Category Archives: TFC

Hymn of Praise, Praise, and Yet More Praise

Posted on January 20, 2012 | 3 comments

Singing is back!  Well, technically, there was a surprisingly wonderful Holiday Pops season this year, but since I didn’t seem to find the time to write about it, we’ll just move on to the next major piece I’m singing in with John Oliver and the Tanglewood Festival Chorus:  Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 2, also known as the Lobgesang Symphony.

Lobgesang translates to “Hymn of Praise,” and boy is it ever.  It’s almost monotonous in its praise.  You know how a good story has exposition, and then plot complication, with a climax, dénouement , and subsequent resolution?  Yeah.  This, not so much.  We barely go into minor key, let alone say anything that’s not full of joy and praise.  How much Lob can you get in one sang ?  Apparently a lot.  Here are the English translations of the movements in which we get to sing:

  • Movement 2: Praise ye the Lord O ye Spirit
  • Movement 4: All ye that cried unto the Lord
  • Movement 5: I waited for the Lord
  • Movement 7: The Night is Departing
  • Movement 8: Let all men praise the Lord
  • Movement 10: Ye nations, offer to the Lord

On top of all this, as John Oliver pointed out to us at our rehearsal on Tuesday, is  that “the score is just ink.”  In true Mendelssohn style, it’s very heavily orchestrated, including lots of brass doubling of key themes, making it very hard for a chorus to be heard.  Nevertheless, we’re already putting some good tricks in place to be sure to come through, and even with the excessive praise theme, I’ve already warmed up well to what should be a fun piece to sing.

The first and most obvious lesson from rehearsal was a back to basics for German pronunciation.  Livia Racz and John coached us through things that “they know we know” but weren’t doing.  Doubling the L in words like alles.  Separating words like und and alles so that they were distinct.  Keeping the vowel dark and rolling the r’s in words like Herrn.  Getting the stresses on the right syllables–Mendelssohn did not seemingly write well for the text, given the number of downbeats that are on schwas and unaccented syllables.  (Funny Oliverism: John asked us to sing a certain way, and then held up the basses as an example, asking us to sing that passage again.  We did, and he said: “See, just like the basses… well, the ones who did it right.”)

The second technique we adopted is to combat the otherwise blocky writing of the music.  It’s really quite tempting to fall into a plodding rhythm, pounding each note like you would piano keys in a finger exercise, because of the way the piece is composed.  (Unfortunately, our practice recording seems to do just that, to the point where it positively destroys the chorale in movement 8.)  To fight this, John has already started emphasizing preserving the melodic line, as well as adding some texture by introducing slight diminuendos on long held notes.

Finally, there’s the question of being heard through the thick score.  As John reminded us, it’s “human orchestral nature” for the orchestra to get louder and louder if they hear us getting louder and louder.  We’ll have no trouble making forte sections loud, but can we keep the piano sections soft enough?  It reminds me of the screamfest that was Berlioz’s Te Deum, which we’ve sung within the last few years. Overall, as it was then, the goal is less about volume and power and more about color and tone.

Of course, I can rhapsodize about color and tone over volume and power all day, and none of it freakin’ matters if I don’t have the notes memorized.  After checking in with a few other chorus members, I found that many of us have been procrastinating all January on cracking open the score and really putting in the memorization work that one needs to get this down.  Partially this is because this January’s piece is so much more manageable than last year’s Oedipus Rex or the previous year’s St. John Passion from James MacMillan.  So we may be getting a little soft.  The upshot, however, is that I’m now down to 4 days before the first rehearsal, and I’ve only made it to the point where I can sing through all 6 movements with the music in front of me.  I may have movement 8 down and movement 7 is very close, but it’ll be a photo finish.  This is the first time that my new job’s long commute has been something to cherish rather than despise!

