It's a lame title this week, I know, but the weather and the week have not been lost on me...
It was my privilege to conduct the 78th Annual Shelby County Choral Festival on Monday night. On Tuesday I was rehearsing the Brahm's Requiem with the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir (which is why I am late with this post). This evening I will be conducting the Triton Central High School Chamber Choir at their Fall Choral Preview. While my body is tired, and my mind is swimming with breath marks, phrase cadences, and special cues, I find myself completely contented by the music and the people that I have been working with.
This morning I awoke to the sound of my alarm and the Brahm's double fugue scrolling in my head. I was trying to get myself moving when I recalled what Dr. Eric Stark had said during last night's rehearsal; Dr. Stark made a plea to the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir not only to practice the technical aspects of the Brahm's Requiem, but to consider the spiritual aspects as well. He asked us to reflect a little bit on the meaning of the music; on the meaning of the text.
This is something that I have asked my student's to do while studying their own songs. Most of our repertoire is made up of madrigals. I have often stopped rehearsal and said, "What did the poet mean here?" and "How did the composer interpret these words with music?" or "What is the meaning of this metaphor?" For high school students, this is a task that requires both analysis and higher order thinking. Often the composers and lyricists that have created this music have lived. By "lived" I mean, they have experienced love, sex, pain, joy, nature, and even death to varying degrees, and were attempting to capture the joys and sorrows of those things in their aesthetic medium. Asking high school students to wrap their minds around those concepts, when they have not experienced them first-hand, is difficult.
We should still do it, though. We should still make the attempt.
There's a higher calling for us as educators; a hidden secret that no one in the government, or general populus seems to understand or care about. Like Dr. Stark with the adults in the ISC, it is our job - not only to instruct the students on the nuts and bolts of our subject areas - but of LIFE; to show them that there are things out there that are wonderful and beautiful and great and terrible. We have to instill in students a sense that there is something out there in the world that is greater than themselves. And it's worth discovering. It's worth digging for. It's worth fighting for...
In 2004, I had a student named... let's call him Bobby. Bobby was a Senior. Zealous, idealistic, passionate about music; I really didn't have a clue about teaching - but I understood music. I set out to change lives. That's what we're doing, right? Teaching? So, I saw that the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra and the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir were performing the Brahm's Requiem. I set up a field trip for my lowest choir, which Bobby happened to be in. My goal: expose students from under served, underprivileged, under educated homes to something amazing - something life changing. I had no idea what would happen, but I was crazy enough to try it.
We were seated in the second mezzanine in Hilbert Circle Theater, in downtown Indianapolis. I had 35 with me that night along with a bus driver, two chaperones and myself. We spread out among the students, although I had faith that they would be respectful for the show. I had preached etiquette to them and wasn't horribly worried about the students causing trouble. They were all respectable, they were just raw and many had never been downtown for anything. I seated myself on the end of the row next to a large blonde girl named... let's call her Suzy.
The moment the orchestra began to tune, my kids became still. They were intoxicated by the sound; sounds they had never heard live before. The piece began. Suzy began to weep softly . I asked her if she was okay. She said, "I've never heard anything so beautiful before. Never." When the choir came in I stopped watching the stage and started watching my students. Their eyes focused, their mouths opened, their breath stopped. They watched, they listened, they were still... They were in choir, and did not know what a real choir sounded like. They were learning to sing, but had no clue what singing really sounded like.
Before I knew it, the concert was over and we were working our way downstairs to our bus. I had made late night dinner plans for the students; again - trying to create an evening, an experience, a moment that they would remember. We boarded the bus, which took us to the restaurant. On the bus I asked the students questions: What did they like? What did they dislike? What did they see? What did they hear? What did they think? I was surprised at their answers. It was obvious that some of them were doing some serious soul-searching post concert. They were thinking, not only about their situations, but about the direction that their lives were taking. Something had become awakened in many of them. Bobby asked me, "People live like this?" When I asked him what he meant by that, he replied with his backwoods accent, "People get fancied up like this every weekend and get to hear this stuff?" I said, "Yes. I think there are people that are fortunate enough to do this every weekend."
Fast forward to April, 2012. ISC was performing the Berlioz Requiem at Hilbert Circle Theater in downtown Indianapolis. I was going to the concert, but this time as a performer singing Bass II in the choir. I had invited my students to the show, but Prom was that night and I knew that many of them would be going there instead. I was pleased to see seven students elected to come to the concert instead of going to Prom. After the concert I said, "You guys missed Prom?" One boy remarked, "Nah, we came over to see you and then we're going to meet up with everyone else for dinner. We didn't miss anything, we made a night of it." I talked to them for a little bit and then wished them all a good evening.
I was leaving Hilbert with my wife and some friends when I heard, "Hey - Foley!" I turned in the doorway to see a tall blonde kid with glasses in a tux standing with a pretty brunette in a classy dress. It was Bobby. He was grown up, but he hadn't changed much. He came over and said, "I hadn't heard this one; The Berlioz, I mean." I said, "It's good to see you, Bobby! Have you been coming to the symphony?"
He smiled and said, "I have season tickets."
No comments:
Post a Comment