6 weeks ago I walked into my house at the end of a full, busy Tuesday office day. I heard something unusual, something I did not want to believe. Water. Dripping. A lot.
Some time during the day, a leak had developed in an upstairs bathroom. A tank had been draining, then re-filling, then draining. For how long, we don't really know, only that it began after we left for work that day, and was still in process at 5:30 that afternoon. It took only a matter of minutes to diagnose the problem, locate the source, and stop the water. A few more minutes to assess the apparent damage: which turned out to include both upstairs baths, carpet in the hallway and one bedroom; kitchen cabinets, ceiling and a wall; and a basement bedroom wall, ceiling and carpet. In short, the central core of our house was going to need some drying out.
And, ultimately, repairs. Now, 6 weeks later, we have our baths back, but are just getting started on the kitchen. The basement bedroom might be pretty low priority at any other time of the year. But with four grown children coming home for Thanksgiving, the clock is ticking even on that space.
It's a heck of a condition to be in to celebrate my 55th birthday this week! But I have had many occasions since "the flood" to be reminded that what my Karen and I are experiencing are only inconveniences. Two of our friends have had serious, life-threatening illnesses surface. A woman from my choir collapsed and died - quickly and unexpectedly - a couple of weeks ago. The choir sang her service one week ago (beautifully; Virgil Thomson's "My shepherd will supply my need"). My biggest problem is not remembering where I put things, since all my usual drop-points have changed!
So, to celebrate an unexpected and completely unimportant mid-life crisis, Here's a shout out Happy Birthday to me!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Anniversaries
This is one of those anniversary convergence years. I'm not sure why 5-year increments seem so important in our culture. Why is it that 25 years is more significant than, say, 21? (21 would be 7 years - a perfect number- times 3, accumulating perfection!) Why do we feel that a 49-year marriage is somehow disappointing, should one spouse not survive to the 50th? Curious.
Still, given how we do consider anniversaries, this is a big year for me. In decreasing order of importance:
The biggest surprise of my life was being called into vocational ministry. I didn't look for it, and I didn't prepare for it - not, at least, in the usual ways. But I welcomed it, and continue to celebrate the privilege and joy of it. Most of the time. There is only one relationship or commitment or covenant that trumps this calling: and I celebrate that each year, one month earlier.
Now, as to my age. Of course there is nothing I can do about that. I can't take credit for it, and I can't predict how many birthdays I'll have. I may be able to do some things, little things, wise things, to live well while I can. But I can't control my age. "My time is in [God's] hands." "So teach us to number our days aright." And that's really the best I can do.
But it does set me to wondering, as I approach that august age, 55. Official AARP eligibility. At College Church, I could move from "guest pastor" to official member of the Keenagers group. It all makes me wonder - what will the next 10-15 years of my vocational ministry be like, anyway? Will I continue to serve in all the ways I have done? Will I retain the privilege of overseeing and leading duly constituted services of worship? Will I train younger musicians to step into these roles? All of the above? Some of the above? None of the above?
These questions are not pensive, but exciting. I enjoy my work, the musicians and pastors I get to work with, and the satisfaction of entering my 15th year at College Church. I am enrolled in a graduate theology course, and applying for admission to that degree program. I think there has never been a more exciting time to be in church music - never more opportunity to serve creatively. I am convinced that regardless of how it looks, my calling will keep me engaged with planning and leadership of gathered worship.
If I don't know what it will all look like, next year, or a decade from now - well, then that is just like a bike ride in a city I haven't been in before. I know how to navigate, how to ride safely, and the right things to look for ... everything else is adventure.
Still, given how we do consider anniversaries, this is a big year for me. In decreasing order of importance:
- 35 years of marriage (celebrated in June)
- 25 years of full-time music ministry (quietly noted in July)
- 55th birthday (around the corner)
The biggest surprise of my life was being called into vocational ministry. I didn't look for it, and I didn't prepare for it - not, at least, in the usual ways. But I welcomed it, and continue to celebrate the privilege and joy of it. Most of the time. There is only one relationship or commitment or covenant that trumps this calling: and I celebrate that each year, one month earlier.
