Emerging Professional Artists programme

The National Youth Choir exists to provide exciting and inclusive creative opportunities for all young people.

Our Emerging Professional Artists programme, supports choral leaders and composers as they emerge into the professional world. It aims to address inequalities in the music industry by creating professional development pathways for those who are under-represented in choral music.


Eight Moments of Play
Reflections on the Young Composers 7 Album

When I look back on this year through the lens of the Young Composers 7 album, what stands out most are not milestones or finished works, but moments of play. Not play as something frivolous or secondary, but play as a way of learning, connecting, and surviving pressure. Across rehearsals, residentials, workshops, and recording sessions, play appeared again and again, sometimes loudly, sometimes quietly, often unexpectedly. What follows are eight moments of play that shaped the year for me, each aligning loosely with one of the eight tracks on the album. Together, they form a portrait of how creativity unfolded not just in music, but in the spaces around it.

Moment #1

Play as Experiment

Aldeburgh, one evening

One evening in Aldeburgh, while waiting for our unoriginal order of 4 haddocks and chips, us composers began practicing mouth trumpeting. Inspired by Fraz' wonderfully written mouth trumpets in 400 Ways to Make a Sandwich, we started trumpeting to famous classical works and iconic film music, laughing as familiar melodies became absurd. There is a dirty, distorted mirror on the lower face of the counter, so we squat to take selfies, completely unselfconscious.

What stayed with me was the confidence we had as a group of composers, not only to make strange sounds in public, but to return to the same fish and chip shop twice more during the trip. Play here was bold and unapologetic, rooted in shared permission.


Moment #2

Play as Stillness

The Red House, late at night

Later that week, I found myself unable to sleep. Having grown up in cities and flats, without a garden, I felt compelled to make the most of being somewhere different. At around 1am, I lay on the grass in the Housekeeper, Nellie Hudson's, garden within the Benjamin Britten Red House estate. I quietly count the stars, and spot constellations.

This was a different kind of play. Gentle, solitary, and attentive. It was about noticing space and allowing myself a moment of calm. In contrast to the noise of the day, this stillness felt generous and grounding.


Moment #3

Play as Risk

Blackpool Beach, after sunset

During the National Youth Choir (18-25 Years) recording residential in Blackpool, a group of us wandered out onto the beach after sunset and became stranded on a small island as the tide went out. Looking around, I realised several National Youth Choir members were in the same situation.

There was a brief sense of uncertainty, followed by shared laughter and acceptance. Play emerged through collective vulnerability, in the knowledge that we were navigating the situation together.


Moment #4

Play as Interruption

Blackpool, a school hall

Back inside the recording space, time was precious. Multiple pieces were being recorded, focus was intense, and yet we were repeatedly interrupted by protective parent seagulls. They swooped in, halting takes and forcing us to stop.

Rather than becoming frustrated, these interruptions turned into moments of laughter and release. The distractions reset the room. Play arrived not because we invited it, but because the environment demanded it.


Moment #5

Play as Communal Joy

Blackpool, a school hall

In rehearsals, play often took the form of collective humour. The news team kept notes of iconic moments. Suddenly I hear the choir singing bongs of Big Ben, sliding into a theme tune. “Oh, the news is starting!”

Fellow, Peter Hicks, appeared one day in a dress, fairy wings, a wand, and heels. These moments did not detract from the hard work in rehearsals. They strengthened it, giving a reminder that joy and focus are not opposites.


Moment #6

Play as Character and Imagination

Aldeburgh, late evening

One night in Aldeburgh, we played the “imaginary box” game. An empty box was passed around, imaginary instructions read aloud in French. Inside the box were different objects: a piece of fruit that transformed us into animals, tools that changed our character.

This was play as imagination, as character, and as collective storytelling. It reminded me how easily creativity surfaces when we allow ourselves to believe in something imaginary, together.


Moment #7

Play as Permission

London, R&D workshop & Oxfordshire, National Youth Choir (9-15 Years) spring residential

The R&D workshop for OBEAH was my first time properly sight-singing multiple pieces since university. Sight-singing is a skill that terrifies me and is one of the reasons I stopped singing in university choirs after my first year, despite at the time being a first study singer. Sitting between two confident basses, I felt something shift. Their willingness to make mistakes, and to keep going regardless, was infectious. One of the pieces we read was That’s Where the Dog is Buried, which initially felt daunting. Yet through shared effort, it became playable.

Later, at the 9–15 Spring Residential staff day, a full day of sight-singing felt genuinely fun for the first time. That permission to try, to fail, and to continue is play!

This was play as imagination, as character, and as collective storytelling. It reminded me how easily creativity surfaces when we allow ourselves to believe in something imaginary, together.


Moment #8

Permission to Play

Essex, School Farm Studios 

Recording Permission to Play at School Farm Studios with the Fellowship Ensemble brought many of these threads together. Over three long, back-to-back days of media training, rehearsal, and recording, illness circulated and energy dipped. Permission to Play was the final piece recorded.

Rather than demanding perfection, the piece documented what was already present: resilience, generosity, and playful sound-making even in exhaustion. I hope, like me, you can see that the recording captures that energy, not as a polished object, but as a trace of live practice.



As the Young Composers 7 album is released, I hope listeners hear not just eight individual works, but the moments of play that shaped them. Moments where creativity became shared, where mistakes were allowed, and where music made space for connection.


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