I joined a choir. High.
The Why
Since reading Big Magic by Liz Gilbert and getting started on the Artist’s Way by Lisa Cameron, one of my (many) goals has been to explore my creative side. No longer than 2 years ago, I was the kind of person to use the excuse (let’s call it what it is, shall we): “I am not the creative type”. This was, of course, utter bullshit, and merely a way to put myself down ahead of ‘supposed’ disappointment. I’ll illustrate: I would say that to a colleague when I shared with them my latest Power Point presentation as to say “it doesn’t look good and there’s nothing I can do about it because I’m not the creative type.” It would also conveniently keep me from writing, since ‘why would I write if I am not creative?’. The truth is, there is no such thing as the creative type. I agree with both Liz and Lisa (I guess we are on first name basis now) when they say that all humans are by definition creative beings, and that there are merely those who choose to use their creativity and those who don’t.
The Child I used to be
The crazier part is, I used to be a super creative child, in the sense I would use my creativity a lot. Painting, clay, gymnastics, dance, piano, flute, you name it. I mean, I did attend music school from the age of 6 to 11, at the Conservatoire National de Nice. I then chose to drop the piano after it all got a bit too much. It felt like my only choices were to stay and become a pianist (to grow up to make none to zero money), or leave. Because, when you’re 10, you’d rather have fun with your friends after school than cross the dinosaur-infested garden (Jurrasic Park, anyone?) that takes you to grandma’s house where the piano is because it didn’t fit in your parents house. Because it all seemed like a whole lot of work for not that much reward I guess.
One of the subjects I enjoyed the most at school was the choir. Our school had quite the reputation and we would travel to nearby towns to perform. My mum (and all other mums I’m sure) would beam with pride from the audience. I remember landing a solo in a musical which we performed in a huge venue in Cannes; that was quite something. To think I was 8, staring back at hundreds of people in front of me, singing my little heart out, and that today I won’t even let myself sing in the car with the windows down?! Nonsense. I’m coming back to you, young Amandine. My inner child will be entertained, and I will join a choir.
The Chase
The thought of joining a choir as an adult occurred to me when my volunteer coordinator mentioned she had to run or she’d be late for choir practice. “Choir practice?!”, I asked, with suddenly larger pupils. Yes. Choir Practice. Where they sing in English (YAY) and have lots of fun. And it’s near my place! The universe. I Googled them immediately as I got home and found they were famous. TV performances and stuff. Amazing! Let’s sign up. Not so fast! They only accept new member twice a year, following an audition (wait what), and I had missed it. I still emailed in to try my luck and was warmly told to keep an eye on the website for the next audition announcement. Next stop January 2019!
The Audition Scare
Here I am, three months later, having signed up to audition and to 2 trial singing classes, and having convinced a friend to do so himself too. They sent us additional information about the classes, and the 2 songs we would be practicing together (link to official video, music sheet and recordings of the choir). Young Blood by 5 seconds of summer and 24k by Bruno Mars. I thought: “I can do this”.
On the day, my friend G. showed up at my house at 6.45pm as I was finishing to get ready. I was taking my time as the audition was at 8pm. Or so I thought. He screams: “let’s go girl! I don’t wanna be late!”. It was at 7pm you see. If you know me at all you are probably not surprised to read this. If you don’t, don’t get used to it because this year I am on time! We took are bikes in the freezing cold and rain (no exageration) and headed off. We made it on time since, as previously mentioned, I live very close by. I was however hoping that my friend and I would have time to rehearse our songs together since I hadn’t really. I also found out I was supposed to bring my own music sheet… Which I hadn’t. The pressure started to mount, and the anxiety to set in. How on earth did I think I could do this? Sing in front of a bunch of people, being judged singing a song I don’t know with a voice no one particularly likes?! Why did I do this to myself?
The Courage
As we joined the queue of people waiting to give their names to a blonde lady who looked in charge (she had a tablet), I took matters into my own hands. Or should I say, mind? Why was I here? To spend more time doing creative things, to have fun, to delight my inner child, to dare, to show courage. What was the worst that could happen? I could suck at it, feel humiliated and small, and then go home, have a good cry, and never see these people ever again. What was the best that could happen? I have fun, I love it, they love me, I come back every week and become a choir superstar. Yes, you guessed it, I chose courage. Also, there was a cat.
