Colin Brett PCC, trainer at Coaching Development Ltd, maintains that “words create worlds”.

The three words that make up the title of this blogpost and, indeed, the tagline to this website, conjure up all kinds of images.  But what do they really mean?

My background is in performing arts, so let’s spend a little time in that world.

When we go to a music concert, we’re watching and listening to a group of people, working together. We love the feeling we get when we experience these musicians, literally co-labouring. What we’re experiencing is much more than the sounds they’re making: we’re listening to the result of hours and hours practising together, laughing about an awesome new chord they’ve disovered, arguing about who should make the tea during their rehearsal break, agreeing on their final playlist/programme.

The experience for us is even richer when we’re there with someone else, or as part of a group.

A number of years ago, I went to the South Bank in London, to watch an episode of “Room 101” being filmed. It was terrific fun, and I remember laughing heartily at some of Paul Merton’s quips and witty observations. Back at home though, when I watched similar programmes on TV, alone in my living room, the same sorts of jokes elicited little more than a faint smile, a light chuckle at best. Then again, when I invited some friends round to watch TV with me, that previous sense of hilarity suddenly returned. But why? The jokes were no more or less funny, so why would we laugh more, just because we’re in the company of others? My own view is that we want our friends to know that we “got the joke”, that we understood it. By acknowledging that, it helps us feel included in the group. But, and I ask this again: why?

Why do we need to collude with others in order to feel good about ourselves? Isn’t that a bit shallow? Can’t we rely on our own strength of character? Personally, I don’t think it’s about that. I think it’s about how we evolved as a species.

According to the Smithsonian, we have been stumbling around on this planet for around 6 million years, and right from the off, we have relied on collaboration for our very survival. With so many predators early on in our existence, we’ve needed “strength in numbers” in order to survive each day so that we can come home and say, “You go collect berries, me hunt animal.”, or grunts to that effect. Anyone considered an outsider would be pretty much doomed to become prey before too long.

So we developed social strategies, ways to ensure we could be “part of the gang”. This survival tactic has been in our DNA for so long, that we barely notice it any more than a fish notices the water it swims in. As I mentioned in my recent TEDx talk, it’s the reason groups of people sing together at football matches. It’s why we chant the creed in church. It’s why we’re on Facebook.

But what of our solo artists? Surely there’s something incredibly special about listening to a solitary performer, utterly engaged in what they’re doing out there, on their own. They don’t need anyone else to bring their message across, do they? Do they?

Let’s consider a solo harpist, playing at a wedding. She’s sitting there all alone, there’s no interaction with any other band members, perhaps her eyes are even closed while she plays, and she’s barely aware that other people are even in the room. There’s something eerily beautiful about the solitude of her performance.

Now let’s consider further: our harpist, most likely, took lessons – either from a teacher, or perhaps from a book. Someone wrote that book. A team of people designed and built her harp, and all its component parts. In fact, whole teams of people came together to shape her life, her upbringing, her education. Everything that has brought her to this point was as a result of countless interactions with people.

And the fact that she can touch our hearts with her music, well that in itself is a form of collaboration: we have entered into a mutual space of enjoyment. The music itself forms a bond between the performer and the listener. Of course, we can enjoy being on our own, singing a tune to ourselves that makes us feel happy. But perhaps we feel happy because it triggers a memory of something. And you can bet that that memory includes other people.

Collaboration, therefore, is everywhere. We can’t move for it. No one can succeed purely on their own: we can’t be great leaders without followers, a world-class conductor is nothing without her orchestra, the head of an international opera house cannot achieve anything without the willing participation of those working under them. (For more on the “Lone Genius innovator” read this.) Collaboration is the thing that tap into that six million year old, archaic part of ourselves.

When we collaborate, we communicate. And when we communicate, we connect.

Yesterday I published a blogpost on some comments made about one of the entrants to the Cardiff Singer competition.

I’ve been reflecting on the situation, and have to admit I have some conflicting thoughts and opinions about it all.

