In the elder days of art
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part
For the Gods see everywhere.

This fits neatly with the central thesis of a book I just finished reading, Evenings in the Palace of Reason, by James R. Gaines—which seems to be, Why compose music? Gaines affects an entertaining tone, but is serious about his subject, which he presents through comparative biographies of J.S. Bach and Frederick the Great. Gaines sets up a contrast between the two men, as exemplars of medieval Christian mysticism on one hand, and Enlightenment reason and virtual atheism on the other. One point he makes very effectively, is, that Bach composed music to glorify God, while Frederick, a proponent of the newer galant style, asked of music only that it be immediately attractive and pleasing. I enjoyed the book; as a work of “creative nonfiction,” it memorably fleshes out the personalities and times of its protagonists, and probably doesn’t stray too far from its sources (which are carefully listed and annotated following the text). Gaines clearly has deep feeling and affinity for Bach and his music .

My usual procedure in preparing a major concert (such as Chorale’s upcoming B Minor Mass) is to read several books about the works and composers to be presented, to gain a feel for the context, the religious and emotional matrix out of which they spring. Gaines’ book alone would not give a sufficiently balanced background; but l have several more books to read before I am done.

Back to the verse with which I began: I wonder if Bach could even have existed, and his music ever have happened, if he were not motivated by deep, all-inclusive belief in an absolute eternal. Why else would one work so hard, pursue such astounding standards? And I find that Bach’s music is the standard and filter through which I evaluate and select other music I care about and perform. When it comes to church music specifically, I am left out completely by most of what I hear — music which seems to say, let’s make both faith and worship sufficiently attractive that potential worshipers won’t be turned away. And though Chorale does not perform, specifically, music for worship, it does seek to present music which reflects the very best that human art and skill have to offer. The thesis that Bach, and the other composers upon whom we concentrate, are motivated in their efforts by something more profound than attractiveness and celebration of their own skill, makes perfect sense to me. At one point in his text, Gaines differentiates between the attractive and the beautiful in Bach’s work– and I often find myself asking the same thing of music as I evaluate it and place it in different piles: will this become thin and cheap with time? Will I be embarrassed to have put so much effort into preparing something which finally hasn’t all that much substance? Will the expectations of my singers, and their audience, be lowered because I have chosen the pretty rather than the beautiful?

A few years ago, Helmuth Rilling conducted the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, on short notice, in performances of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis. I sang in the chorus; and after one of our performances I went out with him and his wife, Martina, to talk about the experience, and about the years I have enjoyed singing under him at the Oregon Bach Festival. He asked me, “Why do you return each year?” My answer was obvious and immediate—the repertoire. I want to be involved with great music; that involvement motivates my efforts. I have given that same answer at every point in my musical life—why learn to sing/play/conduct? Not because people are pleased with the result; but because there is great music, “wrought with greatest care in each minute and unseen part,” to be sung and played. I am compelled to do my best, in seeking it out, and in presenting it. And so far, at least, I have been able to drag Chorale along with me.

Einojuhani Rautavaara is perhaps the best known contemporary Finnish composer. His romantic, mystical style is exemplified in his Vigilia in memory of St. John the Baptist, a complete setting of the Orthodox liturgies of Vespers and Matins. The piece was inspired by a childhood visit to the island monastery of Valamo in Finland’s Lake Ladoga, that remained in the composer’s mind as an overwhelming vision of domes, bells, and icons. Rautavaara’s stirring music has a raw, visceral, yet euphoric quality, totally unique in twentieth century a cappella repertoire.

Rautavaara composed the two sections of Vigilia for separate events, and later combined them into a single concert work. Chorale will present the first part, Vespers, in its entirety, with bass Wilbur Pauly intoning the deacon’s part, and a quartet of soloists, as well as the rest of the ensemble. The composer utilizes the choir in as varied a way as possible—they sing, speak and whisper, occasionally in clusters and glissandi, traditional features of ancient Byzantine liturgy.

