Chorale Retreat

Each fall, at about this time, Chorale meets at a site other than our regular rehearsal venue, and spends an entire day, placing voices, reviewing our past, digging into our new repertoire, getting to know our new members, and leaving most of the outside world behind.  This year is no exception. We will meet this Saturday, September 27, at Ellis Avenue Church, and kick off our new season with a total immersion experience, from donuts and coffee to brats and beer. Chorale’s members live all over the Chicago region, from St. Charles to Northern Indiana, from Evanston to Crete. Some of them drive as much as two hours through rush hour traffic, every Wednesday, to get to rehearsals; they arrive just as the singing starts, and drive home as soon as it is over, and haven’t a lot of time, before and after rehearsal, to socialize with other members. And, because we tend to rehearse only once a week, it can be difficult for singers to remain fresh and engaged with the repertoire, and with Chorale’s approach to singing it. Membership could all too easily become an encapsulated blip on ones weekly radar, providing far less of the overall, exhilarating experience than we intend. Our opening retreat allows us to really roll around in our music, absorb the smell of it, and become comfortable with the people with whom we share it.

We start out drinking coffee and eating, of course. Our librarian, Erielle Bakkum, will distribute music—which, this fall, is Mozart’s Mass in C minor, ‘The Great’, which we will sing with Civic Orchestra of Chicago on November 24, at Symphony Center. We begin rehearsing, as always, with a period of vocal warm up, both because we need it, and to introduce our sound and production ideals to the new members. At this time they will meet our accompanist, Kit Bridges, whose leadership from the keyboard is so integral a part of our musicality. After warm up, we will divide into sections, and I will place the voices in each section in an order which is both most comfortable for the individual singers, and best sounding from the outside. Once placed, the choir will reconvene and begin work on the “easier” movements of the Mass, finding their sound, their balance, their “place in the choir.” After a break for lunch, Frisbee, and conversation, we will gather in the rehearsal space again, and continue rehearsing, touching on at least one of the more difficult movements (they are all difficult, whom am I trying to kid; but one with some challenging polyphony). Interspersed amongst both the morning and afternoon rehearsal periods, we will hear about “the state of the choir” from our board president, Angela Grimes, and be informed of specific details and housekeeping items by our managing director, Megan Balderston. In the meantime, Megan and a team of non-singing volunteers will take care of food, culminating in a bratwurst and beer celebration at the end of the day. By this time, many families, including children, will have arrived to join us in eating both the brats and all the other, potluck items members have provided.

Later in the Fall we will rehearse on a couple of Saturdays, as well, to help us keep our edge and forward momentum, right up to our conductor’s piano rehearsal with Nicholas Kraemer, who will take over at that point and conduct our performance with Civic.

A choir is so much more than a group of singers, each of whom turns their talent on and off at the touch of a button once a week. We are an “ensemble”—together, in so many senses. Without that togetherness, we tend to lose direction, motivation, commitment—and this loss shows up in the quality of our performances, as well as in the enthusiasm with which we sell tickets to our friends, and fill our halls. A choir that enjoys brats, beer, and Frisbee together, has an irreplaceable advantage, over one that does not.

For the Love of Singing

Last week, I wrote, “A professional ensemble has the luxury of choosing repertoire, then hiring a choir that can sing it; my job is somewhat more complicated and challenging—and never less than interesting.”   I have been thinking a lot, lately, about the divide between Chicago Chorale and the paying groups with whom we compete and share the stage, and about the broad implications of “amateurism” versus “professionalism.” Chicago Chorale is all about enriching, and transforming, the lives of its singers, as well as its audience. We seek, unapologetically, a high production standard, and high artistic achievement; and we seek to perform the very best music literature available. But we do this, not for commercial reasons, but because we are persuaded that people are changed, are moved to be better, to strive for better lives for themselves and others, through making music, themselves, the best they can do it.   Yes, some music is more difficult to understand, and execute, than other music. But we believe that our collection of singers can understand, and share in, the most profound works of the greatest composers; we believe that, given sufficient rehearsal time, training, motivation, and will, we can do as well as any commercially-motivated group of professional singers—and that our end product will be special, and individual, because of the growth of understanding that we have experienced through the often difficult process of preparing it. Chorale’s performances are not only “correct”; they are also imbued with the spiritual, emotional journey each singer, and the ensemble on the whole, encounters putting them together.