Over the last twenty years or so, a part of the opera world has become swept up in the media’s quest for physical perfection.  On the one hand, our singers are being taught to become “HD ready”, and that “that’s the way things are these days – if you want to be hired, you’ve got to look like a film star”, but at the same time we strive to break down any hints of elitism by showing how normal and representative of society we are.  People come in all shapes and sizes so why shouldn’t we?  And in any case, do we really want to spend more time in the gym than in the practice room?

We’re really happy to see the likes of Anna and Erwin on the covers of magazines, and we’ll salivate over the latest edition of “Barihunks” – who doesn’t love a bit of positive objectification now and again, eh?  But, my goodness, we don’t like it when we get objectified in any negative way, and we’ll rush as fast as possible to the “it doesn’t matter what you look like, it’s how you sound” argument, and that feels to me, well, somewhat hypocritical.

Of course, it’s not nice to be called names, and it’s great to see people rallying around in support.  I feel uncomfortable about people wanting to censor those who want to say negative things.  “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”  Hmm.  Can you imagine if that were actually to become law?  We’d all be living in a rather strange and fearful world, and sooner or later we’d start campaigning again for freedom of speech.

I don’t know what the answer is.  I guess there’ll always be people who say nice things, and likewise those who say nasty things.  I think all we can do is try to rub along together in this strange tension, and try to understand and not vilify those whose opinions differ from yours.

I have been a professional singer for over twenty years, and one thing I and my many hundreds of operatic colleagues have observed is that one of the most tricky things we have to negotiate in our profession is:

Audition.

There are two main types of audition we do: one to get an agent, and one to get a job with an opera company.

In order to get an agent, you might start by writing round all the agents who have a great reputation for looking after their clients.  But the only way you’ll get their interest is if you can invite them to a concert or show.  And there’s your first problem: you don’t have any gigs in the diary to invite them to.  It’s a Catch 22.

But for now, let’s say you have an agent, and they want you to go and do an audition for an opera house in, say, Germany.  First, you have to stump up the cash to be able to travel to the designated city, usually arriving the night before, and staying in a hotel.  These costs mount up extremely quickly, especially if you have to fly to these places.  So we’re looking at a cost of £300-£400, just for one, speculative audition.

Ok then, so you’ve done your homework (or your agent has), and you know that this house is looking for a role that you know you can sing the tits off.  You’ve spoken to the Royal Bank of Mum and Dad and borrowed the money for the trip, and you’ve arrived at the venue, whereupon you’re told whether or not you have access to a warm-up space (hint: try to warm up before you leave the hotel – you may get an angry knock at the door, but heck, you’re there to get a job!).  And now you’re waiting outside the room, ready to show them what you’ve got.

You’re called in.  Chances are you’re in a small room (“Why did I bring Wagner?!”), or perhaps a larger one, with a pile of chairs stacked up in the corner, and the odd bit of scenery plonked down.  You try not to let your mind wander off,  musing over what opera that bit of set might be for.  No.  Focus. Keep your eye on the prize.

You have already read up on how to greet the panel (usually just one, two, or three people), you’ve decided whether or not to shake hands, how formal to be, you’ve done your pre-audition breathing exercises to be as centred and calm as possible.  You hand your music to the pianist, whose eyes open wide as he/she doesn’t recognise the pieces.  You cross your fingers, and off you go…

Days later, you may get one of the following responses:

1. The panel didn’t like you, and you never get to sing for them again.
2. They liked you, but felt you need a year or two more experience before considering you again
3. They liked you, but have nothing to offer you for the time being.
4. They loved you, and think they might have something to offer you in three years’ time.
5. They adored you, and were able to offer you a role (which then you have to decide fits both your voice-type and schedule).

These are all things a singer must consider when deciding whether or not it’s worth the money and time to do the audition in the first place.

And it’s no picnic for the panel either, who really want you to do well, but know that their very presence is unnerving for you.  You also know that you perform much better when you’re actually just performing.  If only you could show them what you can do on a proper stage, with an orchestra and other singers on stage, rather than standing in an empty room in uncomfortable shoes.

The whole concept of auditioning can be stress-inducing, nerve-wracking, jet-lagging, and bank-breaking.  There MUST be a better way.

Answers on a postcard please.  Or in the comments below.