Now, as to my age. Of course there is nothing I can do about that. I can't take credit for it, and I can't predict how many birthdays I'll have. I may be able to do some things, little things, wise things, to live well while I can. But I can't control my age. "My time is in [God's] hands." "So teach us to number our days aright." And that's really the best I can do.
But it does set me to wondering, as I approach that august age, 55. Official AARP eligibility. At College Church, I could move from "guest pastor" to official member of the Keenagers group. It all makes me wonder - what will the next 10-15 years of my vocational ministry be like, anyway? Will I continue to serve in all the ways I have done? Will I retain the privilege of overseeing and leading duly constituted services of worship? Will I train younger musicians to step into these roles? All of the above? Some of the above? None of the above?
These questions are not pensive, but exciting. I enjoy my work, the musicians and pastors I get to work with, and the satisfaction of entering my 15th year at College Church. I am enrolled in a graduate theology course, and applying for admission to that degree program. I think there has never been a more exciting time to be in church music - never more opportunity to serve creatively. I am convinced that regardless of how it looks, my calling will keep me engaged with planning and leadership of gathered worship.
If I don't know what it will all look like, next year, or a decade from now - well, then that is just like a bike ride in a city I haven't been in before. I know how to navigate, how to ride safely, and the right things to look for ... everything else is adventure.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Anticipation
I have recently tried to wrestle some order into certain parts of my life. In particular, carving out time to keep up my professional reading. It was embarrassing to see a pile of journals dating back more than a year. The Hymn and the Choral Journal would lie in a pile, or add weight to my brief case, and I would get more depressed with the arrival of each new issue, knowing it too would go unread.
But I did catch up this summer, and have chiseled my calendar to include time to do this kind of reading each week. And to take a longer time (a sort of mini-retreat) quarterly, to undertake reading that will help me but that may not appear to be "essential" to my daily work.
Of course, the thing about that is, that naturally when I do not keep up with my professional reading, my daily work suffers. Perhaps (at first) only in ways that I notice or care about. But ultimately in ways that others will notice, even if they don't know what it is that they are noticing. It's like the old saw about practicing: "If I go a day without practicing, I know it; if I go two days without practicing, other musicians know it; if I go three days without practicing, everyone knows it."
So, it was with some smug self-satisfaction that last week I picked up the Choral Journal and came across the full description of the ACDA national convention, just a day or two after online registration opened. For the first time, I was an "early adapter" - I registered long before the fees go up, and even secured the hotel room I want for the event!
The downside is ... I can hardly wait. The ACDA holds national conventions biannually, in odd-numbered years. I do not get to all of them. I have twice missed the San Antonio meetings, and apparently I will always regret that. My first national was in San Diego - which, as a midwesterner in the winter, was as close as I suppose I'll ever get to heaven on earth. For the Miami national convention I had leadership duties, but had to cut that one short due to the sudden death of my Karen's younger brother. Miami now has a pall over it, in my memory. (Though I was delighted to hear both Millikin University Choir and Wheaton's Concert Choir there.)
My all-time favorite national convention was New York City in 2003. I had been in a professional funk for a year or so, and survived it by telling myself "I just have to stick with this long enough to get to NY!" I survived the funk, and the blizzard that kept me in that fantastic city two days longer than I had planned. Excellent! The convention was a highlight of my ACDA experiences, including an extraordinary address to worship musicians, by Dr. Bruce Leafblad. Not to mention a great rate at a non-convention hotel, which was nevertheless conveniently located to everything the convention had to offer.
But ACDA 2011 will again be back in my home town, Chicago. This is the 3rd convention (2nd national) here since 1996 when I moved back to the area. I love to be downtown even in the winter (and yes, the 2nd week of March is still winter here). And I love to protect that convention time. Most people know that conferences, meetings, conventions, and retreats are always better "away." There is too much gravity pulling you back to your desk, your office, your calendar, your life, if you sleep in your own bed while trying to be somewhere else during the day. So, when ACDA is in town, I take a room in the city and make it an "away" event.
