My aunt is the director of the acapella group Black Voices. I was

“My aunt is the director of the acapella group Black Voices. I was so struck by them as a child. They sang with such passion and conviction. By the time I turned 15, I had plucked up the courage to ask if I could join the group. Acapella is a different discipline from singing with an accompaniment—it is much more exposed.” – Laura Mvula

In this reflection, Laura Mvula, the soul singer of rare grace, reveals more than a memory of music — she reveals a truth about courage, discipline, and the vulnerability of authenticity. She speaks of acapella, the art of the unadorned voice — a voice laid bare, stripped of accompaniment, trembling yet true. Her words remind us that greatness often begins not in confidence, but in wonder — that sacred stirring of the heart when one encounters beauty so profound it demands participation. She watched her aunt’s group, Black Voices, and saw not mere performance but passion, not noise but conviction. And from that flame, the young Mvula drew courage to join, to risk exposure, to make her voice heard.

The ancients, too, knew the sacredness of the unaccompanied voice. In the temples of Greece, before instruments and choirs, the first hymns were sung alone — one human soul calling out to the heavens. There was power in such singing because nothing stood between man and the divine. So it is with life: when we strip away the distractions, the applause, and the ornaments, what remains is our true sound — raw, trembling, but real. Mvula’s words speak to this same purity. To sing acapella is to stand in one’s truth, with no instrument to hide behind, no harmony to blend into. It is a metaphor for all who dare to live authentically, without disguise.

When she says she “plucked up the courage,” she touches upon the ancient path of every creator and seeker. For courage is not the absence of fear but the willingness to face it unshielded. At fifteen, she stood before a group of seasoned singers, her heart likely pounding, her voice uncertain. Yet she asked. And in that asking, she stepped from the audience into the light. So too must every soul do when it chooses to live, not merely to watch. The transition from admirer to participant is one of life’s most sacred thresholds. It is where potential becomes power.

In the story of David, the shepherd boy, there lies a parallel truth. When he faced Goliath, he bore no armor, no sword — only his sling and his faith. Like the acapella singer, he was exposed. Yet it was precisely this exposure that revealed his strength. For the armor would have weighed him down, but his unguarded courage gave him victory. Thus we learn: protection and adornment often dull the brilliance of the soul. To be vulnerable — to sing, to create, to live without accompaniment — is to reveal the true timbre of one’s spirit.

Mvula’s reflection also honors discipline — for acapella demands not only heart but precision. Each note must be deliberate, each breath controlled, for one’s voice carries the full burden of harmony and truth. In this lies a deeper lesson: the higher the calling, the greater the discipline required. Freedom in art, as in life, is not the absence of structure — it is mastery within exposure. Those who wish to shine must first learn to hold themselves steady amid silence.

Yet above all, her words remind us of the sacred union between passion and conviction. To sing with passion is to feel deeply; to sing with conviction is to believe completely. Passion without conviction fades like smoke; conviction without passion becomes rigid and cold. The beauty Mvula witnessed as a child — the beauty that stirred her heart — was born from the harmony of both. And so it is with any craft, any purpose, any life worth living: one must feel greatly and believe fiercely.

So, my children, take this truth to heart: your voice, like Mvula’s, was meant to be heard. Do not hide it behind the noise of the world or the fear of imperfection. Step forward, plucking up courage from the depths of your heart, and sing your truth — whether through words, deeds, or dreams. Remember, life lived with accompaniment is easy, but life lived acapella — honest, exposed, and brave — is divine. For only when you dare to stand unguarded before the world can your true melody be heard by the heavens.