Salve Regina (1941) Francis Poulenc 1899-1963

Widely recognized as France’s most important mid-twentieth century composer, Francis Poulenc was described as “half monk, half delinquent” (”le moine et le voyou”). His a cappella motet Salve Regina, like most of his choral music, reflects the former tendency. Especially from the 1930’s onward, the loss of close friends, coupled with a pilgrimage to the Black Virgin of Rocamadour in 1936, led him to rediscover the Roman Catholic faith in which he was raised, and prompted a sizeable number of choral compositions based on religious themes.

Salve Regina captures the essence of Poulenc’s life-transforming experience upon encountering the basalt figurine of the Black Virgin in southern France– the mysterious, timeless, incantatory quality evoked by this faceless, ancient invitation to kneel and worship.

The Sealed Angel (1988) Rodion Shchedrin 1932-

Shchedrin composed The Sealed Angel, also known as ‘Russian Liturgy,’ in 1988, in commemoration of the millennium of the Christianization of Russia. It received its premier that same year, and was awarded the Russian State Prize in 1992 by President Boris Yeltsin.

Shchedrin came from a religious background; his grandfather was a priest, and his parents raised him with knowledge of their historic Orthodox faith. He attended the Moscow Choir School between the ages of 12 and 18, where the pupils were introduced to the great liturgies of the 18th and 19th centuries with secular texts. With this ‘Russian Liturgy,’ which utilizes Old Slavonic sacred texts, he wanted to compose a work which would resume the tradition of Russian Orthodox music that had been interrupted by the 1917 Revolution. The Perestroika of the mid 1980’s seemed to offer this opportunity.

The work is loosely based on The Sealed Angel, a short novel by 19th Century writer Nikolai S. Leskov. It concerns a community of “Old Believers,” whose greatest treasure is a miraculous icon of an angel. The prohibited sect is denounced to the state, and the official seal is embossed onto the middle of the confiscated angel’s face. Shchedrin’s work is in no way programmatic, but it does explore the most ancient practices and liturgies of the Orthodox Church in its musical materials. Shchedrin named the work after this story, rather than identifying it as a sacred work, to avoid the state censorship which persisted at the time of its composition.

The compete work consists of nine movements; Chorale will present only the last two.

And Give us Peace (2010) Stephen Paulus 1949-

Celebrated American composer Stephen Paulus is best known for his vocal music, both choral and solo. His style is essentially tonal and melodic. He has been commissioned by such notable organizations as the Minnesota Opera, Opera Theater of St. Louis, the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, the Dale Warland Singers, and the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, whose then-conductor Robert Shaw championed his choral works widely. He has received grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and Guggenheim Foundation, and won the prestigious Kennedy Center Friedheim Prize.

Chicago Chorale, with the financial support of Chicago’s Harper Court Foundation, has commissioned And Give Us Peace in honor of the ensemble’s 10th anniversary year, 2010-2011.

Michael Steinberg

What do I look for in singers? I start with ear—both for pitch, and for language. I play a series of intervals for each singer on the piano, which I ask them to repeat– patterns featuring tritones, perfect fifths, major and minor thirds, unresolved dissonances. The patterns are not long and involved—one can “rate” even people who have little prior singing experience, through this exercise: this particular capacity seems innate, and I seldom hear a singer improve, over the years and with additional exposure. I accept singers within a certain range of ability—but place a very high priority on the best ears. Chorale’s complex and mostly unaccompanied repertoire requires this.

All auditionees sing a piece in German. Not because Chorale sings so much in German, but because, I figure, if they can work out the problems they confront in German, they probably can do a decent job with other languages, too. I am unable to be as strict with this requirement, as I am with pitch sensitivity: Americans are mostly not well-trained in languages, and their ears have largely closed to new sounds by the time they are old enough to sing with Chorale, whatever capacity they may have had earlier in life. I take language into account as much as I can in making my choices; and then we coach a good deal in rehearsals.

I ask to hear a second selection, because I want to make sure singers feel comfortable, if German is difficult for them. I want to be able to judge musicality, expressiveness, sense of style, sensitivity to the characteristics of the piece they have chosen. Are they “artists?” Will they responsive to the beauty, the drama, the depth, of the repertoire Chorale sings?

