tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7679737413516869762024-03-05T22:06:30.661-08:00My View From the Choir LoftSopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-4314351017868405082012-12-23T13:51:00.000-08:002012-12-23T13:51:05.787-08:00Strings are the thing<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCsClv8HhDsoRcLFDuRASXQ177TG0m1Kib7FWzBKBFMYyZQ5sPLnSgfkOTmyGvyRvgdFkNd8OhCBALqFMYPbRbhgm3DYaFnkIAEQmDO2s7STjKRqBrszmss0WiPkHpIER5G_hE3gK-tI/s1600/flourish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCsClv8HhDsoRcLFDuRASXQ177TG0m1Kib7FWzBKBFMYyZQ5sPLnSgfkOTmyGvyRvgdFkNd8OhCBALqFMYPbRbhgm3DYaFnkIAEQmDO2s7STjKRqBrszmss0WiPkHpIER5G_hE3gK-tI/s200/flourish.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flourish by Brad Cook on 500px<br />
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For me, Christmas music has been made by hearing or singing in concert accompanied by brass instruments. There's just something about singing "Joy to the World" or "O Come All Ye Faithful" with trumpets, French horns, trombones, and timpani. I look forward to the sounds of brass instruments every year, ushering in Christmas with a full forte of sound.<br />
This year, I have not heard any brass. No performance with which I participated nor concert that I attended had any brass accompaniment. This year, it has all been about strings. Our Christmas Sunday morning service of carols was full of beautiful familiar carols, (ones I am used to singing with brass accompaniment,) wonderfully arranged for strings. The fullness of the sound was, in turn, both lyric and percussive, rich and deep, and brought all the 'Christmas sound' I could ever hope. I watched as these talented musicians bowed and plucked, feeling the music with their entire selves, eyebrows raised, moving in time, playing the expressions, filling the room with their sounds. I sang, too, matching their expressiveness to my own, finding Christmas in every carol.<br />
I'm a bit surprised at myself that I didn't feel my Christmas musical experiences lacking by not hearing brass instruments. I am finding, however, that sometimes it is not how the music comes to us, big brass horns, strings sweet and strong, or voices harmonious and true, it is simply that the music does come. Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-46902599114268096412012-12-13T09:41:00.000-08:002012-12-27T15:58:27.383-08:00Time Out for a Jazz KingI was saddened last week to hear of the passing of jazz great, Dave Brubeck. I'm not going to share his biography here; it's extensive and found all over the Internet. Google him, and you'll get more that a million hits, including his own website, <a href="http://davebrubeck.com/">DaveBrubeck.com</a>.<br />
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I got to see him in concert 10 years ago. He came to Emory in Atlanta to do a workshop with students there, and gave two evening performances; one with the students singing and playing, and the next night, it was just him with his jazz quartet. The quartet concert was the one I attended. I was amazed at this man's artistry and pure joy of music. He was 81 or 82 at the time, and was assisted to his seat at the piano. That was the last time during the evening that I though about his age. As soon as his fingers hit the keys, his face lit up, his hands moved with speed and accuracy, and the pure thrill of music poured out of him. It washed over those of us listening, and we were caught up in his joy. <br />
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I didn't know much about jazz music until I met my husband. I mean, I knew the term, but it wasn't something I experienced with any knowledge or thought. My dear man, who grew up in Mississippi and did midnight runs to New Orleans to soak up music in the clubs, began teaching me about his favorite jazz musicians. Chet Baker, Art Pepper, Modern Jazz Quartet, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn, Carmen McCrae, Duke Ellington, Gilberto, Jobim, and Dave Brubeck all became part of my genre definition. The first time I heard the album Time Out, I was swept away by its sound, style, and for me, magic. I guess I have become a West Coast Jazz kind of girl. The Brubeck sound was definitely a huge contributor to that distinct style. <br />
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Perhaps the most recognizable piece associated with Brubeck (actually written by alto saxophonist, Paul Desmond, a member of the Dave Brubeck Quartet) is "Take Five." The lilting, lifting, soaring sax and unusual 5/4 time signature captures imagination. It is one of the reasons Time Out went platinum, the first ever jazz genre album to do so. However, much as I love all of Time Out, I have another favorite Brubeck piece. Many don't know that he composed choral sacred music. His jazz modern Catholic Mass "To Hope" is interesting, but may not be for everyone. Within this Mass, he composed a simple mezzo soprano solo that has been tugging at me ever since I heard it on Marian McPharland's radio show interview with Brubeck several years ago. "The Desert and the Parched Land" is a direct quote from one of my favorite passages of Scripture, Isaiah 35: "Strengthen the hands that are feeble, make firm the knees that are weak. Say to those that are frightened: Fear not, be strong, here is your God." To me, the simplicity of the accompaniment, the beautiful lifting to the final 'here is your God" moves me in ways I can't explain. I can, and have, listen to it over and over again. Maybe someday I'll get to perform it. It will take effort to do without becoming overwhelmed.<br />
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So, thank you, Dave, for your talent, innovation, insight, spirit, and pure joy of music. We will listen, remember, and be thankful while our toes tap, fingers drum, and heads bob to your cool jazz.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-9022021126373604262012-12-03T12:14:00.001-08:002012-12-03T12:14:44.590-08:00Moved by the Music<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuqdubqtottGtazzcpJyiwWK4aVwivO5q34SLkdrU1ZDVZ6eulKgcpDXczwKjipnIX9DuBjcSg3DJoYNXNUZk6AAxTy298348PTNp_BhkQvQmS7Tqu6l_xsbpRFKu6_WfqzZRXW2Ldpo/s1600/holly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuqdubqtottGtazzcpJyiwWK4aVwivO5q34SLkdrU1ZDVZ6eulKgcpDXczwKjipnIX9DuBjcSg3DJoYNXNUZk6AAxTy298348PTNp_BhkQvQmS7Tqu6l_xsbpRFKu6_WfqzZRXW2Ldpo/s200/holly.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Yesterday the choir with which I sing performed its annual Christmas concert. The concert has traditionally been scheduled for the first Sunday of December, which fell a bit early this year. The concert was a wonderful time of singing some glorious arrangements of favorite carols, sharing some not so familiar beautiful carols, and having fun with some unusual songs and special arrangements. At one point during the concert, the audience was invited to stand and participate in a sing-a-long of a few much loved secular Christmas songs. This year, I missed one rehearsal prior to the performance, and apparently, that was when the sing along pieces were discussed. No one was given a musical score, just lyrics on a paper to be tucked into the music folder. So, I grabbed mine at the last minute, and honestly, didn't look at it very closely. During the concert, when it came time, I slid the lyric sheet out of the folder pocket, and prepared to sing along. The first song was "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." I love this song; it's one of my favorites. As we sang, and I looked out over the sea of smiling faces singing with me, I got very emotional. Tears came, not that I was sad really, but overwhelmed. It took me well into "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" to compose myself. I felt a bit silly, but the emotion sticks with me even now.<br />
I'm not sure why I was suddenly struck by that one song. Granted, I grew up in the North and have memories of many white Christmas' there. Now that I live in the South, I miss the winter experience during the holidays. I mean, it was 72 degrees outside at concert time. So maybe it was thinking of my folks and Christmas' past. Then there were all those people standing and participating with such joy, hugging and singing with their children, spouses, families, and friends. It's a precious feeling, celebrating with people you love. So, I did think about my folks, 1,000 miles away, and my husband, who couldn't be there that afternoon, and about how much music they have given to me. It was probably a combination of these and other things that ran through my mind.<br />
I find it interesting how effective music is in evoking emotional and physical responses. Sometimes, we don't even realize that it's happening. I have my 'go to' music when I want to be energized, comforted, encouraged, relaxed, or motivated. There's my blue funk music, my distraction music, my 'sing at the top of your lungs' music, my 'car trip' music, and my 'gosh, that's georgous' music. But I am amazed by the times when music catches me off guard, and simply revel in the experience of it. I wonder when I will get to feel it again.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-22782504782134050022012-11-21T15:14:00.000-08:002012-11-21T15:14:00.276-08:00Spirit LiftedIt's been way too long since I've been here. Once again, I think of things to write all the time, but haven't taken the time to sit down and put fingers to the keyboard. I only have myself to blame. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZhY7UziaTml-b6MkPz3YGbr2aFPwE8SPDJhzxLZ7YBMSx7kGcAmSNStQ0ofaHzyn1gjKa5LAGAVn3IiRVN6W1CYsylxf280HRwCbq3BogrPL8_mV0mZnnRzd9uYF8eAt-X_ZDCsIhTo/s1600/blue+notes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZhY7UziaTml-b6MkPz3YGbr2aFPwE8SPDJhzxLZ7YBMSx7kGcAmSNStQ0ofaHzyn1gjKa5LAGAVn3IiRVN6W1CYsylxf280HRwCbq3BogrPL8_mV0mZnnRzd9uYF8eAt-X_ZDCsIhTo/s200/blue+notes.jpg" width="200" /></a>It has been a weird year. I sang a lot up until May. We had a fabulous season finale concert that just blew me away. Then there was a very long summer of not many musical commitments at all. I was laid off from my job late in the summer. Suddenly, I again was struggling with how to define myself. Those feelings of poor self worth, sadness, frustration, and yes, loneliness bubbled back to the surface. Music became my lifeline. Right as my job ended, rehearsals started. I battled with myself about going to rehearsals. Not because I didn't want to sing, I did. I would allow myself to get wrapped up by the bad feelings and frustrating experiences of the day. But then I would pick up my music bag, point the car in the direction of the rehearsal space, and my spirits would begin to lift. As I began making music with my fellow choristers, I was refreshed and encouraged. I'm sure there is science to explain all about why that happens; very brainy technical science about endorphins and physical expression and such. All I know is, singing has gotten me through some difficult days, and on this eve of Thanksgiving, I am eternally grateful for it. Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-4944550958554669942012-02-19T17:38:00.000-08:002012-02-19T17:38:53.444-08:00For the love of MusicAt a time of the year when thoughts of many turn to love, I am in the final days of rehearsing for upcoming performances. It's exciting and exhausting, frustrating and exhilarating all at once. I mean, when I get in the car to make the long drive to rehearsal for the third time in a week, I almost have to force myself to make the trip. Why am I doing this? I say to myself all the way there. Then I arrive, the music making begins, and I am caught up in it again. It's so difficult to explain. There are always things that need to be worked on, fixed, adjusted, refined. But there are also those moments that mesh, gel, or find just the right expression that keep me wanting to do it again.<br />
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As choralists, we are always reaching for our best performance, If we ever think we've reached it, we set the bar higher, knowing that the music has more to give us, and we have to discover it. Why do we do it? It's love, of course. Music fascinates and stirs us, emotional creatures that we are. We go back to it again and again, relying on our experiences with it as well as searching for new ways to express it. That's the love of the music; the relationship we develop with it, the pieces of ourselves we pour into it, the joy we gain from it, and the memories we create with it.<br />
To life, to love, to music…Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-8171972665484911442012-01-03T18:28:00.000-08:002012-01-03T20:01:52.235-08:00Music's Silence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDcFYenT2Zcv-nuwTIctSoH9fxwL-bjRENdpQ7YxvsyZLPTIG14ZU82MHRNqhsLxaSXjq9YNJIfNi94c2N8kc9BmU8x5hDiAp4MzIm-rwoeMCtlqZqUyNam8ZHCPb6dmuwrxy1t1GY4U/s1600/Enjoy+the+Silence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDcFYenT2Zcv-nuwTIctSoH9fxwL-bjRENdpQ7YxvsyZLPTIG14ZU82MHRNqhsLxaSXjq9YNJIfNi94c2N8kc9BmU8x5hDiAp4MzIm-rwoeMCtlqZqUyNam8ZHCPb6dmuwrxy1t1GY4U/s320/Enjoy+the+Silence.jpg" width="320" /></a>I am becoming addicted to Pintrest. I can sit for hours and look at all the wonderful things other people have found on the Internet. This image grabbed my attention and I was fascinated. I know there is a popular song out there with this title, but that's not what came to mind. Last summer, the pastor at my church suggested an experiment. We were to sit in silence for a full sixty seconds. No music, no one else talking, no reading the hymn book or bulletin, just listen to silence. When the time had passed, the remainder of the conversation was about how uncomfortable that made us feel. How many of us felt a strong urge to fill the silence with something "valuable." How panicked some of us felt for "wasting time." We all smiled a bit painfully. Are our lives ever really silent? How many of us can't even fall asleep without some sound machine running? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">As choralists, we catch ourselves rushing the rests. So anxious to get to the next note. I have to laugh at myself sometimes when I glance down at a instrumentalists' score and see, in some cases, measures upon measures of rests. How do they do that? Are you making music if you are counting rests for half a movement? What about that big rest right before the last dramatic cord of a piece? How hard is it to allow the director complete control of that happening, balancing ourselves between being ready to sing and not jumping in and having an unintended solo? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">For me, there is another side to music's silence. Several years ago, I re auditioned for a chorus I had sung with for years and was not invited to return. No reason, no real communication, just thank you and so long. I felt silenced. I lost my confidence and wondered if choral music would ever welcome my voice again. It was a feeling of abandonment and grief. I struggled to define myself without it. There was a period of silence for me. Happily, I did find my way again, a stronger and wise person for allowing the silence to heal me, refresh me, teach me. Silence once again gave way to the music.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>So you try it. That's right. Just sit there for sixty seconds. Don't talk, don't read, turn off whatever is making noise, and listen for silence. Do you hear it? Can you find the calm? Is there music in it? Enjoy the silence. The music is all the sweeter for it. <br />
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</div>Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-35416671674449738782011-10-25T16:00:00.000-07:002011-10-25T17:41:13.204-07:00Inspiration Found<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdZhxLMgYHTqcq7UKNb66JubzPkSL8MnQl22dfXVXl0RdIRV0YmQCMY4YhfNNTsSVuC5P6XcuyqWI36-jllcrjlIET47iAN8rKRZzuts6XFfIn_X6QNBBWj9r2Xa4gK68Q3DmsNfppTk/s1600/IMG_0933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdZhxLMgYHTqcq7UKNb66JubzPkSL8MnQl22dfXVXl0RdIRV0YmQCMY4YhfNNTsSVuC5P6XcuyqWI36-jllcrjlIET47iAN8rKRZzuts6XFfIn_X6QNBBWj9r2Xa4gK68Q3DmsNfppTk/s320/IMG_0933.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steinway exhibit at Musical Instrument Museum, Phoenix, AZ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Several weeks ago, my husband and I took our Fall vacation. With work scheduling conflicts and deadlines that kept changing, even getting ready for vacation was fairly stressful. Everything finally straightened itself out and off we went. This year, we chose Arizona. We love the west, and, as Greg had spent some time in Phoenix for work, he wanted to go back for leisure. It was a nice trip, and we were able to do everything we had hoped and planned for. <br />
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While I was planning for the trip, I researched things to do in Phoenix. We only had 2 days there before our other plans took us north, so I wanted to fit in the best and most unique things that the city had to offer. I found information about a new museum that had only been open for 18 months or so. <a href="http://www.themim.org/">The Musical Instrument Museum</a> offered an experience of sight and sound and I told my husband this was a MUST visit for our list. <br />
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Our visit to MIM was an experience I'll not soon forget. First, it's a big, gorgeous building that draws you in. The staff was friendly and welcoming. And then we began to wander through the exhibits, drinking in the music with our eyes and ears. You see, upon arrival at the museum, visitors are given a headset. The exhibits are fitted with wireless transmitters, so you hear the sounds of the instrument you are looking at. There are so many instruments on display from so many countries! I was almost overwhelmed with so much to see. The photo above is of my favorite exhibit; a Steinway piano, deconstructed, hung from the ceiling. It was so amazing to stand in front of it and feel a new perspective of the instrument wash over me. <br />
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I was struck by a thought as I went from room to room, seeing exhibits from Africa to Asia to Europe to North America, and so many countries along the way. How did all of these places with all of these different peoples, who never met or knew of each other, bring music to being? I could hear differences in how sounds were used and interpreted from place to place. But I could also see that every place had instruments similar in design. There was always a flute or whistle or reed type mouth blown instrument, from the wooden nose flute of one African country to the intricate metal flutes of Europe, to the pipes and horns of Israel. (Yes, I saw and heard a real ram horn, and was immediately transported to Jericho!) There was always a stringed instrument, from the lovely mother-of-pearl inlaid lutes of the Middle East, to the seed-pod single stringed instruments of Africa, to the modern Gibson guitar of the US. There was always a drum, from the djembe to the steel drums of the Islands, to the huge square drum used in the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, China signed by the gentleman that played it that day. How did we all find these tools; instruments that expressed our thoughts, our feelings, shared our celebrations, our sorrows, and gave voice to our devotion of the Divine? How did we know that making these sounds, combining them with each other and with our own voices would lift us to another plane of humanity? <br />
This experience put my ideas of music and instruments to a whole other place. I will not look at or hear another instrument in the same way again. I am amazed and awed at the glorious gift that is music. It is in our blood, in our beings, in our souls, and will not be silenced.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-39035224404768635192011-08-18T14:35:00.000-07:002011-11-08T13:19:00.356-08:00Singing with the Girls<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All through school, I participated in anything where I could sing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did parent teacher nights at school, church services, conferences, weddings, or just about any other opportunity I could to sing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of my fondest memories stem from high school when I sang in a girl’s quartet. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The four of us were selected specifically to sing one song for an annual competition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We already knew each other and were friends, (it was a very small private school) but this went beyond the usual day- to- day high school interaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had lots of special rehearsals, and we sang that one piece together for every occasion that school year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day, I can still sing my part in my sleep!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learned about each other’s voices, what made us sound good, how to support each other musically, and when we needed a rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This ‘togetherness’ spilled over into other parts of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember being on a bus, probably going on a field trip, learning the words to a popular tune of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we had the melody down, we started adding harmonies, riffing off each other’s improvisations, and we sang that song all the way home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can still feel the excitement when one of us added a cool note, or when a harmony hit just right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the end of the ride, everyone else on the bus was probably really tired of that song, but we were having such a great time, we wanted to keep singing. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The four of us did a lot of things together that year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shopped for our competition dresses together, took a Saturday trip to Vermont together, worried about boys together, and yes, we took first place in the annual competition together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our reward from the school was we took a 2 day trip to Boston with our teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The highlight of the trip was touring the USS Constitution, “Old Ironsides”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As mentioned, we did attend a private school, and even on this trip, we all wore our school uniforms, so we attracted a bit of attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the sailors asking us why we were dressed alike, and we replied with school and we were a girl’s quartet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That intrigued them so they asked us to sing right there on the ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We </span>sang our competition song for our tour guide sailors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were on the bottom deck, so our voices rose up and echoed throughout the ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we finished singing, sailors from every part of the ship had heard us and came rushing down to see what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was such a thrill to see their faces as we sang on the historic old ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our song that we had sung together all year seemed selected just for them.</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“From every stormy wind that blows,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From every swelling tide of woes,<br />
There is a calm, a sure retreat—<br />
'Tis found beneath the mercy seat. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a place where Jesus sheds<br />
The oil of gladness on our heads,<br />
A place than all besides more sweet—<br />
It is the blood-bought mercy seat. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt -0.1in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There is a scene where spirits blend,<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Where friend holds fellowship with friend;<br />
Though sundered far, by faith they meet<br />
Around one common mercy seat.”</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 160%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 160%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although we don’t see each other much anymore, these girls and I stay in touch through the social media outlets available these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Music continues to be a big part of our lives and we are blessed to be able to share it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The songs that we sang together still come to me at times, making me smile with joy at the memories,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and inspire me to keep singing.</span></span></span></span></div>Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-1295877344825158342011-06-29T20:09:00.000-07:002011-06-29T20:09:36.251-07:00The Genre EffectIf you have been a part of a choral group for any length of time, you have probably seen a parade of choral pieces pass through your performance folder, as I have. Some might be familiar, others new and interesting, but not all of them are going to be to our musical taste, in our vocal wheelhouse, or even what we like listening to. For example, I find it difficult to sing pieces that require an English boy choir sound; straight tone, clear, and light. I find them beautiful, but it is an effort to keep the vibrato in check and to lighten up enough to blend with the lighter voices that carry these kind of pieces. I don't care for country music, either. I find the harmonies predictable, vowels horribly executed, and each song sounds pretty much like the previous one. <br />
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Recently, the community chorus with which I have been singing prepared an American music themed concert. Not entirely patriotic, but music that is readily associated with America and American culture. One in particular was definitely not to my liking. It was an old mountain song, arranged in the style of a country hoe-down. It even had clapping, stomping, and "hee-haw's" written into the score. Theatrical, to say the least. With my theatre background, I should have played it up happily, but I probably didn't give it my best. Funny thing is, after each performance, that was one of the pieces most mentioned by the audience members as something they really enjoyed hearing. <br />
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On the same concert, the chorus did another piece that none of the choristers liked upon the first read through. It was unpredictable, didn't seem to have a melody, and the harmonies were strange. Even the accompaniment didn't seem to have much in common with the choral parts. It was a real struggle to learn, and the piece took a while to come to terms with. But with the work came an understanding of it, a feel for it, and we began to enjoy it. The piece became one of our favorites of the season, and was probably the best piece of the concert series.<br />