Wednesday’s rehearsal was cancelled thanks to our solid rehearsal on Tuesday (with one grinning admonition from John after we fumbled our way through the last movement: “You should — wait — how should I word this — when you go to practice this before the next rehearsal, you should probably start with this one first.”)  Monday is our off-book rehearsal, Tuesday is our piano rehearsal with Maestro Bramwell Tovey, and then its an all day orchestra rehearsal on Wednesday, morning orchestra on Thursday, and performances Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Tuesday.

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Les Deux Répétition pour Berlioz

Posted on May 2, 2011 | 1 comment

I was going to write up a review of the reviews of the Bach… but there is no time!  We’re already two rehearsals into Le Fraaaaaanch, with my out-rayyyy-zhously bad ax-sceeeeeeennnntah!

Berlioz’s Roméo et Juliette is up next, and the lucky curse of being selected for so many concerts means many of us had just one week to empty our brains of the many ways to pronounce “ch” and fill it with the many ways to pronounce “e”… there’s the short e in “Capulets,” the schwa e in “au revoir“, the open e in “allez,” the very French e in “eux,” the e in “breuvage,” and the nasal e in “moments.”  And sometimes you get three of them at once, like in “eux-memes” or “eternelle.”  I can look at a German word and have a pretty good idea how to pronounce it.  I know merde about French; I was glued to the IPA whenever I was studying the text, and my wife, whose French was well enough to guide us when we once vacationed in Quebec City, has alternated between coaching me, giggling, or rolling her eyes as she hears me fail to not pronounce n’s and such.

That said, I’ve finally got a handle on the all the text and have committed enough of it to memory that I no longer feel lost at rehearsals or when listening to the recording.  All things considered, there’s not too much to learn.  A small chorus (not me) sings in part 1.  The men sing from backstage in part 2.  Then we’re all on for part 3, first for a funeral scene where only some of us sing, then when we all discover the bodies, and then when Friar tells us what happened and helps us overcome our feud and grieve together, so we can be amis pour toujours.  And yes, we are divided into les Capulets on stage right and les Montagus stage left.  Fun!

The two evening rehearsals this weekend were great at reinforcing the shaky parts in my head, and our French coach Michel was very particular in his observations.  Yes, this is a good thing; did you not read my lament two paragraphs ago?  But as usual, the thing that I love most about these rehearsals is the coaching we get from John Oliver.  John is back, his tendon-repaired foot in a walking cast, and his sense of humor and musicality intact.  He continues to make observations that his 40+ years of serious vocal and choral instruction have earned him, things that I would never have thought of.  For instance, when tenors were coming in too late during the part where the Capulets and Montagues all keep shouting at each other: “The important part of mais notre sang is the last word, which comes on the downbeat.  If you’re trying to time the entrance of your mais (“1... 2.mais!…”) then you’ll be late.  Think of those three beats as the upbeat to your sang on the downbeat.”  That completely fixed it.  For all voices there he’s urged us not to wait for each other, but to interrupt them and thereby stay on the beat, or the whole thing will drag.  Throughout the rehearsal, he would add color to our singing…  Finding the two lovers dead (Morts tous les deux) should be darker… and Et leur sang fume encore should be almost whispered… as should Dieu, quel prodige! when we realize “it’s a miracle” that we’re not fighting any more.  And so forth.  It makes quite a difference.

I particularly liked his answer to a very valid question.  I had noticed that there was a swell marked — what I’ve seen called “hairpins” before ( < > ), but across two notes instead of one.  I was excused (then not excused… then excused again, whew!) from singing this part, and it sounded fine when the small chorus sang it.  But one chorister from that chorus asked where the swell should be.  John’s response: “What you did was fine.  I’m not going to sit here and tell you it should be on the 9th 32nd note of the beat, or something like that… to me, it’s emotional, and you have to have that musical intelligence to know where it goes.”  Not only a great answer, but great because we know we’ve got that in this group and he doesn’t need to give excessive direction for stuff like that.  And I’ve definitely sung with choral conductors who would tell you precisely where they wanted that swell to be…. such technical direction sacrifices the emotional content.