Chorale rehearses once a week, and presents difficult music; we need to get the “grid” (pitch and rhythm, vertical and horizontal values) under control as quickly as possible, and move on to other things. The sight-reading component of the audition is crucial. Even if singers struggle, I am interested in the degree to which they can self-correct. Relative to rhythm, I listen carefully for the “inner clock”—do they lock in to the tactus? Can they switch between duple and triple? Can they sing even triplets? I am more likely to accept someone who is a weaker reader, if I sense a high level of innate ability and trainability.

I also converse with auditionees—try to get a sense of their actual interest in Chorale’s repertoire, and their comfort and ease at dealing not only with me, but with other members of the ensemble. A choir is a community; I want Chorale’s singers to be good, supportive neighbors to one another.

Finally: I listen for vocal quality. I admire really beautiful voices; but I know that too many of them will defeat the choral sound. I value a variety of sounds, and listen for the way in which they will fit together; for every larger, more complex voice, I want a certain number of smaller, clearer voices who will balance and buffer the big ones, allow them to sing comfortably without “competing” with other complex sounds. Of course, I listen for well-produced, healthy vocalism; I don’t want Chorale to sound pushed or strained, and I know that faulty intonation reflects bad singing, as much as it does weak ears. I require that each section, not just the sopranos, sing with clear, even pitch—our repertoire won’t allow anything less than this; and I am very sensitive to any inflexibility in this regard, that I hear in a singer. A clear, accurate choral instrument is our goal, rather than a collection of warm sounds which bump up against one another, and overwhelm the music.

One hopes to hear a large number of auditions, and to make the best, most informed choices possible: once the roster is announced, I commit myself completely to the singers I have chosen, and make the best choir out of them, that I can. I, and Chorale, have to live with any mistakes I make—I cannot blame a singer, once I have chosen him/her.

Ravinia is celebrating Conlon’s 60th birthday this season, and he has seen massive changes on the music scene. Classical music has become a niche art, but Conlon actively fights the notion that it is only for a select few. Early in his career he hated the notion of conductors speaking to audiences. But now he gives a pre-opera talk every time he conducts in Los Angeles. Whenever he speaks from Ravinia’s podium, his comments are typically witty and graceful.

Conlon sees value in the video screens that Ravinia is using at every CSO concert. The idea is to give pavilion audiences a closer look at the performers and forge a closer connection between audience and orchestra. Some concertgoers loathe them, but Kauffman said the overall response has been positive.

“It was a big mistake,” said Conlon, “to have allowed classical music to fall out of public education, and we’re paying the price for it now. Anything that reverses this trend is a necessity.

“I can certainly understand the viewpoint of people who may not like those screens. But I think at this point in history, it’s outweighed by the necessity of winning people and keeping them, young people especially. People very much like seeing the orchestra.”

We have a new Managing Director! Megan Balderston will join our team as of July 1, and I personally could not be more thrilled. She has several years of professional, practical, hands-on experience in running performance organizations such as ours, combined with a healthy knowledge of performing, personally, from the other side of the podium. We expect some very positive changes in the way we present ourselves to our public, and in the way things run in-house.

Chorale’s programming, through December, will focus on works unfamiliar to many of our listeners and singers– works acknowledged to be amongst the very best being composed during our time, but time-consuming and difficult to produce. Most notable amongst these will be the Vespers portion of the Vigilia, by Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara (1971). First performed in Chicago by Bella Voce, back in 2003 or so, it is a work of surpassing depth and beauty, couched in a harmonic vocabulary reminiscent of such contemporaries as Pärt, Tavener, and Hovhaness. Chorale will be joined in this major presentation by bass soloist Wilbur Pauly, well-known to Chicago audiences through his work with Lyric Opera and the Newbury Consort.

In addition, Chorale will present the final movement of The Sealed Angel, composed in 1988 by Rodion Shchedrin, for the occasion of the millenium of the Christianisation of Russia. Our Russian section will conclude with a setting of the Our Father by Nikolai Golovanov (1891-1953).

