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Non-auditioned Choirs – and Their Conductors – Are at the Heart of Community Singing

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By Pat Guth

For the first 40 years of my musical career, I spent a lot of time dealing with “imposter syndrome” – that nagging feeling when you doubt your accomplishments and have a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a “fraud.” Maybe you’ve been there, too. It’s not uncommon among artists of all kinds.

I launched what should have been viewed as a successful career after earning my degree from a very prestigious conservatory-type music college, but never quite felt like I measured up. After all, some of my classmates were singing opera. Others led award-winning ensembles, while others were building incredible programs in schools or churches. I taught elementary classroom music until I became pregnant with my first child then quit. I continued in my field by teaching private lessons and taking underpaid jobs at area churches where they loved my credentials but didn’t really want to pay what I was worth.

That likely contributed to my poor self-esteem but it’s how I kept my hand in choral music while raising a family. It worked for me. Nevertheless, I often found myself defending the fact that I wasn’t working full-time in my chosen profession. I started to feel that maybe I wasn’t as “serious” about my passion as they were. (Spoiler alert: I was!)

Finally, when I was 52 and my youngest was a senior in high school, I decided to travel on a new musical journey. I had always wanted to conduct a secular community choir but had hesitated to form a new one because there were already so many top-notch ensembles located near my suburban Philadelphia home.

If I started yet another auditioned chorus for experienced, educated singers, would mine measure up? Would I spend the next several years trying to catch up to those long-established ensembles? How would I get my name out there and who would respond? After all, I was a relative unknown, despite my decades of experience in choral music.

I thought about this for months and finally decided that I would be a renegade amongst (most of) my peers and attempt to form a non-auditioned choir instead, perhaps one just for women as there was a definite lack of women’s choirs in my area. We would welcome anyone: Those who studied voice. Those who hadn’t sung since middle school or high school. Those who – gasp! – had never sung in a choral ensemble of any kind. That meant taking the good with the bad. The pitch perfect with the pitch-challenged.

So on a hot July day I took a deep breath, reviewed my options, wrote a press release (and was fortunate that the local paper was intrigued enough to write a story about this undertaking), and by the time we had our initial “meet-and-greet” in late August, I welcomed 81 women ages 20-something to 80-ish to my new choral ensemble. Oh happy day! We were already a success!

Still Dealing with That Feeling

Honestly, this project took off pretty quickly. To kick-off with 80 singers was nothing short of amazing. And we made a pretty decent sound from the start, considering that only about half the choir could read music and scores of our singers had NEVER been part of a musical ensemble of any sort.

Yes, we had a handful of individuals who were musically-challenged and another handful that were pretty advanced, but most landed somewhere in the middle and – for the most part – we made a pleasant sound. We spent a lot of time banging out notes but we tackled some not-so-easy harmonies and pulled off a first semester that was – for me and my singers – one for the record books.

Was it perfect? Far from it. But there was something special about it that I couldn’t exactly put my finger on until a little further into the project. Was it joy perhaps? Satisfaction? Elation? Maybe all those smiles meant something. And how about the fact that everyone started arriving 15 minutes early and staying 15 minutes late just so they could spend time chatting with their fellow singers?

Still, I had that nagging thought in the back of my mind that I was doing something less than what I was worth. I still had a feeling that perhaps I wasn’t living up to my abilities by choosing to start a non-auditioned choir rather than assemble a group of experienced singers.

But the happy voices, the smiling faces, and the friendships that were forming started to convince me otherwise.

Singing and Friendship Go Hand-in-Hand

Sadly, choirs – even community choirs – can be a place where unnecessary competition between singers can easily damage one’s love of singing. My husband (also a singer) and I had joined a few auditioned choirs in our younger years and were saddened by the atmosphere that surrounded us. The tension was palpable. We didn’t need more stress in our lives so we moved on.

Instead, what I believe we had created with this burgeoning ensemble of ours was a group of women who loved to sing but also loved each other. Sounds sappy, right? But that’s what it was. It was a joy to watch from the podium as the relationships between singers became solid and as members began to rely on each other not only for the next note but to get them through life’s challenges as well. And no one cared if the person in the chair beside them was a better singer.

It was exciting to see it unfold. I watched contentedly as lunch dates were made, parties were organized, play dates were arranged, and hands were held. I was asked if we could form a “Sunshine Committee” and collect a few dollars from each member so that we could offer support through cards and gifts. I observed joyously as my singing group become a true community.

And I was right in the thick of it . . . and still am! I’ve always been the social type, but my “girlfriends” tended to be the mothers of my children’s friends. Now I had finally discovered the joy of being social with musical friends who weren’t necessarily professionals but who simply loved to sing.

