September 20th, 2015
It’s 4:00 pm on a grey Sunday afternoon, and I’ve just curled up on the upstairs sofa to write the second of my Scotland posts.
I flick through my pictures and videos, but inspiration doesn’t come.
Dressed for contest, April 2013
When I glance away from my computer screen, I see a different set of memories: a circle of women in a Montreal church, a perfect August wedding day in a Washington back yard, a group of women in baseball costumes at an American Legion hall, a tea tray set out for break time at a sailing club.
Most prevalent of all is a very recent memory: six women conducting an audition for a women’s barbershop chorus at an old mason’s lodge.
One of these women is directing, four are singing, and the sixth is standing behind one of the singers. The coatroom smells of old building: dust, well-settled wood, a touch of dampness that never seems to completely fade.
There are mirrors on the wall opposite the singers. Luckily, the bass singer who is auditioning can’t see herself in the mirror. Instead, she’s concentrating on the director, who is smiling back at her.
She can’t see the other singers to her right and left, but she can hear them. They don’t sound exactly like the learning tracks she’s been singing along with over the last few days. The sound is coming from all around, rather than directly in through her headphones, and her ears are trying to catalog the differences while also finding the place where her part fits into the music.
Halfway through the song, the singer sings a note that is out of tune. Then a second, then a third. The sixth lady, who has been a silent supportive presence behind the singer’s shoulder, softly sings the next few notes to bring the singer back on pitch.
The singer’s brain is processing information faster than conscious thought: “You need to sing higher here!” “Remember that this is the spot you need to really listen to the melody.” “Don’t forget you need to switch to your upper voice range just here to hit that note.” The music is running by so quickly that the next thought comes before the first one has finished.
When the song is over, the echoes of the last chord seem to linger in the coatroom. The singer feels as though her brain has spent the last three minutes running an obstacle course with hundreds of micro-challenges. She knows that her performance wasn’t perfect.
Was it good enough?
Regional Contest, April 2014
The director is still smiling, which is a good sign. She waits for the last chord to die away, then says “Well done!”
The singer breathes a huge sigh of relief as the director continues with some suggestions and feedback.
There are hugs and “Welcome to Crystal Chords” from the other singers, and praise for the singer’s vocal quality from the director.
A few minutes later, the singer is alone in the coatroom. She is triumphant, ecstatic.
She thinks about how, after 4 years, she still has to listen to other people to determine if she’s sharp or flat. She remembers the first time she knew where her part of the song would go before it was sung.
She remembers the enthusiastic and warm welcome of the Oregon Coast Chorus, even though she was only there for two weeks. She remembers singing to the sunset on Newport beach, learning half a dozen new songs in two weeks so she could sing with them in their summer show.
She thinks about being invited up to sing “Irish Blessing” with Shades of Harmony (a Welsh chorus) at their concert, and how amazing it was to sing with women she’d never met before that night.
She sees the women of the Greater Montreal chorus, so friendly and welcoming that they wanted her to stay in Montreal and sing with them forever.
She remembers how she always wanted to sing in someone’s wedding, and how that dream came true on a hot sunny August day last summer.
Most of all, she thinks about all of her friends in her home chorus.
She hopes they know that she wouldn’t be celebrating her audition if they hadn’t given her a safe, loving space upon which to build her foundation as a singer.
Northwest Harmony Chorus proudly displaying our breast cancer support bracelets.
A four-part barbershop chord rings out through the door of the coatroom; rehearsal has resumed.
With a last mental glance over the experiences that have brought her this far, the singer sends a wave of love and thanks to every one of the women who’ve touched her singing life so far, and heads back to rehearsal.
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