Of course the night was not without the usual witticisms:

– On us failing to observe pianissimo markings in the final chorus: “Please look over the dynamics in the last movement… because, you know, there ARE dynamics in the last movement.”

– On some of the women flubbing a tough entrance: “I know what you did there, you were thinking ‘is it a 16th note or an 8th note,’ when you should have been thinking, ‘is that a B or a B flat.’ ”

– On the sound of the men in the backstage chorus: “Have you heard of cambiata?  The sound of a boy whose voice is changing?  Yeah.  Here’s my musical advice: don’t do that.”

Piano rehearsal with Charles Dutoit (gee, you think he’ll notice if my French sucks?) is Monday night.  Orchestra rehearsals Wednesday, then performances Thursday through Saturday.

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Es ist vollbracht!

Posted on April 24, 2011 | 3 comments

Es ist vollbracht — “It is accomplished,” or “It is finished,” or perhaps “All is fulfilled,” depending on which Biblical version of Jesus’s final words on the cross you prefer.  Seems appropriate as we closed out our St. John Passion performances.

The final performance tonight, broadcast on WGBH, was by far the best of the three (or four, if you include the open rehearsal.)  Our tenor evangelist had mostly recovered his voice and started to show the strength and pathos that I heard first on Tuesday.  (Plus, they brought in another tenor soloist to handle the tenor arias… it definitely made a difference.)  More importantly, though, as a chorus we were all more comfortable with Suzuki’s conducting style and knew what he was asking for (and could anticipate what he would be asking for).  Furthermore, many choristers said “screw it” and ditched the score for the later performances.  Collectively it felt as if we were more unified and responsive.

I reluctantly ditched my score as well after some encouragement from another bass, and it was the right decision.  It was soooo much easier to follow Suzuki and stay on top of tempi and to give what he was requesting.  Personally, I felt much more emotionally invested and focused on this last performance, whereas on Thursday and Friday I found my mind wandering during recitatives and arias.  I don’t know how much of that I can attribute to ditching the score, but something changed.

We also all agreed to close our folders and sing the final, most powerful movement (Ach Herr, lass dein lieb Engelein) completely by memory.  This movement, already a powerful ending, was magnified tenfold as the entire character of our sound changed when we all dropped music to our sides and sang to the rafters.  Our chorus manager communicated this decision to us; I don’t know if it was his idea, Maestro’s request (he had asked us to memorize chorales whenever possible), or if the impetus came from somewhere externally, but it was a great move.

This was the kind of concert you walk out of with that buzz in your head, a natural high from the quality of the performance, the contribution you know you made, the studying and other investment of time paying off.  The audience responded appropriately, with an even bigger roar and an extra ovation, some of them clearly moved by the whole performance.  After Thursday’s, I was worried that our hard work was going to be irreparably marred.  The Globe’s take on the concert seemed to confirm that (I’ll do a review round up later).  Fortunately, Friday afternoon and especially Saturday night dispelled that notion entirely.

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The Roar of the Crowd

Posted on April 22, 2011 | 2 comments

You know, there are great reoccurring moments in life that are worth experiencing every time.  For me, it’s the roar of the Symphony Hall audience when the Chorus takes our bow after an impressive performance.  And we got that again Thursday night after our first of three performances of the Bach “St. John” Passion.  (No, I don’t understand the scare quotes, but that’s how the program billed it over and over again.)

I don’t know what the reviews will say in the morning.  Actually, I’ve got a pretty good idea.  I think our poor tenor will get his butt handed to him — he made a partial atonement for his going easy during the open rehearsal, but his voice still cracked a few times, his notes were not precise, and he really didn’t sound up to those arias.  I got the impression he’s been the evangelist for this piece several times but not necessarily the tenor aria soloist.  I don’t know what happened to the confident guy I saw and heard at the Tuesday rehearsal, where he barely referred to the score as he blew through all his lines by memory.  I’m guessing he’s sick.  Something caused him to lose his mojo.