A major aspect of Chorale’s Tenth Anniversary Celebration has been the planning and commissioning of a new, a cappella work, And Give Us Piece, in conjunction with celebrated American composer Stephen Paulus. We now have this work in hand, and will begin rehearsing it in September, in time for it’s world premier performances here in Chicago, December 11 and 12. No composer currently working in the field of choral music is more universally recognized and celebrated than Stephen Paulus; we are indeed honored that he has so graciously agreed to contribute to our anniversary celebrations in this way, and we are very excited to get to work on his piece.

Chorale will present its annual Advent Vespers, in conjunction with the monks of the Monastery of the Holy Cross, Sunday afternoon, December 5, at 5 p.m. Unlike many of the high-octane, celebratory Advent events which occur throughout the Chicago area during the pre-Christmas season (often in conjunction with an afternoon of shopping on Michigan Avenue), the liturgy celebrated by Chorale and the monks is quiet, contemplative, unrushed– a series of readings interspersed with Gregorian chant sung by the monks, and choral polyphony appropriate to the readings, presented by the choir. For me, in my personal acknowledgment of the season– this is Advent; I love this evening, and I wish it could go on and on. I am always sad when people finally stand up and start moving toward the doors.

In January, Chorale begins rehearsing J. S. Bach’s Mass in B Minor. Yes, we have done this work before– but one cannot do it too many times– it insults the work, in fact, even to think we could ever “do” it. Our concert will occur on Sunday, April 3, 3 p.m., at Rockefeller Memorial Chapel. This year’s presentation will utilize historically appropriate instruments, contracted for Chorale by local cellist and contractor Craig Trompeter. Rachel Barton Pine will serve as concertmaster. We plan to perform from the rear gallery (I have participated in numerous performances of the work from back there, over the years, and assure you, it is not only possible, but highly desirable, from an acoustic point of view), and are currently investigating the possibility of video taping the performance, and showing portions of it simultaneously. More on that later…

Sound like a full year? We are taking a trip to Spain and France in June! Not everyone, but quite a sizable percentage of the members, will fly to Barcelona on June 17, sing a number of concerts during the next two weeks, and return from Paris June 27.

A couple of years ago, we had a motto:

If not us, who? If not now, when?

And we didn’t ignore it.

I am back from Evansville, and ready to conduct our concert. Just now I actually spoke with Kaia on the phone—they are letting her come up out of the sedation now, removing some tubes, having her breathe on her own. Her physical health and strength are a remarkable gift– this morning I saw her at 5 a.m., just before I went to the airport, and would not have believed I would hear actual words cone out of her. She is so vital, so resilient.

Every parent fears and dreads the phone call I answered Wednesday afternoon. When I heard that voice from the hospital in southern Illinois, I thought the world stood still. “Are you the parent of Kaia Tammen?” And when I finally saw her, late Thursday afternoon, after a total of eleven grueling hours of surgery, involving five different doctors as well as an army of support staff, I thought I would not be able to bear what I saw. I am so grateful to everyone—to the man who discovered their bodies by the side of the road and turned them over, cleared their air passages so they would not drown or suffocate; to the rescue teams who brought them safely to the trauma center in Evansville; to the wonderful surgeons and nursing staff; to Tambra Black, who drive Esther the six hours down to Evansville and stayed with her, fed her, drove her around, for three days; to Sharon for taking over conducting duties Thursday night; to all of you, as well as our other friends and family, who have offered your support and prayers and time and energy, taking care of our boys, our dogs, the arrangements for the coming concert. Never once have we felt alone, during this terrifying time.

James Baird, the father of Julia Baird, the other surviving girl, said a wonderful thing to us yesterday afternoon. He had been in frequent contact with his family’s rabbi, who had said to him, “Remember, James, there is no house fire prayer in Judaism.” When one sees and smells the smoke, one is not allowed to pray, dear lord, let that be someone else’s house, not mine. We really are all in this together—none of us is an island. Faith’s death diminishes not only her mother, and her friends, but all of us. And so does any death—in Gaza, in Bagdad, in Peshawar, in Uganda, anywhere.

