Watts That Sound?

Sydney Morning Herald

Friday May 21, 1999

ALI GRIPPER

Singing is a universal birthright, says voice teacher Trisha Watts. After taking her class, ALI "Aretha" GRIPPER is forced to agree.

You don't have to be Aretha Franklin to join an a cappella workshop. Unlike most formal choirs, it's no big deal if you hit the wrong note as you're belting out an African chorus, or mastering the tricky bits of a gospel number. Any wild stabs in the dark at an octave leap are engulfed by the vast harmonies rolling over you.

"We've been brought up to believe you can only sing if you're in a church, or you're a performer, or you're drunk," says Trisha Watts, who runs Sing the Body Alive at Paddington's Uniting Church.

"Singing is a birthright," she says. "Everybody has a voice to sing with. We're told to keep our voices in - but it feels so good to just let it out." The workshop, a kind of cross between a yoga class and the Sydney gospel choir, The Cafe of the Gate of Salvation, aims to get you out of your head and focus your consciousness, and your voice, into the cells of your body: into your feet and your hips to let it expand from your belly, vibrate from your chest, and soar freely from your throat.

At first, you might feel slightly demented performing warm up exercises such as "fire engines" in public. These are long, expressive riffs, starting at the gravelly bass notes and rising up through your torso, into a high-pitched squeal through the crown of your head.

But you soon let go of your self-consciousness. The feeling of being part of the group is wondrous. The women's parts, mainly soprano and altos, are so sweet and euphonious, especially when they're supported by the broader, more soulful band of the men's voices below. You start to breathe deeply - long inhalations that make your head swim and make you plant your feet firmly on the carpet to steady your balance. You realise that in daily life your breathing is woefully shallow.

If you've had a bad day at work or you're feeling shy, you can stand next to one of the unofficial guides of the group - the women who come regularly, who have strong, breathy voices. They don't get flustered when the timing gets complex, and they'll sing louder over you if you're a bit flat.

Sometimes the music is too moving to allow singers to look at each other. We stand mainly in a circle, and yet only occasionally catch each other's eyes. The rest of the time our gaze is on something internal that no-one can see: our minds absorbed in a sound much greater than us.

Watts learned to sing in parts at home, on her family's farm in Parkes, central-western NSW. All five Watts children played the piano and would spontaneously harmonise while washing dishes or on long car trips.

When Watts was a teenager, she trained classically at Sydney's Conservatorium of Music but she didn't find her real voice until she let go of the technical side of training.

It's little wonder our voices are stifled, when we're brought up not to shout when we're angry. We stare at children shouting gleefully on swings. The old mentality of "don't speak until you're spoken to", Watts says, can go on to silence at a profound level.

"Singing brings you so much joy," she says. "For me, it's when I feel happiest; when I feel most alive. My whole body feels ignited."

Sing the Body Alive runs for six to eight weeks at Eastside Arts, the Uniting Church, Paddington, and costs $15 a night. For enquiries or bookings, phone 9948 7658.

Q Please e-mail Mind, Body & Soul information to agripper@smh.fairfax.com.au or fax to 9282 2481.