So, I started initiating parties, banquets, and outings. Not everyone joined in, but most did. We stayed together through the summers by going out to dinner, bowling, enjoying picnics, laughing about our attempts to escape from those popular mystery rooms. Before long, this choir – which had grown quickly to nearly 100 singers – was a central part of my life and I was blessed to be a central part of their lives as well.

Before you could blink, we started traveling together. Our first performance tour happened during the summer after our second year together. Fifty-seven adventurers (not all singers) headed to Northern Italy to sing in some of the most incredible venues. Two years later, we toured Hungary and Austria, and two years after that, our love of singing and travel took us to Finland, Estonia, and Sweden. Sadly, COVID-19 stole our trip to Greece but we’ll get there. Still, these trips offered not only stellar musical highs but also more together time. More bonding. More memories that will never be forgotten. Never. Truly, some of the best days of my life were spent traveling with these women.

It was all so awesome that sometimes I wondered if I could keep the magic alive. And did all of this mean I had finally “made it” in the world of choral music?

Maybe. I still wasn’t sure. But I also was pretty sure that it didn’t matter to me any longer. 

The Conductor MUST Be Part of the Community

What I DID know, however, was that I had found the key to success in the community choir realm.

As I mentioned previously, during our almost 40 years of marriage, my husband and I had checked out several community choirs, usually intrigued by their programs. (“Ooh, I’d love to sing Elijah again!”) Some were auditioned ensembles and others were open to all. But we discovered one thing that many of these choruses had in common: a conductor that stayed on the fringes.

For example, whenever a social event was scheduled for one of these groups (and such events were rare), the conductor wasn’t there or chose only to make a brief appearance. He/she gladly accepted pats on the back and hearty handshakes but did little else to become a part of the ensemble. I always got the idea that the maestro/maestra thought that spending too much time with the singers wasn’t in their best interest and was maybe even below them. Maybe they worried that if they became too friendly their singers would lose respect for them as a leader. They were afraid to be “one of the gang.”

That’s too bad. I think the opposite is true. To make your community chorus a true community, you – the conductor – MUST lead the way. For us, it started with me setting up twice-a-year parties, one in January to celebrate a successful holiday season and one in June to recap the joys of our spring concerts. Then we scheduled dinners after concerts, picnics at local parks during the off-season, and just about anything else we knew our members would enjoy, like going to sing-alongs at the local movie theater.

Why? The reasons are simple. We all crave friendship, even the shyest of us, and friendship with someone who shares music and sings with you is extra special. In addition – and perhaps most importantly – for many of our singers who live alone – either because they’re single, divorced, or widowed – we were the only social outlet they had. We were that one thing that helped them avoid loneliness and make it through the week. We were an essential business, as the term goes.

Happily, because I think we all recognized this pretty early on, we quickly became a support system and I was proud and humbled to be at the helm of this musical ship. Furthermore, I knew it was important that I remain deeply involved.

Besides, it was just as much a blessing for me as it was for my 90+ singers. I can’t tell you the number of times these women have told me that joining choir was the best decision they’ve made in a long time and then proceeded to tell me a story about how a fellow singer stepped in to help them. One older women confided in me that the choir had literally saved her life after she plunged into a deep depression upon losing two close family members in a short amount of time.

What do you say to that? Thank you? I’m so happy for you? No. You just smile and touch your heart with your hand, unable to speak.

So Am I There Yet?

In the eight years we’ve been together, “my beautiful ladies” – as I refer to them – have traveled 25,000 miles (round trip) to awesome destinations, have been invited to sing at The White House twice, learned approximately 200 pieces of music, presented nearly 100 concerts, and are waiting to find out if the Thanksgiving Day Parade for which they’ve been chosen to participate will be a go during this crazy year.

In the meantime, we’re holding virtual “Learn to Read Music” lessons for our non-readers, playing Name That Tune or trivia on Zoom every Wednesday, inviting other professionals to present webinars, and holding out hope that we’ll be together again sooner rather than later. The friendships keep us steady.

We’ve sung for everyone from Dr. Ben Carson in the East Room of the “People’s House” to a group of young moms living in a facility for recovering drug addicts and alcoholics. We shared the stage with the rock band Foreigner. (That was pretty exciting for this 70s girl!) Some concerts were flawless. Others had a few glitches. But each was a gift to us and – I hope – to the people who listened to our music.

So, am I still an imposter? Have I “made it” in the world of choral music?

Well, if you were to listen to those in charge of the festivals and conferences to which I consistently send DVDs of my beautiful ladies in consideration for performing at those events, I haven’t. Sadly, they can’t see the elation on the faces of my choir when they sing. They only hear those two first sopranos who are a little flat or that cut off that wasn’t quite perfect.