As choral musicians, we are uniquely situated and gifted to understand the power of community—what we do is intensely, necessarily communal; we are utterly dependent upon one another for the true and honest expression of our music, and we are enhanced immeasurably by the presence and participation of one another. We don’t in fact even exist, as a choir, without one another; and our music would not even happen—Palestrina and Tavener and Duruflé would be mute without our communal efforts. My daughter would have died without communal efforts—she was lifted and held by the efforts of a community of people working together toward a common, positive end, and accomplishing in the process a miracle which none of them could have done alone.

I want very much to conduct this concert tonight. Maybe, had we programmed the best of broadway or swing into spring, I would have begged off; but we programmed music which reflects the best of the human spirit in a difficult time—and the difficulty of this current time impels me to respond in the language I speak best, and with you, who speak this language for me. I am grateful to all of you for being here to help me with this. Let’s sing our hearts out.

The work of Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (1525-94) epitomizes, perhaps more than any other composer’s, the musical aesthetic of the Counter-Reformation. Never a musical trailblazer, Palestrina expertly assimilated and refined the polyphonic techniques of his predecessors to produce a seamless musical texture. Universally recognized as models of clarity, balance, and textual intelligibility, his motets and masses were constantly referred to by theorists to illustrate their theses. In fact, so highly esteemed was Palestrina during his lifetime that in 1577 he was chosen to rewrite the Church’s main plainchant books, following the guidelines established by the Council of Trent.

Palestrina’s legendary mastery of counterpoint is matched only by his musical restraint; the beautiful melodies spun within his contrapuntal web are perfectly balanced, each word—each syllable—receives the proper stress and length, and the overall effect is at all times supremely pleasing and varied. It is no surprise that his contemporaries referred to him as “The Prince of Music.” The nobility and reverence of his music is heard in our program’s 2-part motet, Sicut cervus, considered by many accounts to be the most outstanding example of religious choral art from the Renaissance. A setting of the Tract for the Blessing of the Font, taken from Psalm 42, and designated for Holy Saturday (a week from this evening), this motet exquisitely conveys the soul’s longing for union with God. We can hear this longing, yearning quality of the motet, captured in the extended notes at the beginning of its phrases and the constant reaching in the melodic line. It is this especially expressive and emotional quality which makes this particular motet more appropriate that other works by Palestrina for a larger choir such as Chorale.

British composer John Tavener (b. 1944) is best known for his religious, minimalist choral works, composed from within the context of the Russian Orthodox faith. He describes his compositions as “icons with notes rather than colours,” and seeks to minimize the signature of the artist-composer in his quest to illuminate text and meaning. Tavener composed Svyati (O Holy One) for choir and solo cello in 1995, and writes, “The text…is used at almost every Russian Orthodox service, perhaps most poignantly after the congregation [has] kissed the body in an open coffin at an Orthodox funeral. The choir sings ‘Svyati Bozhe’ (Holy God) as the coffin is closed and borne out of the church, followed by the mourners with lighted candles. The cello represents the Priest or Ikon of Christ…As in Greek drama, choir and priest are in dialogue with each other.” In Chorale’s performance, the solo cello, played by Sophie Webber, sounds from an alcove hidden in the rear of the church, while the choir responds from the chancel.  The sound gently, yet insistently, carries the listener into an otherworldly realm.

At the age of ten, Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986) went with his father tosee the Cathedral at Rouen. The young boy thought it was just a visit. He had no idea until that evening that he would not be returning home to Louviers: his father had enrolled him in the boychoir school! Duruflé’s experiences singing in that great cathedral were to influence him throughout the rest of his life, as all of his music has its basis in Gregorian chant. His pieces are further characterized by clear forms coupled with traditional counterpoint, their beauty stemming from full, romantic harmonies.