I easily bypassed the convention hotel for another on the list. I was offered a room with a city view or a lake view, by my personal favorite, the Swissotel. Both were steeply discounted for ACDA registrants, and even the costlier lake view is less expensive than the convention hotel. But for my money (literally) I'm with the city view. A - I won't be in the room during the day; B - it's March, for crying out loud; that means a basically gray lakeview with possibly no distinction between lake, sky, and shoreline; C - who can pass up this amazing skyline, lit up at night. Hey, I'll stay away from cocktail parties for that view!
(Note to church members reading this blog: what do I know about cocktail parties?)
So, that's the kid in me - a trip to the city, staying in a nice hotel, and 4 days downtown. The professional in me is every bit as eager for the convention proper. Throughout each day, concert sessions feature 3 or 4 auditioned choirs - choirs of all types - each presenting a 25-minute program. We will hear children's choirs, students of all ages, and community choirs. Special performances punctuate the event, including choirs from around the world, professional groups (Chanticleer, anyone?), and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus with Elijah conducted by Helmuth Rilling. One has to have a high tolerance for outstanding choral music to survive this convention. No, I wouldn't miss it.
Not to mention workshops, interest sessions, reading new music. All this in the context of friendships renewed and begun. The ACDA national convention is the most tiring four days I ever look forward to. And I always come home (even just from downtown) ready and eager for the rest of the choral season.
I can hardly wait!
But I did catch up this summer, and have chiseled my calendar to include time to do this kind of reading each week. And to take a longer time (a sort of mini-retreat) quarterly, to undertake reading that will help me but that may not appear to be "essential" to my daily work.
Of course, the thing about that is, that naturally when I do not keep up with my professional reading, my daily work suffers. Perhaps (at first) only in ways that I notice or care about. But ultimately in ways that others will notice, even if they don't know what it is that they are noticing. It's like the old saw about practicing: "If I go a day without practicing, I know it; if I go two days without practicing, other musicians know it; if I go three days without practicing, everyone knows it."
So, it was with some smug self-satisfaction that last week I picked up the Choral Journal and came across the full description of the ACDA national convention, just a day or two after online registration opened. For the first time, I was an "early adapter" - I registered long before the fees go up, and even secured the hotel room I want for the event!
The downside is ... I can hardly wait. The ACDA holds national conventions biannually, in odd-numbered years. I do not get to all of them. I have twice missed the San Antonio meetings, and apparently I will always regret that. My first national was in San Diego - which, as a midwesterner in the winter, was as close as I suppose I'll ever get to heaven on earth. For the Miami national convention I had leadership duties, but had to cut that one short due to the sudden death of my Karen's younger brother. Miami now has a pall over it, in my memory. (Though I was delighted to hear both Millikin University Choir and Wheaton's Concert Choir there.)
My all-time favorite national convention was New York City in 2003. I had been in a professional funk for a year or so, and survived it by telling myself "I just have to stick with this long enough to get to NY!" I survived the funk, and the blizzard that kept me in that fantastic city two days longer than I had planned. Excellent! The convention was a highlight of my ACDA experiences, including an extraordinary address to worship musicians, by Dr. Bruce Leafblad. Not to mention a great rate at a non-convention hotel, which was nevertheless conveniently located to everything the convention had to offer.
But ACDA 2011 will again be back in my home town, Chicago. This is the 3rd convention (2nd national) here since 1996 when I moved back to the area. I love to be downtown even in the winter (and yes, the 2nd week of March is still winter here). And I love to protect that convention time. Most people know that conferences, meetings, conventions, and retreats are always better "away." There is too much gravity pulling you back to your desk, your office, your calendar, your life, if you sleep in your own bed while trying to be somewhere else during the day. So, when ACDA is in town, I take a room in the city and make it an "away" event.
I easily bypassed the convention hotel for another on the list. I was offered a room with a city view or a lake view, by my personal favorite, the Swissotel. Both were steeply discounted for ACDA registrants, and even the costlier lake view is less expensive than the convention hotel. But for my money (literally) I'm with the city view. A - I won't be in the room during the day; B - it's March, for crying out loud; that means a basically gray lakeview with possibly no distinction between lake, sky, and shoreline; C - who can pass up this amazing skyline, lit up at night. Hey, I'll stay away from cocktail parties for that view!
