I have been very privilaged here in Juneau to have found an outlet for all of that musical energy. There is a small, volunteer, no tryout required, and no fee requested choir here called the Bach Society. Apparently the conductor wants to perform every Bach Cantata. I don't think any of us will be around long enough for that, but in the meantime it is very very fun to be in a choir and learn music that I actually have to work at again. I had forgotten how fun it was to totally blunder through this passage and another, completely oblivious to which notes you've got right and which you're totally butchering. And then to go over and over it and find you can actually sing the right notes at the right time and with the correct word in some language you don't understand with the correct pronounciation.
Last winter we teemed up with the Alaska Youth Choir and sang John Rutter's Mass for the Children, which is an absolutely beautiful piece of music.
Then in the spring we enlisted the help of the truely amazing Juneau-Douglas High School Choir to make an attempt at the 1610 Monteverdi Vespers which at times has the two different choirs singing in 5 parts each all at the same time, and all 10 parts are singing something different. Not only that, but they all have to come in at different times all half a beat apart. That was a lot of work, let me tell you. Some of the most fun I've had since I got to Juneau.
This fall they renamed us the Symphony Choir and made us pay 25 bucks to get in, but we got to sing Mahler's 2nd Symphony with the Orchestra and that was quite exciting, even if we only got to sing for about 7 pages at the very end of the 5th and last movement.
Right now we're learning Bach Cantata #147 for the 18th and 19th of December, which is the cantata with the Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring corale in it. It's got all these crazy long runs of 16th notes at the beginning which we're slowly making sense of.
***
It's been over a year since I wrote the top part of this post. Apparently I was feeling rather informative then, and I find my current mood doesn't quite match. This is me warning you of a change in tone. Warning complete.
PS. I case you didn't catch this, the info above can now be considered old news.
***
The thing I love most about singing in the Bach society is running through a section we don't quite know yet. Maybe we've gone through each individual part once or twice, but by the time you finish with that you've got everybody else's part in you're head and can't for the life of you remember what yours is supposed to sound like. And the director says, "Now pick a part and let's go." And he brings up his hands. The pianist plays a string of notes and you hold desperately onto the one that you're reasonably sure is the one you're supposed to start on. And the hands come down, and you sing. Your eyes glued to the little spots that dance up and down their little staircase of lines, and you try to follow them, but you miss more often then you hit and you're wrong more often then you're right but you don't care. You sing out unashamed. 'Cause everybody's wrong, and therefore everybody's right, and it sounds awful, but it doesn't matter 'cause you're so caught up in the joy of it. The momentum pushes you along, and you realize you're trying to laugh and sing at the same time while butchering German on all the wrong notes. And what you really wan't to do is cry. 'Cause this is what being human is about. It's about being wrong and loving it, 'cause you know you'll work a little harder and a little longer and you'll get it right. All together, you'll get it right. And at the concert you'll stand all together and sing out (most of) the right notes with all of your being because you've worked so hard to learn something beautiful. To present it to others and say, "Is this not the language of the soul?"
On a different note, if you'll pardon the pun, I have a Wendy friend that has been introducing me to the wonders of bluegrass, folk, and old country. I mean old, old country. The kind of music that would commonly include a banjo, a fiddle, a string bass, a guitar, and a mandolin, among others. The kind of music that does not come written down on five straight little lines of perdy little dots. An oral tradition of story telling in the form of music. So when we learn a new song, that basically means, she sings it, and then I have to. And it often doesn't come out all that great, but that's okay, 'cause with folk music there is no composer staring up at you out of a black and white printed page telling you what is absolutely right and that everything else is wrong. There is no wrong. You make up your own little version and when you like it, it is right.
Wendy and I have been having a great time playing around town. We're called 'The Henhouse' and there is a page on facebook if you're interested in keeping track.
***
It's been over a year since I wrote the top part of this post. Apparently I was feeling rather informative then, and I find my current mood doesn't quite match. This is me warning you of a change in tone. Warning complete.
PS. I case you didn't catch this, the info above can now be considered old news.
***
The thing I love most about singing in the Bach society is running through a section we don't quite know yet. Maybe we've gone through each individual part once or twice, but by the time you finish with that you've got everybody else's part in you're head and can't for the life of you remember what yours is supposed to sound like. And the director says, "Now pick a part and let's go." And he brings up his hands. The pianist plays a string of notes and you hold desperately onto the one that you're reasonably sure is the one you're supposed to start on. And the hands come down, and you sing. Your eyes glued to the little spots that dance up and down their little staircase of lines, and you try to follow them, but you miss more often then you hit and you're wrong more often then you're right but you don't care. You sing out unashamed. 'Cause everybody's wrong, and therefore everybody's right, and it sounds awful, but it doesn't matter 'cause you're so caught up in the joy of it. The momentum pushes you along, and you realize you're trying to laugh and sing at the same time while butchering German on all the wrong notes. And what you really wan't to do is cry. 'Cause this is what being human is about. It's about being wrong and loving it, 'cause you know you'll work a little harder and a little longer and you'll get it right. All together, you'll get it right. And at the concert you'll stand all together and sing out (most of) the right notes with all of your being because you've worked so hard to learn something beautiful. To present it to others and say, "Is this not the language of the soul?"
On a different note, if you'll pardon the pun, I have a Wendy friend that has been introducing me to the wonders of bluegrass, folk, and old country. I mean old, old country. The kind of music that would commonly include a banjo, a fiddle, a string bass, a guitar, and a mandolin, among others. The kind of music that does not come written down on five straight little lines of perdy little dots. An oral tradition of story telling in the form of music. So when we learn a new song, that basically means, she sings it, and then I have to. And it often doesn't come out all that great, but that's okay, 'cause with folk music there is no composer staring up at you out of a black and white printed page telling you what is absolutely right and that everything else is wrong. There is no wrong. You make up your own little version and when you like it, it is right.
Wendy and I have been having a great time playing around town. We're called 'The Henhouse' and there is a page on facebook if you're interested in keeping track.