Between cut-off and applause

Our concert was yesterday, and it went very well. We were all very emotional during the "Requiem" (Faure). So many singers had particular people they were singing for, people they have lost recently. One soprano lost both her sister and her brother in the past year, and she was having a hard time yesterday. Fred was performing (conducting) it in honor of both his partner's ex-wife, who passed away last year after a long, horrible battle with cancer, and his father, who died long ago. This requiem was the first big piece that Fred conducted, and that was at his father's memorial service. He cried after the last cut-off. I don't think the audience knew, but all the performers did, and so it was all more meaningful than most concerts, which are usually pretty emotional and meaningful anyway. It was a gift to be part of it, and to help people with their grieving. A gift both to us, and to them from us. It was a blessing to be part of that gift. Jennifer, our Soprano 2 vocal coach and resident soloist, performed the "Pie Jesu" (solo movement in the Requiem). She has the perfect voice for it, and put everything into it. It was beautiful. That doesn't really begin to describe it. Transcendental. I know she was working hard, but it was almost as if she just allowed it to happen, or that she was accessing some channel of perfect music that is all around us all the time, but happened to be accessible through her (and Fred and the orchestra) at that time and place. And amazingly, she did it at both dress rehearsals, too... Boy, she's good!

I feel very fortunate to be part of this group. It demands a lot of time and energy, and there were many times this winter and spring when I wanted to quit because I was just so tired, but I am glad that I didn't. Something magical happens at the concerts. We are singing the same music we have been singing all along, but until the audience is there (and we can't stop to correct mistakes), we are singing for ourselves alone. With the audience, we are singing for them. We are giving them a gift. But we are also singing for ourselves and for Fred and for the orchestra, much more than in rehearsal. Lately, Fred has been showing his emotions more at concerts, or maybe I have just started noticing. He goes to a different spiritual plane during concerts. He is with us absolutely, and is connected to each singer and each instrumentalist, but he is also in some higher realm. Some of us are there with him, or near him, I think. It's not that we don't make mistakes, or that Fred makes no mistakes, or that we are not worried or tense about making those mistakes. We make brand new mistakes during the concerts, mistakes that we would never have imagined making. But it doesn't matter (usually), because the audience (usually) doesn't know, and the energy in the room takes us past it. That energy is part of what has always drawn me to choir. My high school chorus teacher always talked about positive energy, and it sounds a little hokey, but it's true. There is something about working in concert (literally and figuratively) with many other people, all toward one end and all together, that produces a magical energy. "Magical" isn't quite the right word. Maybe "transcendental" again. It takes us out of ourselves, and maybe onto that plane of Fred's, except that I don't think we are quite where he is. And it's odd, because I don't always recognize that transcendental energy at the time, and sometimes I wonder how it is that other singers noticed it or that the audience noticed it when I didn't. But I notice it afterwards. I notice that it was there at the time. And that it is now gone, and so I am now a little bummed. But the memory of it is still here. It doesn't hit you over the head. If you don't want to notice it, you won't. But if you are open to it, it will be there during the concert, and especially between the last cut-off and the start of the applause. Maybe I notice it then because Fred reflects it most in those moments. I think it is strongest in those moments of transition between our giving to the audience, and the audience giving to us. Typically, those moments are filled with coughing from the audience. A cough will take you right out of that transcendental space - grr! That was the case during most of the concert yesterday, until the end of the Faure, when even the coughers were spell-bound. Or maybe they had just gotten their cough drops down by that time. I'm glad they did; we needed that moment. Fred needed that moment. And later, when I am annoyed with Fred, I will remember his moments during the silences of the concert, and I will be kind. I hope.

All our soloists right now are wonderful, and I hope they stay with us. We were all a little worried when Lisa, our previous Soprano 1 soloist and vocal coach, left us to move to Chicago with her husband, the new bishop. Lisa is a wonderful singer and teacher, and so warm and helpful and kind, and some of us couldn't imagine that anybody could take her place or that we could continue in the same way without her. Well, no one has taken her place and we are not quite the same without her, but Jennifer is also a wonderful singer and teacher, and she is what we need right now. She is positive but honest and reasonable and not snotty or cliquish, as some soloists can be (especially the altos, for some reason). Linda is our Soprano 1 soloist. I don't think she has the teaching experience that Jennifer and Lisa have, but that's okay because Jennifer has it. Linda's voice is achingly beautiful. She claims that it is just hitting high notes (a common claim among the high-voiced soloists), but it is much more than that. She also accesses the channels of perfect music. And our male soloists did that, also. I hope they all stay with us!

My friend Lisa (Alto 1 section leader and all around great person) won the Inspiration Award this year, and I'm so happy for her. Congratulations, Lisa! I'm thrilled that people other than the Alto 1's recognize her greatness! And also that someone I voted for finally won. :-)