I introduced myself to the nice blonde lady, who put me aside as I was not on the list. Renewed freak out. Was this a sign I should really go home? Maybe this wasn’t for me after all, cute cat or not. I just have to specify that the cat was literally welcoming everybody in with a glance of approval, sitting on the stairs. My friend, who was on the list, waited for me on the stairs too (standing, mind you), probably fearing I would leg it, judging by the horrified look on my face. Another nice blonde lady approached me before I could though, and added me to the list.
The ‘Audition’
We walked upstairs and stood in a group of 50 people, while the choirmaster (is that what you call it?) explained stuff. This is probably a good time to mention that I am learning the Dutch language, and that despite my 5.5 years spent so far in this wonderful country, my understanding is pretty limited. I did figure out she was referring to Sopranos, Altos, and Baritones however when she told all 10 of the men to stand in the middle. Most ladies stood on the right of the room, while a few proceeded to make their way to the left. It was a few of us left in a bunch in the middle, and we courageously approached the piano hoping to be allocated somewhere. I managed to say ‘I have no idea’ in Dutch, and she immediately pointed to the left and said “Soprano 2”. Yes my voice is on the high side… A lady introduced herself to me and everyone proceeded to speak Dutch, which was very dreading and confusing, but I think we managed to understand each other. As I didn’t have the music sheet printed (rolled eyes from a couple of the ladies in my group), I downloaded it on my phone and tried to follow somehow (mostly by singing what the other ladies were singing – really well). By that time I had figured out we would not be auditioned one by one, and started to relax. Yes I’ll be back next week for the 2nd trial lesson, dank jullie wel!
Being Super Late
I told myself I would be super prepared for my 2nd class, music sheets and all. I wasn’t. I had a busy week and didn’t listen to the songs once. I also never printed any music sheets. I volunteer with children in an Asylum Seeking Centre in the west of Amsterdam (opposite from where I live), and got home just before 7 pm. I needed a pause between those 2 intense activities and proceeded to smoke a joint and have a cup of tea. As time passed, the thought of braving the cold and rain to arrive late become more and more dreading. And I feel so stupid because I don’t speak Dutch. And I don’t need to go to this 2nd trial, I already know I want to join! Courage, Courage, Courage. Let’s do this. I arrived 20 mins late and got told it wasn’t very professional by the 1st blonde lady of the previous week (or so I think she said). The group had been halved in size, no exception for Soprano 2. It was only 4 of us standing there now. No escaping here. Also, I was super high. Joint yes, and bike ride on top (exercise enhances plasma THC levels in regular cannabis user).
Being Super High
So yes, I was late, and I was high. We started to sing a part of the song 24k I didn’t even know existed, and while leaning over my neighbour’s shoulder to attempt to read the music, all I could think about was the fact I was high.
Can they smell it on me? Should I sing now? It’s weird if I don’t sing. What if I can’t sing? Sing! Just Sing! She knows I’m high. They know. Can they hear me? Am I in tune? Can they smell weed on me?
Sometimes they would speak to me and I wouldn’t understand – no big changes there – and I was high. At one point the choirmaster said something about our group (it was our time to sing, just us 4) and the blonde lady gave me a look that said ‘oh, you’re not supposed to be in our group, this is for people who can sing only’ and I just stood there. I guess in this particular instance I was happy to lean into that blissful ignorance the Dutch language brings me.
The Courage The Sequel
I made it to the end of the class, (slowly) improving every time we repeated the song, and nodding and smiling at any Dutch thrown at me. It worked! Did I sing well? No idea. Did they know I was high? Probably not. Did I feel super badass and courageous for 1. showing up despite being late 2. showing up full stop 3. trying my best to sing 4. trying my best to speak the language. Yes, I’m signing up nice blonde ladies! See you next week!
Much love, A.M.P xxx