Wednesday, November 01, 2006
The Sopranos
Came back from yet another rehearsal of our choir.
More of an ensemble, actually, as there are not enough of us to be called a choir...
The dedicated core is composed of seven women - and one man.
Plus another man with an incredible contrabass-like voice, who gets called to the flag in times of urgent need, like now.
Our first performance with our new instructors (Oh, what do you call them peoples who write the harmonies and instruct the choir? It's not quite conductors, is it?) is on Saturday, at the memorial ceremony for Yitzhak Rabin, who was cold-bloodedly assassinated 11 years ago, on November 4th, 1995; a very dark day that seems to have made a significant impact on the history of Israel ever since, and plucked its very last remains of naivety.
Like you have the "Where were you when Kennedy was shot" thing, we have it with Rabin.
Singing at such a ceremony, mind you, is not a trifle thing.
It has to be very dignified, it has to be respectful - and to add to the pressure: it's pretty much our debut as an ensemble.
We had another choir 2 years ago, bigger, and with a different instructor. We performed twice, and then parted as friends... some of us reunited to form the new ensemble, which seems to be in the right direction, and much more committed.
Back then, at the previous choir, I was an alto.
I actually started off as a soprano, until we reached a certain song - and my voice shamefully broke at the second note, as if I was a pimpled 13-year-old boy.
I was exiled on the spot to the alto, and we always got the most challenging harmonies, while the simple melody was sung by the sopranos.
Our current ensemble is led (or is it conducted? please help an ignoramus immigrant with the wording!) by the Maratris duo, a professional voice teacher and her husband who virtuosically writes the different wonderful harmonies to the songs.
From day one, after an embarrassing and thorough voice testing, I was trenchantly informed that not only am I a soprano, I am the highest soprano in our choir (moi?), and that I have the biggest vocal range (moi???!!?), so I sometimes sing the parts that sound like a castrated tortured bird, and sometimes I sing with the men (only they sing about 17 octaves below).
You find it confusing?
Ha! Try being me...
Needless to say, now that I am with the sopranos, the easy part of nonchalantly singing the melody is always assigned to anyone but us...
Which means that yet again, I find myself struggling with the complicated and highly creative harmonies, that put my vocal cords - and patience - to the test each and every time.
A definite conspiracy!
And so, we have rehearsals every other day for the second week in a row now, and - Pffffffffffffffffffrrrrrrrrrrr, it's hectic, and it's exhausting, and we are all so sick and tired of seeing each other so often.
But - we are improving, significantly, from day to day!
Only thing is that we all now have very husky and hoarse voices.
And I wonder: how do they make it seem so sexy in the movies!? ...'cause somehow, all that coughing and throat clearing noises just don't quite seem to add a lot to my gracefulness and femininity...
Not a fascinating post this time, I know.
But, like in painting, from time to time you need to have areas of gray in order for the more intense colors to shine through and be truly appreciated.
"And no JohnnyB bashing???", some of you protesteth, with bitter disappointment.
No.
Not today.
JohnnyB is sick.
So he deserves a break - especially after CherkyB's peculiar homage.
Labels: Singing
# posted by Nava @ 12:58 AM 
Comments:
Poor JackyB. Probably inhaled some nasty termite poop up in the garage "loft".
Choirs have "directors".
Well, he is now well enough to close the butt circle and claim some hind fame, on his own blog, right here.
Nava thinks "hind fame" is hiliarious - beHIND, HIND sight, etc. She's in her chair, 5' away from me, ecstatic with happiness of her quick wit....
I've tried unsuccessfully three times to pass on the accumulated wisdom of my years - so this little square is about the right size - if I can get it posted!
I wanted to tell the froggy throated choir that my favorite panacea when I was acting and the frogs and butterflies competed to make me hoarser than Satchmo was an inflammatory pastille called "The Fisherman's Friend." You have to be a bit of a masochist to take it, but the menthol is strong enough to clear your sinuses all the way back to your medulla oblongata, and leave you with head tones as clear as a King's College chorister. It also blows the fluff out of your belly button, but is certainly effective.
It also has another advantage - you have to crawl on the drugstore floor because it's always humbly situated on the lowest shelves below the raucously advertised - and usually sickenly sweet and ineffective - cough remedies. This esercise semds the blood rushing to the head, so tickling the little grey cells thus making the learning of lyrics easier. Good luck with the concert.
# posted by 
: 11/03/2006 5:15 PM
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Choirs have "directors".
I wanted to tell the froggy throated choir that my favorite panacea when I was acting and the frogs and butterflies competed to make me hoarser than Satchmo was an inflammatory pastille called "The Fisherman's Friend." You have to be a bit of a masochist to take it, but the menthol is strong enough to clear your sinuses all the way back to your medulla oblongata, and leave you with head tones as clear as a King's College chorister. It also blows the fluff out of your belly button, but is certainly effective.
It also has another advantage - you have to crawl on the drugstore floor because it's always humbly situated on the lowest shelves below the raucously advertised - and usually sickenly sweet and ineffective - cough remedies. This esercise semds the blood rushing to the head, so tickling the little grey cells thus making the learning of lyrics easier. Good luck with the concert.
# posted by : 11/03/2006 5:15 PM
: 11/03/2006 5:15 PM 