The soprano soloist will get lavish praise for her exquisite, piercingly pure voice.   She had a particular style to her voice — no vibrato, but not sounding like a British chorister.  Her bio mentions performing lots of baroque and earlier music (e.g., madrigals) so that may be it.  It’s a shame she only has two movements.

The alto soloist was fine, nothing amazing, but that’s Bach’s fault not hers.  The alto doesn’t get much to do.  Meanwhile, our basses were both great, and our choral soloists for the two bit parts nailed ’em all.

Collectively, the chorus sounded awesome, and it was a performance to be proud of.   I’m sure we can do better — I kinda felt like we had passed some sort of peak and were all having a bit of trouble concentrating, because (even after making fun of Mo. Suzuki for being too sensitive) I felt a few times that we were coming in late behind his beat and that, for all his exhortations about getting the consonants early, we were falling behind.  Certainly *I* was falling behind a bit.

Personally, I was uncomfortable on stage physically… I kept struggling to get into a groove and stay in focus all evening.  While sitting down, my back was sore and I caught myself slouching a bit.  While standing, I wasn’t feeling the breath support I had during earlier rehearsals, and I wasn’t making it to the end of all my phrases.  Weird.  Mechanically, I kept trying to readjust my position, get my rib cage back in the right place, tried to imagine my head suspended by a string, with my legs bent just a little like I was about to ski or skate away.  I tried to keep the back of my throat open, to drop my diaphragm and get bigger breaths.  And it was elusive — I’d get it, and then I wouldn’t.  Clearly I’m physically too tired — and yes, I can blame the 6+ straight days of singing.  Overall, my sound was fine, it just didn’t come as easily as I’m used to.  We’ll try again tomorrow!

It’ll be hard for the reviewers to ignore the chorus in their write up — as they often do!  But I expect a few lines about our warm, lush sound in the chorales, our impressive agility during the short fugue entrances, and our contrasting dynamics and pathos in the opening and closing choruses.  This tacked on to three paragraphs detailing the history of Bach’s Passions as originally performed in Leipzig.  You know, to show everyone that the reviewer is smart.  Oops, too catty… and as I’ve said before, our validation is not from what someone writes on a page the next day, it’s that roar of the crowd, and the satisfaction of knowing we came together to make some great music.

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St. John Passion Final Musings

Posted on April 20, 2011 | 2 comments

Random musings after today’s orchestra rehearsal, in no particular order, as we’re headed into the quasi-performance open rehearsal tomorrow and three days of performances:

Someone said Suzuki was “very sensitive to accelerations.”  This wins the  Politest Understatement of the Year Award, given how often he stopped us to say we were rushing or we were behind, even though we could barely hear that we were.

The male soloists kick ass.  I love an evangelist who holds the score in his hand only so he can refer to where Maestro wants to start up again, and Cristoph certainly has it down cold.  The bass Jesus (Hanno Müller-Brachmann) is solid.  Can’t speak to the women; our portion of the rehearsal ended before I got to hear them.

I was originally toying with the idea of not bringing the score on stage, but I’ve given that thought up — there are too many late surprises and minor adjustments by Suzuki that I can’t keep track of all of them.  I’ll need those glances down to see what’s next.

Suzuki is so freakin’ clear with his choral conducting, it’s unbelievable.  He breathes with us — my wife, who has conducted more than a few small choruses in her time, has always insisted that’s the key to choral conducting.  The tricky thing is still catching his hand movements for cutoffs, because he does a little extra flourish to show where the consonant goes… and you have to get used to waiting for it.  It’s like playing rock-paper-scissors with someone, only you go on “One, two, three!” and the other person goes on “One, two, three, shoot!”  If you cut-off too early and then see the extra flourish (he sort of points up with his finger after the traditional cutoff sign), it’s too late.

