It never rains but it pours, the old saying goes.

I’m not talking about the weather, but I could be. It’s been an unrelentingly miserable start to winter. If days like these don’t make you want to crawl back under the doona, I don’t know what will.

But I was actually referring to music. As a child of a bygone era, I used to find out about new music listening to the radio (thanks RRR and JJJ) or reading reviews in music mags but nowadays, I’m more likely to stumble across new sounds via Instagram, by email or the occasional mention in The Guardian.

How ever it comes, it feels like there’s been a deluge of new music this past month: Father John Misty, Wilco, Jack White, Angel Olsen, Kevin Morby, The Delines, Madi Diaz, Marlon Williams … some of it is newly released, some of it is new to me. I’m happy to take it where (and when) I find it.

There’s plenty of times I find myself playing music from another time and place, because there’s comfort in the knowing and the memories. Like pulling on an old favourite pair of jeans, it fits you and there’s reassurance in that. But then there’s something thrilling about finding new music that connects to how you’re feeling or opens a door to a new place you never realised existed.

Speaking of opening new doors, last weekend I went to a singing workshop and I can tell you, I was way out of my comfort zone. I’m not a performer and while I might sing happily at home, singing with, or in front of others is not my idea of fun. But there I was, spending my day off in a room full of strangers, learning to sing songs I didn’t particularly like.

It was a workshop with the Australian Women’s Choir. Around 30 members of the choir teamed up with 25 or so locals and spent five hours singing. My friend Sally, who sings like a bird, embraced the whole experience, diving in, heart on her sleeve and singing out loud – and proud. It took me a lot longer to relax into it. But what was wonderful was watching similar responses play out across the whole room. Whether they were experienced choir members, or newbies at the workshop – some people were enthusiastic, dramatic and loud, while others hung back and sang their parts without any show. But in the end, everyone sang, and smiled.

There’s something about letting go of your fears and letting your voice come out and being part of something bigger … that makes you feel wonderful. By the end of the day my voice was crackling, and I was spent. I also had more respect than ever for musicians who get up night after night and sing their hearts out for an audience. What a gift they share and how hard they work to make it seem so effortless.

Music really does communicate at a different level.

That night I slept like a baby.