Suddenly and with malice!
Later this week I’ll be performing in concert with an orchestra, in the chorus section. Even those of you who know me in real life will probably be surprised by this, as I don’t often tout my vocal talents.
And rightly so—I have none. Though I was a dedicated member of the school choir in the fourth, fifth, sixth, AND seventh grades (hardcore, I know) and of the junior choirs of two churches (neither for very long), I’ve never done any serious voice training, and my singing voice is mediocre at best. I like to sing (who doesn’t?), but other people don’t like to listen to my singing. Totally their loss.
Still, I enjoyed choir, and I’ve always wanted to perform in *something* as part of a large group, whether it be a concert, a play, or a dance recital. I relish the idea of working on something artsy like that, practicing it and working together, then performing it for an audience. I think I would enjoy being a member of a professional orchestra—not a soloist, but part of the larger group. Pity, then, that my parents chose to give me years of lessons in piano instead of, say, French horn. (Just kidding, mom and dad! I love piano! Very grateful!)
So I was excited to read that this concert required “musicians of all skill levels.” That’s me! I figured they could probably find plenty of music majors who could sing *well*, but they’d need more warm bodies to fill out the medium-to-crappy range. And that’s where I come in.
Our first rehearsal (of two) was tonight. I’d often wondered what went on in an orchestra rehearsal. In a word? Intensity. Everything moved superfast, and most of the time I felt like I was in way over my head. For instance, I know that each instrument (or section?) has its own score, but I never realized how difficult it would be to follow along without being able to see the other parts*.
But I can read music, and I can count time, and I can take direction, so every time the conductor appeared to be gesturing in our direction I opened my mouth wide and sang something within an octave** of the right note. He can’t hear me, of course, but I *totally* look like I know what I’m doing.
The piece itself is very modern, and as such it’s more concerned with sound and texture than, say, melody. Among the instruments it calls for are two radios, a fire alarm, and more wine glasses than strings. All the usual components of an orchestra are still present, and there’s plenty of ‘music,’ but it often breaks down into chaos or white noise or some other effect. Fortunately, the composer himself is conducting, so he can lead us through the chaos in a meaningful way.
My favorite part is the beginning. The piece opens with a sharp outburst of sound, which is meant to come up from behind the audience (metaphorically) and smack it in the head. The composer introduces the piece, explains what it represents***, then turns to us. He raises his arms, and we all pick up our instruments on cue, like a classical orchestra. Then, with a tiny flick of his baton, he gives us half a beat and BAM! the room explodes with sound. It’s marvelously thrilling.
The first time we rehearsed the opening “for real,” he raised his arms, flicked the baton, and everything went BAM! . . . only to fade to a confused near-silence as the entire orchestra jumped in their chairs and forgot to play their next notes*^. It was that awesome.
I wish there were more than two rehearsals—I can hardly wait until Friday. Perhaps I’ll take up a new instrument and join a real community orchestra. Those exist, right?
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* The choral scores did have a couple other parts on them, the handiest of which was the triangle, as it had its own cute little triangle symbol. Every time I heard the triangle I was all YES! Triangle! I see triangle!
** I do not have perfect pitch, or even ‘good’ pitch. I can see that I’m supposed to be singing an F, but I cannot produce an F on command. Nor can I, once I’ve started singing, tell you if I’m in the right key. Conveniently, in several places the score directed me to “sing any note in this range, as long as it doesn’t harmonize with the note your neighbor is singing.” *That* I can do.
*** The bombing of Hiroshima. And it represents it rather well, IMmusically-illiterateO.
*^ Again with the mismatched pronouns. A good writer would rewrite this sentence.
Tags: miscellany