After the constant starting and stopping during these rehearsals, one chorister wondered how many times he would stop, and started making tick marks in his score to keep track.  The verdict?  Suzuki stopped 69 times during the first 75 minutes or so of rehearsal before the break.

I can’t quite read the orchestra players — I think they’re annoyed at the constant stops and lectures about what they should be doing, but they’re also fascinated by his attention to detail and realize that they’re learning from him.  No, maybe they’re just annoyed!  In any case, they now match the chorus in many places with the same articulations, unwritten dynamics, and cutoffs.

At least a few choristers are grumbling about the direction this has gone — overheard amongst the complaints about the starts and stops was that, with the scores in our hands now and so many details to remember, the piece has become less personal and more mechanical.  I myself am finding it necessary to really internalize the detailed direction in order to come closer to realizing the vision laid out for us… but I admit it’s taken a lot of work.  The difference in what we’re producing now compared to last Saturday is quite remarkable.  Basically, we can’t take anything for granted if we want to own this ourselves, too.

I marvel at all the little things that Suzuki has brought out during these intense rehearsals that I couldn’t hear at all on the other recordings I’ve listened to and certainly never anticipated as I learned the piece.  Here are just a few examples:

Looking forward to a great series of performances.

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What’s the Score?

Posted on April 19, 2011 | 4 comments

Okay, this is how it all went down…

We were in the middle of the rehearsal and Maestro Suzuki suddenly commented that we, as a chorus, seemed tentative and were frequently late with our entrances. If you ask me, this was because he frequently asked us to start at certain measure numbers and we had to switch to the score for those moments.  (More cynically, sometimes it seemed he accused us of being late or early when I thought we sounded fine.)   He asked us if it would be better for us to have the score in front of us. We all laughed a bit and gave some sort of noncommittal reply about “if you tell us to, we will, but we are used to going without.”

Five minutes later, he stopped us again and told us he preferred that we use our scores.

This was a profound change. The way you sing with a score, I quickly learned, is quite different from the way you sing from memory. For one, you use the score as a crutch, looking at it more often than you ever needed to. Also, it’s HARD to find your place. Too many German and English words on the page to parse, plus four staffs. Reading it AND seeing the conductor is tough. third, there’s the weight of it in your hands as you hold it… Almost a physical barrier between you and the conductor.

So while there was a certain sigh of relief from some corners of the chorus, I think the decision was bittersweet.  Many of us are considering NOT bringing the score on stage, replacing it with just the little prayerbook we originally were given with the words to the chorales.  Then we’d hide the prayerbook in the black folders like a student reading a comic between the pages of his math textbook.  I’m gonna try that at today’s orchestra rehearsal, as a matter of fact, to see if I really can get by without the few spots where looking back at the score is helpful.  It’s not just a badge of courage… I prefer no score for all the reasons mentioned above.  I think I sing better without it.

Side note: at yesterday’s orchestra rehearsal we wondered where Maestro was going to stand — the conductor’s podium wasn’t there, and a harpsichord was in the way.  Lo and behold, he perched himself at the harpsichord and played all of the recitative interludes himself!  I wonder if that makes it more authentic for a performance.  (As my wife pointed out, however, you can only get so authentic with a Japanese conductor and an American chorus.)  One thing’s for sure, it’s even more clear that Suzuki lives and breathes this piece, if he’s capable of conducting AND playing the interludes without missing a beat or a cue.

