This week my friend and I did a vulnerable thing – we swapped recordings of one another’s singing voices. It was both fun and scary, because our voices were so different – she has a beautiful, sweet and clear pop/folk voice, and I have a voice that in the pop-range sounds like an over-earnest bespectacled twelve-year old choir girl. However, when I sing opera it’s transformed into a beautiful, pure spinning […]
I have a confession: I often think of myself as a ghost. I don’t do this consciously, needless to say, but there is something about my self-identity that tends to forget I have a body. As a child, I was bony and awkward, but intelligent. While my friends moved with grace and agility, I kept away from team sports, and excelled in the world of brain and exams.
Thanks to an evil virus, this month I lost my voice for the first time since I was a teenager. My voice began like a choirboy’s voice breaking: husky, punctuated with squeaks; and by the end of the day it was barely a whisper. My throat hurt, but from the engine-centre of my neck, as though I had been revving it too hard.