While I’m a little disappointed every time I get a “sorry, you haven’t been chosen” letter, I’m not surprised. Choral elitism is alive and well, which is too bad. Those who make the selections don’t know what they’re missing by turning away this delightful but slightly flawed ensemble. We would make their audiences clap for joy. We’ve done it many times.

And as for me, I’m now positive that I’ve “made it”, simply because I’m tremendously satisfied and completely overjoyed about what I’m doing these days. And while I might never be up there in the ranks of those who lead at a major university or wave their arms in front of a symphony chorus. I know that what I do is important and that we’ve created a community that makes a difference. And it shows in the faces of each and every one of my wonderful singers.

I’ll tell you how I know this to be true.

In 2018, when our tour choir members were in Tallinn, Estonia, we had the pleasure of being hosted by a magnificent local women’s ensemble. Their technique was flawless and they sounded like heaven. After our joint concert, one of my singers approached one of theirs to express how awed she was by this superb ensemble. “You sing like angels. Thank you!” my singer said, her voice filled with a good deal of emotion.

And the other singer, with tears in her eyes, responded, “Yes, but you sing with joy!”

Pat Guth is the founder and director of the Bucks County Women’s Chorus (Pennsylvania) and a proud alumna of Westminster Choir College. She recently retired after 42 years in church music ministry and devotes much of her time to keeping her community choir afloat, especially during this difficult time. Pat enjoys helping others to nurture non-auditioned ensembles and also works as a freelance writer and editor for websites and print publications.

Young Trebles: The Silence of a Children’s Choir in the Time of COVID-19

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By Corey Carleton

The treble voices are clear, strong, and at times overwhelm the acoustics of Fellowship Hall at a Presbyterian church on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena. It’s a large, live room.

“Are you heavy or light?” Fernando Malvar-Ruiz asks his Concert Choir. Malvar-Ruiz is “Mr. Fernando” to his singers, and Artistic Director of the esteemed Los Angeles Children’s Chorus (LACC).

“Heavy,” several choristers respond. “OK, what can you do to keep this from being heavy?” A few singers call out, “Support.” “That’s right. You need to support your breath,” he agrees. Then adds in his charming Spanish accent, “Let’s see if you can fix it,” he calls from the piano. They try again “Better,” he says.

It’s a Tuesday night in late February and the Concert Choir of LACC is rehearsing for an upcoming gig. The Concert Choir is the organization’s professional treble choir that performs with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, LA Opera, and other A-list classical acts in town. The singers are mostly teenage girls, with a few boys in their soprano prime. Members audition every year to make sure they have a spot in the choir, or move up the ranks of the three apprentice choirs that develop these young musicians into proficient singers. It is not going too far to say LACC’s Concert Choir has one of the most beautiful ensemble sounds on the West Coast. 

Now he gives them a new vocal exercise on the vowels “see-ah” – ascending legato arpeggios on “see” followed by staccato arpeggios descending on “ah.”

“Nice!” He encourages his singers enthusiastically, “Very good! Can you do it again?”

Mr. Fernando’s language is respectful. His rhetoric positive. This is how he drives a roomful of middle schoolers and teenagers beyond their perceived limits. The scene unfolding before me is a best-case scenario of how the art of choral singing is passed down from one generation to another.

On March 4, just over a week before Los Angeles began sheltering in place, LACC’s Concert Choir was at The Wallis in Beverly Hills, warming up to rehearse for an NPR live radio show, From the Top, co-hosted by Peter Dugan and violinist Vijay Gupta. I dropped my son off in the afternoon for a dress rehearsal, and returned that night for the performance with a last-minute ticket in the front row. I sat next to a CEO, who introduced himself. Inches apart in our theater seats, we opted to literally rub elbows instead of shaking hands, because, you know, COVID-19, we told each other.

The show was one classical music youth act after another. High school boys playing a saxophone quartet, middle schoolers playing Chopin on the piano, or Brahms on violin. One girl was a high school junior and a gorgeously refined cellist. Each act was interviewed by the duo, who asked them about their personal experiences of mastering an instrument. Artful music making was being embraced by a younger generation before our very ears and eyes. We were elated after the first act, only to be awed with each subsequent offering on the program.

LACC’s Concert Choir was last on the program. They sang two well-known pieces by J. S. Bach and Harold Arlen – composers who are important to Western music and are centuries apart, chronologically and stylistically. The ensemble of young voices brought new relevance to these old favorites – breathed fresh life into familiar tunes. The effect was infectious. Audience members were on our feet cheering after the last chord dissipated. The CEO and I excitedly expressed our delight with the show to one another, rubbed elbows one last time before I searched backstage for my son to drive him home on a school night. At that moment I was a mom filled with gratitude that my teenager was a part of something so inspiring. As a musician, I was awed that he had opportunities to expand and be a part of an art form that is larger than the individual.

