It had been an absolutely glorious weekend. As a high school senior and the queen of the music nerds, I had rehearsed choral music for about eight hours per day with some of the finest high school musicians in Illinois with an amazing conductor. All of the rehearsal was culminating in an exciting performance on the morning of January 31, 2005. The concert would contain several pieces of music, first by the Honors All-State Band, then us, the Honors All-State Choir, and then, finally, the Honors All-State Orchestra. Although explicitly stated in the title, it was truly an honor to be part of the excellent ensemble.
Prior to the performance, I had thoroughly enjoyed my time singing second alto with so many others who loved music. I already knew I would be attending Millikin University for Vocal Music Education in the fall, but I had no idea what an impact the performance would make in my life. Previous to the participation in All-State, I had sung with many honor choirs through school and church, and I had sometimes been a student-conductor for my choir director. As a band and orchestra student, too, I had performed lots of times. I had always connected to music a bit deeper than the average student, but one performance at this concert would prove to be life-altering.
The purpose of the event was to experience music, so there was not any really practical value intended in the concert. We would not use the concert for much of anything except pride in our musical capabilities and for the benefit of pleasing our parents by performing for them. I went to the concert thinking that it was all about me, and I held my head high as I knew my parents would be sure to comment that I was in the Honors choir to their friends instead of just "regular" All-State.
The choral portion of the concert contained four pieces sung by the entire eight-part mixed ensemble, and one piece each just for men and women. For the women's piece, the men sat, and for the men's piece, the women sat. The men's piece was "The Awakening" by Joseph M. Martin. As I sat to listen, my attention was rapt. I was determined to show that I was respectful and deserving to be part of such a high-level group.
The women in the choir had heard the men perform the piece before, but I had not really listened because most of our water breaks were during the men's individual rehearsals. The piano accompaniment started with low fifths like a funeral march. The pianist then played a series of descending higher notes that depicted aching or sadness. I perked, listening more carefully and fully engaged.
Twice in unison, the men sang the lyrics "I dreamed a dream." The third time, the men sang in harmony, and added the lyric "a silent dream of a land not far away." As the lyrics continued, they painted a picture of a land where pride had overcome all creatures to the point that any music that started quickly died away. I distinctly remember thinking "why does pride make a song die?" and contemplating the idea for at least a full minute. The music built to anger and then faded back to reflection. The lyrics talked at that time about "no alleluias, not one Hosanna," and as a Christian, I connected that pride made the song die because there was no one to sing to without singing to the Creator. I remember thinking "Music is not just for ourselves. It is something greater, and if we let ourselves be the entire focus, we miss the point. The music dies when pride takes over." The men then repeated the word "silent" several times, and I specifically remember picturing a shopping mall with people on escalators who never looked one another in the eye and never spoke. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me that has never since left me. I realized that choral singing is about people. I realized that music is about connection and camaraderie. I realized that it is about giving my piece so that the whole can have something better.
The lyrics changed, and were "awake, awake!" I began to get tears in my eyes as the men sang "awake, my soul and sing!" and I felt that I had been awakened for the first time. I had known that I loved choral music, but at that moment, it became my passion. I could never live without it. I wanted to make choral music in whatever capacity I could for as much of my life as I could. The lyrics continued to say "wherever emptiness is found, let there be joy and glorious sound!" I, at that moment, realized that I wanted to find empty people and give them music. I wanted their souls to be kindled like mine had been. With tears streaming down my face, I sang the final phrase quietly under my breath with the men, for I realized I had heard it many times without ever listening: "Let music live!"
At that moment, I felt alive and awakened for the first time. I felt like my soul had been lit on fire, and there was a new passion that was burning fiercely. It was a moment of purity and clarity. Music was absolutely "it" for me, and it always would be. I could never tire of it. I felt very small sitting in the middle of a large group of standing men, and I was completely surrounded by their voices. I realized that even the smallest could experience this kind of joy. I believed in the message of the text: music gives life. Though I felt exhilarated, I also felt peaceful. I had come into my moment, and I knew exactly what would drive me always from that point on. A hunger to experience more choral music began, and I have searched to quench it every day since.
I thought about what a wonderful gift it was to be part of such an excellent ensemble and to be surrounded by those who felt the same joy in choral singing. I thought about what my world and the world in general would be like without music, and it seemed so wrong to think about the silent, unmusical world. I thought about how music could trigger an awakening, and I thought about how singing with other people who are passionate about making high quality music provides a sense of community that was new to me. A big part of my enjoyment of the moment was related to the culture of very musical people who surrounded me at the time. This was an experience that we shared. While it was individually marked on my heart, it was not a lone experience, and the community of it made it even more special.
The community experience was particularly poignant to me because I moved many times as a child. I had never felt like a part of a community except for my immediate family. I made the connection that day that my musical friends would always be that community. Making music with people creates a family in that moment, and even if the moment goes quickly by, it is worth remembering and imprinting in my heart forever.
Well-detailed Melody
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