I'd been thinking about joining a choir for quite a while, but my mind threw up a whole series of objections: I wouldn't know anyone there; I can't read music; I might have to do an audition in front of everyone and I might be terrible; aren't choirs just, you know, naff,? asks Michael Kelly
I sang in the school choir as a lad and I've always remembered that hair-tingling feeling on the back of my neck when everything came together and our raggle-taggle group inadvertently and momentarily sounded like the Vienna Boys' Choir. But I've also never forgotten the moment when my voice broke in mid-song and I changed from Aled Jones to Satchmo in one ego-crippling moment.
Who could blame me for giving choirs a wide berth after that, particularly since society in general referred to my new voice as "broken"?
But time clearly dulled the psychological trauma. I got an e-mail recently about an open night for a male voice choir in my area and its tone was inviting: "Why not come along and see if it's for you?" it asked. "It's great craic and there's great camaraderie; we don't take ourselves too seriously and above all, singing makes you feel great."
I'm not alone in taking that first step towards joining a choir - in fact, community choirs are experiencing something of a revival. "We have noticed a huge increase in our membership," says Sinéad Ní Mhurchú of the Association of Irish Choirs. "According to our members, people are really starting to understand the health benefits of joining a choir. Singing helps to lower blood pressure and is a proven stress-buster. It's good for the lungs, excellent for posture and relaxes the neck and shoulder muscles."
In our increasingly fragmented society, choir membership also fulfils a social need. "It's a fantastic way to develop social bonds," says Ní Mhurchú, "and a great way to make connections and increase your circle of friends. Being in a choir is the ultimate unifier because everyone in the group is focused on one aim; to produce this beautiful sound."
Revival or no revival, however, there is a persistent shortage of male recruits. So why do men stay away? It's certainly not because we don't like singing in groups - think about the thousands of men singing at the top of their voices on the terraces each weekend. "Older men do join male voice choirs, I suppose because at that stage they don't feel they have to prove their masculinity," says Ní Mhurchú, getting in a gentle dig at us younger fellows. "They just see it as a pleasurable pastime that they enjoy doing and they're not so worried about what other people think."
The male unease about choirs can be traced back to how music is taught in our schools, she feels. "The musical education system pretty much exclusively caters for females and there is no tradition of all-boys choirs. The attitude is, 'Ah, sure boys are more interested in sport'."
Driving to the choir's open night, I felt nervous. What if I opened my mouth and a squawk came out instead of a note? But I needn't have worried. I have never felt more welcome than when I walked sheepishly in the door.
There were nearly 50 men in the choir and I think nearly all of them came over to say hello. Thankfully, there was no audition: the conductor decided I was a baritone by listening to my speaking voice. "I can't read music, is that a problem?" I inquired. "What makes you think the rest of us can?" he replied with a conspiratorial wink.
(It's the notion that you have to be able to read music which is most powerful in keeping people away from choirs. "I would say 90 per cent of people in community choirs are not reading music," says Ní Mhurchú. "The point we are keen to emphasise is that it is people who can't sing well and can't read music who stand to gain the most from joining a choir.")
The conductor introduced me to the group and they gave me a gracious round of applause for showing up. I was mortified - so much for getting in under the radar. "It's great to have him here," says the conductor, "because it's important that we get our age profile down." One or two of the older gents stood up
and pretended to leave in a mock show of disgust. "That's some way to tell us we're not welcome," said one to general merriment.
We did some warm-up exercises and I tried not to feel self-conscious while we
sang through the mee-may-mah-mow-moos. Rusty larynxes revived, we started practice with the gospel song Down by the Riverside. It's a lot of fun to sing. From the very first minute I found myself thinking, "Why didn't I try this years ago?"
But I was also struck by how technical it all seemed - the bass, baritone and tenor sections had different melodies to follow and it was tough to get your own bit right, especially when the music sheet might as well be written in Cantonese. And yet the conductor seemed able to coax some wonderfully complex harmonies from us, despite ourselves.
I began to wonder what possessed people to come to a cold classroom late on a Monday night, bleary-eyed after a day's work, to struggle with four-part harmony.
But then I suddenly got it. After an hour or so of practice we nailed the song and it sounded fantastic. Hairs on the back of the neck time. "Smile! It makes you sing better," the conductor encouraged us. He didn't need to remind me. I was smiling already.