resonant | reverse threading

in most rehearsals, i would remind the choir that their smile could be heard. there is a major difference to the timbre of voice brought forward with or sans smile. the same is true with speaking; even when you are not seen, the difference in tone is distinguishable.

it’s the season of the christmas cantata – a major work of multiple pieces with various voicings, instrumental lines, accompaniment and narration – closer to an hour in length. i’m writing this on the sunday morning that was usually chosen as the day of performance – the second sunday in december. i can’t even begin to remember how many cantatas i’ve directed – and written and arranged – through my decades as a minister of music. just recently a facebook memory came up – it was my post thanking the choir and worship band at a church where we had just performed such a work. the creation of narrative and song is exhilarating – for both director and participants – and everything drives to the downbeat. there is a glow that emanates from such a group – these people who have diligently prepared a musical piece of larger extent – and the camaraderie that weaves its way through – it is joy.

it’s been a few years now since i have directed a cantata. i’m guessing it’s a few years since many of the people who participated have sung or played a cantata. not every minister of music or choir director is up to it and some choose other programming. while you are preparing weekly anthems for sharing in service you are concurrently rehearsing this large work, so it takes time and energy, a compositional spirit, an innate ability to discern cantatas of value, ingenuity, the ability to rearrange on the fly, the belief in showcasing your choir – as a choir – accommodating any ability level, the recognition that simplicity is potent, much flexibility and humor, meticulous planning and true dedication. it is knowing as a conductor – in the moment after the downbeat – that you will merely guide this integrated group of singers and musicians through this visceral experience of purity. yours is a backseat to the magic – this is not your microphone. it is an undertaking not for the meek.

to say that i miss cantata-day would be understating. the gift of music is to make resonant that which is hard to see, that which is not tangible. the gift of music is to evoke powerful imagery and to open emotions tucked away. the gift of music is to bring forward beauty and the magnificence of producing something together. the gift of music is to offer just that – the gift of music. impactful, moving, music has the ability to change souls.

we pass the leaf on the trail – so very obviously lips curled in a smile. i think about all the times i have urged a singer to smile, all the times i have listened to the difference between smiling and not smiling – like the difference between the keys of d minor and e minor. vast.

and right now – as i write this – i wonder how many choirs are gathered on chancels, singing their hearts out, smiling inside and out.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the may apples stood on risers in the forest, singing to spring, singing to any audience who might be there, singing their glorious song. just like a choir. unified. united. elated to be in harmony. creating four-part jubilation to be alive. making music.

the singtolive choir stood on risers in the sanctuary of the beautiful church, directly in front of the organ pipes. their joy was palpable and, if i closed my eyes as they sang their program of the great american songbook, i could imagine the record albums of my parents playing and the choirs of 33rpm singing into our living room. they were cohesive and gently exploring the expanse of the songs chosen for the evening. and then, at the end of the concert – this concert dedicated to breast cancer survivorship – the singers left the risers and came out to stand among us, the audience.

to say that their last song was touching would be an understatement. a trademark of this marvelous group, why we sing was exquisitely performed. we all had eye contact with singers surrounding us. you could feel hearts swelling and tears forming. they delivered this emotional piece like no other preceding it in the program. i whispered to david, “this is the stuff.”

there is a lot of choir music ‘out there’. for the decades of my career as a minister of music, i was shipped an enormous number of catalogs, of listings, of cds with samples of songs. and then, there were charts to study, trends in music. and then, arrangements and reviewing lyrics and the range of my singers – in note as well as in degree of difficulty. i reviewed all this music always seeking that which would resonate, that which would help a person’s heart and mind connect with their faith, with the questions they had in this world, with good intentions and their community. it’s not a small responsibility to choose that which a choir – any choir, any worship band, any ukulele band, any choral ensemble – will sing in public – no matter the venue.

heidi and i stood in front of thousands of people through the time we worked together, performing “celebrate sweet life” – our breast cancer survivorship programs. with audiences of 35,000 in new york’s central park to hundreds in a medical center to a few thousand in the chicago sun with lance armstrong’s tour of hope to a more intimate group in pjs at md anderson to sharing a long island stage with hillary clinton to oncology pharmaceutical sales conference in puerto rico, it was our privilege to share messages – of hope, of healing, of making a difference for each other, of being alive – with audiences all over the country.

there is a video from one of our performances that touches me each time i see it. it is a bit blurry, not captured with the best of equipment. yet, at the end, as the audience has risen to their feet, there is a man in the foreground. as heidi speaks her last words and i sing the last lyrics of one of my songs, this man wipes at his eyes, stirred. and each time – no matter how many times i have viewed this – i am profoundly moved.

the may apples – gleeful in their rising out of the eradicated forest, now clear of invasives and plants with ill intent – stand proudly. they are furled at first and one might think they are quiet, meek, hiding. but as the sun warms them they arise. they will give their performance their all, joining together as one umbrella of green. the trillium will watch in the forest as audience members. and then, pure white flowers will form under the may apple parasols. and the trillium will turn to each other and whisper.

in the moments of performances under my choir baton or concert stages under my feet, there has been nothing quite like thinking that someone out there is whispering to the person next to them, “this is the stuff.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY