It was a case of be-careful-what-you-wish-for.
Last year, my first full year of singing in a large, well-known choral group, I couldn’t wait for performance time, when our group of practiced, talented singers could show the world what we had been so intensely digesting for more than five months at weekly rehearsals. We had practiced together in a crowded college classroom and we had practiced apart, in the privacy of our homes, where we shoved rehearsal discs into our computers and sang to the walls, our pets and our kids, whether they liked it or not.
Toward the end of our rehearsal season, the thought that kept occurring to me was, “Let’s get this over so I can take a break from all this pressure.” I imagined a week without the music constantly running through my head; a week whose evenings were all my own; a week where I wouldn’t figuratively self-flagellate because I needed to learn some parts of the music or lyrics better. The performance dates just couldn't come fast enough ....
By the time our concert dates were upon us, I was ready to break out the formal wear, abandon my music folder and wow our new/old audiences with performances steeped in love and hard work. And wow them we did. Thousands of tickets sold and hundreds of accolades later had created on-stage moments few of us could ever forget. We had performed well.
And then it was over.
The summer stretched before me like an endless expanse of free time, comparatively speaking. Rehearsals for the winter concerts would not take place until late August, and my fellow chorister spouse and I heaved a collective sigh of relief. Almost. Because by now, a kind of Stockholm Syndrome had taken effect. Although we had been held captive for so long, we had also become willing hostages, not truly wishing the escape we had spoken so often about. It was like some lyrics from the Eagles’ classic Hotel California. We had become “prisoners of our own device.” The withdrawal symptoms had begun.
For several weeks, we still sang along with the rehearsal CDs in our cars. We had internalized the music and lyrics SO well, we had formed a love affair with every song and medley we’d performed. It was a pure pleasure to sing it again and again, just for fun. My point here? Never has the adage, “It’s not so much about the destination, but the journey that counts” rung so true.
As the new rehearsal season approaches, we look forward to it with eager anticipation, knowing that we will be handed mostly unfamiliar music that will be beautiful and challenging all at once -- and another musical journey will begin. The melodies so seared into our subconscious from our last concert season will be taken over by new ones. Some we will like better than others.
But in the end, we will learn to love them all, as the notes and lyrics enter our bloodstream like some happy drug.
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