Voice DNA: Improvisational Singing Workshop

Singing and improvisation: two things that provoke deep fear in me. So when Saori suggests we go to an improvisational voice workshop called Voice DNA - with my blog pledge in mind - I agree wholeheartedly.

The Hive, where the workshop takes place, is a grungy warehouse space reminiscent of 90s raves and squat parties. I'm early and keen for an alcoholic beverage to take the edge off the humming anxiety of imminently attempting to sing in a room full of strangers. But alas, somewhat unsurprisingly, there is only chai available, so me and Saori sip our teas wedged into a distressed sofa.

Slowly and unsurely, the area the workshop is to take place in starts to take shape as cushions are moved by our teacher Uran into a circle on a small stage in the corner of the room. Other participants - seemingly half regulars, half newbies like me - start to wander over and then the workshop begins.

We start with warm-ups, simple vocal exercises to loosen up our mouths and throats. Then it's onto an array of playful improvisation exercises - at times fun, at times daunting. We sing a constant note which we pass one by one around the circle, listening to our neighbour's voice fade out as we fade in. This then evolves from a single note into a melody which adapts, changes as it goes around the circle. Directed by Uran, we form a 'human mandala' through concentric circles of voices, each circle playing a different role, whether rhythm, melody or harmony.

Most dauntingly, gathered in a circle towards the end of the workshop, we take it in turns to direct the rest of the group to the beat of Uran's drum. One by one we sing lines that the rest of the group mimic. And by singing I mean any number of noises, wailings and general gutteral utterances that anyone chooses to give voice to. I couldn't claim to have enjoyed that particular exercise or some of the others that led up to it. The crux of the class is an improvisational experience, letting go and, dare I say it, 'going with the flow', none of which come naturally to me in any kind of abundance. But I muddle through - helped greatly by Uran, a very gentle and warm teacher - and even manage to enjoy large chunks of it, laughing my way through some parts and losing myself momentarily in others.