Singing at Tanglewood

At the end of July I spent a week out in the beautiful Berkshires in western Massachusetts in order to perform with the Tanglewood Festival Chorus. One of the true highlights was having my parents in the audience for the Sunday concert. They drove the three hours from New Hampshire to be there (Hi Mom! Hi Dad!). My mentor from grad school was also there, and it was so good to reconnect!

The whole thing was a surreal experience; intense and difficult, yet fun.

The Berkshires
View of the Stockbridge Bowl from the Tanglewood grounds.

In learning the music and preparing for rehearsals, I felt as though I was stretching a muscle I hadn’t used in quite some time. It felt both familiar and strange. More than once I wondered if I could still do this.

It had been six years since I last performed with a chorus.

In six years, a lot changed: I finished my undergraduate degree in Tennessee. Moved to Virginia to help open a bookstore. Watched many dear friends lose their job, and soon lost my own with the closing of that same bookstore.

I started fresh by moving to Massachusetts and attending grad school at Simmons College. Started working at MIT in the wide world of higher education. Finished grad school. Started a new job. It was all a blur.

Over a number of life changes, I had become so busy doing other things and chasing other goals — worthy goals! — that I had neglected this other piece that was so important and satisfying. The outlet for music was missing, and I knew I had to do something. I wasn’t ready to give it up. So I dug through my old repertoire from undergrad, picked a song, and signed up for an audition.

In February, I stood in front of John Oliver, founding conductor of the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, and performed Silent Noon by Ralph Vaughan Williams, one of my favorites.

I was accepted soon after.

“Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
this close-companioned inarticulate hour
When twofold silence was the song of love.”

Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Sonnet 19, Silent Noon

Ahh! Excitement! This was Tanglewood, the choir that performed with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It was no small thing, and I was over the moon. That high of validation carried me for a little while. Then the music came, and with it, doubt.

Verdi’s Nabucco and the Finale from Act II of Aida. Together, it was a good 40 minutes of music. It had to be memorized. It was harder than most of what I remembered ever singing before.

Every time I went to practice the music, I fought the nagging anxiety that said I was in way over my head.

That apprehension didn’t go away. I went to my first rehearsal. I tried to sit up straight and breathe properly as the sweat trickled down my back. I listened to the singers around me. They were good. I was sure they would think me a fraud. When the rehearsal was over I left with a renewed sense of urgency that there was a whole lot more work ahead of me.

So I buckled down. I learned the music. I went out to the Berkshires, sang in rehearsals, I kept up, and I worked hard because it mattered to me. My brain was re-engaging with this kind of pressure, and it was good, terrifying, and wonderful.

I had to get back up on that horse and recognize that (especially after so long away) it wasn’t going to be effortless and easy… and that was okay.

I decided what was important and went for it, despite my own self-doubt. And it was so, so worth it.

POST SCRIPT

On the way back to my car following the performance at Tanglewood, a number of attendees approached me and thanked me for singing. I thanked them for attending. I was one of 160 chorus members for the concert, and I am quite sure the experience was not unique to me, but I still felt so honored. So appreciated and celebrated. It gave me chills that people had been moved by the music.

Then I remembered all over again: that was the whole point. Art will move people. Whether music or theater, writing, dance, or visual arts, good art can wake people up and make them feel.

It felt like after six years, I had finally woken up and remembered what I was missing. It was such a privilege to perform with the TFC, and I’m grateful to have been a part of it!

To hear the WGBH recording of the performance, click here! At 58:13 is Verdi’s “Va, pensiero” (Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves) from Nabucco, followed at 1:05:40 by the Act II Finale from Aida.

Madeleine L’Engle: Artist at Work

“In art we are once again able to do all the things we have forgotten; we are able to walk on water; we speak to the angels who call us; we move, unfettered among the stars.

We write, we make music, we draw pictures, because we are listening for meaning, feeling for healing. And during the writing of the story, or the painting, or the composing or singing or playing, we are returned to that open creativity which was ours when we were children. We cannot be mature artists if we have lost the ability to believe which we had as children. An artist at work is in a condition of complete and total faith.”

— Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

Don’t you love Madeleine L’Engle? I truly wish I could have met her.

Beyond the beauty and evocative imagery of the writing, this quote feels so right for launching a new creative endeavor. The thought of starting a blog or sending anything out into the cluttered waters of the web is a bit daunting, but I find myself in agreement with L’Engle’s wise, wise words. Every creative act is an act of faith. It’s a step out onto the water.

When L’Engle writes about the “open creativity” we had as children, I think she’s on to something. A young child who draws doesn’t necessarily care what his picture looks like. He cares about the act of drawing and the pleasure of it. You’ve seen it before: the child toils away on his masterwork, and as soon as he’s done, he rushes to give it away. To share it.

Too often, as we get older, we start to censor ourselves. We hesitate. We judge. We take a step and think, “Eep! This water is too cold! Too deep! I can’t do this!”

And then we start to believe it.

For me, this quote is a good reminder to dump those things that bog me down and stop me from doing the work of creating and sharing. It’s a call to action as much as it is an observation. This quote is also why I added a picture of the ocean. I snapped the photo this summer while I was on vacation with my family. I love it, and it just seemed to fit.

So this blog is a next step. I’ll use it to share writing, ideas, and to connect with the wider world of storytellers and enthusiasts who make the book community such a vibrant and rewarding place.

Thanks for visiting and reading. I’m so glad to have you along.

(PS — If you haven’t read Walking on Water, I highly recommend it. It’s a beautiful book!)