Minding My Own Business

When people go to jail, they are advised to "do their own time", meaning, basically, "mind their own business". It's odd that that's a phrase that often pops into my head when I'm struggling with something in a choir piece. Being in a choir is about blending, no? It's about other people. And certainly no two things could have less in common than a choir, which is spiritually and artistically nourishing, and jail, which is not.

But I find that phrase helpful because I tend to get thrown by other people. I don't mean by their singing, but by wondering how I measure up. There is, of course, the hotshot young coloratura, who just celebrated her 25th birthday, who has cast iron lungs, and can wail through all the choir soprano parts for hours without tiring, and compared to whom, in that setting, I always find myself wanting. Then there is the woman who always tells me to shush, because I'm singing too loud. She has done that less lately, possibly because her own voice has blossomed, also because we became friendly and bonded around something outside of choir.

When I say I "do my own time" it's also about the fact that my primary reason for being there is to keep my voice in shape in musically and spiritually nourishing surroundings. I am not getting paid, nor am I a member of the congregation although this year I did pledge to give the church some money, because I love the church and the people there, although the idea of even thinking of becoming Baptised makes me squirm. (I can see my Jewish mother coming back from reading Henry James in Heaven to haunt me.) I wish I could say I'm singing to serve God but I'm really not. I'm doing it for me. Serving God is a nice byproduct and one that I don't overlook, but it's not the main reason I'm there.

So the best way not to get nervous, self-conscious, and bent out of shape over a stressful high note (what else stresses me after all? nothing! I am certainly never stressed out by singing a solo that only goes up to an F or even a G) is to imagine I'm all by myself in my kitchen with the water running, trying to make the best possible sound that I can.

So Wednesday night when we got to the Randall Thompson, at the end of a long rehearsal, I stood up (there's no reason for me to sit if I have to sing a high A - why should I?) and kept the focus on myself. I got out about three lovely pianissimo A flats. The A natural I blew because I was afraid it would come out too loud so I just squeaked it and then crescendoed into the next descending note, but the most important thing is I didn't get paralyzed with nerves. So that's progress.

Now it's back to washing clothes and singing it again and again and again and again.

Tune in for the next update.