One Day Choir

A hundred and fifty strangers in a Greenpoint loft, singing Fast Car

I have taken up what TikTok has told me is called hobby maxing this summer. Which is how I ended up on a Wednesday night in a loft in Greenpoint with a hundred and fifty strangers singing a six part harmony arrangement of Fast Car by Tracy Chapman.

It is called One Day Choir. Gaia Music Collective runs it. I signed up on a Sunday, one of those days when you feel energized, extroverted, and excited about making plans because the week is young, baby!

The next day, I received the sheet music and a recording of each part to practice. I went back and forth between soprano two and alto one, and chose alto one because it seemed the easiest and I wasn’t trying to make this a challenge.

On my run the next morning, I brought my sheet music with me. I couldn’t really practice at home. It was six in the morning. I have neighbors, and my poor wife can only hear the Do do, do do do do do ahhhhhhhh of my favorite section that I was humming on repeat before I get a Hunny, please.

So I ran my usual route but stopped at the end of Pier 26, a secluded little spot by the water, where I sat with my music, my alto one practice recording, and the awkwardness of trying to find the right notes. I had just read a piece in the Times about bagpipe players in New York and how they end up practicing in odd corners at odd hours. Suddenly relatable.

Do do, do do do do do ahhhhhhhh. Really hoped no one would hear me.

By Wednesday the week had taken a turn. The optimistic excited view of the week I had on Sunday was now an anxiety fest, too much to do, stomping around the apartment like a little grumpy grinch. I didn’t wannnaaa go. It was forty five minutes on the subway and twenty minutes walking and it was drizzling and I did not have an umbrella, because why in New York do we never have umbrellas when we need them. Cursing my new hobby.

I arrived early, because I can’t arrive at a normal time to something even when I try. So now I had to small talk, absolutely not. I found my own little spot in my own little corner, pulled out my music and pretended to practice, humming under my breath, avoiding eye contact and god please, small talk.

At one point I looked up from my antisocial hypnosis and found everyone else around me doing the same thing. We all had the same idea. We were all there alone and just trying to sing, not trying to chat.

I heard the girl next to me ask another, are you a singer. No, she said. Yeah, me neither.

I will admit I have sung. Growing up, high school choir and theater, and in my late twenties I was a part of the Stonewall Chorale, the nation’s first LGBTQ+ choir, for a few years. I probably had more experience than many people in the room and I was still hiding behind my sheet music, nervous. The warmups were awkward. You could tell not many of us had heard our singing voices that loud next to strangers in a long time.

The woman on my other side was visiting from Indonesia, in town for just three days. She had seen it on Instagram a while ago and wanted to do it while she was here. She brought her husband with her, he was over in the bass section. She said he had no idea what he was doing, that she just sort of dragged him along to this. I asked if he liked to sing, she shrugged and said I mean, he likes music? When it was the basses’ turn to practice, she would sneak out her phone to snap a few photos, and we would look at each other and giggle. What a good sport.

For three hours we practiced the music and went over the challenging parts. Completely phoneless, wholesome, carefree entertainment and joy, on a Wednesday night. Towards 10 pm, to wrap up the event, we sang the full song through three times. The third and final time, you walk around the room while you sing, so the parts move past you and you hear the whole thing from inside it. At that point I was in the groove, I knew my part, I was projecting, in this blissful flow with the people around me all singing their favorite parts, confident and loudly, my best little Do do, do do do do do ahhhhhhhh. Did we sound like we belonged in Carnegie Hall? Absolutely not.

I didn’t get home until after ten thirty, way past my bedtime on a school night, so this morning I slept in. I heard Magdalena in the kitchen making coffee, and a little hum.

Do do, do do do do do ahhhhhhhh.