Music
The Messiah Sing Along 2012
Sunday/December/2012 10:49 AM
This
week's local Messiah sing along sounded like a Norman
Rockwell painting looks: real people, a strong sense
of community, beauty, and a sprinkling of unmatched,
droopy socks. My daughter and I had a great time, as
always, in the alto section. We sat just in front of
the basses and tenors, and guess what? Breaking news:
Men do sing! The bass directly behind me knew every
wiggly chorus part. Before we started I heard him
softly singing a famous soprano melody way up in his
falsetto range. Zoe and I chuckled and turned around
to see his young son sitting beside him. We smiled
and nodded. There were lots of sopranos so the
Hallelujah chorus was thrilling. Some tenors don't
try to show off but they can't help it because their
vocal range and timbre somehow trump our sensible
alto parts. Sometimes my goosebumps stopped me from
singing, and I had to turn my head to the left and
just watch the tenors, snapshots of physical
diversity singing their hearts out. Speaking of
diversity, the conductor was Japanese. Zoe and I
occasionally write messages on each other's scores.
On "For Unto Us A Child Is Born" I wrote in the
margin, “I heard this in the soundtrack of my dream
the night before you were born.” After shooshing me
for singing too loudly last year (she was right), she
had written on my book’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” “You
can sing as loudly as you want on this one.” And so
what if the organ and string quartet were off by one
beat in the coda of one piece, and so what if some of
the hundreds of community singers completely lost
their parts from time to time, at the end we were all
smiling and applauding ourselves and looking forward
to next year. ~ Velma
I Will Always Remember Frances
Tuesday/September/2009 09:08 PM
At the wedding
rehearsal dinner party, she was the 80-year-old
grandmother who held tightly onto her cane as she
slowly approached the piano where I was playing love
songs. Once she arrived, everything
changed. "Do you know some boogie woogie?" she
asked, and then started singing a boogie woogie bass
line while shaking her, uh, body, the bottom
part. "Sure, I do!" And the Friday night
entertainment really began. That woman could
dance! And soon other people of all ages were
dancing, too. "Let's sing something," she
suggested, her blue eyes holding mine and not letting
go. Big smile, standing very close. She,
my Ella Fitzgerald, and I, her Duke Ellington.
"Sentimental Journey" segued into "Chattanooga
Choo-Choo" and somehow we ended up in "My Blue
Heaven" and on and on. Then she starting
getting warmed up. "Can you play 'I Feel Good'
by James Brown?" By this time, on my third
glass of chardonnay, not only could I play it but I
could play it really, really loudly and growl as I
sang and she and everyone sang and danced. That
had to be the climax, I thought. Then she said,
"Do you know any Marvin Gaye? I really like
'Sexual Healing' but I don't know if we ought to do
that one here." Sadly, I did not know it well
enough and we picked something more typical for such
an event.
I will learn that song, and I pray that I will see Frances again one day, and we will sing Marvin Gaye songs and she will dance and she will smile and she will teach the younger ones how to really live it up.
I will learn that song, and I pray that I will see Frances again one day, and we will sing Marvin Gaye songs and she will dance and she will smile and she will teach the younger ones how to really live it up.
Role Playing And Singing My Way Toward Emotional Acceptance
Tuesday/August/2009 09:50 AM
I want to say one more
thing about my recent performance in the "Songs of
Bob Dylan Concert." The lyric of one of the songs I
chose, "It's a Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," alternates
between a parent asking questions and the son, now a
young adult, answering the questions in profound,
poetic detail. (Google it, if you don't know the
song. I recommend reflecting on every single
sentence.)
Keep in mind that I knew I would be performing this song on the night that my son left for college. So I practiced this (with a lump in my throat) every day for weeks. At the beginning of the five verses I sang questions from the point of view of the parent:
~ Where have you been, my blue-eyed son? Where have you been, my darling young one?
~ What did you see, my blue-eyed son? What did you see, my darling young one?
~ What did you hear, my blue-eyed son? What did you hear, my darling young one?
~ Who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one?
~ What'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? What'll you do now, my darling young one?
Two phrases into each verse, I sang from the point of view of the son to answer the questions. For example:
~ I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways.
~ I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it.
~ I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warning.
~ I met a white man who walked a black dog.
~ I'm a goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'.
The rehearsals turned into music therapy for me. Eventually I got around my sadness to feel what it might be like for my son right now, going out into the big world on his own for the first time. When I sang from his voice, I felt strong, infused with a young man's energy and intensity and curiosity. When I sang from the parent's voice, I still felt sad, missing him, but not abandoned. The young adult in the song answers the parent's questions at great length and with great awareness about his travels. The relationship has changed, but still goes on.
I've heard that in some therapeutic techniques a person is asked to role play from another person's perspective. I'd have to say that singing that perspective may be even more powerful!
Keep in mind that I knew I would be performing this song on the night that my son left for college. So I practiced this (with a lump in my throat) every day for weeks. At the beginning of the five verses I sang questions from the point of view of the parent:
~ Where have you been, my blue-eyed son? Where have you been, my darling young one?
~ What did you see, my blue-eyed son? What did you see, my darling young one?
~ What did you hear, my blue-eyed son? What did you hear, my darling young one?
~ Who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one?
~ What'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? What'll you do now, my darling young one?
Two phrases into each verse, I sang from the point of view of the son to answer the questions. For example:
~ I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways.
~ I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it.
~ I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warning.
~ I met a white man who walked a black dog.
~ I'm a goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'.