(Note to church members reading this blog: what do I know about cocktail parties?)
So, that's the kid in me - a trip to the city, staying in a nice hotel, and 4 days downtown. The professional in me is every bit as eager for the convention proper. Throughout each day, concert sessions feature 3 or 4 auditioned choirs - choirs of all types - each presenting a 25-minute program. We will hear children's choirs, students of all ages, and community choirs. Special performances punctuate the event, including choirs from around the world, professional groups (Chanticleer, anyone?), and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus with Elijah conducted by Helmuth Rilling. One has to have a high tolerance for outstanding choral music to survive this convention. No, I wouldn't miss it.
Not to mention workshops, interest sessions, reading new music. All this in the context of friendships renewed and begun. The ACDA national convention is the most tiring four days I ever look forward to. And I always come home (even just from downtown) ready and eager for the rest of the choral season.
I can hardly wait!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Hiatus
OK, so I've been busy, all right? And some of that busy-ness has prompted reflection that I'd rather not air in a public forum. It's been hard to write, and all 3 of my blogs have been somewhat dormant.
I've been on hiatus, but not one of my choosing.
My email filter caught a message this week from a regular email correspondent. I'm not sure why this particular note was held as junk mail. The subject line was simply "Hiatus," which made me wonder, did my spam guard not know the meaning of that word? I had to stop myself from spinning that out - how could Mr. Filter make something nefarious out of "hiatus?" Best left unexplored, I think. Hiatus.
Lacuna. I've always loved that word - lacuna. I probably would not know it but for studies in musicology. A blank space or missing part. I've been on hiatus from my blogs, and that has left a lacuna, for me if for no one else. Another word that might be misunderstood, I suppose. It does make me feel like taking a vacation, perhaps in a cabana beside a quiet ... you know, laguna. "Lacuna matata," the catchy slogan for a blog gone quiet.
Laconic. My daughter replied to an email earlier this week, "I'm always being ironic." To which I shot back, "while I'm always being laconic." Patently false, in terms of my actual blog posts, by the way. But I think pretty close to the mark in conversation. Just ask my Karen. And my colleagues. Perhaps my choir wish it were more so in rehearsals.
Now here it is, October, 6 or 7 weeks into a new choir season, leaves turning brilliantly, Christmas music prep underway, a sort of mini-disaster at my house (still in disarray), a grad course in theology threatening yet one more aspect of my self-esteem, and yet oddly it feels like I am just settling into "normal."
Let the hiatus draw to a close, the lacunae fill in, and the blog posts be laconic.
I've been on hiatus, but not one of my choosing.
My email filter caught a message this week from a regular email correspondent. I'm not sure why this particular note was held as junk mail. The subject line was simply "Hiatus," which made me wonder, did my spam guard not know the meaning of that word? I had to stop myself from spinning that out - how could Mr. Filter make something nefarious out of "hiatus?" Best left unexplored, I think. Hiatus.
Lacuna. I've always loved that word - lacuna. I probably would not know it but for studies in musicology. A blank space or missing part. I've been on hiatus from my blogs, and that has left a lacuna, for me if for no one else. Another word that might be misunderstood, I suppose. It does make me feel like taking a vacation, perhaps in a cabana beside a quiet ... you know, laguna. "Lacuna matata," the catchy slogan for a blog gone quiet.
Laconic. My daughter replied to an email earlier this week, "I'm always being ironic." To which I shot back, "while I'm always being laconic." Patently false, in terms of my actual blog posts, by the way. But I think pretty close to the mark in conversation. Just ask my Karen. And my colleagues. Perhaps my choir wish it were more so in rehearsals.
Now here it is, October, 6 or 7 weeks into a new choir season, leaves turning brilliantly, Christmas music prep underway, a sort of mini-disaster at my house (still in disarray), a grad course in theology threatening yet one more aspect of my self-esteem, and yet oddly it feels like I am just settling into "normal."
Let the hiatus draw to a close, the lacunae fill in, and the blog posts be laconic.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Phish or Ghoti?
The band Phish played two concerts in Chicago this weekend. A couple of my grown children used to be Phish fans (and maybe still are), which was my point of reference when I heard the announcements on Chicago's public radio station - which was both cool and ... strange. And hearing the band's name again set up a string of associations. Bear with me!
First, the spelling of the name. Well, it's rather obvious. But I had recently seen the YouTube post "Everyday IPA" at the ChoralNet daily blog, and was still chuckling over that. And that made me think of the notion, generally attributed to George Bernard Shaw, that with the outrageous inconsistencies in English spelling, the word "fish" could be spelled ghoti.
Shaw is credited with this facetious observation, because he was an ardent advocate for the reform of English spelling. A reform which I suppose school children would welcome, as would those learning English as a second language. But without an English version of L'Academie francaise it just never can take hold. The argument - made to highlight how crazy it is to have a language with such diverse spelling options - goes like this:
gh - "f" as in laugh
o - "i" as in women
ti - "sh" as in election or initial
Of course, there are rules of pronunciation that actually rule out that the letters put in the given order would be pronounced "fish." Gh only carries the "f" sound at the end of words, for example. And yet, I suppose this is part of the point for Shaw or whomever would use ghoti to argue for spelling reform. Those may be the rules, but ... why?
OK, I can't help but think of my work, and particularly that part of the work that decides what the congregation will sing in worship. If we want to sing about "fish" - must we sing "phish" to appeal to a younger, pop-music-driven crowd? On the other hand, may our song ever be so esoteric as to hide "fish" in ghoti? What if we have both a youthful crowd, and a highly educated crowd, together? Wouldn't "fish" be best served up, in its simplest, most straight-forward, standard form?
I can certainly ask the same of preachers. Why talk "phish" in a multi-generational context? And please, don't take a detour in the arcane and tell me why "fish" is really ghoti is really - after all - fish!
I'm trying to finish up my prep work for the new choir season. We won't be singing any Phish, and I'll try to be careful that ghoti doesn't factor into the repertoire here, either. Here's to clarity: which is not simplistic, not the tried and true, and certainly not tasteless. But which we can count on being direct, honest, and beautiful.
First, the spelling of the name. Well, it's rather obvious. But I had recently seen the YouTube post "Everyday IPA" at the ChoralNet daily blog, and was still chuckling over that. And that made me think of the notion, generally attributed to George Bernard Shaw, that with the outrageous inconsistencies in English spelling, the word "fish" could be spelled ghoti.
Shaw is credited with this facetious observation, because he was an ardent advocate for the reform of English spelling. A reform which I suppose school children would welcome, as would those learning English as a second language. But without an English version of L'Academie francaise it just never can take hold. The argument - made to highlight how crazy it is to have a language with such diverse spelling options - goes like this:
gh - "f" as in laugh
o - "i" as in women
ti - "sh" as in election or initial
Of course, there are rules of pronunciation that actually rule out that the letters put in the given order would be pronounced "fish." Gh only carries the "f" sound at the end of words, for example. And yet, I suppose this is part of the point for Shaw or whomever would use ghoti to argue for spelling reform. Those may be the rules, but ... why?
OK, I can't help but think of my work, and particularly that part of the work that decides what the congregation will sing in worship. If we want to sing about "fish" - must we sing "phish" to appeal to a younger, pop-music-driven crowd? On the other hand, may our song ever be so esoteric as to hide "fish" in ghoti? What if we have both a youthful crowd, and a highly educated crowd, together? Wouldn't "fish" be best served up, in its simplest, most straight-forward, standard form?
I can certainly ask the same of preachers. Why talk "phish" in a multi-generational context? And please, don't take a detour in the arcane and tell me why "fish" is really ghoti is really - after all - fish!
I'm trying to finish up my prep work for the new choir season. We won't be singing any Phish, and I'll try to be careful that ghoti doesn't factor into the repertoire here, either. Here's to clarity: which is not simplistic, not the tried and true, and certainly not tasteless. But which we can count on being direct, honest, and beautiful.
Monday, August 2, 2010
photo op
I had to take my dog to the vet the other day. Poor fellow. And my dog, too; I also felt sorry for Truman.