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Home stretch… and then the marathon

Posted on April 12, 2011 | 2 comments

We’re almost there!  (Here’s my memorization progress to date.)  Almost finished memorizing, and almost to the REAL rehearsals.  We have a fairly brutal rehearsal schedule, by TFC standards:

  • Friday night off-book, 7-9ish
  • Saturday with Mo. Suzuki, 1-3p, 4-6p
  • Sunday with Mo. Suzuki, 1-3p, 4-6p
  • Monday 1-4p with orchestra
  • Tuesday 9:30a-1p, 2-4p with orchestra
  • Wednesday 6:30-10 with orchestra
  • Performances Thursday, Friday, Saturday

What’s clear from this, given that we’ll be singing every single day for 9 days, is that pacing will be key.  That means singing properly, with support, and most importantly not over-singing.  It will be tempting to do so in order to be heard over the orchestra.  We just have to trust that Suzuki will rein in the orchestra volume to be appropriate for a chorus of 60.  After all, the BSO is used to 100-120 of us back there for most of our  concerts!

Despite the heavy schedule, I personally am finding excitement building for the long rehearsals with Suzuki.  A short article in the New Yorker praises Bach’s compositions (and basically calls Gardiner’s recordings the quintessential Bach to own) but highlights the Bach Collegium Japan and their recent performance of the B-Minor Mass at Carnegie Hall with 21 singers and 26 players.  He writes how baroque performances tend to be either very austere or overdone, but that Suzuki “follows a pragmatic middle path…. In interpretive style, he tends toward subtlety rather than flamboyance, avoiding the abrupt accents, florid ornaments, and freewheeling tempos that are fashionable in Baroque performance practice. He is strong on clarity and musicality, sometimes lacking in force.”  That sounds like a good preview of what to expect over the weekend and for the actual performances.

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/musical/2011/04/11/110411crmu_music_ross#ixzz1JJUu2fKY

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Wet consonants?

Posted on April 6, 2011 | 3 comments

Every once in a while John Oliver will instruct us to do something with imagery that almost doesn’t make sense.

Last night we did a fairly quick run through of the choral parts of the piece again, with Sebastian gently correcting our improper variations of the ch’s in ich vs. doch vs. nacht and the like.  Rehearsal took about half as long (about 75 minutes) because we spent less time rerunning entire movements to revisit issues.  But early on, John asked us to “make the consonants wetter.”

Huh?

John is a big believer in imagery to fool yourself mentally into making the appropriate physical and mechanical adjustments to create the sound he is looking for.  I still remember one of my first pieces Tanglewood pieces with him, a set of three a capella men’s chorus pieces, where the middle piece had me labelled as a “Bass 3.”  That turned out to mean that I’d be singing low D’s, low C’s, even a low B-flat.  I honestly had no idea how to do that and sustain it, but John told all the basses (and especially the bass 3’s) not just to focus on posture and support, but to imagine a vast reservoir of energy, sort of an underground lake, somewhere below our navel, and that we should be tapping into that reserve as we produced the sound.  I don’t know how or why, but it worked.

At first blush, he might as well have told us to make the consonant sounds more yellow, more ethical, or more sans serif.  And yet, I could hear a difference, and the sound was better, so… it worked?  I don’t know what I was doing differently, but I suspect I was treating the consonants as more liquid, sort of blurring the lines between them and the vowels even as we focused on barking them out more precisely so that we could be quite particular about their placement and make the German as intelligible as possible (despite teasing by John that we were getting lazier on consonants as the rehearsal went on.)

At the first rehearsal, John reminded us of a lesson he learned years ago from Colin Davis while trying to prepare a chorus: “Prepare them as if you were conducting,” and so he did.  At this rehearsal, though, he had looked at some video and listened to some recordings associated with Suzuki, and gave us some suggestions of what he might want.  It will be interesting to see how Maestro Suzuki responds during our extensive chorus rehearsals… how much of this will he undo?

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Back to Back (Bach to Bach?) rehearsals

Posted on April 5, 2011 | Leave a comment

Our  first official Bach rehearsal has been completed, with many more to come.  We’re on again tonight, and then in about 8 days a Friday night off-book rehearsal, and then two grueling 6 hour rehearsals that Saturday and Sunday — we’ve been informed that Maestro Suzuki “loves chorus rehearsals” and will probably spend extra time working through us on each and every note and word and tone and diction and…  it’s either a chorus’s dream or nightmare, depending on how picky he is and how much better we end up by the end.

