There are Infinite Choir Pies!

In May 2022 at Choral Canada’s national conference, Podium, I had breakfast with a wonderful group of conductors from across Canada who conduct women’s choirs.

As we went around the table introducing ourselves and our choirs, I was the first to make the distinction that I don’t conduct a women’s choir. The choir for sopranos and altos that I founded in 2019 is called Winnipeg Upper Voices. It was a very intentional choice to not call this group a ‘women’s choir,’ because it is explicitly not just for women. The choir welcomes all people who sing in the soprano/alto range, regardless of their gender identity.

As I expected, this brought up quite a lot of conversation in the group about the language that we use, and why/why not some choirs are having conversations about their names, their mission, and their members. It was interesting to hear all the different viewpoints, and how each group has approached the subject, or if they had ever considered it.

Sometimes when this kind of conversation comes up, there can be defensiveness: “Women’s choirs are important places for connection and community and sisterhood. How can we just throw that away?”

I believe this kind of thinking is fairly narrowminded. As the title of this post states, there are infinite choir pies available in the world. There is space - and need - for all kinds of choirs.

There is absolutely a place for the kind of community that women’s choirs, or men’s choirs, create and provide. But by their nature, they are exclusive. If someone doesn’t fit the expected gender to join, then they won’t have a choir to sing in.

New ensembles, like my Winnipeg Upper Voices, aren’t trying to do away with women’s or men’s choirs that are thriving and are important communities. Instead, we want to expand the choir world so that we make space for all singers who are looking for the wonderful community that singing together provides.

If starting a women’s choir or a men’s choir is your calling, and what your community needs, then please start that choir! If your community needs a choir that defines itself in other ways, then please make that happen!

We can always have more pie, and we can always have more choir.

Who do you sing for?

We often explore why we sing (in choir, or at all), but not so often do we think about who we sing for. Is it as important as the why?

Perhaps we need to make sure our who aligns with our why.

Do you sing for others? An audience, your family, passersby, the birds?

Do you sing for yourself? Your body, your cells, your lungs?

Do you sing for me?

Do you sing for the universe?

Tell me, who do you sing for?

Why does it matter what words I use?

We started a new piece with my community choir this month, and the edition we’re using has certain entrances labelled “all women” or “all men,” when what is actually intended (and shown by the staves/clefs) is “all sopranos and altos” or “all tenors and basses.”

I took a moment in the first rehearsal to clarify that wherever it says “all women,” I would like all sopranos and altos to sing, and that where it says “all men,” it should be all tenors and basses.

“But Katy,” I hear you say, “they mean the same thing! And isn’t it just faster to say ‘men’ instead of ‘tenors and basses’?”

And to that I reply, “They don’t mean the same thing. And if taking the time to say 5 syllables of ‘tenors and basses’ bothers you, perhaps you need to look at your rehearsal time management...”

But seriously: the language you use in rehearsal, matters. The language we put on our published scores, matters.

What do I mean when I say that they aren’t the same? Your voice on its own is inherently ungendered. A voice is just a voice, and the way it sounds has everything to do with your physiology and the shape of your vocal folds/larynx, and nothing to do with your gender.

Society has placed the signifiers on voices that ties the way they sound to particular genders, but we don’t have to go along with that. In fact, many people don’t. There are people in your choir who may have diverse genders, whose identity doesn’t ‘match’ what our society expects based on the way they look or the way their voice sounds.

And we, as conductors, may never know about them. We may look at our bass section and see “men,” or at our altos and see “women,” when in reality, there could be any number of gender identities present. Gender identity is extraordinarily personal and each person decides for themselves what their gender identity is. By lumping our sections by “men” and “women,” we remove the agency of our singers to decide their own identity.

Using the correct name of the sections you are referencing is just more accurate and precise, no matter how you look at it. There will never be confusion or hurt in asking all sopranos to sing, or all tenors. We strive to use precise and factual language elsewhere in our rehearsals for clarity, and it is no different when using the names of voice parts instead of genders.

It may seem insignificant, but even small things add up - for better or worse. And if we want our choirs to be safe, inclusive places, then we must shift our language to match.

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For a more in-depth (but still approachable) look at the role that language plays in choir, especially as it relates to gender, read this blog post on Chorus Connections: Understanding the Linguistic Nuances of Gender Identity in the Choral Ensemble by Melanie Stapleton.

A short list...

... of what I’ve (re)learned about choir over the past couple years:

1. people first, perfection later (or never)

2. only do music you like (sing, conduct, listen, etc)

3. do music by folks who are alive

4. this is the right path: keep going

5. you are not alone – reach out, reach out, reach out

6. this is important, don’t take it for granted

A thank you card made for me by a choir member - people first, people first, people first.

A Love Letter

Dear Final Chords in Renaissance Polyphonic Choral Music,

I love you. There, I said it.