The rehearsals turned into music therapy for me. Eventually I got around my sadness to feel what it might be like for my son right now, going out into the big world on his own for the first time. When I sang from his voice, I felt strong, infused with a young man's energy and intensity and curiosity. When I sang from the parent's voice, I still felt sad, missing him, but not abandoned. The young adult in the song answers the parent's questions at great length and with great awareness about his travels. The relationship has changed, but still goes on.
I've heard that in some therapeutic techniques a person is asked to role play from another person's perspective. I'd have to say that singing that perspective may be even more powerful!
The Times, They Are A-Changin'
Saturday/August/2009 07:31 PM
"Come
mothers and fathers throughout the land
And don't criticize what you can't understand.
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command.
Your old road is rapidly aging.
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand,
For the times, they are a-changin'."
Bob Dylan
When as a young adult I first heard this song, I was the misunderstood daughter. I wanted no judgment or criticism from my parents, whose social code was old-fashioned, in my view. I felt solidarity with my peers and with a movement to transform society with justice and freedom for all. Most older people were part of the problem, not the solution.
Now I am middle-aged. Last night while I was singing this song in concert, my youngest child, now 18 years old, was moving out of our house and into his own apartment. Even though we have a positive, loving relationship, there have been moments when I tried to tell him what to do and he would (respectfully) have none of it! Oh, I get it; he was beyond my command. Maybe when I was trying to shape his behavior, I wasn't understanding him. I do respect his strong sense of self. He stood his ground, while remaining polite, and that will serve him well out in the big world.
So it's time-travelling. I'm singing this as the daughter and as the mother. And if I want to be part of the "new" road, then I must examine my thinking, and keep my eyes wide, and then lend my hand.
And don't criticize what you can't understand.
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command.
Your old road is rapidly aging.
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand,
For the times, they are a-changin'."
Bob Dylan
When as a young adult I first heard this song, I was the misunderstood daughter. I wanted no judgment or criticism from my parents, whose social code was old-fashioned, in my view. I felt solidarity with my peers and with a movement to transform society with justice and freedom for all. Most older people were part of the problem, not the solution.
Now I am middle-aged. Last night while I was singing this song in concert, my youngest child, now 18 years old, was moving out of our house and into his own apartment. Even though we have a positive, loving relationship, there have been moments when I tried to tell him what to do and he would (respectfully) have none of it! Oh, I get it; he was beyond my command. Maybe when I was trying to shape his behavior, I wasn't understanding him. I do respect his strong sense of self. He stood his ground, while remaining polite, and that will serve him well out in the big world.
So it's time-travelling. I'm singing this as the daughter and as the mother. And if I want to be part of the "new" road, then I must examine my thinking, and keep my eyes wide, and then lend my hand.
"What Is"
Sunday/August/2009 05:13 PM
What Is
(Macrina Wiederkehr, Velma Frye)
"I stand before what is with an open heart and dwell in possibility."
Sometimes I have to take in this lyric in small bites. I sing the first word of the song, pause and ponder, then repeat. Then I sing the first two words, standing, inviting the whole body to participate, and repeat. And so on, to the end of the phrase:
I (the larger self, beyond just the ego)
I stand (with strength, not crawling away, grounded)
I stand before (safely at the edge of)
I stand before what is (awareness in the present moment, acceptance)
I stand before what is with an open heart (feel it)
I stand before what is with an open heart and dwell in possibility (listen to intuition).
This way of singing lets the song go deep inside. Sometimes when I most need to remember this wisdom, the tune starts playing in my head, and then I notice what the words are, and that reminds me to stand before what is with an open heart and dwell in possibility.
And that can make all the difference.
"I stand before what is with an open heart and dwell in possibility."
Sometimes I have to take in this lyric in small bites. I sing the first word of the song, pause and ponder, then repeat. Then I sing the first two words, standing, inviting the whole body to participate, and repeat. And so on, to the end of the phrase:
I (the larger self, beyond just the ego)
I stand (with strength, not crawling away, grounded)
I stand before (safely at the edge of)
I stand before what is (awareness in the present moment, acceptance)
I stand before what is with an open heart (feel it)
I stand before what is with an open heart and dwell in possibility (listen to intuition).
This way of singing lets the song go deep inside. Sometimes when I most need to remember this wisdom, the tune starts playing in my head, and then I notice what the words are, and that reminds me to stand before what is with an open heart and dwell in possibility.
And that can make all the difference.
"Blog #1 And We Begin"
Friday/July/2009 02:06 PM
This
week I watched a classic movie from 1933, "Dinner At
Eight." John Barrymore played an aging stage
and silent screen actor, famous for his dashing
profile and dramatic poses, but he refused to
make the transition to the talkies. This was due
in part to his advancing age, but even more
importantly his reluctance to embrace new
technology and evolve his skills.
I'm not saying his position was wrong. In my own musical house I fiercely cling to the sound of acoustic instruments rather than electronic sounds. Sometimes the right decision is not to take a certain path.
I have decided to take a few steps down the blogging path to share some of my musical experiences.
As Marvin Goldstein said to me this week, "Music is not the icing. It's the cake."
Want some cake?
Velma Frye
I'm not saying his position was wrong. In my own musical house I fiercely cling to the sound of acoustic instruments rather than electronic sounds. Sometimes the right decision is not to take a certain path.
I have decided to take a few steps down the blogging path to share some of my musical experiences.
As Marvin Goldstein said to me this week, "Music is not the icing. It's the cake."
Want some cake?
Velma Frye