When I got married in Massachusetts in 1988, a family with whom I was very close traveled from Georgia to attend. The son, Jeff, was a groomsman, and the daughter, Stacy, was in the wedding choir. Stacy was a fine singer, and interested in theatre. Jeff was an athlete, and a superb golfer. So when they planned their family vacation around traveling to the wedding, Stacy planned an outing for them all in New York City. The highlight for her was attending "Les Miserables" on Broadway. When they arrived in Cape Cod I asked Jeff what he had done in New York. He replied, "I saw 'I Am Miserable.'"
Needless to say, we don't all have the same taste or tolerance for singing. Nevertheless, there seems to be singing everywhere you look. Baseball season just started, and every game begins with the singing of the National Anthem. That's not so remarkable, but every game also includes the entire audience singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" together. It's a silly song, sung in an excruciating way, but it's an indispensable part of the Great American Passtime.
We sing to welcome seasons, to express our love for schools we attend, to bury our loved ones, to worship God, to express our love of our country, and many more reasons. Our singing improves our thinking and learning, and brightens our disposition. The most popular television program highlights aspiring singers. And every corner of every town has a church choir, whose members are also likely to sing in community and school choruses.
I think the answer to my earlier question lies in the fact that we are all pre-disposed to sing. It's in our DNA just like speech. We learn it from our earliest source of love, a mother who thinks no one is listening, and sings from her heart. We need to express our humanity, and artistic expression, regardless how primitive, allows us to do so.
Working for a living is part of adult life, and I'm grateful for work. But I'm far more grateful for the fact that my work involves the daily pursuit of better singing.
Back to "Les Mis"... Have you seen the clip that's taking "Youtube" by storm? It's a 47-year-old British woman appearing on the British version of our number one show, American Idol. She is derided by the audience when she takes the stage. She appears frumpy and unattractive, and makes poor jokes poorly. And then she begins to sing. She performs "I Had a Dream," from "Les Miserables." It is so thoroughly captivating that the audience turns so adoring as to drown her out a couple of times. The judges are completely effusive in their congratulations.
Everyone can sing. That's what makes it ubiquitous. Some sing only in their car, completely embarrassed if someone hears them. Others make their living as singers. But everyone with a voice can sing, and needs to sing from time to time. The lesson is, express yourself. Don't be afraid. Sing!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Quick, what's my name?
I've been thinking about a little boy I taught nearly 30 years ago. I was a senior in Music Education, and it was time for my internship. I was fortunate to be allowed to intern with a choral teacher named Joe Tisdale in the little town of Opp, Alabama. I had known this outstanding teacher for a few years, as he was attending graduate classes during the summers, and we had struck up a friendship.
Our daily routine included several classes at both the High School and the Middle School. While the High School classes tended to be fairly selective in their enrollment, the Middle School tended to put almost any student in the chorus, because they knew there never tended to be any discipline referrals from that class.
So we would drive up to the Middle School around lunch time, and our room would fill with 100 or so students ranging from over-achievers to special needs kids. It was impossible for me, as an inexperienced intern, to learn their names. I became especially concerned about maintaining order in such a large class, and knew that my supervising teacher would be coming shortly to observe.
One particular little boy seemed to have extreme emotional problems. He came from a special needs class, and sat with his hooded jacket pulled over his head and face. He mostly rocked, but if provoked would throw the nearest textbook or other object at a classmate. His name was Chris, and I became convinced that I needed a strategy to deal with him. Meanwhile, I was trying to learn the names of the other kids, and noticed that there were two boys named Tim. Joe just called them "Tim 1" and "Tim 2", so I adopted the same names for them. Everyone found those names to be funny, and the boys took pride in their numbers.
One day I was seated at the piano accompanying the rehearsal while Joe directed, and I invited Chris to sit with me on the piano bench. I explained that he could be a big help if he would turn the pages of the music. Of course, I had the simple piece memorized, so that it didn't really matter when he turned the page. Although suspicious at first, Chris liked the idea of having a job no one else could do, and getting my individual attention. He happily sat and followed the music, which necessitated his coming up out of his heavy jacket. Within a few days I could hear a beautiful soprano voice emerging, and saw that Chris knew the song and was engaging in it for the first time.