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So, what to do when the director presents us with a selection that isn't to our liking or taste? Gasp in horror? Whisper to your choral neighbor how much you despise this particular genre/composer/style? Sigh, and decide to 'soldier through it', plodding as you go? Sadly, one of these is probably our first reaction. However, I've been discovering that perhaps we should be looking for the gem we can appreciate in every piece we perform. It may be something quite small; a turn of phrase, the one pleasing chord, the simplicity of unison, or notes sung clearly and true. Whatever it is, embrace it gladly, and let that one thing carry your joy of singing throughout the piece. It will amaze and surprise you. You may never find the piece to your liking overall, but rejoice in knowing you have given your very best, and the music is all the better for it.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-47547917305026627532011-05-03T20:07:00.000-07:002011-11-08T13:24:48.858-08:00The Instrument WithinI hate to admit it, but my mother was right. When I was in middle school, she tried to give me piano lessons. You would think that, being an elementary school teacher, the task would have been simple for her. But I was stubborn and lazy, didn't want to practice, and was right in the middle of the 'everything your parents say is stupid' phase. So, I never learned to play the piano, or any other instrument for that matter. Once she realized that I wasn't taking to her lessons as expected, she told me I would regret it one day, and she was so right. Sigh. Now I love instrumentalists and their talent and dedication, but I'm a bit envious, too. That shiny brass of a trumpet or the gleaming wood of a viola attracts my senses, and the wonderful sounds they can produce melts my heart like nothing else. <br />
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As singers and choralists, we have an instrument. Not a thing we pick up and blow, pluck, or strike. It's carried within our bodies, undefined as a visual shape, the voice we produce through the physical beings we are. We study it, rehearse it, test it, stretch it, and provide for it's every need to the best of our ability. We use the whole of our senses to control it, improve it, free it, and search for that balance that will share it's best features to the listening world. <br />
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Sadly, one of the hardest things we suffer is we personalize it. Not that we shouldn't, mind you; the voice is the most intimate of instruments, literally a part of us. But how do we separate ourselves as a person from the instrument we carry within? How do we take direction, correction, critical instruction without assuming these things as affronts against ourselves as a person?<br />
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I am slowly learning several things, perhaps the hard way, about this very process. I am sure that I will never fully be able to make the separation, but there are some things to remember and take to heart. Remember, the director has goals and expectations for their choir. Listen to what the director is asking for with a discerning ear. A critique of your section is not a diatribe on you. Know your role within the group, and you will understand how to respond pleasingly. Know your limitations and keep within your strengths. I don't mean don't stretch yourself and try new techniques as directed, but if you are a high boy soprano, and the director is asking for a deeper darker sound, there is only so much you can do without being uncomfortable or causing harm. Back off in those spots; there are others that can do that work. And they can't do what you can. That is the beauty of putting all of these glorious vocal instruments together. It's building an orchestra without the hardware. Every instrument has it's place, shines out at times, and supports at others. Revel in it, learn from it, keep playing that instrument and sing!Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-59151249309195005632011-03-04T19:01:00.000-08:002011-03-04T19:01:38.632-08:00The Diva Confession<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You probably don't need a history lesson on where the term 'diva' comes from, but maybe a little explanation wouldn't hurt. Diva was an Italian term used to describe a woman of outstanding talent in opera. As it became commonly used in the English language, it was also applied to a highly talented woman in any music genre, theatre, or dance and is very closely related in definition to the term 'prima donna'. It has become a term with rather negative connotations used to describe anyone who flaunts their self-importance in a demanding and unreasonable manner. Talented? Yes. But are they easy to live with? No!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was just starting out in college, I got involved in the choral scene on campus. At the time, the requirement was to sing in the University Chorus for a semester, then one was free to try out for any of the three audition choirs. I did just that, and as soon as my semester in University Chorus was completed, I decided to audition for the mixed ensemble. I did audition well, but they had this questionnaire to fill out, which I considered rather silly and pretentious. So I scribbled some answers to the questions without much thought, believing I was being amusing, saying, in essence, I wanted to join the group because they needed me. The real meaning behind a tossed off comment like that was that I desperately wanted to be needed, especially by those choralists I admired. But its no surprise that my comments didn't go over well, as the audition committee took the questionnaire very seriously. I didn't get into the group that year, (I did reaudition and got in the following year) but I learned a valuable lesson. Music making is wonderful and fun, but it can be a serious business. Acting 'diva' wasn't going to do me favors if I wanted to be taken seriously as a singer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The experience I had all that time ago has enlightened my choral experiences since. I have been thinking about the word 'diva' lately, so I looked it up. Interestingly, I re-discovered that the Italian word 'diva' has a literal translation of 'diety.' God-like. Divine Being. Hmmmm. I believe that music is a gift from God, my ability to sing is a gift from God as well, and when I sing, I am filled with the Spirit of God, and I share the gift with everyone that hears. I am embodied by the Divine without which I could not do what I am able to do. Looked at in this light, I think I am ok with being a diva. One who knows where she came from, what she wants to do today, and is open to the glorious experiences still to come. </span>Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-17511561701845063432011-02-05T09:32:00.000-08:002011-02-07T20:19:14.237-08:00The Think MethodI am disappointed in myself. It was my intention to write at least every week. I see, however, that it has been over a month since I have posted any thought. I have been thinking about what I had to say, but thinking and doing, of course, are two very different things. It reminds me of 'The Music Man" in which the Professor teaches music using the 'Think Method". If you haven't seen the film (really?) a scam artist convinces a town that he can teach their children how to play band instruments just by thinking about playing them. We find this humorous and ridiculous; one cannot take a short cut to learning anything skillful and worthwhile. Yet, truth be told, we find ourselves chasing short cuts, hoping to find the quickest way to accomplish a goal or fulfill a dream. <br />
