In a converted synagogue near downtown Los Angeles, more than 100 people who had never met before gathered on a single evening to learn and perform a pop song together. Within hours, they had rehearsed a six-part arrangement of Miley Cyrus's The Climb, sung it three times, and walked away feeling what one participant described as spiritually transcendent.
These one-day choir events are multiplying across the United States and beyond. The Gaia Music Collective, which began during the pandemic in a Brooklyn apartment as a way to foster human connection, has since expanded to multiple cities and brought together thousands of singers. Similar choirs have launched in Toronto, Brisbane, and throughout Europe and Asia. What started as a niche experiment has become a visible movement, with viral TikTok videos of performances like Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten racking up millions of views.
The timing coincides with what the U.S. surgeon general identified in 2023 as a loneliness epidemic. Over the past two decades, Americans have spent less time socializing across all age groups. Participation in religious services, which have historically provided both music and community, has declined sharply. The percentage of Americans attending weekly religious services fell from 42% in the early 2000s to 30% in the early 2020s. Meanwhile, reliable gathering spaces where people can connect outside of work or home have become scarce.
Organizers say participants are hungry for both music-making and genuine human connection. "People are hungry for opportunities to make music, but they're also hungry for opportunities to connect with other people," said Asher Blank, a Gaia conductor and organizer.
At the Los Angeles event, the evening unfolded without traditional instruction. The conductors guided singers through wordless warmups, teaching them to echo vocal patterns. The group then split into parts to tackle the arrangement. Participants described the experience as unexpectedly moving. "You come out of it feeling so high, and so optimistic, and like anything's possible," said Kevin Duffin, 43, who has attended several such events.
The spiritual dimension of the gatherings is unmistakable, even though Gaia has no explicit religious component. One participant, Kristen West, 29, explained the phenomenon: "There's just something so ineffably spiritual about singing with such a large group of people. I think they call it collective effervescence. It's basically what makes church so magical."
For some, the experience directly addresses a void left by stepping away from organized religion. West, who left the church in 2022 and later came out as gay, said she had grieved the loss of collective singing. "When I left organized religion, the act of singing with a collective was something that I really grieved and I really missed. So there was something so healing about having a space like this."
Gaia's song selections reflect this healing purpose. Organizers choose music that resonates broadly, often pop songs with universal messages or personal relevance. The group has performed songs from Broadway musicals like Wicked, contemporary pop like Beyonce's American Requiem, and crowd-friendly anthems. Several performers have been Broadway stars, including Leslie Odom Jr. and Jessica Vosk.
Beyond Gaia, other one-day choirs are weaving social activism into the experience. The Mycelium Choral Project, founded by Kenter Davies, a Gaia alumnus, donates half of each event's proceeds to causes ranging from immigrant advocacy to climate defense to trans youth support. The accompanying songs are selected to match the cause. Mycelium performed Bring Him Home from Les Miserables for immigrant advocacy, Colors of the Wind from Pocahontas for climate defense, and Chappell Roan's Pink Pony Club for trans youth.
Davies says these gatherings help participants build hope and connection through shared vulnerability. He has witnessed transformations over time. One woman who initially sang so quietly she could barely be heard attended repeatedly over a year and a half, eventually becoming visibly more relaxed and at ease with herself. Her family noticed the change too.
The Los Angeles event included moments of structured vulnerability. During breaks, organizers invited singers to call out what was on their minds. Words like "divorce," "downsizing," and "the collapse of democracy" filled the room. Andrea Cammarota, 52, was facing layoffs that week. She described the choir as the perfect antidote: "It was a perfect night to have this beautiful, communal coming together of people of literally every age. The diversity in the room was just so beautiful to look at."
Participants left transformed. One singer, Ayla Rosebarreau, 39, who had been struggling with a difficult travel period, said the choir experience "really pulled me out of that sadness into this extreme, bursting joy." Darcy Calabria, 30, felt it restored "a piece of my soul that was missing."
For many, the experience tapped into something primal about human connection through music. David Goryl, 53, a longtime actor who had lost his community when acting classes petered out during the pandemic, marveled at how quickly strangers became like family. He noted that he would normally ease awkwardness by heading straight to the bar when entering a room full of unfamiliar faces. "But here it was: hey, introduce yourself. We're immediately trying to create something beautiful."
Author James Rodriguez: "One-day choirs fill a real gap in American life, and the fact that they're exploding says everything about how starved people are for genuine connection and shared purpose."
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