I miss singing. I love singing, it’s as natural and essential a part of life for me as breathing and sex, but much like the latter I do far too little of it.
I grew up surrounded by music, was seldom without. Weekly church services always included singing, hymns for four parts — soprano, alto, tenor, bass. I often sang specially arranged choir numbers, practicing near-endlessly my parts. I would participate in each year’s “Sing-Along Messiah” in December, as one of the people who knew what they were doing who could help the other less sure voices. My family would frequently gather together around the piano and sing, flipping through various bits of sheet music, much of it religious tunes.
And I miss the music. I hate the dogma and doctrine and disgusting deity tied up in all of that, because that was the package deal.
But it is possible to have the beauty of the song without the bullshit of the sermon — I’ve certainly appreciated stage musicals for much of my life, and there’s some good stuff out there that fits what I need. It’s just that… I don’t want to dedicate a chunk of my life to rehearsal for performance, and I don’t want to perform at all! I don’t want to sing to anyone, or sing for anyone but myself. I want to be able to enjoy the synergy that comes from voices raised in harmony, to feel the thrill electrify my body as the room swells with a chorus of voices. I don’t know where to find that.
I want to sing like this, with others, for nothing more than the entertainment and joy it brings: