BY GRACE GALLUR
One year ago, I messaged fellow singer Aidan McGartland to share my favourite choral music and ask if he’d help get a group of singing students together to perform it. I’d approached Aidan with the idea because he was a good friend, and I felt as though he would also be keen to put in a little extra work to make a cool idea happen. I was right. We found a handful of politely interested friends, and decided to start a choir.
I did not know what I was in for.
Aidan and I sent repertoire back and forth, and covered what we believed were all the logistical checkpoints. We quickly realised that a lot of the choral music we were interested in was new music, and that there weren’t a lot of groups around that were solely dedicated to performing new music. So we decided we might try to fill that niche.
We also realised that if we were going to run a choir, we’d need to learn how to conduct a choir – and conducting seemed like such an elusive and incomprehensible skill that we decided to get lessons together. We naively thought that that would be enough.
There’s no space for second-guessing yourself
I showed up to our first conducting lesson completely clueless as to what we were about to learn. I’d assumed that most of our content would be conducting conventions, and how that was linked to interpreting pieces. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Our mentor Pat Miller has not only guided us through technique, but on how to lead a team with good rehearsal strategy; one week, we’d be aiming for clarity of subdivision, and the next we’d discuss strategies to maintain focus and effective rehearsal planning. Things started to pick up since the conducting lessons began last November, and I quickly started to care about this repertoire and our project a lot.
Our first rehearsal was hugely challenging. In my half of the rehearsal, I found that my leadership was shaky and apologetic, and I had difficulty “taking up space”. I’d practised the conducting to death, but didn’t trust that my hands knew the motions once there were real, live people relying on my cues.
A month of rehearsals taught me the importance of being outside your head, and instead in your body when conducting. There’s no space for second-guessing yourself – otherwise, your hand stops moving, and the pulse disappears.
As my competence and experience grew throughout the semester, my confidence naturally grew, too. I found myself able to let go of self-doubt, and enjoy transmitting the music. I’m incredibly privileged to have such a kind peer group who were very supportive on these first few steps of the learning curve.
Before I knew it, we’d performed our first concert!
We managed to put together a program of beautiful music at varying levels of difficulty. With our May concert Candlelight VOX Debut: Ethereal, we gave our family and friends an hour of freedom from the world outside of Trinity Chapel. Between semesters in the following months, I thought deeply about what worked and what didn’t: organisationally, artistically, and regarding my presence in the rehearsal space.
That reflection has paid off 100-fold this semester. I’ve found that I’ve been more direct and less hesitant in my instructions – but whilst still maintaining a gentleness and a calm exterior. I’ve started channelling a fierier compassion, so that the choir could find more zest and excitement in the music. I’ve been less compromising on quality and specificity for fear of giving firm directions; and have had no qualms about communicating where the music demands more focus, more energy, more vitality, more determination. None of these things were concrete decisions that I was able to articulate over the break. Instead, they emerged from a desire to vacate myself from my insecurities and serve the music with more fidelity.
The mind, body, voice, and breath are intricately interlinked
It’s become a running gag in the choir that, when I can feel the presence go out of the room, I ask everyone to connect with their breath. Mindful attention immediately changes the entire atmosphere in the rehearsal room – we’re able to solve problems with clarity of thought and with a sense of capability. I’ve found that the mind, body, voice, and breath are intricately interlinked – when you start to neglect one, the others quickly suffer; re-energise one, and the others will follow suit.
We’ve arrived at a point that I don’t even have to say it – I place a hand near my diaphragm and wait for the choir to notice my stillness – and a stillness in them follows. Someone else (normally one of the basses) will say: ‘Can you feel the difference in the room?’ and put a hand over their heart to make fun of me. Everyone will laugh, and then we’ll get on with the task at hand, feeling more present and energised (and oxygenated!).
Recently in rehearsals, I’ve seen Aidan start to drop in while he’s conducting, in the way that he’s in his body and not in his mind. There was a brilliant moment last rehearsal where he’d completely forgotten himself – you could see how connected he was to the piece, and to us. Aidan is incredibly reliable, and works hard to realise his goals. He is a solid rock and the source of the choir’s calmness. Aidan has also developed in his ability to command focus in a rehearsal room. Because he speaks softly and waits for silence, everyone stops talking to listen.
Leading my own choir has also greatly impacted the way I participate in other ensembles at the Melbourne Conservatorium of Music, too. I’m more aware of the conductor’s challenges in leading an ensemble, and have a clearer understanding and empathy for when they are working to maintain focus and a positive atmosphere. I find I’m more able to articulate to myself the reason a phrase might not be sticking and am more valuable in offering up solutions where appropriate. I have a greater awareness and need for specificity and am unafraid to ask for clarification where necessary. Even the way I count music has changed – I find geographically mapping out each bar has given me a cleaner sense of rhythm and purpose for each line. In short – leading an ensemble has strengthened my ability to follow leadership in other ensembles.
The most exciting part of this learning curve has been seeing the benefits across my other disciplines. As well as studying classical voice, I’m studying acting – and the number of crossovers in subtle ensemble awareness is astonishing. The slightest holding of your breath creates untruthful acting with your scene partner – but the slightest lifting in the back of the neck creates a powerful honesty and freedom between you. There is a fine line between singing with a supported sound and using extra muscle recruitment – one creates an openness and resonance in the voice, the other creates tension – and both are picked up by your accompanist. In conducting, the slightest thought of hesitation translates into my arms and directly to the choir – and disrupts the cleanness of their onset. But conversely – the slightest smile, the gentlest inhalation on the beat before an entry – and without any conscious thought, everyone sings together. Human beings are so hard-wired for connection, and finely tuned for empathy – it’s so delightful to watch the sparks that fly when our connection and empathy are used for making something greater than ourselves.
Ultimately, I’m learning that artistic freedom in every discipline can be reached through by a similar path. More often than not, I’m learning that it’s found in a desire to communicate to an audience with truthfulness and without pretence; with a dogged attention to detail and, always, a connection to your breath.
Candlelight VOX’s performance From Darkness to Light will be held at 7.30pm October 12, Trinity College Chapel. Grace and Aidan, along with Lily Ekins and George Cox, will conduct the choir. Follow the event on Facebook.
Shout the writer a coffee?
If you enjoyed the read, why not shout Grace a coffee, or even treat her to a fancy meal to say thanks for sharing her story? No amount too much or little.
[purchase_link id=”15686″ style=”button” color=”orange” text=”Pay what you like”]
Images supplied. Candlelight images by Stephanie Morgan, rehearsal images by Tatjana Brandson.
Pay what you like through PayPal. 80 per cent of your contribution will go to the writer who composed this piece, and 20 per cent to our volunteer editor for getting this show on the road. (You don’t *actually* have to take them to coffee.) We protect your personal information.
