Sound Waves

April 22, 2011: In the midst of all the NOT FUN things I get to do lately on an (almost) daily basis, I also get to do some VERY FUN things - like singing with my favorite groupies, the Utah Symphony Chorus. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself and wonder how I ever got so lucky to be able to sing with the incomparable Utah Symphony Orchestra - a world class organization - and stand in front of such great conductors as Keith Lockhart, Thierry Fischer, Andrew Litton, and our chorus director, Susanne Sheston. It is a blessing and a guilty pleasure to spend two hours a week in rehearsal during the year with my 150 co-choristers; and then, during concert week, to meet nightly at the beautiful Abravanel Hall in SLC and sit on stage with our orchestra and conductor and soloists as we iron out the rough spots for the performances and participate in extraordinary classical musical feasts.

This season, we started preparing four months ago for our performance of "A Child of Our Time", written by Michael Tippetts. He's a contemporary composer, which usually means the tune may be a little wonky in rhythm and melody- which to my very symmetrical and Mozart-like brain means it's not at all harmonious. I like my music to mesh - to lead from one beautifully-placed note to the next. Mr. Tippetts likes it to clang and clash and cause one to wince a bit. During those first few weeks of rehearsal, as we waded through notes that went up the scale when they should have gone down and rhythm patterns that had the men singing one way and the women another, I hated the piece. Well, that's harsh. Let's say I was totally unenthusiastic about it. It was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

But as I've had to miss rehearsals and been required to work on my own, which involves listening to MP3 files online of Dr. Sheston playing my Alto part prominently on the piano while the other parts are playing softly in the background, the piece has become more comfortable. Not like an old pair of slippers, but like something that has been through the wash and come out of little softer. Certain parts will never be something I'll sing in the shower, but some parts are downright haunting and beautiful. Yes, I've come to respect - and even admire - Mr. Tippetts.

The rule in our Symphony Chorus is that we commit to attending every rehearsal during concert week, usually Tuesday through Thursday, with performances on Friday and Saturday nights - or we bow out of the performance. It's a given, no argument. Of course, there are always extenuating circumstances, but permission is rarely asked for, even in those times, and rarely given; the reason being that every night, notes on delivery - speed, phrasing, pronunciation, dynamics, etc. - are passed from the conductor to Dr. Sheston to us, the choristers. You miss a night and you might be the one shouting out that last note when the conductor decided at the last minute that it should be whispered, sotto voce. Not a good thing. So, when I found out that we would be rehearsing an extra night - adding Monday night to the mix - I didn't think I would have the energy to do it. Already, the Tuesday rehearsals at the Production Studios was taxing; I got very droopy by 9:00 and could hardly talk, let alone sing. I'll admit I was not as well prepared for this concert as I've been in the past, missing those weeks with the group while I was healing from surgery, but I still had put in a bunch of time and wanted to perform. I knew Dr. Sheston - I do call her Susanne, even at rehearsals - was aware of my situation and had even asked about me while I was gone. So, I gathered up my courage, hitched up my bootstraps, and said a prayer that the best decision would be made - and asked Susanne if she would agree to let me do a modified rehearsal schedule: Tuesday and Thursday at Abravanel, copying down all the notes passed along from either her or my buddies in the Alto section, and practicing more on my own. I was prepared to be denied; in the past, she's been known to deny performing to people who have a child getting married on one of the rehearsal nights or a death in the family. Yep, I was ready to grab my comp ticket and sit in the audience and just listen. To my amazement, she agreed to my schedule and even wished me the best along my journey. Before Tuesday night's rehearsal, as we were making our way to the stage, she came up beside me and asked me how I was doing. I was touched at her concern and very, very grateful for this opportunity.

So, here I go. In less than three hours, I'll be standing on stage, waiting for the first bars of this difficult, challenging, but haunting and hopeful piece of classical music. The soloists are first rate and add depth and soul to their parts. As I listened to the Contralto's first solo, I was touched by the words, and realized that they hold much more meaning to me now than they ever would have done before:

"Man has measured the heavens with a telescope, driven the Gods from their thrones. But the soul, watching the chaotic mirror, knows that the Gods return. Truly, the living God consumes within, and turns the flesh to cancer!"

Later, the chorus sings, "I would know my shadow and my light; so shall I at last be whole. Then courage, brother, dare the grave passage. Here is no final grieving, but an abiding hope. The moving waters renew the earth. It is spring."

In between, we sing "spirituals": "Steal away to Jesus, I ain't got long to stay here," and "Nobody knows the trouble I see, Lord," and "Go down, Moses," and "Deep river, my home is over Jordan...I wanna cross over into campground, Lord." I hope it will be as mesmerizing to the audience as it's been to all of us.

Wish me luck, but don't tell me to "break a leg". Too many broken things are trying to heal as it is. I'll be a-singing and a-swaying and a-smiling under those hot, bright lights. It's just where I wanted to be before my life turned upside down. It's another miracle.