Someone wrote to me recently asking if I thought my workshops would be suitable for them.
They had struggled at a recent community workshop because the teaching wasn’t based on reading music or understanding music theory.
I always chose the repertoire for my community choirs. Most people knew what my taste was, which is why they’d joined the choir in the first place.
But every now and then I would introduce a new song and it just wouldn’t take.
At the end of a recent residential singing weekend I was acutely aware of absence when everyone had left. The silence was almost painful.
It got me thinking about the different kinds of silence in singing.
I’m officially on my summer break. My last singing workshop was just over two weeks ago.
But that doesn’t mean I’m taking it easy or lazing by the pool. Here’s what I’ve been up to.
Often, when leading a singing workshop, singers will start putting chairs out or standing in a circle.
It’s maybe not the way I’d planned, but I’ll usually go with it. It turns out my singers are often more capable than they realise.
In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell refers to the “10,000 hour rule”, claiming that the key to achieving expertise in any skill is to practise for around 10,000 hours.
I reckon I’ve done my 10,000 hours over the last 30 years of teaching songs and leading choirs. Yet I still can’t pull it out of the hat without preparation.
I know you can’t please everyone, but when I plan a singing workshop I try to make sure I won’t be teaching anything that any of the singers already know.
An impossible task, but I have a low boredom threshold and feel I need to keep singers interested.