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This is probably the reason I cannot watch the hugely popular TV show, "American Idol". Sure, some of the contestants are skilled and have worked with determination to hone their craft, studied, and have kept their sights towards their goals. I believe, however, that a greater majority think they have something marketable and expect they deserve to have it all handed to them. It's an unfortunate representation of society today. There are instances where talent truly "is discovered" and it is a wonderful happenstance when it occurs. More often that not, though, we want the big prize for little or no effort. <br />
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As choralists, we find ourselves surrounded by multiple levels of talent and skill, all with different goals in mind. Some are there simply for the pleasure of music, and don't expect to have to work or study very much. Some may view their participation as a stepping stone to something else; individual successes or networking for more prestigious roles. Some are completely involved in the task at hand, and are concerned with what they can learn and contribute right where they are. This is the group to which all others should aspire. To accept the job of being a choralist means commitment and work. To the director, this is the path to a better and more accomplished choir. To the choralist, this is the path to a better and more accomplished individual. What could one discover about oneself while taking the talent of music to new levels by rehearsing, studying, working, reaching, and committing to being the best possible? It is within our grasp, but is it within us to reach for it? Like in the children's story "The Little Engine that Could", I say, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...."Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-88281586394705304532010-12-28T13:46:00.000-08:002011-02-07T20:24:42.720-08:00Holiday Music MemoriesAlong with all the things that have become traditional in my home, each year, my husband and I try to get a new Christmas CD to add to our Christmas music collection. This year, it was Pink Martini's "Joy to the World", which really is a wonderful collection of some standards and some not-so-standard songs of the holidays. Several pieces are sung in languages I don't speak or understand (hooray for great liner notes!), but the spirit and emotion of Christmas joy are evident in each selection.<br />
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Growing up, my traditional Christmas expectations were a bit different than they are today. We always went to my mother's parents home, where, along with my aunt and the cousins, we started our celebration by singing Christmas carols together. My mother played the piano, and we all made requests to sing our favorites. If I close my eyes, I can see the wood of the old upright piano, smell the scent of the fresh pine from the tree cut from my grandparent's farm, adorned with handmade ornaments cut from old Christmas cards, and hear the blend of the cousin's voices as they harmonized with my lead. Today, both grandparents are in heaven along with my aunt, the cousins have scattered to other places, and we don't see each other anymore. <br />
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My best memory is more closely held, and only involved my parents and my brother. Every Christmas Eve, dad got out the film strip machine and mom pulled out a special record from the Hi-Fi storage box. Then we turned off the lights, and we had our own multi-media presentation of the Christmas story. The record was the reading of the scripture from Luke, dubbed over some very dramatic organ music. The little "bong" sound that indicated when to flip the film strip to the next picture didn't match any of the rest of the music, and my brother and I would giggle hysterically if mom missed one of the cues and the story got a bit out of sync. We looked forward to it every year, and the comfort of hearing the same sounds and seeing those same pictures stays with me today as I sit in the dark, squinting at my tree, remembering. <br />
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No matter if the traditions are time-worn or brand new, the music of the Season brings us true comfort and joy. I will have to play a few of my favorite CDs one more time before they get put away until the next year.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-5215669101949476812010-12-11T15:07:00.000-08:002010-12-11T17:15:13.665-08:00Musicians ChristmasThe holiday season is so frantic these days. There's shopping to do, parties to attend and host, school and church programs, family get togethers, and so much more! Add to all of that, for a musician, all the extra rehearsals and performances, and you have one overwhelming Season. It's no surprise that January is the month that a musician is most likely to come down with a cold or the flu. <br />
I love Christmas music, don't get me wrong. What other holiday is so immersed in musical traditions, new and old? And there aren't a lot of Flag Day or Labor Day albums, are there? Yes, Christmas is a time of musical celebration. However, as musicians, we don't get to sit back and soak up all of the beautiful sights and sounds of a Christmas concert or program. We are performing; concentrating on breathing, singing or playing, standing or sitting at the correct time, preparing mentally for the next piece, watching the director, and most of all on not making any noticeable errors. With all that going on, it's easy to see how one forgets to enjoy what one is doing. It is a unique rush to perform well, especially with an overtly receptive audience. But it is over so quickly, and the satisfied relish from that last high note fades almost at the speed of sound. <br />
Recently, I have begun to remind myself why I sing. I want to be part of something more, that leads others to the wonder and delight of the music I sing. I want to teach myself the blessings of music, to understand that this gift is much more than intonation, pitch, melody, and harmony; it is the joy that comes when these things are done well. It is in the message received when heart and intellect are poured into the effort of music. It is knowing that no one can take this gift of music from me, but I am willing to give it away every time I sing. <br />
