For the love of Music

At 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.

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.
To life, to love, to music…

Music's Silence

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?

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? 

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.

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.

Inspiration Found

Steinway exhibit at Musical Instrument Museum, Phoenix, AZ

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. 

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.  The Musical Instrument Museum offered an experience of sight and sound and I told my husband this was a MUST visit for our list. 

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. 

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? 
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.

Singing with the Girls

All through school, I participated in anything where I could sing.   I did parent teacher nights at school, church services, conferences, weddings, or just about any other opportunity I could to sing.  Some of my fondest memories stem from high school when I sang in a girl’s quartet.

The four of us were selected specifically to sing one song for an annual competition.  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.  We had lots of special rehearsals, and we sang that one piece together for every occasion that school year.  To this day, I can still sing my part in my sleep!  We learned about each other’s voices, what made us sound good, how to support each other musically, and when we needed a rest.  This ‘togetherness’ spilled over into other parts of our lives.  I remember being on a bus, probably going on a field trip, learning the words to a popular tune of the day.  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.  I can still feel the excitement when one of us added a cool note, or when a harmony hit just right.   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.

The four of us did a lot of things together that year.  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.  Our reward from the school was we took a 2 day trip to Boston with our teacher.  The highlight of the trip was touring the USS Constitution, “Old Ironsides”.  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.  I remember the sailors asking us why we were dressed alike, and we replied with school and we were a girl’s quartet.  That intrigued them so they asked us to sing right there on the ship. We sang our competition song for our tour guide sailors.  We were on the bottom deck, so our voices rose up and echoed throughout the ship.  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.  It was such a thrill to see their faces as we sang on the historic old ship.  Our song that we had sung together all year seemed selected just for them.

“From every stormy wind that blows,

From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat—
'Tis found beneath the mercy seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads,
A place than all besides more sweet—
It is the blood-bought mercy seat.

  There is a scene where spirits blend,
 
 Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
  Though sundered far, by faith they meet
  Around one common mercy seat.”

Although we don’t see each other much anymore, these girls and I stay in touch through the social media outlets available these days.  Music continues to be a big part of our lives and we are blessed to be able to share it.  The songs that we sang together still come to me at times, making me smile with joy at the memories,  and inspire me to keep singing.

The Genre Effect

If 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. 

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.

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.

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.

The Instrument Within

I 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.

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.

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?

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!

The Diva Confession

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!


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.

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. 

The Think Method

I 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.

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.

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...."

Holiday Music Memories

Along 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.

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. 

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.

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.

Musicians Christmas

The 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. 
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. 
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. 
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.