DON'T MENTION THE CHOIR
Graham Meale, December 2002
The first day you have a Year 7 class next year, ask them how many were in the choir in Year 6. Then ask them how many are going to be in a choir at high school.
You probably do this anyway. Then again, perhaps you don’t, because you know what will happen. The first question will result in a sea of hands, perhaps almost the whole class. But the second will evoke an eerie silence, broken only by the odd snigger, and looks of “You’re kidding!”
Why is choir something that kids grow out of?
There must be some high schools that have particularly strong, successful choirs, where there’s still a certain amount of kudos, and where it’s cool to be in it. But I don’t know of many. Sure, 21 of the 28 schools that responded to the census reported having choirs, the largest (both non-government schools, incidentally) having 55 and 60 kids in them. But many of you said there were only between ten and twenty in your choir, and I wouldn’t mind betting that many school choirs are close to moribund. Some, dare I suggest, exist little more than on paper, so that, among other things, the boss can put it in the annual school report.
If by this stage you’re thinking “Hey, hang on, our choir is pretty darned good”, then good on you. Cheer me up. Tell me about it. I love a good choir. I have wonderful memories of the halcyon days in the eighties when Kate Donovan used to bring choirs of over a hundred to the Coffs eisteddfod. And they were wonderful.
I’ve had a few successes of my own over the decades, too. We all have. I work hard to convince myself that I’m still having them, albeit in a more subdued sort of a way. But why is it getting harder and harder? Why do kids, when you suggest they join a choir at high school, look at you as though you’d just asked them to walk naked down the main street? You try everything: calling it a “pop vocal ensemble”, letting them decide what they want to sing, putting drums and bass and electric guitar with every song, and sugar coating everything to the point of indigestion.
There have got to be reasons. Is one of them the massive technology-driven changes to society in the last couple of decades? We’re all getting older (there are no music teachers on the north coast under thirty, according to your census responses). And there are fewer opportunities for kids to make music (although I’m not sure whether this is a symptom or a cause).
In the September Ictoasa Heather Martin, who’s had her fair share of successes, admitted feeling a sense of helplessness about the future. Margaret England in this issue says that she is “not optimistic”. And in the unlikely event that anyone at all thinks that this sentiment is isolated or unrepresentative, I suggest they read the August 1997 issue, which contains the minutes of a statewide conference of key music educators in government schools.
Getting back to those fresh-faced Year 7s. I had an interesting discussion with a primary teacher the other day. She was telling me that, at her school, Year 5 and 6 kids are not allowed to represent the school in sport, or go on any excursions, unless they are in the senior choir (which is held during lesson time). A bit like not giving kids lollies until they’ve eaten their vegetables. No wonder primary schools days at eisteddfods are flourishing. There are some good teachers working with choirs in primary schools, who may well ignite a spark in some kids, but as music is bottom priority in many primary teacher training courses, and the whole primary music situation is rather piecemeal, it’s a fair bet that there are some lousy ones, too, who choose childish repertoire and turn kids off. (Yes, they’re only kids, but they don’t need to be reminded of it by singing in unison about witches and goblins when they’re hitting puberty.)
And while ever any official response to the problem is that there is no problem, things can only get worse.
There must be some good news stories out there. I’ll wait by the mailbox.