The tragic ballad of the singing mother

The New Zealand Youth Choir and Toronto Children's Chorus rehearsing together in Toronto (27 November 2013)

The New Zealand Youth Choir was in town last week on their whistle stop tour through the USA and Canada. Naturally I spent the day with them in Toronto, hanging out with my big sister (vocal consultant to the choir), catching up with old friends on staff, and seeing singers who were small children when I sang in the choir - kids I used to babysit and even conduct in a children’s choir - all grown up and singing in my choir. Once you’ve been a part of the musical brilliance that is the NZYC, it will always be your choir, and that day in Toronto was something of a homecoming.

Unfortunately, I was also coming down with something, so over the course of the day I lost my voice and couldn’t even join in with the post-concert pub sing-along. (Unless you count my attempts at singing the tenor parts, which we won’t). This really was a shame, because I’m not doing much singing at the moment, and haven’t even joined a choir since we moved to Toronto.

Let me rephrase that. I auditioned for a fantastic choir over the summer, but thanks to moving halfway around the world, getting pneumonia, and generally being out of practice, my singing was appalling and I didn’t get in. Furthermore, I can’t quite bring myself to devote the time required to just join a community choir to get my voice back in action. Because Youth Choir and all the chamber and cathedral choirs I have sung with in New Zealand and Scotland have spoilt me for amateur choral singing. To use a sports analogy, I almost made the pro-leagues and it’s just hard to reconcile myself to the Saturday social clubs.

Many singers face this at various points in their careers: some do heaps of performing to a high level at school and then never sing after the age of 18; some people I know from my Youth Choir days no longer sing either. They made it into one of the world’s very best youth choirs and after the age of 25 ne’er a note breaks forth from their larynx; some singers then find it very hard to combine a professional life outside of music with the demands of rehearsal schedules (predominantly unpaid), concert demands (again, unpaid for most choral singers), and the general obligations of adult life.

In many ways I fall into that last category. I made a decision back in 2001 to not take my place in the MMus programme at the University of Auckland, and take a gamble on postgrad English Literature courses overseas. Had I continued on the path of musical scholarship, I probably would have a career today in music. Musicologist, music teacher, arts administrator, who knows? Whatever I had become, it is likely that choral singing would have been an easy and natural facet of my professional music life. Or at least easier to combine.

My time studying English at the University of Edinburgh also involved lots of singing, and it was looking for a while like I had nailed this English scholar by day, choral singer by evening and weekend life. But then something put a spanner in those works. I had a child.

Again, I could do this. Sure the hormones of pregnancy and breastfeeding can mess with your voice, but you’ve just got to keep singing. Between a non-singing husband and a very musically supportive family, I kept up as much cathedral singing as possible, and even got into the 32-voice pool for Voices NZ, the country’s semi-professional chamber choir. There I was with a baby daughter, doing some part-time teaching at Auckland University, and still managing to get to rehearsals, services, and the occasional big concert. Yay me.

But my research was slipping. My research. The thing you need if you ever want a real job at a university.

Then I had another child who would not sleep and something had to give. And that something was singing. Actually, that first year with my son, I managed to present one paper at a conference. No teaching. No sleeping for that matter, and maybe one Christmas service just to feel like a human again. I think. I don’t remember much from that year.

People would say, “but at least your husband isn’t singing, so he can watch the kids.” Well, that’s true to a point, but non-singing husbands also have jobs and other commitments too. We also like to see each other occasionally.

However, I was still in New Zealand and an accepted member of the singing establishment. I may have been a bit out of practice, but the conductors knew me, knew my voice at its best, and knew they could rely on my musicianship. I could still sing without the pesky issue of auditions.

Things are a bit different here in Canada. I’m still fortunate enough to know a couple of big players in the Toronto choral scene, but that doesn’t make up for a voice that’s out of practice and some breath control ruined by pneumonia. I may look good on paper, but right now the goods don’t live up to the CV.

And I’m not alone. For my singing peers who are also mothers, it just seems to be extraordinarily difficult to maintain family life, a work life, and a singing life. Priorities change yes, but with all the best will in the world, it’s often finances that rule the day. If I’m not being paid for choir, and I have to figure out babysitting, it is just prohibitively expensive to manage a rehearsal week leading up to a big performance, let alone deal with a tour.

You can forget about singing lessons too, especially if you’re a young family on one income. At the standard rate of $60 or more per lesson, and then factoring in potential babysitting costs, it falls into the financially too-hard basket.

Another depressing point is that it’s not the same for the Dads. Sure they have very similar commitments to juggle, but the choirs bend over backwards to keep them singing. Because you can always find another soprano or alto, but basses and particularly tenors are in short supply.

I don’t have any solutions to offer, but I just want it on the record why so many of us struggle to keep singing once we’re grown-ups who can no longer rely on school and university holidays, or flexible timetables. Once we’ve got children who need to be ferried around to their own activities, rehearsals and concerts. And those activities cost. They cost so much.

I’m very glad I didn’t stay in Auckland to do my MMus. Going to Edinburgh and eventually getting my PhD was unquestionably the best thing I could have done, but most choices in life have an alternative option that could have been just as fulfilling in a different way.

So when I left the pub the other night, as the strains of cheesy operatic and choral numbers sung by drunk tenors and basses rang out through the clamour of the Toronto night, it was an extraordinarily bittersweet leaving of a world that had so very nearly been in my grasp.

Hopefully time, circumstances and practice will allow me to once again be more than a passing visitor.

P.S. I think things would be different if I was still in the UK. The advantage of a large population in a relatively small place means there are many more choirs to sing with. There is also a strong tradition of cathedral singing, so even if you can’t commit fully to a choir’s schedule, you can always be a regular deputy, and even make a bit of money on the side in the process. Ah, depping. I love depping. Limited rehearsals. Jolly good Sunday morning sing!