When movement meets song – choir workshops with Carte Blanche

Tiny raindrops sparkle in the hair of the close to fifty people standing outside the integration and learning centre on Osterøy, Norway’s largest inland island. A woman approaches the group with a folder and a puzzled look. “What are you all standing around outside for? It’s past seven!” The reply comes from a tall woman with a teasing gleam in her eye. “Yes, the one with the key forgot it at home – but don’t worry, her husband’s on his way!” Laughter is shared by those waiting in the dropping temperatures. Some turn quizzical glances towards the stranger of the group, a dark haired man with a calm demeanor. His name is Dawid. He is a professional dancer in Carte Blanche – the National Norwegian Company of Contemporary Dance. He is visiting the Osterøy Choir to give a workshop – if they ever get inside the building, that is. “Can’t we sing a song while we wait,” someone pipes up from inside a well-insulated coat. The conductor, Jon, doesn’t need to be asked twice. He sings a note, loud and clear. The air is filled with voices and melodies of giddy, slightly frozen choir singers warming up. A steel blue Audi pulls into the parking lot. A key dangles from a hand sticking out of the rolled-down window. Our saviour has arrived, and the choir workshop can finally begin.

Sending professional contemporary dancers to hold workshops with amateur choirs in the Bergen area, is something Carte Blanche has never done before. The connection may seem unusual, but stems from the piece Unchained Melody currently being developed with choreographer Mette Ingvartsen. From the beginning of the rehearsal process in December, the dancers of Carte Blanche have been challenged to sing! They have had daily sessions with a vocal coach and have memorized pages upon pages of sheet music and musical arrangements. Love songs spanning a thousand years of human longing will serve as an anchor for choreography. There will be live singing, and plenty of it.

As the dancers worked with voice, breath, expression, and singing as a choir, an idea was pitched by Carte Blanche’s audience engagement coordinator: what if there was an exchange between the dancers of the company and the community of amateur arts? The dancers, who were transforming into choir singers through Unchained Melody, could meet those for whom singing is an essential part of life. The dancers could then share and demonstrate some of the techniques they use as contemporary dancers in their work with the music. An invitation was sent to six very different choirs—and every one of them said yes!

Dawid and Osterøykoret posing for the camera

In the old Osterøy gym room, the singers form a half-circle on the yellowed wooden floor. Only three chairs have been set out, reserved for those who need to sit. Everyone else is expected to stand – and eventually, to move. The altos whisper among themselves. Speculation is rife. Perhaps there will be a reinlender? Or even a mazurka! The conductor finishes warming up the choir, before Dawid steps in. He asks them to sing through one of the pieces they are currently working on. He places a recording device on the floor. “Don’t worry. It’s just for us,” he smiles. The choir sings. Dawid looks at them with a playful expression. “Good. Please, lay down on the floor.”

Meanwhile in Åsane, Emil, the conductor of Bergen Vocalis, sinks heavily into a chair in a small classroom at Åsane Upper Secondary School. “To be completely honest, I was a bit skeptical,” he says with an apologetic smile. He wipes a bit of sweat from his forehead, moving the shoes he kicked off half an hour ago. “When we first received the offer of a workshop, I don’t think any of us really understood what this actually was. But it turned out really great.”

Ihsaan, the Carte Blanche-dancer, is packing up his things. He closes a yellow notebook with words written in bold letters: “ANGER,” “HAPPINESS,” “SADNESS.” Around him, the singers of Bergen Vocalis stand around laughing, discussing what they’ve experienced. They’ve breathed, wandered, explored new movements, and experimented with exaggerated emotional expressions in the music they sing. And they have laughed a lot.

“This was so much fun,” says a soprano. Like the others in the choir, she has just stood sobbing like a stubborn toddler while singing “Aquarius” from the musical Hair. “I had no idea I could make that much noise!” Another singer, an older man wearing a T-shirt reading “PROUD SHEET METAL WORKER,” chuckles, pleased with his own effort. He gets a pat on the shoulder from a fellow bass who remarks, “That section with all the text—we’ve never sung it so precisely and clearly before… it was as if the feeling of anger made us really good at articulating!” In the alto section, there is clear relief: “I thought we were going to learn choreography, but this was something everyone can do—even me! Really fun. And useful!”

Ihsaan demonstrating big feelingss at the workshop with Bergen Vocalis

It’s a much needed water break in the classroom at Åsane Upper Secondary School. The workshop is over, and Ihsaan says his goodbyes. He’s met with an enthusiastic wall of sound in return: “Thank you! Please come again!”

Out on Osterøy island, darkness has long since fallen. What was supposed to be a 90-minute workshop turned into two hours and then some. One of the choir’s oldest members, a man with a piercing gaze and bad knees, gives thanks for the experience: “This was a very nice time,” he says, nodding gravely. “For a while, I forgot my aches and pains. I’m going to bring some of these exercises and ideas to my physiotherapist!”

The chairs and piano are rolled away, the remnants of the break-time cake is packed up. “I didn’t know I could move like that!” says one. “I liked it,” says another. “This was fun! I dared to do so many things, because everyone became so playful!”

Once the lights are turned off, the only thing lingering in the room is a question:
“Perhaps we could do this every week?