‘Twas the morning after the Euros semifinals. England had just emerged from a narrow victory over Denmark and pretended that they had it in the bag all along. London was still mumbling “it’s coming home” in its sleep as I cycled between the legs of the Bank buildings. Remnants of a night of revelry were strewn over the roads in the form of laughing gas canisters and broken beer bottles. A few England jerseys tottered out of the ‘Spoons wedged between the glass complexes, unashamed of broad daylight. The nation had come together the night before and painted a bright, beautiful picture; everyone seemed intent on preserving that picture as they dreamed in their sleep. There was a certain silence and stillness so uncharacteristic of the ever-moving London.
But in a small, cobbled alley just off Eastcheap, joy and music very different from that of the night before resounded the medieval walls of St-Mary-At-Hill. An anticipation, a sense of coming together, punctured the atmosphere as people young and old began filing into the ancient enclave. This was no conventional concert, where people sit respectfully to admire the artist; this was the first performance of Creative Minds in Song, a project curated by Gavin Roberts and Rebecca Cohen. It was to be a collaborative congregation of music and words under sacred arches.
I make it sound as if this event had some sort of metaphysical significance. No, it wasn’t like I had an epiphany or something. But I certainly felt very happy and blessed to be sharing music with the people around me at the time. I stepped into the church expecting this to be just another performance to play through, but I stepped out of it feeling lucky to be part of something so meaningful and much bigger than just your average church performance.
Creative Minds in Song is a project which brings together music and mental health to show how classical music can interact with contemporary problems. Musicians and composers from Guildhall School of Music and Drama collaborated with poets and participants from the Tower Hamlets branch of Mind, a nationwide mental health charity, to create new songs to be performed. The premise of the project seemed pretty cool, so I signed up for it at the start of the academic year.
However, due to COVID, the project kept getting postponed. Eventually, I became so bogged down with work from other facets of my musical education (chamber music, solo performance, improvisation etc.) that when I was notified about Creative Minds starting in our final term, I just couldn’t summon the enthusiasm for it.
Meeting people online just didn’t feel as exciting as the real thing, especially when all these meetings are on a Friday at 5pm, just when you’re the most tired and cannot wait for the weekend to arrive. But that was how our project started. At the beginning, most of the sessions were just for brainstorming and putting us into groups. Then came to creative stage, when the poets started drafting their ideas for poems. After that came the composers, who had to wait for the poems to reach their final stage before they could even begin to start composing. You can imagine how long it took for the musical ideas to trickle through the bureaucratic distillery before they reached the hands of the performer. As much as I want to say I enjoyed the dynamic creative process, the truth was this was not the case. I was busy practising other stuff, the directors were waiting for the poems to be handed in and composers often submit their works right before the deadline, giving performers barely a chance to look at the music before our first rehearsal.
Zoom meetings did not help at all. Some of the members of Mind are–well, let’s just say they stand at the fringes of the technology generation, and so aren’t particularly well-versed in the language of don’t forget to mute yourself. With all the WiFi problems, the stutters and delays between us, it was hard to communicate effectively, much less enjoy the process of communicating.
But we did get through it. It was more like I sat through a lot of Zoom meetings while watching Netflix, and somehow a complete score landed right in front of me. Props to Gavin and Rebecca, who must’ve had a whale of a time organizing separate rooms on Zoom for all the groups, making sure people turn up or at least notify them of their whereabouts. Looking back, I did take quite a lot for granted.
When Gavin first told us about the concert dates, they seemed miles away. Everything about the concert seemed miles away, not to mention the fact that the people whose words inspired the creation of these songs were literally miles away. It wasn’t until the week before the first concert that I realized I still hadn’t properly learned the notes, and had perpetuated the vicious cyclical habit of deadline fighting, a habit which I had not shaken off since secondary school.
When I walked into St-Mary-At-Hill, however, everything suddenly seemed more real. All these people whom I’ve been speaking to on Zoom for weeks were there, live in the flesh. Most of them were taller than I expected, which was only natural. Half-awake me, running mostly on caffeine, was greeted by a barrage of friendly faces. It didn’t really matter what we were talking about; everyone seemed to be drifting about in friendly conversation, a sight not usually seen among performers before a concert.
We were seated in a semicircle surrounding a stage area. More people filed in. Their happiness bounced around the resonant arches of the church. I was tingling with caffeine, and so was quite content to sit there and feel the energy crackle all around me. I couldn’t wait for the concert to start.
Perhaps it’s my inexperience in the field; perhaps it’s because I have learned throughout the years of music education to hold dead composers and their works being performed in prestigious halls in high regard at the expense of all other forms of performance; perhaps I had had too much coffee that morning. Either way, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of participating in the concert as I never thought I would. So many things came together in that concert to make it a vibrant, living thing. The eagerness of the poets to share their ideas; the interpretations given by the composers in transforming words into music that revealed their personal creative touch; the anticipation and excitement of the performers as they gave the premiere of these works, at the same time expressing their own imagination through the composer and poet’s landscape, unrestrained by custom and perfectionism. All of these energies gave birth to something personal and immediate. St-Mary-At-Hill that morning was bursting with creativity, and I think everyone felt feeling inspired.
Perhaps you may associate mental health with darkness, the abyss etc. Yes, there were a few dark poems, as well as music that was disturbing. And then there were really joyful poems too, and music that made you smile. But the thing that inspired me wasn’t the one and not the other; it was everything together. The creativity coming from people from all walks of life and all ages was what inspired me. That there could be so much life in one room was what inspired me. That music is available to everyone and can be made by anyone was what inspired me. In the end, we were all just people making music for the fun of it. Of course, I am sure that concert meant something different for everyone present, but the most important thing was that it meant something. It reminded me why live music is so much more than the experience of listening to music, and why music-making is so much more than playing the right notes at the right time.
What I have described is simply what that concert meant to me. You just have to be there. Luckily for all you reading who happen to be living in London, the Creative Minds in Song project is putting on another concert as part of the St Marylebone Festival on the 19th of July at 1pm in the vicinities of St Marylebone’s Parish Church. So do join us if you’re free (and get tickets beforehand!).
https://www.stmarylebonefestival.com/events-1/creative-minds-in-song
Literally Left-handed 
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