It is so satisfying to sing through a piece and reach you, Final Chord. All the busyness and complexity of the piece dissolves into stillness, and you settle in perfection.

As an alto, I am often the one who gets to fill in the third of the chord – a powerful and beautiful position! But I can’t do it alone. It only really works when the fifths around me are perfectly tuned and I can fit my note, just-so.

I love that, after years of singing this music, I don’t have to work hard when I get to you, Final Chord. I trust my ears, my instincts, and my voice. I trust the composer and the people around me, and just sing.

Love, Katy

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Here are a couple pieces if you would like to fill your ears with polyphony, and enjoy hearing some Final Chords:

Pigeonholes

Pigeons-in-holes.jpg by en:User:BenFrantzDale; CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve been thinking lately about pigeonholing.

Pigeonholes were, originally, exactly what the word implies: nesting spots for pigeons. It also means small compartments in furniture, especially where you sort things (letters, files, etc).

And, as a verb, it means “to assign to a definite place; to put aside for the present, especially with the intention of ignoring or forgetting, often indefinitely” (dictionary.com).**

This is where, I think, we can get stuck in creative lives: we sort ourselves into a pigeonhole, and then never leave it. This is an especially dangerous practice for musicians, artists, and any creative folks.

We make grand proclamations: “I am a conductor!” (pianist, early music singer, jazz saxaphonist, ballroom dancer, watercolour painter, etc), and then we never leave our pigeonhole. We get comfy, make our nest, and believe that’s that.

Sometimes we do a reverse-pigeonholing with our proclamations: “I’m not a composer!” with exactly the same results.

But this isn’t a good way to live as an artist, or as anyone out in the world. To pigeonhole ourselves is to blind ourselves to other possibilities, expanded identities, and new pathways.

What pigeonholes have you created for yourself? Can you (gently) question them and explore something new?

To that end, here is something I composed! I am looking out of my “I’m not a composer” pigeonhole to see what else there might be for me to do and try.

**Incidentally, there is something called the Pigeonhole Principle in mathematics, which has nothing to do with what I’m talking about here, but is quite interesting!

Singing Ourselves into Courage

Over the past month or so, Canadians have been dealing with noise: some with the literal, terrible noise of truck horns and protestors yelling, and the rest of us with the noise of the online arguments, the media, the videos and podcasts and vitriol. It is exhausting on top of everything else that is exhausting.

The tactic of using trucks (and their horns) for this protest is smart political theatre. It is hard to ignore such a large presence, and it makes the protestors take up a lot of space and air, even if there aren’t very many actual people. For better or worse, we can’t turn away from it.

I’m not here to get into the whys or why nots of these protests, but I do want to shine the spotlight on another way of doing things, one that is unexpected: singing together.

I’m reading John Green’s book The Anthropocene Reviewed: essays on a human-centered planet. In it, he has an essay about the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from the Rodgers and Hammerstein show Carousel. The song has been adopted by fans of the Liverpool football team, and they’ll sing it together in celebration of a win, and in communal grief over a loss.

Green points out that:

These songs are made great by the communities singing them. They are assertions of unity in sorry and unity in triumph…Though our dreams be tossed and blown, still we sing ourselves and one another into courage. (12)

This brought to mind the Singing Revolution in Estonia in 1987-1991, where Estonians literally sang their way to independence from Soviet occupation. They gathered in large numbers, joined hands, and sang their traditional folk songs that had been banned for decades by the Soviets. There was nothing the Soviets could do against tens of thousands of people peacefully singing together, and it was a major factor in the Soviets’ retreat from Estonia. Similar peaceful/singing revolutions happened in Lithuania and Latvia.

The Estonians sang songs of freedom, of love for their country, of peace. Singing together brought them courage, and power. If you have never heard of the Singing Revolution, watch this trailer from a documentary about it that gives the smallest taste.

In 1989, an estimated 2,000,000 people from Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia joined hands and formed a human chain. The Baltic Way, stretched 675km across all three countries, connecting the capital cities. The people in the chain held their place and sang their songs in direct defiance of the Soviets. How powerful, to hold hands and sing together.

Estonians still gather every five years for the Laulupidu, the national song festival: 30,000 people on stage, with another 80,000 people watching (and singing along, I’m sure). Together, they sing the songs that they know brought their freedom and independence.

I get chills just thinking about it. Trucks are loud. But maybe voices singing together can be louder.

What do we wear?

A question was recently asked on Facebook about how to word choir dress codes to be inclusive of all choir members, regardless of gender. The question-asker indicated that there are some non-binary and/or transgender singers in the ensemble, which has prompted a re-consideration of the policies.

Changing something that is historically very gendered into something more neutral is a great shift towards being actively inclusive. Because even if you aren’t aware of gender-diverse folks in your organization, it’s highly likely that they are there! And so, making these changes will only benefit everyone in your ensemble.

But first, some tough love: This work should only be done if you are truly ready to be accepting of everyone, and have done the self-reflection beforehand.