Truman (it's not a political name; it's for the Jim Carrey role) had to leave the examining room with the vet, while I stayed behind. Normally my Karen takes Tru in, and I understand nearly all visits go this way. The poor vet. I had to wait in the examining room and, unusually, had not brought along something to read.
So, I looked at the informational posters. The photo montage of the cats and dogs that this vet cares for, whatever was on the wall. And eventually I got to this photo I'm going to try to describe. You've seen a photomosaic before, I'm sure. Perhaps the classic is the "photo" of Abraham Lincoln. As you approach it, it takes on a pointillistic look, and then upon inspection you see that it is comprised of fourscore and seven tiny photographs, all of them of Abraham Lincoln, but not all of them alike.
This was that technique, a picture of "a dog" that was, upon closer inspection, many pictures of all kinds of dogs, put together in just such a way as to create someone's idea (I suppose) of the ideal dog. (Though, I have to say, it didn't look like Truman, so ...)
And, POW! It was but a small quick hop to see how like a photomosaic a choir is. Visually, a robed choir is like this. I recently had occasion to defend the concept of a robed choir at my church. My argument is always: we want to be seen as a whole, not as a group of individuals; no one stands out in a robed choir. Those who see are not distracted by the very well dressed nor the, shall we say, sartorially challenged among us.
And aurally, any choir is like this. "More than the sum of its parts" only begins to describe it. Let's say the featured "dog" in question is an Australian Shepherd mix (just for example's sake, and let's call him Truman). He is beautiful, and you want to get closer to him. But as you do, you notice that his picture is comprised of other kinds of shepherds, bird dogs, lap dogs, ratters, fancy show dogs, and that lousy mutt down the street whose business always ends up in your front yard. The church choir, in particular (and I suppose most school choirs, many community choirs, and others with which I have no experience) may include the gamut of musical experience, ability, finesse, etc. They have, perhaps, very little in common, and mostly that is: they sing. One may or may not wish to hear every participant sing alone, just as one may or may not wish to own a Dachshund or a Great Dane. But their combined sound will, with proper care, result in a "picture" that may be surprising - surprising in its composite ("what?! you made us into an Aussie?!") and surprising in its detail ("what?! you included a Chihuahua?!").
Some artist has to create the photomosaic. I see that there is software that will do this. Of course there is. But in the end, it takes an artful eye to make it truly pleasing and more surprising the closer you get to the picture. It is not all about technique.
Some artist has to create the choralmosaic. Sure, I can learn techniques to help with it. But in the end, it will take an artful ear to turn a group of people (I refuse to stoop to the easy joke here) into a choir that people will want to hear, week after week, season to season, year to year.
I don't have a photomosaic in my home or office. If I did, I'm sure I would begin to take the overall picture for granted. I might even get bored with it. I certainly would if I didn't stop, now and then anyway, to look at the little details that made up the whole. To explore and enjoy the little Lincolns, or the array of breeds, that made up the big picture. Just like working with the choir. It is not all about the overall sound, the big picture, it is every bit as much about the details, the tiny pieces, the individuals who allow themselves to be placed just so in this work.
Well, it's an imperfect analogy, and I want to consider it more. But it's a helpful one. I should just probably use the Lincoln photo, and not the dog photo, when I begin to apply it to my own choir.
Truman (it's not a political name; it's for the Jim Carrey role) had to leave the examining room with the vet, while I stayed behind. Normally my Karen takes Tru in, and I understand nearly all visits go this way. The poor vet. I had to wait in the examining room and, unusually, had not brought along something to read.
So, I looked at the informational posters. The photo montage of the cats and dogs that this vet cares for, whatever was on the wall. And eventually I got to this photo I'm going to try to describe. You've seen a photomosaic before, I'm sure. Perhaps the classic is the "photo" of Abraham Lincoln. As you approach it, it takes on a pointillistic look, and then upon inspection you see that it is comprised of fourscore and seven tiny photographs, all of them of Abraham Lincoln, but not all of them alike.
This was that technique, a picture of "a dog" that was, upon closer inspection, many pictures of all kinds of dogs, put together in just such a way as to create someone's idea (I suppose) of the ideal dog. (Though, I have to say, it didn't look like Truman, so ...)
