When one experiences something new and eye-opening just when it seems clear that he or she has gone far enough in a given area of life (especially at my age), I suppose it's a reason to write about it. My revelation comes from having recently become a part of a choir unlike any in which I had volunteered my musical time.
It may sound strange to melody-singers out there, but I've never wanted to be anything but an alto, discovering my penchant for harmony when singing along with my favorite songs on the radio long ago. Crooning along with my folk guitar in the '70s, singing in church choirs, and then being accepted into audition-only choral groups later in life, I was satisfied that I possessed a solid harmonic voice. So I stood and sang out as I stared at the director between glances at my music, thinking I had at last reached my comfort zone. That is, until this past weekend.
Then something magical happened. I connected with my music as never before, transcending the notes and experiencing the true thrill of performance.
A short background might help here. Our choral director is a man whose enthusiasm for music is off the charts; one who demands professionalism, strives for perfection and hounds us until he gets pretty darned close to what he wants sound-wise. He also encourages us to "engage" the audience, using facial expressions and subtle body movements to project a sincerity in our performance -- one that illustrates that we are feeling the words we sing, almost as if we were having a musical 'conversation' with our audiences. The thing about this man is that his personality is not ego-ridden in any way. He tells personal stories to illustrate his points and shows us through his own example how to perform. His passion and his sincerity to positively wow our audiences is unequalled by any director I have had in the past. The 70-plus member choral group is made up of a variety of common folk of several generations, as with so many local musicians who volunteer their time because of their unabashed love of music.
This time, however, our director demanded that for a Broadway revue type show, we be entirely "off-book." This means not having a piece of music in sight for us to hold or refer to as we performed. A daunting volume of musical medleys must not only be memorized, but fully digested before we are to appear on stage so that we might participate in this process of engagement with our audience, our director, and most of all, our music. And at all times, even if we are not chosen to be among the soloists, we are to stay 'in character' the entire time the curtain is open.
As we launch the program with That's Entertainment (the title of the show), we know we have to 'get them at hello' and keep them there -- looking forward to each soloist, medley and sometimes-comical-sometimes-thrilling interpretation of the music. During "Make 'Em Laugh', we throw our heads back and sing as if we have just finished hearing a great punch line. Singing No One Mourns the Wicked, we warn the audience of the evils of following the wrong path, like that of the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. "A law was made a distant moon ago here," sung in an intimate but mysterious tone projects the majesty and fantasy of a land called Camelot. And by the time we stand at the edge of the stage, look down into the audience and end the program with the rousing Les Mis ballad, Tomorrow Comes, we have attendees on their feet, their faces radiating from the experience and their ears receiving the words of hope from a suppressed, yet hopeful people launching a revolution that would change history. There are literally tears in the eyes of many of the people below us.
By the time the applause dies down, we have, in essence, been transported into another world up on stage. And when the curtain closes, after mutual pats on the back and shows of appreciation to our concert attendees, we bask in the glow of having participated in something positively addictive.
I am changed forever by this experience. Nothing -- but nothing-- can equal the feeling of having given my all to our audiences, even though I am buried in the sea of faces of a large choral group.
Go figure. Just when I think I've got it all figured out, I get this bug. How's that for timing?
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