Emmaprovement Continues...

This is the thing: I can't sing. Not at all. I come from a long line of bad singers - my parents both suck.

This I know about myself, but I'd really like to change it. I really want to be one of those girls that moves people to tears when she belts out Bonnie Rait's "I Can't Make You Love Me".

.

Who wouldn't? But I don't like doing anything I'm not good at, so even when there were plenty of singing lessons available at school, or choir, I avoided it. Whenever I have to sing - in church at weddings; national anthem moments; group karaoke events - I just do a breathy mouthing of the words.

Actually, I'm usually pissed during karaoke events, so I just warble out the song and keep my eyes closed so I can't see everyone wincing. Whenever it's been brought up in the past, proper singers have always been a bit surprised. "You have such a lovely speaking voice," they say. "You should be a good singer".

It's true, I do sound a professional phone sex operator, but, for some reason, it doesn't translate into singing. So in the interest of further humiliating myself for this column, I signed up for a consultation with Stella Arman at Voice Factory at Southbank.

Arriving at the studio, I realised I was having a panic attack. I really, really didn't want to sing, not in front of a stranger - my voice would horrify her.

I needn't have been so frightened. She didn't make me sing arias, or even a proper song. The first session at Voice Factory is devoted to learning proper breathing techniques, and how to use your stomach muscles to properly project your voice, while simultaneously opening up the back of your throat. Then, let sound come out.