And, POW! It was but a small quick hop to see how like a photomosaic a choir is. Visually, a robed choir is like this. I recently had occasion to defend the concept of a robed choir at my church. My argument is always: we want to be seen as a whole, not as a group of individuals; no one stands out in a robed choir. Those who see are not distracted by the very well dressed nor the, shall we say, sartorially challenged among us.
And aurally, any choir is like this. "More than the sum of its parts" only begins to describe it. Let's say the featured "dog" in question is an Australian Shepherd mix (just for example's sake, and let's call him Truman). He is beautiful, and you want to get closer to him. But as you do, you notice that his picture is comprised of other kinds of shepherds, bird dogs, lap dogs, ratters, fancy show dogs, and that lousy mutt down the street whose business always ends up in your front yard. The church choir, in particular (and I suppose most school choirs, many community choirs, and others with which I have no experience) may include the gamut of musical experience, ability, finesse, etc. They have, perhaps, very little in common, and mostly that is: they sing. One may or may not wish to hear every participant sing alone, just as one may or may not wish to own a Dachshund or a Great Dane. But their combined sound will, with proper care, result in a "picture" that may be surprising - surprising in its composite ("what?! you made us into an Aussie?!") and surprising in its detail ("what?! you included a Chihuahua?!").
Some artist has to create the photomosaic. I see that there is software that will do this. Of course there is. But in the end, it takes an artful eye to make it truly pleasing and more surprising the closer you get to the picture. It is not all about technique.
Some artist has to create the choralmosaic. Sure, I can learn techniques to help with it. But in the end, it will take an artful ear to turn a group of people (I refuse to stoop to the easy joke here) into a choir that people will want to hear, week after week, season to season, year to year.
I don't have a photomosaic in my home or office. If I did, I'm sure I would begin to take the overall picture for granted. I might even get bored with it. I certainly would if I didn't stop, now and then anyway, to look at the little details that made up the whole. To explore and enjoy the little Lincolns, or the array of breeds, that made up the big picture. Just like working with the choir. It is not all about the overall sound, the big picture, it is every bit as much about the details, the tiny pieces, the individuals who allow themselves to be placed just so in this work.
Well, it's an imperfect analogy, and I want to consider it more. But it's a helpful one. I should just probably use the Lincoln photo, and not the dog photo, when I begin to apply it to my own choir.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Directors Chorus
I've been out of the office for three weeks, and there are a few stories from that absence. But right in the middle of this vacation I attended the IL-ACDA Summer Re-Treat. One of the highlights of our annual summer conference is the Directors Chorus, conducted by a guest of national/international stature, and always a stimulating few days of music-making.
The Chorus is comprised of all the choir directors attending the conference. The days also include reading sessions (by interest area), other plenary sessions (on topics of choral musicianship, conducting technique, etc.), gatherings around interest areas (for example, Music in Worship), and some really fun social time. There are people I look forward to seeing at each Re-Treat, whom I never see at any other time of the year. And always new people to meet and enjoy.
This year's guest conductor was Charles Bruffy. Mr. Bruffy is the artistic director of the Phoenix Chorale, the Kansas City Chorale and the Kansas City Symphony Chorus. Oh, and he has a church gig. In the first 30 seconds of our first rehearsal, I knew I was going to enjoy this! Over the course of two days, we had seven rehearsals with Mr. Bruffy, ranging in length from 60 minutes (the standard was 50) to 20 minutes (just before 'curtain'). The second evening of Re-Treat we performed a program of 8 pieces. None of them were perfect, but most of them were sung well and meaningfully. The others were .. fun, at least.
There was not a lot of music in this program that I could use in worship at College Church. And, to be completely honest, there was a lot said in rehearsal that I probably won't be repeating in my own church choir rehearsals! Nothing inappropriate, mind you, but maybe just a tad outrageous for the folks I stand in front of each week. Apt, and instructive, and with good results obtained. And loads of fun.