For example, if someone you assumed to be a man, because they sing in your bass section and have never corrected your assumption, showed up in a more typically feminine outfit, how would you feel? Be honest with yourself here. Would it be a ‘big deal’? Would you be supportive? Would you be concerned about the reaction of your audience? Would you be worried about the ‘image’ of the choir? Would you know how to handle it if someone commented negatively about it to you?

In addition to preparing yourself, you must also prepare the choir. Include language in the dress code that explicitly states its inclusivity, and have a conversation about it to ensure that everyone understands, accepts, and upholds that the choir is a safe place for people of all genders – and gender expressions.

All that being said, here is something you could put in your policy that is explicitly inclusive. Please feel free to copy and paste, if it is helpful for you!

This dress code is not tied to voice parts, and all gender expressions are welcome. I want you to be comfortable in your performance outfit so that you can focus on singing your best.

And then list the guidelines, keeping the focus on the pieces of clothing, rather than the person who might wear it. Again, here is a hypothetical dress code that you can adapt to your situation.

All clothing should be clean, pressed, and semi-formal black. Ensure you can sing, take a full bow, and stand comfortably for the whole concert.

Tops: sleeves at least 3/4 length. Bottoms: floor length pants/dress/skirt, and not leggings. Jackets/blazers: optional, but welcome. Jewellery/ties/bowties: optional, but welcome. Shoes/socks/tights/belt must be black.

This does bring up a whole other argument of whether we need overly prescriptive dress codes for choir. In my example above, I could potentially stop after the first two sentences. But that is for another day.

In the end, just as with other examples of outward inclusivity, the changes should be done without major fanfare and without being overly notable. For many people, the shift in language in your dress code won’t change a thing for them — they will wear what they have always worn.

But for some members, and for new people coming into the choir, it might mean they (finally) feel safe to wear something more comfortable and more aligned with who they are – and that is immeasurably good.

When can we have choir again?

Snapshot of some comments on a survey to choir members.

“When can we have choir again?”

I am asked this question frequently these days. I find it a stressful one, and I don’t think I’m alone in that.

Do I want to have everyone back together to sing? Of course I do. But I also can’t be reckless with peoples’ health and safety. There are so many factors and considerations that go far beyond “I miss choir, so let’s get back to it.”

I want to be cautious, but at what point am I being too cautious?

Am I overcorrecting my own impatience?

Am I using the crutch of “let’s wait and see what happens” to justify my own discomfort about trying to balance and mitigate all the various risks and comfort levels of my singers?

If I’m honest, I am scared of making the wrong choice – whether that choice is to start up or to wait.

This pandemic isn’t over, and it isn’t going away anytime soon. But, as it has always done, all it gives us is more questions and no answers.

Rethinking "Blend"

A rarely talked about facet of inclusiveness in choir is: blend.

In the European/British classical choral tradition, conductors work hard to ensure that there is a perfect blend, to smooth out all the voices and make it sound as though they are one. But at what cost? By implying that everyone needs to sound the same, what do we lose?

If we want to be truly inclusive in choir, we should be asking for our singers to sing with their full, true voice.

This is a bit of a radical idea to me, because “of course choir is an inclusive place!” But how can it be if, even after we do all the right things to welcome someone as they are, we still ask them to modify an integral part of themselves - their voice - to fit an outdated aesthetic.

Now, I’m not suggesting that we don’t strive for a unified sound. But I believe there are ways to achieve this and still honour every unique voice.

Voice matching. This is going to have to be a whole entry on its own, but the magic of voice matching within a choir cannot be understated. Sonically, some voices fit well together, and some fight with each other. By taking the time to find the right combination and order of voices in a seating plan, we are making the choir fit the singers instead of the other way around. Voice matching allows us to find a place for every voice, based on each person’s unique sound. Once they are in the right place, they can sing more freely, and the choir sounds better - it hasn’t failed me yet!

Repertoire. Just like voice matching, choose pieces that fit the singers instead of the other way around. Listen to the voices that are in the choir, and make the music work for them.

Vowels. A unified sound is as much about vowel shape (and diction, generally) as it is anything else. There is an important distinction between asking someone to modify their vowel (i.e. articulators and resonance), and asking someone to modify their voice (i.e. “sing with straight tone”). A choir with unified vowels will have a more unified sound.

Listening. One of my favourite phrases about listening in choir is: “Sing into each other’s sound.” In other words, listen to the people beside and around, and hear how your voices can fit together. Importantly, this isn’t about merging. It is about singing with awareness towards a common goal.

Once we banish the word “blend” from rehearsals, and choir members see, feel, and hear that their unique and authentic voice is welcome and encouraged in choir, only then can we say that the choir is truly inclusive.

I am grateful to Knox Sutterfield, a New York City-based conductor and singer with the Inspire: A Choir for Unity organization, for bringing this idea to me and giving me something to think about.