Tonight’s rehearsal was all about getting comfortable with the piece and the text, with our native-speaking German coach Sebastian sitting next to John.  He offered advice and corrected us on improper pronunciations after each movement.  Since most of us have sung a lot of German, it’s not like we were learning from scratch.  But there were several subtleties that came into play.  That’s really where we as a chorus can up the level of our game.

For instance, Sebastian warned us that it was /ist/ not /eest/, and /in/ not /een/.  John partially blamed himself for this, calling it an unfortunate side effect of the qualities he looks for in singers (auditions were yesterday).  He prefers singers who he thinks can send a focused vowel through an orchestration, which encourages people to modify their vowels this way.  In another case, John said that we had the /e/ vowel correct technically, but it wasn’t the right character or resonance for the words.  We found new ways to produce that sound that measured up.

Another example were the double r’s.  We were encouraged to rejoice in the double r of Herr… even adding a shadow vowel behind it, so it was more like “Herr-reh”.   Furthermore, John wanted that /r/ sound has to be pitched.  He demonstrated singing the note on a rolled /r/.  This was especially relevant for the word Kreuzige — “crucify him.”  We had a lot of focus on this deliciously gruesome word.  It’s gotta be vicious every time you say it, with lots of /r/.  This is tough because during some of the Kreuzige movement, we have long sustained pitches on the /eu/ sound, which we tended to approach lyrically.  John shut that down quickly:  “You’re creating a plush, lush monster… stop it!  You’re not giving hugs here.”

As is true with any German piece, diction and overemphasizing the consonants is the name of the game.  My favorite piece of advice was when John asked us to treat the consonants and the vowels as equal weight.   A corollary to this was our approach to vowels in general, where our attach was just not enough.  “You’re sustaining the sound, but I need something more stabby,” were his words.  I liked that image and it was easy to keep that in mind with each new vowel… at least until we forgot again, being distracted by the next correction!

Finally, anyone familiar with Bach’s two Passions knows that they intersperse various chorales among the recitative narrative and the arias.   John warned us about an easy trap to fall into while singing the chorales: he pantomimed a double bass player sawing at his instrument with big bow strokes.  He asked us to treat these poems like we were speaking them or narrating them more than if we were singing them.

It wouldn’t be a rehearsal without some great Oliverisms.  My favorite of the evening was when the sopranos, altos, and tenors had a shaky triad to finish a cadence — “I liked that very much… once you got down to 3 notes.”

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Reaudition Day

Posted on February 11, 2011 | 3 comments

The dreaded day is here!  No, not the Day of Wrath, or the Day of Fire.   It’s the Days of Reauditions.  The 2 days where about 1/3 of the chorus has to prove to themselves and to the chorus management that they belong on the regular roster.

They try to make it as friendly as possible, but a reaudition is still an audition, with something on the line, which still makes it inherently a bit terrifying.  You, alone in the chorus room, standing in front of the chorus manager Mark and the director John Oliver, with naught but an accompanist to help you.  No mumbling the words to that one phrase you never got down, hoping the basses to the left and right of you can cover.  It’s up to you to show ’em whatcha got, knowing that John somehow hears music in a higher resolution than you do and reportedly takes “detailed notes” on every auditioner.  Not that he needs them; he’s the sort of person who probably remembers meeting my dad once at a post-concert party back when I sung for John in the  MIT Concert Choir.  I’d bet dollars to donuts John Oliver knows (and has notes on) every piece I’ve used to audition for him since I first joined back in ’98.

