literal sense, arranging the choir around the balcony of the concert-hall to sing Alexander Campkin’s carol, Sleep, Holy Babe. This is all about removing the safety of singing in close proximity, encouraging each singer to sing confidently, committing to their line and developing a rich ensemble sound.
Starting with a new choir is always a nerve-wracking experience for a conductor: establishing protocols early on, showing the Choir how they will be expected to learn in rehearsals, working to bring the group together as a unit – all with people whom you don’t necessarily know, or who don’t know one another. You want to make sure that they feel they are achieving quickly, in order that they feel motivated – especially when you want them all to come back the second week!
It’s early days, of course, and we are still finding our feet, experimenting with different formations to find a suitable balance, and gradually working on singing more confidently to bring out the Choir’s particular sound; but it’s an exciting time, being a part of the start of the gradual unfolding of the group into what potentially will be a very exciting ensemble.
There’s also some really beautiful music contained in the collection, which I’m hoping will surprise anyone who tends to think that New Music means aggressive dissonance, irrational time-signatures, metric uncertainty and angular lines. These pieces are all singable – care has been taken by the composers to make the music easily performable – without compromising on an arresting musical language or sonorous colours.