One of Singapore’s major attractions is the Night Safari, a “nocturnal zoo”. Unlike other zoos I’ve been to, this one doesn’t open until it’s good and dark and the different habitats are then lit to make them visible. News flash: it’s hot in the jungle during the day, meaning lots of animals are really active at night when it’s nicer out. You start the evening with a tram tour to give you the lay of the land (a 300-pound tapir strolled onboard at one point, the “harmless” beasties just wander around) and then you’re on your own strolling dimly lit paths from place to place. Spooky. The path to where the lions hang out goes around a bend so you don’t see them until you’re fairly close and the deep moat that separates you from them isn’t visible because there’s grass on the edge of it. As I was walking around that bend and noticing the pride lounging under a tree with nothing separating us but 75 feet of nothing, one of the males let fly with a full-on MGM logo roar that rattled the entire world.

No, the hairs did not stand up on the back of neck…each individual one grabbed its own follicle and launched itself, heading for the parking lot. I was absolutely frozen in place. Now I’m a reasonably intelligent guy (hey…you in the back…stop laughing) and I was well aware that there was something separating me from my new friend Simba, but it didn’t matter. That little voice in my head? It was REALLY loud, explaining in no uncertain terms that 1) that was a lion, 2) he was hungry and 3) I was made out of food. “Fight or flight” was immediately abandoned in favor of “Flight or Flight Faster”. The whole exercise in primitive panic lasted only a moment, which felt like minutes, and I was able to gather up all of my neck hair and spend some time appreciating the awesome big cats, but it was an interesting education to go back over what had just happened and realize that my reaction was primal and totally out of my control. So much for civilized man…we’re still made out of food.

There are countless reactions that slam their way into your head that you have no choice but to embrace and go along with. Panic, fear and self-preservation are pretty high on the list, but there are others more subtle and many that are wonderful. Chicken skin is a great example. Assuming you’re not outside freezing, it’s brought on by an intense emotion and you can’t just turn it on or off. When a piece of music grabs you deeply the goosebumps appear and, for my money, make the reaction even deeper. When a piece of music touches your heart, the lump that forms in your throat isn’t something you can turn off either.

There’s also a reaction when a piece of music inspires or energizes you. An involuntary shot of adrenaline gets injected into your bloodstream when you hear something powerful or moving or funny. Try to sit stoically when the “Hallelujah Chorus” cranks up. Try to scowl and keep your heartrate steady when the “William Tell Overture” comes a-flying. Do NOT smile when Monty Python’s “Always Look On the Bright Side of Life” or our favorite scarecrow’s “If I Only Had a Brain” starts.

Can’t do it, can you? Me neither. More than anything else I know, music has the ability to touch every sense, pull every string, slap and caress and inspire and upset you. It touches that same primal place that the lion’s roar can find (minus the fear of being eaten and the traitorous retreat of neck hair) and has been doing that since the first time somebody hit a rock with a stick in rhythm.

As a singer, especially a choral singer, you have all of this at your beck and call, amplified by the force of your numbers. 110 people can take a hint of something special and turn it into a shout and THAT is what concerts can do when everything clicks. I have a dear friend who started crying thirty seconds into the “Misa Criolla” and didn’t really get completely over it for a couple of days. You have that power.

So go ahead. Roar a little.