The Day I Lost Control of My Choir!

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I thought I was leading the last rehearsal of the summer. I had my plan, my notes, my warm-ups, my usual hopeful belief that everyone would mostly do what I asked.

Then the men took over.

At our Sutton Coldfield Everybody Sings! choir, the final rehearsal before the summer break is usually a mixture of singing, laughing, loose ends, and that slightly giddy feeling you get when term is nearly done. We tidy up the songs we have been learning, enjoy the sound we have built together, and go home with something cheerful still ringing in our ears.

This time, the men had other ideas.

Without warning, and with far too much confidence for people who had clearly been plotting behind my back, they stood up and performed a song all of their own. Not a song from the folder. Not one of mine. A specially written number, complete with words about choir life, musical terms, standing tall, and all the joyful chaos that makes Everybody Sings! what it is.

For a few minutes, I completely lost control of the rehearsal.

And I loved every second of it.

A rehearsal that did not go to plan

Choir leaders learn to be flexible. A piano pedal squeaks. Someone cannot find the right page. The altos are convinced they have never seen bar 37 before, even though we sang it six times last week. The tenors look innocent. The sopranos are ready before everyone else, or at least they say they are.

So when something unexpected happens, you smile, breathe, and carry on.

But this was different.

The end of summer rehearsal had already reached that lovely point where the room felt relaxed. The hard work of the term was behind us. Everyone knew we were close to a break. There was a sense of celebration in the air, the kind that comes when people have sung together for weeks and grown more comfortable with the sound they make as a group.

Then the men gathered themselves.

That was the first clue.

Choir members do not usually move with purpose unless refreshments are involved. But there they were, looking organised. There was a glint in the eye. A tiny ripple of anticipation. A few people knew something was coming. I did not.

They launched into their song with the unmistakable energy of people who had rehearsed just enough to be dangerous.

And suddenly I was not leading the choir. I was the audience.

The words that started it all

The opening verse said everything.

Everybody Sings in our choir, feet apart and standing tall, Harmony or unison, fortissimo or crescendo, Together we can sing them all!

Everybody Sings in our choir

Take a breath but keep those shoulders down

One two three four

Five six seven eight

It should all be gone by now!

Everybody Sings in our choir

Happily and with a smile

Don't be old and grumpy

Or Helen will be humpy

It's what she tells us all the while!

Everybody Sings in our choir

Some sing a lovely harmony

Don't follow the sopranos

They are really not important

They only sing the melody!!

Everybody Sings in our choir

Heads up, keep those hands in sight

Crotchets or quavers

Semi-breves or minims

Think the note and get it right..

Everybody Sings in our choir

Lovely songs and melodies

Thank you Clare and Helen

We couldn't do it without you

So long may it continue please

Long may it continue please!

There is something wonderfully funny about hearing your own rehearsal phrases sung back at you.

“Feet apart and standing tall” is the sort of thing a choir leader says so often that it becomes part of the wallpaper. Posture, breath, energy, vowels, listening, not rushing, watching the conductor, all those little reminders that shape a group sound.

When the men sang those words, they captured the whole spirit of the choir in one verse. The musical terms were there, harmony and unison, fortissimo and crescendo. The practical instruction was there too. But so was the real message: together, we can sing them all.

That is why the moment worked so beautifully. It was funny, yes. It was cheeky, absolutely. But beneath the laughter was something warm and generous. They had not just made a joke. They had made a song about belonging.

And they had five more verses.

Five.

More.

Verses.

• 

The joy of being surprised by your own choir

People often think the choir leader is the one who creates the energy in the room. Sometimes that is true. A leader chooses the music, sets the pace, teaches the notes, and holds the shape of the rehearsal.

But the best choirs are not built by the leader alone.

They are built by the people who turn up each week. They are built in the shared jokes, the brave first attempts, the wrong entries, the sudden improvements, the little looks across the room when a chord finally lands. They are built when people stop worrying quite so much about whether they are “good enough” and start enjoying the act of singing together.

This takeover was a perfect example of that.

The men had clearly spent time planning their performance. They had written words. They had learnt them. They had worked out how to present them to the rest of us. Somewhere, somehow, outside the usual rehearsal structure, they had created their own choir moment.

That matters.

It shows that the choir belongs to the singers too. It is not just a class. It is not just a weekly activity. It is a group of people with its own humour, confidence, and character.

As a leader, that is one of the most rewarding things to see. You can teach notes and rhythms, but you cannot force that sense of ownership. It grows when people feel safe enough to join in, contribute, and occasionally ambush you with a six-verse song.

