Part 2 – How singing with over 55 Canadians in Florence changed my life in less than a week!

Then of course some hearty singing continued after the main singsong event on Friday night – led of course by said Irishman (and heavily aided and abetted by his son and I!) I had managed to persuade said Irishman to sing “The Aoul’ Triangle” a tribute to the late great Irish singer songwriter Glen Hansard who had been tragically killed in a motorbike crash just a few weeks earlier in Dublin. It was interesting to see the quality of the singing and songs in general improve as the week went on as more and more people found their voices and confidence in singing in a small crowd.

There were even fierce debates one evening as to whether we should only be singing Canadian songs! I kept stumm for a good while then said my piece, biting my tongue and not also pointing that it was in fact the two Irish people present who knew many Canadian songs off by heart! No “googling of songs” on your smart phone for those of us of a certain age, eh?!

I grew up in a house of music. I grew up on the songs of Joni Mitchell (who I idolised) Bryan Adams, Neil Young (my late daughter’s Ruth’s late father David Seavers had every Neil Young album going when we met in our teens!) I wasn’t actually given a choice as to whether I liked him or not, his albums just got played on repeat! It is only since this magical of weeks that I fully realised the depth of the music given to me to listen to in my teens and late twenties and the impact it had on me.

A family friends Jimmy Evens would arrive to our house like clockwork every Sunday evening with around five books for me to read and the same number of albums to listen to. Which very much included Joni Mitchell. I was much older when I finally “got into” the late great Leonard Cohen – when younger his voice was just too dark for me. I was at the time more enthralled by the gravelly voice and lyrics of Bob Dylan instead. Every new Joni Mitchell album was usually a guaranteed birthday or Christmas present from Jimmy.
And nothing would do my republican rebel of a mother but to buy albums like the Dubliners, the Wolfe Tones and play rebel Irish songs on repeat for our foreign students. Which is how I came to have so much in common with said fellow Irishman – we both grew up just knowing “all the words to all the songs” As you did in a pre mobile phone and laptop world. Never mind Spotify or iTunes. I played these albums on repeat long before we had a TV in our house.

We’ve lost all that now in this modern world we live in. The sing songs did indeed get better as the week wore on, with more and more people singing off the words of songs they had found on their phones. That’s the way sing songs happen nowadays. It just is. Maybe that’s fine too. But there is still something so magical about listening to a solo voice in a sing song, singing a song from the heart with eyes closed, knowing “all the words”!

The exhaustion quietly built and built amongst many of us as the action packed week rolled on. Then there was the added possibility of an extra rehearsal the morning of the concert. My exhausted body privately decided not to go if that was the case, but luckily it did not happen and we had Saturday morning free after all. I promptly texted my charming Italian from a few nights earlier in the Florence rowing club – yes, he was working that morning and yes, we were welcome to visit. Yay! Myself and three of “the lads” as I called them went and had an utterly magical few hours sitting under the shady green of their Arno café, watching the rowers go by. Chatting about anything and everything. Then walking directly under the Ponte Vecchio from where we got some stunning photos. By the time we left the rowing club was getting busy for lunch, so we never actually got to chat to our charming Italian.

And no, I am still not giving his number to anyone!!!

The ceilidh/singing evening on the Friday night was great craic and of course the Irish chatting away in the very back rows got chastised for chatting –(well ‘twas actually only me who was chastised, the two lads were left alone!!) By the time the concert rolled round, we were all calmer than expected as after all, the programme changes and excessive heat were now behind us. There was small enough audience but at that stage we were beyond caring. Having sung with the church choir there for several months, I was familiar with the church and altar layout but there was indeed much moving around on the altar to accommodate us all, which did not help the first sopranos who ended up being widely dispersed. However, finishing it off with a rousing version of “Ne Pensiero” (Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves) one of my favourite ever opera pieces from Verdi’s “Nabucco” was beyond my wildest dreams.

Three newbie friends had come to support me which I greatly appreciated so after the concert it was off to have a glorious dinner with two of them. Then a last trip back to the choirs’ accommodation to say goodbye to whoever was there. I was leaving Florence the following morning to move to Lucca so coming back for a last breakfast was not an option.

Ever since the choir left Florence I have been deeply reflecting on how much music has always meant to me without ever truly realising it. Three of “the lads” did indeed come to Lucca for a half a day a few days later and ‘twas truly lovely to see them all again. What I have learnt especially since Glen Hansard’s death on the 29th July, is that music unites people like nothing else I have ever come across. Far more than sport, more than yoga, more than book clubs, more than volunteering. Why is this? It is simple, when we sing, we touch a part of our soul that the mind does not reach. The day of Glen Hansard’s death on 29th July, a cousin said to me “When you sing, you pray twice” I have thought of that comment so often since then. This cousin and her husband, both now in their eighties are still between them, involved in no less than eleven choirs in Dublin.

Read that again – yes – eleven choirs!!!!

Eleven years ago, I too was involved in between four and five choirs in West Cork. Prior to that I had sung with the Goethe Institut choir in Dublin in my twenties and a choir in Goettingen, Germany at the tender age of seventeen while working there as an au pair. Even than all those decades ago, the friends I made in Goettingen were from the choir. When I last lived in Lucca I sang with an Italian gospel choir. At each and every choir rehearsal, no matter how tired or cranky I was, within ten minutes of rehearsals starting, all my cares would fade away. I am in fact a poor sight reader with a very average voice. But I make up for it by being on time, listening, taking notes and practicing between rehearsals.

What made Alison Nixon’s choir so unique was its inclusiveness.

The last time I had this deep realisation about the deeply healing importance of music in my life was when working in Dzogchen Beara during my 2007 divorce. Someone staying there said to me “There is a crack in everything, it is how the light gets in” quoting Leonard Cohen. Music had slowly but surely been silenced in my married life while in Wales. I would be playing Andrea Bocelli loudly while preparing dinner to help with my Italian studies. My ex – husband would come in and turn it off. I would turn it back on. Then my late daughter and former step – daughter would do the same. I eventually stopped playing the music. At the time it felt easier. But in fact, it wasn’t. We still however, frequently listened to background music while having dinner. However, as those years wore on, we often played music my ex – husband preferred. It was simply easier to give in. Nevertheless, I made sure to make up for it by blasting U2 in the car when driving my late daughter Ruth and her friends here there and everywhere!

Like millions of Irish worldwide, Glen Hansard’s death on 29th July of this year rocked my world. I am writing a separate blog about his life and the impact he had on everyone he ever met, so do look out for it. I am also writing a blog about how AI is totally taking over our world.

Since the choirs’ departure I have learnt even more about one of my favourite countries (which I have yet to visit) It turns out that the relatively new Canadian prime Minister Mark Carney has strong Irish roots and three out of four of his grandparents hail from Ireland. And only this week ago the EU announced that they are forming an alliance with Canada – a historic first for the 27 countries of the EU, along with Canada.

Canada as an associate member of the EU? Bring….it…on!

Whoever would have thought it eh? Such is our fast changing world.

Thanks as always for reading my blog. I hope you enjoyed reading part two of such a life changing week. I would like to personally thanks “the lads” (ye know who ye are!) said Irishman and his son (ye know who ye are also!), and the three mums with whom I had such fun and games, along with deeply openhearted meaningful conversations
And of course, forever thanks and blessings to choir director Alison Nixon and her sister Ann Campbell for making it all happen.

Edinburgh next year anyone??!

In the meantime, who ate all the eggs?!!!