Chris started arriving at the door as soon as the bell rang, and hanging around us in the yard or the lunch room. Joe was also a photographer, so he took and developed a picture of Chris and me standing outside the choral room, and when I visited a year later I saw Chris and he still had the folded photograph stuffed in the hood of his jacket.
Well, the funny ending is that one day a new boy moved to the school and was assigned to the chorus class. And his name was Chris. So my little buddy Chris came running excitedly when Joe and I drove into the school yard that day. When he caught his breath he asked, "Now that there are two boys named Chris, are you going to call us Tim 1 and Tim 2?"
I guess the point of this story is that our individual interaction with singers matters a lot. We tend to see them as a group since they belong to an ensemble. But sometimes their identity has to be established individually before their group membership can take effect. Chris had found the first episode in his short life in which he felt special, and he couldn't get enough of it. It would have never been enough to just know his name. That was different than knowing who he really was.
Thirty years later I will be rehearsing tonight with a great group of adults, most of whom lead nondescript normal lives. But if I look closely I will see a person who has recently received great medical news, and another who faithfully and lovingly tends a garden of a spouse, who slips a little farther into Altzheimer's Disease every day. I will see a singer who I first directed when she was in elementary school and who now teaches athletes at a local university. I willl see singers who are choir members out of habit, and others who come because it's the first episode in their life in which they feel special.
I must know them and affirm their identities and gifts, if the music we share is ever to have its greatest effect on them.
Our daily routine included several classes at both the High School and the Middle School. While the High School classes tended to be fairly selective in their enrollment, the Middle School tended to put almost any student in the chorus, because they knew there never tended to be any discipline referrals from that class.
So we would drive up to the Middle School around lunch time, and our room would fill with 100 or so students ranging from over-achievers to special needs kids. It was impossible for me, as an inexperienced intern, to learn their names. I became especially concerned about maintaining order in such a large class, and knew that my supervising teacher would be coming shortly to observe.
One particular little boy seemed to have extreme emotional problems. He came from a special needs class, and sat with his hooded jacket pulled over his head and face. He mostly rocked, but if provoked would throw the nearest textbook or other object at a classmate. His name was Chris, and I became convinced that I needed a strategy to deal with him. Meanwhile, I was trying to learn the names of the other kids, and noticed that there were two boys named Tim. Joe just called them "Tim 1" and "Tim 2", so I adopted the same names for them. Everyone found those names to be funny, and the boys took pride in their numbers.
One day I was seated at the piano accompanying the rehearsal while Joe directed, and I invited Chris to sit with me on the piano bench. I explained that he could be a big help if he would turn the pages of the music. Of course, I had the simple piece memorized, so that it didn't really matter when he turned the page. Although suspicious at first, Chris liked the idea of having a job no one else could do, and getting my individual attention. He happily sat and followed the music, which necessitated his coming up out of his heavy jacket. Within a few days I could hear a beautiful soprano voice emerging, and saw that Chris knew the song and was engaging in it for the first time.
Chris started arriving at the door as soon as the bell rang, and hanging around us in the yard or the lunch room. Joe was also a photographer, so he took and developed a picture of Chris and me standing outside the choral room, and when I visited a year later I saw Chris and he still had the folded photograph stuffed in the hood of his jacket.
Well, the funny ending is that one day a new boy moved to the school and was assigned to the chorus class. And his name was Chris. So my little buddy Chris came running excitedly when Joe and I drove into the school yard that day. When he caught his breath he asked, "Now that there are two boys named Chris, are you going to call us Tim 1 and Tim 2?"
I guess the point of this story is that our individual interaction with singers matters a lot. We tend to see them as a group since they belong to an ensemble. But sometimes their identity has to be established individually before their group membership can take effect. Chris had found the first episode in his short life in which he felt special, and he couldn't get enough of it. It would have never been enough to just know his name. That was different than knowing who he really was.
Thirty years later I will be rehearsing tonight with a great group of adults, most of whom lead nondescript normal lives. But if I look closely I will see a person who has recently received great medical news, and another who faithfully and lovingly tends a garden of a spouse, who slips a little farther into Altzheimer's Disease every day. I will see a singer who I first directed when she was in elementary school and who now teaches athletes at a local university. I willl see singers who are choir members out of habit, and others who come because it's the first episode in their life in which they feel special.
I must know them and affirm their identities and gifts, if the music we share is ever to have its greatest effect on them.
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