Finding the singers

The Bridge Folk in Newcastle. Taken I was by a friend to an upstairs room, and there, alone, stood a man singing. Direct singing, with others sitting around tables supping beer.

The audience, itself comprising of singers, as I was to find out soon enough, each to take their turn.

Strikingly, no hint of the hit parade, of scantily clad alluring females, nor any sign of that cool masculine mid-Atlantic drawl. No mikes or loudspeakers. No loud strumming guitars or bashing of drums, cymbals or ear drums. No showing off by the attention seeker.

Finding the songs

And what about the trained voice? No operatic posturing here. In the past I tried out Gilbert & Sullivan; choral work in the company of Benjamin Britten eight-part pieces, but left this behind. I had the voice, it seems, but not the inclination - and did not feel at ease.

Here I found the singers, but just as important, the songs. “Well, about time you gave us a song, Sam,” came the call.

Trepidation at learning words ...

But how was I going to learn the words? This was the bane of my life. I couldn’t remember carols at Christmas time, pop songs, or any kind of song for that matter.

And children just made it worse. I wrote out the words on large sheets of cardboard for them to learn the songs. They soon had learnt them off by heart, leaving me to rely on the sheets! For years this inferiority complex hung over me.

So how was I to learn the words? How was I to sing?