My recording studio consists of a milk crate and laptop computer set atop a dresser. The only remotely studio-like gear is a microphone, purchased online.
It’s how I sing in a choir.
In a pandemic, singing in the car or shower remains unchanged. But singing in a gathered chorus is out. Singers – mouths open, diaphragm muscles pumping – spew potentially lethal vapor.
So, like many others, I contribute from home. We choristers record our parts alone in bedroom, dining-room or kitchen “studios.” A choral director combines the videos. The result is a choir, the 2020 kind.
I miss singing together. I miss standing among blended voices. I miss my fellow singers.
But singing alone is better than not at all. And there’s this, something I couldn’t have predicted: I’m singing more than before – in two choirs – and getting better.
“Better” is relative, and I claim no merit. Yet in a recording, a lone voice is no longer masked among others, lost to each fleeting moment. Self-critique prompts multiple takes and thus improvement.
So, we choristers make music at home. Alone together.
