for something different

OK. I kind of disgusted myself with the self-loathing in that last post. So, to undo that, I present to you my first published article. It's me, in a nutshell.

[editor's note: if you get lost in the choir jargon, please consult google.]


We may, or may not, have a problem.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an addiction. To choir. I need it. Every day, like clockwork, I have to get my hit of chords. When schools out, I go to youtube to get my fix. There should be a support group for people like us. (Wait, I think it’s called KCDA). I’ll start the meeting. “Hi, my name is Kevin and I’m a choir junkie.” [Everyone- “Hi, Kevin”]

Most people probably won’t admit that what really drives them to be choral directors is the need to hear well sung harmonies, perfectly formed vowels, crisply enunciated consonants or impassioned melodies. But choir junkies are easy to spot. Just mention the words “choir rehearsal” and you’ll notice their eyes brighten. They sit forward a bit. They talk faster and carry a slight grin. (However, this is easily confused with, “I’m about to attack you.” So beware.)

This complete obsession for everything choir drives me every day and gets me out of bed in the morning. By no means do we get a perfect rehearsal every time. What I and, I think, most choir junkies live for are those tiny, almost imperceptible moments of brilliance. Maybe you hit the perfectly dissonant chord just once. Or the [O] finally rings brilliant, if even for a split second. You know it. The choir knows it. And if you’re lucky, they know how to get back to that moment.

The greatest fix of all, however, is when you can see it in the choir’s eyes while they’re singing. Harmonies locking, phrases flowing; you and the choir are discovering new ground. And suddenly they’re not just hearing, but feeling the music.

It is moments where the choir truly comes together with each other and you that create the rush of adrenaline that we keep searching for. It’s our “fix.” And if we’re truly hooked, we keep looking for ways to get back to that high and keep driving at it until we get it again.

Of course we realize that, invariably, if we get to that magic spot then they are likely to follow that with a botched modulation.

But those little fixes keep me going.

Seventh grade choir is sight-reading. We add “La.” They are brilliant and sing eight bars perfectly in beautiful unison with faultless handsigns. Not a single mistake. They know it. I know it.

Then someone blurts out, “Augh! Who farted??”