Community singing is full of small brave moments

Singing in a choir can look simple from the outside. A group stands together and sings the same piece at the same time. Lovely.

Inside the room, it is much more interesting.

Every rehearsal contains tiny acts of courage. Someone walks in for the first time, not knowing anyone. Someone sings a part on their own by accident and survives. Someone admits they are lost. Someone tries a harmony that felt impossible a few weeks earlier. Someone laughs at a mistake instead of feeling embarrassed by it.

The men’s performance was funny because it was unexpected, but it was also brave. Writing your own lyrics and singing them in front of your choir friends takes nerve. Even in a friendly room, there is always that little flutter before you begin.

They did it anyway.

That courage is contagious. When one section of the choir is willing to have fun, take a risk, and step forward, it gives everyone else permission to be a bit bolder too. The room changes. People sit up. They listen differently. They remember that music is not only about getting it right. It is also about sharing something.

The best rehearsals make space for both.

Good technique matters. Clear words matter. Tuning matters. Breathing together matters. But laughter matters as well. So does trust. So does the feeling that if something goes a little off-piste, the room will come with you.

What the song said about Everybody Sings!

Their opening verse included a phrase that sums up the whole heart of the choir: “Together we can sing them all.”

That is exactly the point.

Everybody Sings! is not about perfection in the narrow, polished sense. It is about people making music together and discovering that their individual voices can become part of something bigger. Some singers read music. Some learn by ear. Some arrive full of confidence. Others take a while to trust their own sound.

The choir room has space for all of that.

One week we may be working hard on a tricky harmony. Another week we may be smoothing out a rhythm, shaping a phrase, or finding the confidence to sing more freely. Sometimes we sing in unison and enjoy the strength of one shared melody. Sometimes we split into parts and feel the thrill of harmony locking into place.

And sometimes the men take over and remind us not to take ourselves too seriously.

That balance is important. A choir can work hard and still laugh. It can aim for a good sound and still be welcoming. It can improve without becoming intimidating.

The song caught that balance beautifully. It used the language of rehearsal, but it turned it into celebration. It gently teased the things we say and do each week, while also honouring them. It said, in its own playful way, “We have been listening. We know what this choir is. We are part of it.”

That is a wonderful thing for any choir leader to hear.

The video makes it even better

I am very glad there is a video recording.

Some choir moments disappear as soon as they happen. You enjoy them in the room, then they become part of the shared memory of the group. Someone mentions it weeks later and everyone laughs, but the exact expressions, timing, and sound are gone.

This one was caught.

A video does not just preserve the performance. It preserves the atmosphere around it. The smiles before the first line. The laughter as the words land. The reaction of the rest of the choir. The feeling of a rehearsal turning into something none of us expected.

It also means the moment can be enjoyed again by people who were there, and shared with those who were not. Not because it was polished to perfection, but because it was real.

That is often what makes a choir video special. The charm is not in studio quality or flawless presentation. It is in seeing ordinary people create something joyful together. No special effects. No grand staging. Just voices, humour, and a room full of people who clearly enjoy being together.

The men may have taken over the rehearsal, but the video shows something bigger than a takeover. It shows a choir with personality.

Why these moments stay with us

At the end of a term, it is easy to think about the obvious milestones. Which songs we learnt. Which parts improved. Which tricky sections finally stopped causing panic. Those things matter, and they give a choir its sense of progress.

But the memories that last are often the unexpected ones.

A spontaneous laugh after a false start. A beautiful chord that surprises everyone. A new singer realising they are not as nervous as they were at the start. A section suddenly sounding bold. A group of men standing up at the last rehearsal of the summer and singing six verses they had written themselves.

Those moments become part of the story of the choir.

They remind us that singing is human before it is technical. It uses the body, but it also uses trust, humour, attention, and heart. A choir grows through notes, yes, but also through shared experiences. The silly ones count. The surprising ones count. The ones where the leader loses control for a few minutes definitely count.

In fact, those may be some of the best ones.

A final bow to the takeover team

So, to the men of our Sutton Coldfield Everybody Sings! choir: well played.

You planned it, you sang it, you made us laugh, and you gave the last rehearsal of the summer a memory none of us could have scripted. You also proved that you have been listening to the rehearsal instructions, which I shall remember next time I ask for feet apart, standing tall.

The choir may have been briefly out of my hands, but it was in very good ones. Big thanks to Tony for the lyrics and to Matt for the music and of course to all the men who clearly had an absolute blast... Fancy saying that to the sopranos though!!!

And if this is what happens when I lose control for a few minutes, I may have to allow it more often. Just not too often. I still have a rehearsal plan, after all.