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7.30am
Mrs Anne Smith is up and about, gathering papers and files for work, preparing children's school lunches, and eating toast. She drops marmalade on important paperwork, cuts her finger, and grazes the roof of her mouth on a brittle crust. She has a long-range inconclusive argument from the kitchen with her husband in the bathroom, and leaves for work late.
7.30am
Ms Melanie Lark, professional singer and member of vocal ensembles such as The Dozen (Musical Director: Christopher Harries) is in bed. Activity irrelevant.
10.00am
Mrs Anne Smith makes a frustrating hour-long telephone call at work during which she frequently has something in both hands. Traps phone in place by forcing her head towards her right shoulder, her chin on her collarbone. She replaces the receiver and wonders why her throat is sore. She attempts relief with some scalding black liquid from the vending machine.
10.00am
Ms Melanie Lark is up, breakfasted, and doing gentle breathing and jaw-loosening exercises.
1.00pm
Mrs Anne Smith has a working lunch with colleagues in the pub. Discussion is held at Storm Force 10, due to the loud braying noise from the suits at the bar.
1.00pm
Ms Melanie Lark, lightly lunched, is gently practising the more difficult semi-quaver runs in a Baroque cantata.
3.30pm
Mrs Anne Smith is attending a meeting in an over-crowded and stuffy office. She bitterly regrets not buying a bottle of water at lunch-time. Sitting down, she ladders her tights on the rough edge of her chair.
3.30pm
Ms Melanie Lark is giving a singing lesson to the lady from no.72 ("I want to sing the one that Lesley Carrott sang on the telly last Friday - do you s'pose she's married to that comedian? - for our anniversary next month.")
6.30pm
Mrs Anne Smith is removing an over-cooked ready meal from the oven. For one second she considers replacing the pie with her head. After dinner she begins the desperate search for her choir music. She moves towards the front door. The phone rings, the front doorbell rings, and the cat brings in a dead bird. She eventually reaches the tube station, and realises that she has forgotten to change her tights. She arrives hot, tired, and two minutes late for the rehearsal. Opens mouth. Croaks.
6.30pm
Ms Melanie Lark dines on pasta and salad. More vocal exercises and a quick sing through a Handel aria follow before she sets out for her rehearsal. After a frustrating tube journey she arrives, and greets friends and new acquaintances alike effusively. Opens mouth. Sings like a lark.
And there, m'lud, I rest the case for the Prosecution.
Almost all of us reading this will recognise - no doubt with a wry smile - Mrs Anne Smith, and it could just as easily be Mr Smith. The point is that in an increasingly busy world we often arrive for rehearsal in no fit state to sing. Under these conditions our singing during a rehearsal often gets worse rather than better, the interval of a fourth we had when we started has diminished to a minor third, and a knitting needle would not pass down our collective throat.
Warm-ups are an investment. The short time required at the beginning of a rehearsal to practise producing good, forward tone, well-placed, breathing on an open throat is often begrudged by choirmasters anxious to get on with learning more notes. But the singer who feels better and more confident about singing will make up "lost" time anyway, and the choir's sound will be immeasurably improved.
Don't give up, Mrs Smith, nor you, Mr Smith. Warm-ups are the solution! |
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