Blue Ridge
Vocal Connection
I’m happy to report that my second session with the Connection was better than the first, even improving my mood a bit after having a spat with my ladyfriend, the incoming pianist, on the way there. It was music therapy at its best, shaking my stress and aggravation long enough to let some joy return again.
Do I need to state the obvious, that these have been stressful days for all of us who care about our country and world.
The session was better not because I felt like I sang any better, perhaps an unrealistic goal after only one instance, the first in my life, of music education. I’ve always wondered what music educators actually taught – isn’t music a purely instinctual, natural thing? – and am now pleased to at least have some sense of it: part cheerleader, part coach, part caring parent. Perhaps one aspect of making us better singers is making us THINK we’re better singers and have the confidence to stick around, given the tortuous misery of our own inferior voices on the way there, speaking only for myself, I assure you. I’m now better convinced of the value of expert teaching.
I again positioned myself alongside my new personal mentor, Joe, who allows me to share his score book and who keeps time with a pencil to show me where we’re at. He shares lots of hints that help balance the confusing and conflicting needs to watch the beat, watch the words, watch the conductor, watch the page-to-page turning forward and back, and watch the notes, especially confusing as I have no idea what note is what or anything other than up is higher and down is lower. And all the while trying to hear what auditory misdeeds emanate from my throat and make some tonal corrections as necessary, on the fly, so to speak. It’s not so much that Joe has taken me under his wing, although he’s been everything an impromptu mentor should be, as that I’ve camped out there, trying to listen and absorb, hopeful that our proximity might being osmotic learning. By that I mean I’m hoping that just by hanging around I’ll get better. Or if not, at least if anyone (like for instance, Thomas the conductor) happens to lend an ear over our way, they’ll hear more of Joe’s than mine and think we sound great!
The choir split up, and when the low voices reassembled in another room apart from the high voices, Joe’s help was particularly valued.
An hour later, the full choir got back together in the larger room of the church and we sounded tolerably good, at least to my untrained ear. The world has been making lots of strife and destruction and turmoil and anger lately, so it was nice to be making something as therapeutic as music.
And I’m pleased to report that when I dropped off my lady Susan at her house, she’d buried our prior disagreement, invited me in, and we more than made up.
That would be the end of the story, but I arrived home to find a message from a man I’ve known since high school, writing to tell me that he’s working on a music project and he wanted to let me know about it and invite me to participate. Jack is an accomplished Appalachian musician, former executive director of The Crooked Road, Virginia’s Heritage Music Trail skirting across Southwest Virginia, a man with perhaps the most extensive Rolodex (Who remembers those things?) of traditional Appalachian musicians in the world.
Jack had taken the traditional African-American gospel song “This Train Is Bound For Glory,” and written some new lyrics referencing the themes of this moment. Introducing his idea, he said he was putting together a recording session to make a video at a studio somewhere near his home in Abingdon. He finished with this, “I look forward to producing this video with everyone and feeling like we did something more than worry - we made some good trouble. Let me know if you would like to participate. This would dovetail nicely into your recent choral endeavors.”
It was anybody’s guess what he had in mind for me, given my epic musical deformities, but I quickly decided that my participation in the project, while maybe not improving it for the project’s sake, would still be cathartic for me. Like-minded people, singing, and feeling like we were doing something – yeah, good.
This train don’t carry no cowards, this train
This train don’t carry no cowards, this train
This train don’t carry no cowards,
Wannabe kings who abuse their powers
This train don’t carry no cowards, this train
Jack’s session is only 9 days away, the day after our day-long choral workshop. So it’ll be a weekend of singing. Did I bite off more than I could chew?
Anyway, I called him this morning to get more details and I definitely want to be there to assist in any way. Susan and I talked about it and I think we’ll make a day of it, going bicycling on the Virginia Creeper Trail, then having lunch in Abingdon before heading over to the session. I think Jack will want to keep me away from the microphones, but otherwise I hope to be able to contribute in some way.
Stay tuned.