Singing in Russia

Joining in with Red Army Choir at Colston Hall
So, The Central Band of the White Russian Army formally known as The Red Army Band gave a concert in Bristol and they wanted a local choir and a local school to help balance the program. This is how Westbury Singers came to be attending a "band call" at 3.00 p.m. on Saturday afternoon 17th May at The Colston Hall, together with The Witherington School Concert Band from North Somerset.

We had been given a 10 minute or 3 song spot and several patriotic songs to rehearse with the band. These included Land of Hope and Glory and an equivalent Russian piece. Our own conductor, Oliver (Ollie) Barton had stressed that we should not over use our voices during rehearsal: You won't be heard much however hard you sing" he added comfortingly.

When, an hour after we had been told to report for duty, the band and conductor arrived. A feeling of trepidation and anxiety came over me and I must say in my case, morbid curiosity, as to how bad it was all going to be prevailed. It was the first time I had experienced a band call in a big concert theatre prior to the concert on the same evening.

A scruffy collection of Westbury Singers were eventually joined on stage by an equally nondescript collection of young Russian men and several 13-14 year old school children. We sat for over 2 hours, watching a small fox-like conductor, listening to loud brass sounds equivalent to the string section of an orchestra warming up but blowing at the same time, whilst regarding a plump young woman in jeans idly kicking some dust around on the stage - appearing to share our boredom. At the same time, the conductor and management put together the pieces for the concert later that evening. Then we rehearsed, briefly with the band and my heart sank again when we were unable to follow the conductor, Colonel Redeov as either he wanted or we would have liked.

Sometime before 6.00 p.m. we left the stalls and descended to the bowels of the prison-like Colston Hall to contemplate our next few hours. We ate our aging sandwiches but somehow they did little to revive our spirits. We had an hour to kill, get dressed and then appear on stage.

Finally we dressed in concert gear and at 7.25 p.m. ascended the several flights of stone steps that brought us out on stage in the choir stalls. We were looking smart and colourful, lips stretched into a smile hopefully convincingly. Many were looking at the largest audience they had ever sung to. The feelings were apprehension, excitment and nervousness.

Then, onto the stage came about 30 something smartly uniformed young men, identical even down to their mid brown hair. The children, dressed in maroon and white were equally transformed, as was the dust kicker who, Cinderella-like, became the soloist with a glorious mezzo soprano voice and a fabulous cloak. Almost best of all was Colonel Federov who arrived respledent in a green tail jacket with gold epaulattes and a shiney crimson lining.

We all looked so smart, we sang and played so well, particularly the young schoolboy drummer who seemed to have such a rapport with his Russian counterpart. The soloists were amazing, the folk dancers were excellent and made us feel dizzy with their balletic jumps and flowery skirts. The Balalaka player was world class and the audience loved it all.

We did over use our voices as we sang the patriotic finale. "I've never heard you sing better" remarked one of the relations in the audience.