I've always envied a good singing voice. Whenever I lift my own voice in song, people scatter -though my singing has certainly come in handy on the hiking trail when I want to frighten bears. So it was with great trepidation that I accepted an invitation from the Definitely Diva vocalist, Lynne Dickson, to attend an intensive Express Yourself workshop at the Music Makers hall that she was hosting for instructor and singer Anna Beaumont.
"But I have the worst voice," I told Dixon.
"You can only know your true voice when you try it," she replied, sagely.
During the workshop, we would use our voices in an experimental and free way. Beaumont, a professional singer, songwriter and voice teacher, has also studied something called Integrative Body Psycho-therapy, a tool to release the trapped voices within. Wear loose clothing, bring water and an energy snack, writes Dixon. Was this singing class or boot camp?
Monday: When I arrive at the Davis Bay Hall, 15 participants are gathered. About five of them say they already sing in the Music Makers choir. That sounds intimidating. To paraphrase Groucho Marx, I wouldn't belong to any choir that wanted me as a member. Later, Dixon reveals that only a small percentage of those in the choir can actually read music. Most are there for fun.Our instructor is petite and empathetic, with a clear, fine voice, and she's ready to get physical. We breathe, we flex, we stretch, we moan - who knew moaning could feel so good? We try a meditation that works our way up the chakras, those energy points on the body. My lower chakras seem to be operating well, but what about the ribs? They feel like cement. Obviously, I'm holding tension in my shoulders and my back because they are rigid with nervousness, and something else anticipation. I want to channel my energy, currently expressed in fidgeting and twitching, into my voice and come out with a good song or moan or a belly laugh. We are asked to sing out our names; my voice cracks at Ja-an. I shout more than I sing. Later, we try singing scat: shoobly, ooobly, ooh. Just keep the sound flowing, talk nonsense, stretch some more and sing passion words -one woman sings a gorgeous riff on the word "surrender."
The highlight of the evening comes when we take turns, hands over hearts, passing a spontaneous, wordless love song around a circle. When my turn comes to pass on the song, I feel unable to stop after the first phrase - the song has formed a shape and I must get to the end of the verse. I realize I'm communicating as a baby speaks, in wordless syllables, but earnestly and with purpose.
Tuesday: We work on our chakras more, singing a different syllable for each one starting with sa as the base note, then singing up the scale to our highest note which is also sa, arms joyously raised. Couldn't we have used the do-re-mi scale? Probably, but each of these new sounds resonates with a certain chakra. Later, Beaumont plays the keyboard and invites a brave soloist to join her. Though extremely nervous, the volunteer closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and lets fly a spontaneous song about her fears and her desires to perform. It is lovely and moves another participant to tears.
The message sinks in with me. We are not training for Canadian Idol here; we are totally singing for ourselves. By 9:15, two hours of loosening takes its toll. When we are asked to check in -to say what our bodies are telling us - mine is telling me to go home to bed.
"If you need to do that, honour your body," says Beaumont. I leave early and sleep well that night.
Wednesday: I cut class because I have two other commitments. Frankly, I need the break from the intensity. I'm told afterwards that the group tried singing in trios - one singing, one encouraging, one observing - a powerful bonding experience.
Thursday: I return to warm hugs from the others and we try some fun exercises. As we sit, we clutch the seats of the chairs and groan as we bounce up and down to loosen our pelvises. "I'm going to try this on my front porch tonight," quips one participant.
The evening is packed with powerful moments. While several of the group sing up the sa scale, the others use the same descending scale to sing "how I love you," four syllables that form the theme, the very heart, of so many songs.
It is the final evening of Express Yourself and I make a breakthrough. Spontaneously, I ask to spend time trying to hit that one note, whatever it might be, that I can use to start my song. Just the basics: vocalizing without cracking or straining. At first, my voice distorts, bends. I struggle for breath. A note wells in my throat, then dries up. The others encircle me, humming and swaying. There is no judgment here. "Move," says Beaumont, dancing in front of me. "Move your shoulders, make eye contact. Let those bell tones come out." Finally, they do, like bubbles bursting in the fresh air. Just for one or two brief seconds, I experience what it is like to project my voice to the back row, to communicate with song, to express myself.