I have lived on both sides of this divide. I have made a lot of money over the years, singing in performances, on recordings, sometimes with wonderful ensembles, sometimes with ensembles that aren’t so great but that paid me to help them sound better than they would otherwise. I have been grateful for my talent and skill, grateful that conductors have hired me to sing the repertoire they have chosen. I have been grateful, as well, for the company of other highly skilled singers, who have made my own job quicker and easier. I have learned so very much through such experiences. I have taken great pride, and felt considerable pleasure, in pulling off major works with minimal rehearsal and maximum pay. Finally, though, I believe that the most fundamental and valuable work is done by groups like Chorale-- groups that change lives, that transform understanding, that touch everyday people with divine fire. My experiences in school and community groups, in college choirs, were not just steps along the way, training grounds that weeded out the less gifted and brought the chosen few forward toward the truth of professionalism; they were glorious experiences that turned me inside out when they happened, that made me who I am today. Along the way, I learned that I may be selfish and neurotic much of the time, but under the influence of great music I am made better, and have the wonderful opportunity of giving the best of myself. And I learned this long before I collected my first paycheck for singing.

Wouldn’t we all have more hope for our world, knowing that our doctor, our professor, our neighbor, our lawyer, our child’s kindergarten teacher, shared our love of making great music?

Summer’s placid surface is about to explode into the frenzy of Autumn.

Chorale has not presented its own concert since May—but the summer has not been quiet! An ensemble called Chicago Chorale (comprising Chorale members, past, present, and future, as well as other singers from the community) sang two concert preparations at Ravinia this summer: An Evening of Lerner and Loewe, and The Return of the King, which were a lot of work, a lot of fun, and made some money to help support our 2014-15 budget. And nothing else sat still, either. We are currently in the midst of moving to a new rehearsal venue (First Unitarian Church, 57^th and Woodlawn), which is more complicated than one might think, since it involves moving our piano and choral library, as well as working with a new church administration, a new contract, and a new set of regulations and behaviors. We are also preparing for another European Tour (our last was in 2011)—this time we will visit the Baltic countries, during July of 2015; and while not all Chorale members are involved, more than half will participate, and the entire venture must be “administered” from within the ensemble. Tour company, repertoire, itinerary, schedule of payments—none of these take summer vacations. I chose most repertoire for the 2014-15 season long ago. Planning for our performance of Mozart’s “Great” Mass in C minor with Civic Orchestra, under the direction of Nicholas Kraemer, at Symphony Center, November 24, has been underway for more than a year. Similarly, our performance of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, which we will present at Rockefeller Chapel on March 29, has been in the works for a long time; the soloists, and most of the instrumentalists, had already been contracted by March. We even had a detailed rehearsal schedule before the end of July. Decisions about our spring concert, Da Pacem Domine, scheduled for June 13 at St. Vincent DePaul Parish, present a different sort of challenge: a cappella repertoire choices must reflect, more closely than large, orchestrated works, the specific voices we retain from the past season, as well as the new voices we choose through auditions; and this repertoire must be adaptable to the smaller ensemble that sings it on tour, as well. I have spent a good deal of time ordering and studying scores, and listening to recordings, and have compiled a short list; but I won’t be able to make final choices until I hear and have worked with this season’s choir. A professional ensemble has the luxury of choosing repertoire, then hiring a choir that can sing it; my job is somewhat more complicated and challenging—and never less than interesting.

Summers offer an opportunity to pull back, remember my training and performance experiences, think about what I love about music, recall the repertoire and performers that have particularly moved me, and really spend time with my choices. I entered this profession with ideals and excitement, which have been sharpened by wonderful teachers and training; too often, though, in the midst of actually preparing, and paying for, concerts, ideals are back-burnered, and one is compelled to think in terms of what sells, what works, what can one get away with, what will the ensemble tolerate, what can we afford. September through May can easily become a exercise in keeping ones head above water; June through August can be an antidote to that. I listen to recordings of earlier repertoire played by today’s top period ensembles, and remember the revelatory summers I spent at Oberlin’s Baroque Performance Institute; I listen to Kiri Te Kanawa sing with her still-flawless technique and legato line, and reflect on my teachers, on how hard they worked to help me to understand, and execute, the same things; I explore the ever-growing body of new choral music, and try to decide for myself what is merely attractive, what is clever and intriguing, what will continue to excite and inspire me in the future. I listen to recordings of the incredible number of good choirs out there, compare them with the choirs I have sung in and the conductors I have worked with, and try to get past the flawless surface enabled by current recording techniques, and determine for myself if such and such a group, such and such a conductor, is doing really honest, exciting work. Some sleepless nights I spend three or four hours with YouTube, listening, watching, comparing, ordering CDs and single copies, writing emails to conducting colleagues and asking for suggestions and opinions.

Summer’s placid surface is about to explode into the frenzy of Autumn. I look forward to it!