The big take-away for me, for my work, was Bruffy's intense concentration on the clear articulation of individual words. The texts really jumped off the page. I am eager to get going in our own rehearsals and implement especially the diction lessons. As a choir in worship, what we are privileged to sing is so important - I really want us to improve in the way that comes across each time we sing. I have a feeling it will be a tough go at first. We will sing things we already know, and slip into our comfortable habits with them. When we learn new pieces, working diction will feel like learning slower. But I hope that we can establish the concepts quickly, and learn to apply them consistently to music familiar and new. It will take some time! And patience on both sides of the podium. And consistency on my side of the podium.
I think I laughed a lot in these rehearsals. It's always fun to be a chorister, and a Directors Chorus is every bit as intractable as a church choir. But I resonated so much with Charles's personality and approach. To my own choir, I often apologize for sarcasm (it is my besetting sin). But I have to admit, in the right hands it is an effective communications tool. I only wish mine were as easy to take as we got in these rehearsals. (And, though I never felt they were called for, Mr. Bruffy did often stop to apologize. In my view, he needn't have bothered.)
A few quick quotes that my choir will no doubt hear early in the next season. As Charles said right up front, "plagiarize ... and interpret ideas as if they are your own." So, who knows where some of the following originated. But here are a few from this summer's Directors Chorus:
The Chorus is comprised of all the choir directors attending the conference. The days also include reading sessions (by interest area), other plenary sessions (on topics of choral musicianship, conducting technique, etc.), gatherings around interest areas (for example, Music in Worship), and some really fun social time. There are people I look forward to seeing at each Re-Treat, whom I never see at any other time of the year. And always new people to meet and enjoy.
This year's guest conductor was Charles Bruffy. Mr. Bruffy is the artistic director of the Phoenix Chorale, the Kansas City Chorale and the Kansas City Symphony Chorus. Oh, and he has a church gig. In the first 30 seconds of our first rehearsal, I knew I was going to enjoy this! Over the course of two days, we had seven rehearsals with Mr. Bruffy, ranging in length from 60 minutes (the standard was 50) to 20 minutes (just before 'curtain'). The second evening of Re-Treat we performed a program of 8 pieces. None of them were perfect, but most of them were sung well and meaningfully. The others were .. fun, at least.
There was not a lot of music in this program that I could use in worship at College Church. And, to be completely honest, there was a lot said in rehearsal that I probably won't be repeating in my own church choir rehearsals! Nothing inappropriate, mind you, but maybe just a tad outrageous for the folks I stand in front of each week. Apt, and instructive, and with good results obtained. And loads of fun.
The big take-away for me, for my work, was Bruffy's intense concentration on the clear articulation of individual words. The texts really jumped off the page. I am eager to get going in our own rehearsals and implement especially the diction lessons. As a choir in worship, what we are privileged to sing is so important - I really want us to improve in the way that comes across each time we sing. I have a feeling it will be a tough go at first. We will sing things we already know, and slip into our comfortable habits with them. When we learn new pieces, working diction will feel like learning slower. But I hope that we can establish the concepts quickly, and learn to apply them consistently to music familiar and new. It will take some time! And patience on both sides of the podium. And consistency on my side of the podium.
I think I laughed a lot in these rehearsals. It's always fun to be a chorister, and a Directors Chorus is every bit as intractable as a church choir. But I resonated so much with Charles's personality and approach. To my own choir, I often apologize for sarcasm (it is my besetting sin). But I have to admit, in the right hands it is an effective communications tool. I only wish mine were as easy to take as we got in these rehearsals. (And, though I never felt they were called for, Mr. Bruffy did often stop to apologize. In my view, he needn't have bothered.)
A few quick quotes that my choir will no doubt hear early in the next season. As Charles said right up front, "plagiarize ... and interpret ideas as if they are your own." So, who knows where some of the following originated. But here are a few from this summer's Directors Chorus:
- "Get a return on your investment." In other words, if you worked so hard to get this thing right, here, why squander that time and energy by not applying it everywhere?
- "Make it a game, to get things right the first time." Why are singers apparently so content to muddle through in sight-reading?
- "Listen louder than you sing." This I've heard any number of times, and I always can use it.
- "Vibrato is a beautiful thing, until it draws attention to itself. And/or causes intonation problems. D - all of the above." Enough said.
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