Tonight I’m singing Schubert’s Meeres Stille, or Sea Calm, at the recommendation of my wife and my voice teacher.  It’s a short piece, about  2 minutes long; well within the 4 minutes or less requirement, and easy enough for me to memorize in the 4 weeks of preparation we’ve had.  While memorization is not required for the audition, I figure that given my memorization skills are one of the big things I bring to the table, and given that the piece is so short, I have no business NOT memorizing it.  Besides, it lets me put the notes and text almost on automatic.  Why is that important?  Because there are a BAZILLION other things not on automatic that I’m constantly thinking about as I perform the song.  Plus, a short song like this can help me keep up my confidence.

Probably 95% of singing is about two things: confidence and breathing.  If either one of those falters, everything else goes to hell.  I had a terrible night Wednesday night where I was rehearsing with my wife and just could NOT make it all the way through my phrases — I was oversinging, breath was escaping me, it was ruining all my vowels and the stresses in my text, I was trying to overcompensate… it was like a pitcher trying to find his fastball.  It was a real confidence smasher.  The next morning I sang the whole piece in the shower and it was totally fine.  Sang it before leaving for work to my wife and she said, “Where was that yesterday?”  Confidence restored.  Now I just need to maintain that confidence and that good breathing technique until I’m through the audition.

Frankly, I don’t really have time to be nervous once you get going.   As I mentioned, I’m constantly thinking ahead and making mechanical adjustments and my brain’s going a billion miles an hour while I’m in the process of singing a solo piece.  This is a good approximation of  what’s going through my head when I perform this piece:

Okay, you can do this.  Exhale all the way, open throat, get that empty space, drop the diaphragm, get a good starting breath.  Okay we’re off.  Are you oversinging?  We want a good mezzoforte here.  Remember that Stille ends in a schwa.  Close that /e/ in herrscht.   Really voice that /v/ and push that double /s/ in Wasser, good, don’t forget another schwa, like a French o.  Finish the phrase, now big breath.  Don’t rush.  Ready?  Keep the /o/ closed in ohne, shape your mouth like only a pencil could fit into it.  Roll that R if you can, and close that /e/.  Are you going to make it?  Yeah, you will.   Finish the phrase.  You have a rest there, take the extra time, big breath.  Not too much on und, it’s an unimportant word.  Close off that umlaut.  Nail that T.   Grab that breath, be ready for this one.  Keep your mouth shaped for the /i/ in sieht and carry it through to Schiffer. Remember what Brett told you, bear down, really push on your diaphragm all the way through that phrase so you don’t run out of breath or squeak.  Not too much, though, this connects to the next phrase. There.   Got your breath?  Go.  Smile a bit!  Keep up those zygomatic arches!  Open the /a/ up, not too wide, though.  Don’t forget the schwa at the end.  Get that next German ch, think of this as a whole line, keep rings as the destination of this phrase.  Do you need to bail out?  Maybe sneak a breath before umher, when you put the glottal. Open that throat!  Need a big breath here, 4 measures, all the way.  We’re scared, we’re frightened, the sailor sees no wind, the sea is deathly still, make them see you frightened, and angry, use it to keep that baffle so that you don’t oversing or undersing, push this phrase through like you’re stretching a rubber band, push it, push it, voice those consonants, don’t stress those unstressed syllables, you made it.  Keep the tempo. Todesstille, deathly still, show it! Another “pencil” /o/ on Todes, another schwa, now fürchterlich!  Show them how terrible it is!  Keep that last note spinning, spinning, spinning, hold that fermata until you choose to let it go, and… break!  Big breath, ready?  Last line, go.  Your destination is Weite, don’t blow all your breath on ungeheuern no matter how great it sounds, you need to get to Weite.  Great.  Last phrase.  Don’t slow down, whatever you do, and don’t let up.  Get a good breath, another 4 bars.  Keep the tension or you won’t make it to the end.  Close the /e/, rhyme all those schwas, think French o again, voice the /v/ and /l/ in Welle, end it when you’re ready.  Smile!  You’re done.  It’s exactly how you meant it to go.  Exude confidence.

Yes.  That’s literally what goes through my head while I’m singing a solo piece like this.

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