The big music program at my church is next week. It will be glorious, and I will sing with open ears and heart, breathing out the music of Christmas, and breathing in the wonder of it all.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-80114361145230690222010-11-24T08:15:00.000-08:002010-11-24T20:15:21.690-08:00The Wrong WordsLast Sunday was the very special "Kirkin' of the Tartans" service at the Presbyterian church that I attend. It's a wonderful time of remembering the heritage of the denomination and of recommitment of family and faith. There was much pageantry with a procession of tartan banners, all the choirs, and "Highland Cathedral" on the bagpipes. There were the usual readings and prayers, but somehow so much more regal as I looked out onto a congregation splendidly adorned with bits of tartan; a scarf, a kilt, a vest, a skirt, or a ribbon. Each family selected their certain pattern to represent their sense of pride and unity. I wore the "Laurie" family plaid even though I should wear the "Wallace" plaid as it is within my ancestry. But I love the blue and green of the "Laurie" plaid, so I have adopted it as my own. During one of the hymns of the service, the congregation is invited to come to the front of the church and lay a selected piece of the family plaid on the alter. It is a beautiful symbolic act of rededication to the church and family, of thankfulness of the blessings of the year, and a prayer for guidance, comfort, and peace for the coming times. When the hymn is concluded, there is a beautiful mound of cloth in multiple patterns and colors blended together, a symbol of the congregation together in love. I am always moved to tears by the sight. <br />
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This year, however, I was somewhat distracted by the hymn itself. The organ began the introduction as a very familiar hymn tune, "Hyfrydol", that I know as the hymn "Hallelujah, What A Saviour" or, a bit lesser known, "Come Thou Long Expected Jesus". I looked down at my book and realized that the words to today's selection were totally unfamiliar to me. For a moment, I panicked; how could I get down from the choir loft and sing words I didn't know without falling or tripping?!? It was momentary and I just didn't try to sing and walk at the same time, resuming the song when I was once again stationary at my choir seat. <br />
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This brings me to confess my struggle. I was brought up in the Baptist church; in attendance every time the doors were open. I had the hymnal practically memorized by age 13 or 14. I had no idea that other denominations might sing different words until I was invited to sing at a community Christmas service when I was 18. A friend of mine was responsible for the music for the service and asked me to come and sing "Birthday of a King". I didn't realize until I arrived that evening that he expected me to also sing in the choir as they lead the carol singing. Not a problem, really, until we got to one carol that had slightly different wording than I was used to. Of course, I wasn't really following the hymnal, and got a sharp elbow from the soprano next me when I loudly proclaimed the wrong attribute to the Baby Jesus. At the time, I wondered, "Is that a misprint?!?" Needless to say, I paid more attention to my hymnal for the rest of the service. <br />
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Since that time, I have attended a number of other churches and have seen there are multiple settings of familiar hymn tunes. It always throws me for a loop. Is it really necessary to completely rewrite lyrics to century old established hymns? I mean, I have sung "Amazing Grace" so many times, but I am often surprised to open a hymnal only to discover that the version printed has yet another unfamiliar verse. My husband has attended many Christmas concerts to hear me sing, and is quite adamant that Christmas carols should be sung "straight" (his version of the familiar); no fancy arranging, no additional or new lyrics, no "mash-ups". Some may say new lyrics to old tunes just make you pay attention and think about what you are singing. Yeah, ok, I'm thinking, "What was wrong with the old lyrics?"<br />
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As I settled back to listen to the sermon on Sunday, I wasn't sure what to expect; the sermon title printed in the bulletin was a bit vague. The pastor began to talk about God speaking to us through each other, using the words of fellow believers around us to convey His message of love and care. How not only might we be the voice of God to our neighbor but that we should be listening to the voice of God to us through others. What is God trying to tell us? Are we open to hearing God speak, even through unconventional words? <br />
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Ah, a light bulb moment. Was I being too quick to dismiss the poetry and message of a new lyric because it was unfamiliar? Was I missing an opportunity for a blessing because I wasn't willing to hear? God is found when we seek Him, and perhaps I was not seeking by being opinionated and closed minded about hymn lyrics. It won't come easily; I love to sing the familiar hymns and lean on the memories and messages I have already discovered within them. They will always be with me and I find comfort in them. Perhaps I can also learn sing those words that are new to me with an open heart and ear, listening for the voice of God anew to me, giving me a new message discover and heed. Alleluia.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-27239045563702574702010-11-15T15:46:00.000-08:002010-11-15T15:46:43.074-08:00Know Your Role<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having grown up near the <place>Adirondack Mountains</place> in upstate <state><place>New York</place></state>, Fall has always been the most glorious time of year to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crisp, cool air, the temperate sunlight, and the magnificent colors bursting from the trees radiating over the landscape made me feel uplifted and loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I moved South, Fall didn’t feel quite the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only is Fall still fairly hot here, it seems that the trees don’t change colors all at once as they do in the North, so there isn’t the absorption of Fall color in one place at one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It almost seems that Fall sneaks by me here and I nearly miss seeing any colors at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the last few years, there has hardly been much of a Fall here in the South due to severe drought conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trees