When listening to choral music, as I have been this evening, I find it hard not to sing along. A particular temptation is How Beautiful Are The Feet from Handel's Messiah. This is a lovely solo aria, and I am not a soloist.
The good thing, for everyone else, is that I usually restrict my singing along to times when I'm alone. I know intellectually that my voice adds nothing to, and in fact detracts from, any performance by a well-trained soprano. But I love singing, and as a girl in a church choir, I used to dream that one day I would be asked to sing a solo part.
My singing along got a bit out of hand at a party I went to last Christmas. Past midnight - and past a few bottles - my lovely host was at the piano accompanying various songs which everyone else seemed to know. Noticing my floundering attempts to join in, she kindly asked me if I had a request.
Without missing a beat, I suggested How Beautiful Are The Feet. No one else knew it, but I didn't let that stop me. Everything seemed possible on a starry winter's night with friends, good food and wine. I waited for the intro, then stood and sang, much to everyone's surprise.
I sang recklessly, with abandon and without attention to details of rhythm and tune.
The next morning I woke to a dawning realisation, and burst out laughing.
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