We hold up our libretti and whisper: “Town observes / through the body cam / of the paranoid officer / through wall-hung portraits / of balding men / through old papers / filled with marriage / births and more / town asks / who are you interesting / People?” “I want you to whisper this with increasing paranoia,” Kohlmaier tells us as we stand in semi-circular rows around him. The instructions from the choirmaster are nothing if not unusual. Phrases are written on pieces of paper and assembled into songs. The libretto draws on material culled from eavesdropping on street conversations, making rubbings of signs and reflecting on what it is that makes Northampton distinctive. Above us hang portraits of local worthies, including the great, mad Northamptonshire poet John Clare, whose wild eyes look, to me, sceptical. Not to mention the bitter sectarian division between those in the town who pronounce the name of the river that runs through it Nen, and those who (ridiculously) call it Nene. The dreadful council-commissioned mural depicting King Charles and the late Queen. The Market Square development that never seems to be finished. I learn that there’s a lot to complain about in Northampton. And what could be a more British way than having a good old sing-song about how rubbish the town is? The festival aims to “strengthen the connections between our individual identities and the environment we share”. Singapore banned a choir for fear it was too critical
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