Pull up a chair in the bar after a Canto Mundial rehearsal, and you will hear English spoken in a remarkable range of accents. Canto Mundial brings together singers from seven nations. Each arrived on the Costa Blanca by a different road, at a different time, for reasons as varied as the people themselves. Many of them would never have crossed paths in the ordinary run of life. A choir changed that, quietly, one rehearsal at a time.
English is the language that holds us together. It is what I use at the front of the room, what the singers use to ask each other for a pencil, and what fills the bar once the music stops. For many in the group, it is a second language, which means everyone is meeting on common ground and no one has a home advantage. I have come to think that this levels the room in a lovely way.
Friendships in a choir begin with the music. You stand shoulder to shoulder with someone for two hours, you breathe together before an entry, and you both wince at the same missed note. Early conversations tend to be about bar numbers and tricky rhythms. Before long, though, the talk wanders towards grandchildren, holidays, gardens and the best place in Albir for a decent breakfast. By then nobody is thinking about passports.
The break in the middle of rehearsal is where much of this happens. Singers drift into mixed groups, and I notice that the groupings rarely follow nationality. The same is true after the final run-through, when a good number of the choir head to the bar and stay far longer than they intended.
What pleases me most is that the singers have started building this world without any help from me. Voice parts arrange their own sectional rehearsals on other days of the week, so the sopranos meet up on one day, with the altos and the men doing the same. These sessions began as a way to learn the notes more securely, and they have done exactly that. They have also given small groups of friends extra time together, away from the larger room.
The result shows up when everyone comes back together for the main rehearsal. The sound is stronger, because every section has done its homework. The greetings are warmer too, because these people have spent additional hours in each other's company. When I raise my hands to begin, I am conducting a choir that has grown in musical confidence and in affection for one another, and I can hear both in the sound.
These days there seems to be a great deal of talk about the lines that separate one country from another. Our rehearsal room offers a gentler picture. Seven nationalities sing side by side every week, and what they share matters far more to them than where they were born. I find that quietly hopeful, and I suspect you might too.
Music is the catalyst here, and I am glad to give it the credit. It supplies a shared task and a reason to be in the same room week after week, which is more than most strangers ever get. Yet once the friendships have formed, they stand on their own. The people laughing together in the bar would still be friends if the choir closed tomorrow, and that, to me, is the truest measure of what has happened.
Canto Mundial has taught me that people from different countries can work together with real success, and that something deeper than politeness can grow between them. If you live on the Costa Blanca and have ever wondered whether you would fit in, bring your accent along. We already have plenty, and there is always room for one more.