Duruflé published a mere fourteen works total, but each is meticulously crafted. The most famous and influential is undoubtedly his first choral work, Requiem, Op. 9 (1947). It exists in three versions: one for large orchestra and organ, and another for organ only, both dating from 1947, and third version for smaller orchestra and organ from 1961. The Duruflé Requiem is entirely unique in its application of medieval melody and modern orchestration. Duruflé writes very few new tunes for this piece; rather, he resets Gregorian chant in a typically twentieth-century harmonic and orchestral milieu, weaving the chant melodies into the entire compositional framework. In the composer’s own words, “At times the text is paramount, and therefore the orchestra intervenes only to sustain or comment. At other times an original musical fabric inspired by the text takes over completely…. In general, I have attempted to penetrate to the essence of Gregorian style and have tried to reconcile, as far as possible, the very flexible Gregorian rhythms as established by the Benedictines of Solesmes with the exigencies of modern notation.”

The result is a triumph; however, there is still more at work in Duruflé’s chef d’oeuvre: not only is the composer brilliantly reworking Gregorian chant, he is also consciously referencing and responding to the entire Requiem tradition. The text of the Requiem Mass has inspired composers since the High Renaissance. Polyphonic settings of the “Mass for the Dead” became a standard part of composers’ repertories from the days of Ockeghem. This tradition continued for centuries, yielding the well-known settings by Mozart and Berlioz, who first made the Requiem a work of truly monstrous proportions. Verdi followed in this tradition, as did Dvorák, and many lesser-known composers like Charles Villiers Stanford. These compositions accentuate the darker, infernal side of death, as often illustrated by the intense drama of the “Dies irae” section, boldly proclaiming the approach of a terrible judgment day. At the height of the Requiem’s compositional popularity, Gabriel Fauré defied this tradition by emphasizing a tender, even comforting aspect of death, interpreting it as a departure from this troubled world and a hopeful arrival in a place of peace and eternal rest. Fauré went so far as to completely eliminate the “Dies irae” text from his musical setting.

While Duruflé’s Requiem consciously evokes the letter of Fauré’s setting in many ways, it creates a much more complex musical experience. The proximity of World War II still cast a long shadow in 1947, and the piece is not without its darker side. The orchestration often sounds uncomfortably against the plainchant-inspired melodic contours and sensuous harmonies, endowing the piece with extraordinary inner drama. Exquisite eloquence clashes with vehement cries as the tenderness of the “Pie Jesu” confronts the tension and intensity of the “Libera me”—and the now-reinstated “Dies irae” section.

Duruflé’s Requiem does deliver on the promise of eventual rest its title implies: the bliss of celestial peace does indeed glisten gloriously in the fading fermata of the final “In Paradisum” (marked to be held “très long”). But it is won only after fierce spiritual struggle.

notes (mostly) by Justin Flosi

The station is playing far more than Vespers recordings; I suspect in fact that they are trying to cover Rachmaninoff’s entire output. Some favorites, like the piano concertos, the Etudes-tableaux, the Vocalise and other songs, Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, are played repeatedly, in performances by a wide variety of musicians. I have loved this music, been moved and thrilled and stirred by it, ever since a high school English teacher played a recording of the Paganini variations during an exam—I was so taken with the music, I couldn’t focus on my test, and had to retake it, later (the teacher was sympathetic). The other day, inspired by WFMT, I sat at this computer for an hour, playing various versions of the Vocalise that came up on Utube—with unabashed subjectivity, I recommend Anna Moffo’s and Kiri Te Kanawa’s renditions. The stirring, emotional beauty of this music, presented in good performances, really bowls me over.

But last spring, in the process of working on the Vespers, I discovered something I had not known previously– Rachmaninoff is a good, solid composer, not just an emotionally stirring one. Those fifteen movements are wonderfully planned and thought-out; the combination of the straitjacket of the historic Orthodox chant materials, with his imaginative manipulation of them, produces wonderful, complex, surprising music. I expect he is sometimes facile and self-indulgent in his piano compositions; but in the Vespers, craft and hard work are always evident, along with the melodic and harmonic inspiration for which he is celebrated.

Strangely—but typically, for me– J.S. Bach popped into my head during my Vocalise orgy (isn’t everyone haunted regularly by Bach?) I thought—Bach composes music just as appealing and emotionally satisfying as this, and so much more, besides. This does not diminish Rachmaninoff; his gift is real, honest, profound, and I am grateful to know him. What hit me, though, was– how could one be Bach, have this particular gift, and every other gift, as well? Put Stravinsky, Beethoven, Brahms, Rachmaninoff, Verdi, Palestrina, in a pot together, and you still haven’t quite got Bach—he had it all.

By the way—Chorale will present Bach’s B Minor Mass next April, little more than a year from now. My fifth preparation as a conductor; perhaps my twentieth altogether, if one includes performances I have sung. I was so thrilled, the day the decision was made, I could barely contain myself. Chorale will celebrate it’s 10th anniversary during 2010-2011; what could be more fitting, than to commemorate this anniversary by preparing and performing the greatest choral/orchestral work out there. Just announcing this, tells people who we want to be.

In the broadest possible terms: I sing first, then teach others to sing. This seems to me an unassailable progression; many choral conductors would lay claim to some version of the same thing. I think our training and experience in the first two, greatly impacts the success of the third.

By the time I reached college, I wanted badly to sing well; then, and later, I sought out the best teachers, coaches, and accompanists I could find. They worked mightily to help me make the most of my instrument; they taught me about the expressive possibilities inherent in the human voice; they greatly broadened and deepened my instinctive range. They introduced me to great composers and vocal repertoire; they helped me with languages; they guided me through questions of national and historical style; and they taught me to perform effectively in public. I studied voice, participated in summer programs and master classes, and performed a broad range of solo repertoire regularly, for more than twenty-five years; it’s amazing how much one learns, and absorbs, through such an apprenticeship. No one ever told me I had a great voice, or a career right over the horizon; but my desire to learn what I could about the craft, was always respected.

My teachers taught me, through example, how to teach. I admired them, and emulated them. Of course, one learns through doing. I suspect no one teaches voice effectively, until they have been trying to do so for several years; but along the way, if one has interest and aptitude, one learns to deal with voices, to care about them, to help them. After three years of college teaching, I chose to do graduate work in vocal performance and pedagogy, rather than in conducting– and I felt, still feel, that this was the right choice for me: I knew I would always be teaching people to sing, for one reason or another, and that this would be the root, the basis, of anything else I did.

Singing also led me to choirs. As a child, I sang in choirs—through community, church, and school– because that was where one sang; where else? Solo singing did not present itself as an option; singing was all about working with other people. I loved choirs, and choral repertoire; I attended a college which specialized in choral performance; and I sought choral opportunities wherever I happened to live or work. This early training and experience was important for me; it prepared me sing later on in wonderful choirs, under extraordinary conductors and preparators. One way or another, I have sung most of the major works in the standard choral/orchestral repertoire, in good performances; and I have sung literally thousands of smaller works, under perhaps hundreds of conductors, some of those pieces many times, under many circumstances. I have known many of those conductors personally; have observed and experienced their methods; have been able to evaluate them (and their effect on me and my fellow singers), learn from them, pick and choose amongst their habits and techniques. Again, for me—this was the way to learn to conduct choirs: an old-style apprenticeship/journeyman situation.

As I have grown older, I do less singing, and more conducting. For a certain period, I was very conflicted about this; finally I just let it happen, and that has been for the best. Like a sponge which has absorbed so much, for so long—that which has been absorbed starts leaking out, and it is best to take advantage of that. I completely agree with something Robert Shaw used to say– that the very heart of choral singing is this miracle: that people singing together in a choir, are so much more, so much better, that the sum of all their talents and energy. Choral singing, for me, is a model for the way we should live, the way we should conduct ourselves in all aspects of our communal lives– commit ourselves to worthy projects, respect one another and reconcile our differences, work together to be so much more than we could ever be, otherwise. Strangely, people don’t see this and do it on their own; someone has to point the way, someone has to put up a sign that says, Be here Wednesday night at 7. And let’s try to sing better.