I went to a singing workshop with my friend Andrew recently. It was an experience I didn’t know I needed. I’m not generally an anxious sort, but I’ve found myself worrying lately. About things I can’t control and things I could control if only I had more self-discipline. If you can find one, it turns out a singing workshop is good medicine for this state of mind.
Something happened earlier that day which led me to the workshop. I was drinking coffee in my kitchen when I heard members of the vocal ensemble Ardú on the radio talking about it and I had this almost primeval urge to join. So I bought tickets and then rang Andrew who lives near the Mill Theatre in Dundrum in Dublin to see if he was free in a couple of hours – and being a fellow fan of the spontaneous, the random and the unexpected, he agreed. He suggested cooking me dinner in his apartment afterwards. A bit of communal singing followed by a home-cooked meal. What a plan.
At the workshop we sat in a circle and were taught a song by members of the singing groups Apex and Ardú. You might have seen Ardú, with their swirling vocal stylings, persuading one of the judges, Will.i.am, to turn his chair on the Voice UK as they sang a mash up of two songs, Anxiety by Doechii and Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye. If you’ve seen it you’ll know it’s a lovely bit of telly and if you haven’t, you can watch it back on YouTube. Go on, I’ll wait. It’s worth one minute and 57 seconds of your time.
Anxiety, can’t shake it off of me. The workshop could have been awkward but it wasn’t. We’d all been drawn there for the same reason. The collective adventure of singing with people that we didn’t know. There were some who sang in choirs. There were others, like the woman sitting beside me with rainbow shoelaces, who only sang in the shower. And there were some like my friend Andrew who sang hymns every week in church.
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Over a couple of hours we were taught a tune by Lucie O’Flynn of the group Shiftwork called Samhain Song, for the season that was in it. “As dusk’s light is dying and night’s darkness shrouds us, I must leave you my love, I will soon be gone.” Those of us with dismal memories hoped for printouts with the words, but there was none. You’d be surprised how difficult it was for some of us to remember these few sentences by heart (me and Andrew for two) but we did it, just about, and were delighted with ourselves.
[ I keep finding myself thinking ‘I am living in the future and it is mental’Opens in new window ]
We were also taught how to make noises to imitate the wind and the rain and produce a droning noise and then in canon, to sing this simple, chilling song. You know the way we’re always being told about the importance of the aul mindfulness, well it was that with knobs on. We were wind and rain and spirit for a while, and I don’t know where the couple of hours went. I just know it was a sublime way to spend the early evening as dusk’s light was dying.
Afterwards, we walked to the local Lidl to pick up some tenderstem broccoli and a few carrots. Andrew had an eye loin of ham that he’d cooked up earlier, it had been sitting in the water while we were singing, so it would be good and juicy, he said. He was going to make a parsley sauce to go with it. He bustled about in the kitchen while I read bits from the Bible on his coffee table. He’s got macular degeneration, so his Bible has a massive font which meant I could read it even without my reading glasses. The Bible happened to be open on the page of Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians.
And now brace yourself, because I don’t think I’ve ever quoted the Bible in this column in all the years I’ve been writing my own epistles. But there is a first time for everything I suppose. This is the bit that caught my eye. “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! … do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
Is it possible to read the Bible, to take something healing from it, even if you don’t think you believe in the Lord Christ Jesus or God? Apparently, yes. Do not be anxious about anything. Rejoice. Peace that transcends all understanding. It sounded like another good plan to me.
Andrew served up juicy slices of boiled ham, with potatoes, and broccoli and carrots all swimming in a buttery, parsley sauce. We had chocolates for afters with excellent, strong coffee and he played a few Christmas songs on his accordion. O Holy Night and the like. Too early? It didn’t feel like it, somehow. Then he walked me to the bus stop and a sort of peace, the kind that passes all understanding, settled softly in me. I hope it sticks around.
