I'm back from the choir tour. It was such a rush that I'm punch drunk. I intended to write all about it, but I had to check in on the four blogs I read every day and one of them was so powerful that now I'm stoned in a completely different way. Loralee is a stunning person, with more courage than I'll ever have. It's distracting to read things that powerful. My choir experience feels really trivial now.
Still, it's real.
At yesterday's home concert I had one of those rare singing experiences. I was looking at Brad, the director, and everything went black except his face. The whole world went away and there was only his face and his hand moving and the music. When the song ended and the applause started I realized I needed to wipe my eyes because of tearing up.
Exaltation.
That was my last concert with the choir as an entity in itself. We will sing the Mozart Requiem (again, exaltation. Perhaps the most beautiful choral work in existence. I can hardly believe I get to participate in producing it.) next month, but it will be with other choirs and an orchestra, directed by someone other than Brad, and will not have the single stamp of our choir. I have a strangely lost feeling about this. For four years I've spent ten hours per week devoted to this choir, and now it's over. It's time to move on, but right now I'm grieving.
At one of our performances early in the tour I had a brain fart during my solo and forgot what I was supposed to do. I muttered garbage until my mind returned. The choir members and Brad ribbed me mercilessly about that. It was so much fun that I'm glad I made the mistake. Of course, it helps that I did it right after that. Big bass voices can be dramatic, but they also can sound really stupid when uttering nonsense. There is a fine line between high drama and absurdity. I seem to waffle back and forth over that line.
Grief. Intense commitment to a group effort is also intensely rewarding. Ending that commitment is oddly lonely.
Still, it's real.
At yesterday's home concert I had one of those rare singing experiences. I was looking at Brad, the director, and everything went black except his face. The whole world went away and there was only his face and his hand moving and the music. When the song ended and the applause started I realized I needed to wipe my eyes because of tearing up.
Exaltation.
That was my last concert with the choir as an entity in itself. We will sing the Mozart Requiem (again, exaltation. Perhaps the most beautiful choral work in existence. I can hardly believe I get to participate in producing it.) next month, but it will be with other choirs and an orchestra, directed by someone other than Brad, and will not have the single stamp of our choir. I have a strangely lost feeling about this. For four years I've spent ten hours per week devoted to this choir, and now it's over. It's time to move on, but right now I'm grieving.
At one of our performances early in the tour I had a brain fart during my solo and forgot what I was supposed to do. I muttered garbage until my mind returned. The choir members and Brad ribbed me mercilessly about that. It was so much fun that I'm glad I made the mistake. Of course, it helps that I did it right after that. Big bass voices can be dramatic, but they also can sound really stupid when uttering nonsense. There is a fine line between high drama and absurdity. I seem to waffle back and forth over that line.
Grief. Intense commitment to a group effort is also intensely rewarding. Ending that commitment is oddly lonely.
4 Comments:
Thank you. THANK YOU.
As for the grief. I relate so much to this. They kept paying me to sing in Chamber Singers at USU. There were many quarters that is the only class I took. All in all I was there 6 years.
Oddly, my last performance was also "Mozart's Requiem" (A STUNNER). VERY emotional night.
It is a special kind of loneliness that most don't understand. I think it is because you are doing something so expressive and you work so hard to get the right sound...you listen intently and meld with the other singers. You know the people so well you can pick out their voices in a group.
You fail and succeed together. Leaving it can be lonely. Losing a conductor is also painful. It's like losing the parent of your group.
Wouldn't trade it for the world.
I wish I could hear your sound...I'm really intrigued.
P.S.
If it is any consolation, I auditioned once for "Dahlila" and got so flustered I forgot my French. Um...I actually sang "Yoplait" out of desperation.
:D
You have my sincere sympathy for your loss.
You also have my envy to be part of something so life-changing and energetic.
I am glad you are safely back. I'm sure the memories of the tour will bring you constant joy.
And, anything by Mozart is beautiful!
They were recorded. A CD with the best of them will come out next fall.
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