Choral Ethics: Cicadas, Brahms and the Approah of Summer

Dad, Peter Genaro and me at a dance workshop in the 1970s

“The truth is, I’ve been lucky. But just like the waltz, life has its own rhythm of rise and fall.” Len Goodman

Here in Chicago, the cicadas are out in force. In my area, I awaken to hear a low hum in the distance before I get out of bed. My friendly, neighborhood cicadas are somewhat later rising, and it isn’t until my coffee is fully brewed and the newspapers are spread out before me that their scritch-scratch seems closer-to-home than their earlier-rising brethren. This is a special group of cicadas—the seventeen-year brood and the thirteen-year brood–together in a rare occurrence not happening again until 2245. It’s gonna get LOUD.

I know, because of my experiences seventeen years ago, that these beginning Cicada Songs are just the start, just a TASTE of what is yet to come. In the next few weeks, we will have a full force cacophony of sound, reminiscence of air-raid sirens, with noise cancelling headphones the only way some will be able to stand the onslaught. I love it.

Seventeen years ago, I had planned a wonderful spring concert of the Brahms Liebeslieder op. 52 and the Brahms Zigeunerlieder op. 103 and op. 112. With the wonderful singers in my chamber choir, super pianists—my regular accompanist (who is also my son) and his friend—and a venue that I loved, it was going to be something special. In fact, the venue was a church where I had served as director of choirs for six years and it was beautiful, the piano was outstanding, and it was SURROUNDED by the most wonderful trees. Uh-oh.

The days leading up to that early June concert started out quietly enough but the day of the concert, it was LOUD. The church seemed surrounded by sound. It was a wonderful concert, my singers sang beautifully, the pianists played their hearts out and it was one of best things I’ve ever conducted. As the audience filed in, we had suggested they sit toward to front, the better to hear us and not the Chorus of Cicadas. It worked for the most part but when I listened to the archival recording, all I could hear was the cicadas. Sometimes the magic in the music just happens and this was one of those times. It was something I could not have predicted happening, but looking back, it just reinforces the magic of that concert.

As summer approaches this year, I am somewhat melancholy. It will be the first without my Dad and it was always a special time for us. As I was growing up, he was often out of town teaching at dance teacher conventions or workshops or adjudicating dance competitions. Many times, he took Mom or one or more of us with him, depending on where he was headed, and we did touristy things while he taught. I often took master classes at the conventions or helped him with his music or notes and generally was his right hand. After he founded his own dance teacher organization (with his friends), Mom and I often manned the front desk, checking folks in, getting dance notes and handouts to them, giving directions. I also took the classes I was interested in and learned so much during those summer days.

I have been named curator of Dad’s papers, 36 boxes of papers and music and photos and costumes, really the history of dance in Chicago. I haven’t had time yet to begin to work on organizing them and to plan to start sometime this summer.

I will try to blog throughout the summer but also plan to repeat a few blogs when I know I will be busy. The repeats won’t begin for a few weeks, and I will make sure to mention it when I do.

I hope your summer will be beautiful and relaxing and a time of rejuvenation for you!