barely turned, and dropped their leaves almost right away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since everything stayed kind of brown all summer anyway, Fall was almost unrecognizable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, this year we left drought conditions behind, and had a lovely spring and summer of a good mixture of rain and sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The azaleas came on beautifully, lawns greened up, and the trees looked livelier and greener than they had in a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I was driving to church on Sunday, I was struck once again by the glorious magnificence of Fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The late morning sun was just right, and the trees seemed to be in colorful harmony just for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking down hill as I came over a knoll, the Fall landscape tapestry laid out in front of me, and I caught my breath at the beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was spectacular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fell in love with Fall all over again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, as I looked closer, I realized that not all the trees were doing the same thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Individually, each one was at a different stage of the throes of the Fall palate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were full-on color; brilliantly flamed in red, orange, maroon, or yellow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were past their brilliance and only the deep browns remained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some still retained all of their leaves, fluttering in the easy breeze of the day, while others seemed scrawny, with just a few scraggly leaves clinging to the branches closest to the trunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How fascinating that all together they create one of the most treasured sights nature has to offer. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This made me think of choral music and the importance of the rule, ‘Know Your Role’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me explain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each singer brings various abilities and talents to the choral table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Individually, a singer might be the one who solos fabulously, or is that wonderful bass anchor for the gospel quartet, or maybe has the soaring straight tone soprano that floats so simply and so high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are so many nuances and tambours and styles and sounds, that, on their own, are part of what makes us unique. Just think of how quickly an infant learns to recognize his own mother's voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us find comfort in talking to family and loved ones, finding what we need in the sounds of their voices. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how does what the individual voice has contribute to the choral sound?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There can be no divas; an individual voice may resonate so pleasingly on it's own, but must find its perfect niche within the choral voice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the contribution to the group that becomes the more important task here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is knowing when the contribution of one's specific talents and gifts are the leading role, and when they are the support of the talents and gifts of the surrounding voices. It is the giving and the giving up of ourselves for the good of the chorus that creates yet another gloriously unique voice; the choral one we raise together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is rain in the weather forecast for the next few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose after the rain has stopped, most of the trees will have dropped their leaves and the grays and browns of Winter will quietly wander in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must remember that Winter brings it's own unique sights to the landscapes and can be quite wonderful in it's own way if I am willing to see it. </span></div>Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-767973741351686976.post-67772674419313744912010-11-07T15:00:00.000-08:002010-11-07T15:00:44.432-08:00Music Is MemorySo, here I go, throwing my thoughts out into space, wondering if anyone will hear. It's strange, but exciting. I've been thinking about my life in music, where I've been and where I'm going, and how did I get here from there? Could what I know and have experienced in music be helpful to someone else? <br />
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I've been a singer nearly all my life. I say 'singer', not 'musician' because although I am both, I like the identity of 'singer' best. I have sung in multiple church choirs and choruses, been a soloist and worship leader, and sung at more weddings and funerals that I can count. My musical life took a big turn this year, which is probably why I was prompted to start writing about it. Suffice it to say, I've done a lot of singing. <br />
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I started singing with my Mom playing the piano for me. She put me in the children's choir at church, and gave me every opportunity to sing in public. I remember standing on an apple box in front of a microphone to sing "Jesus Loves Me" on a Sunday morning for the 'big church' people. I was 5. Mom had already figured out that I wasn't just a cute little kid with no stage fright, I actually had a voice, and I needed to be using it every time I could . I sang in every choir available through grade school and high school, and sang the 'special music' for any church service I was asked. I joined the adult church choir when I was about 12, and stayed with it until I went off to college. <br />
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My memories of my young spiritual life are all connected to music. I have a friend that could tell you, in great detail, all of the science specifics of the effects of music on the brain; all I know is, music enhances memory. Who doesn't know what song was playing during those milestone events in our lives? First kiss? First time you drove the car alone? First break-up? Yeah, we all have memories that include music. I have all of those, and I have spiritual music memories, too. Like the first grown-up hymn I ever learned by heart, singing with my family around my Grandmother's piano, and being moved to tears by a song I had to sing. These are stories I want to tell later, but for now, I remember my life as music. And I can't imagine it any other way.Sopraltohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05412205059387252360noreply@blogger.com0