The Resilience Choir, conducted by maestro Hugues Reiner, rehearses weekly in Paris. An ensemble as musically gifted as it is unconventional—made up of both "ordinary" people and those living with physical, mental, or psychic handicaps, or severe social disadvantage.
On a Wednesday evening, the Protestant temple on Rue Cortembert (Paris 16th arrondissement) fills with the voices of Resilience. Tonight's program: Bernstein's Psalms of Chichester, Gounod's Gallia, and Bizet's Te Deum.
After thorough vocal warm-ups, the pieces begin. What makes this choir distinctive? It welcomes everyone. People considered "normal" as well as those with physical, mental, or psychic handicaps—or those facing severe social hardship.
At first, conditioned by the prejudices of the "normal" world, we scan the room with searching eyes. Will they keep pace? How do they experience this music? But within minutes, caught up in the music and the force of the voices, we let go. We surrender to the immense power of the notes.
Why search for difference when it offers us harmony instead? "Psychiatrists believe only in medication or hospitalization," the conductor explains. "They don't think choral singing could be real therapy. But I watched Guillaume—he suffered from personality disorders, was nearly suicidal—and since he started singing, he's come back to life." Indeed, watching Guillaume sing, it seems impossible that his life could once have been so dark. Smiling, intent on finding the right note, eyes fixed on the score, his back curved, his gaze meeting his maestro's, he sings—or rather, he lives. The music transforms his destructive energy into something harmonious.
"I'm the only one allowed to use Braille"
Hugues Reiner pulses with enthusiasm, grows warm, gets impatient, applauds, delights, swears, congratulates. A one-man show whose outbursts make his singers laugh. "This choir is my whole life," Céline, a 41-year-old soprano living with schizophrenia, confides. "Here I feel I'm doing the right thing. Every week, I can't think of anything else but rehearsal."
Pierrik is partially sighted; he performs using Braille scores. "I'm the only one allowed to use Braille," he likes to joke. "Singing frees me and does me enormous good—physically and spiritually," says Ségoléne, 29, who can play piano and guitar but now prefers singing. "But only with others. I don't enjoy singing alone."
The Resilience choirs stake everything on community. Singing together teaches you to listen to others and respect them. "Music therapy is an individual science—it's valuable—but it stays within the doctor-patient relationship," the conductor explains. "In a choir, that distinction disappears. We are all musicians." The ensemble builds strong bonds among its members; friendships flourish. A rare privilege for those living in care facilities. "Seeing handicapped people this happy fills me with enormous joy," a contralto testifies. Those who struggle have lessons to teach us: "Making plans to leave your past behind, transforming present pain into a memory you can live with—or even enjoy—that's the work of resilience," Hugues Reiner adds. "You can never erase your problems. A trace always remains. But you can give them another life. One that's more bearable. Sometimes even more beautiful."
Maylis Guilleier, 2013
From O&L No. 193/2013
"Music shines light into our shadows"
Hugues Reiner founded the Resilience choirs, now active throughout France and many other countries.
How did the Resilience choirs begin?
I was already aware of disability issues—my brother suffers from schizophrenia. But the real catalyst was Thomas Housset, now a pianist. He was going through a dark time and couldn't take it anymore. So I set everything aside. We bought a piano and played together five hours a day. Thomas came back to life.
Does music really heal?
Music shines light into the shadows. Doctors make medical diagnoses; I make musical ones. We succeed where medical approaches offer no hope. We're not in opposition—we're adding weight to the other side of the scale. Every care facility should have pianos and choirs. It's a social necessity.
What role does your faith play?
I was baptized five years ago. My father is Jewish, my mother Catholic. I grew up Protestant. When I lost my job after conducting over 1,500 concerts around the world, my life became empty. A real desert crossing. That's when I met Christ—in a Paris church. Now faith is my engine.
Recorded by M.G.