Little did anyone know that night that this was the choir’s final performance of 2020. When Los Angeles first settled in to shelter in place, we thought we would be down for a month, tops. But a month in, LA’s numbers were still rising. Within weeks, news broke of a choir in Washington state that spread the virus to 60 percent of its members in one rehearsal. A month after that, in a webinar co-hosted by NATS, ACDA, Chorus America, Barbershop Harmony Society, and Performing Arts Medicine Association, participants heard scientists say that there was likely no safe way to hold traditional in-person choir rehearsals in the fall, or perhaps until a vaccine is developed. At about the same time, California’s Governor Gavin Newsom announced there would be no live performances until 2021, with no guarantees for the future.

Information was coming from all directions about how the act of choir singing was a “super spreader” event. Even small ensembles with one or two singers were cancelled. If you sang, you were out of work. In an age where social media amplifies our voices, singers were silenced.

By the end of May I watched as my network of singing colleagues grieved on social media about lost performances and opportunities to sing together. Not that anyone thought it was a good idea to keep working. The disease attacked the very thing singers rely on – our ability to control our breath. The irony that COVID-19 killed singing, the pandemic that attacked your lungs and left them with possible lifelong damage, was not lost on singers.

In rehearsal Mr. Fernando’s singers face each other for a sustained exercise on “ooo.” “Are you heavy or light?” he asks again. “Heavy,” comes from a few singers. “Let the sound pour outside you,” he tells them. What happens next takes my breath away. They produce a beautiful, homogenous sound, with gorgeous blend, and they keep the quality going to the bottom of the scale. For readers who are not singers, this is no easy feat.

“That was far better!”

This scene of positive rhetoric shaping young singers is gone now for many of those teenagers.

There are countless studies about how important music is to young, developing minds. Setting aside the years of practice it takes to master an instrument, music is a mental workout with just the melody, harmony, and rhythm. It is in the camp of performing arts that requires you to work both on your own and in a group. You are responsible for your artistry, but you must rely on the artistry of your colleagues to put together an intricate piece of music that requires multiple musicians to perform. You are both alone and part of a whole all at once. I honestly cannot think of a better metaphor for life.

When the shutdown began, I was one of thousands of musicians and performing arts organization board members in California caught off guard. By April, we knew our gigs through June were cancelled. By May, all performances of 2020 were cancelled. I read my daily email with a sinking heart as the news came in. I watched from the sidelines as arts organizations mobilized to put together grants for musicians who they knew would fall through the cracks of federal relief funds. As a board member of an arts organization, I was grateful for something to do. We fundraised to ensure we could pay our musicians in full for cancelled concerts.

I cannot imagine being a talented teenager with a calendar of life shaping opportunities unceremoniously cancelled. As adults, most of us can wait for a safe reopening. That’s not to say it’s not excruciating to watch gigs tick by unsung on your calendar. But, we are adults. We have already had the experiences that formed our dreams and desires. When I think of how brief a time you are a teenager, and how those years inform your being throughout your adulthood, I ache for the teenagers who are losing precious time to make music, theater, dance, film, animation, and more, together.

2020 was supposed to be a seminal year for LACC. In the full stride of his second year (after following the beloved Anne Tomlinson who led the choir for 28 years), Mr. Fernando had made his mark as an exciting new director the choristers loved and respected. He was also the driver who expanded the organization to open one more high-level choir – an SATB ensemble. A first for the organization.

Furthermore, plans were in place to take the Concert Choir on tour in Spain for two weeks in June. Add the radio show, a full performance schedule that included their spring concert, and engagements at the Hollywood Bowl and Skirball Center, 2020 was to be a year filled with extraordinary artistic experiences for their choristers.

Teaching music is an oral tradition, embedded in one-on-one instruction and passed down this way from one generation to another. Music teachers meet in person to teach, listen critically to the sounds their students make, dole out wisdom, guide discipline, and introduce young musicians to composers they would not come across on Spotify. Some musicians can trace their teacher genealogy back several hundred years.

That is not to say you cannot have music lessons online. You certainly can, but you miss a lot in the transfer of information over the internet, such as the tone of the instrument in a live space. Teachers now are listening less, and watching more. They look for physical tension in their Zoom sessions, and trust that if they can teach an economy of movement, the right sound will follow.

Regardless of how many technically exciting virtual choirs you might find on YouTube, you cannot lead an authentic chorus online. As one colleague put it on her social media account, “I don’t want to sit in front of a microphone singing just my part, and then lip-synching it into a video camera with a smile on my face. THIS IS NOT SINGING.”

Chorus is community. It’s coming together to become something bigger than yourself. It’s acoustic. It’s blending with your neighbor. Leading your section. Watching your conductor, and being artistically flexible to do what s/he asks you to do. It is a contract that anywhere from four to eighty people make – that they will come together and sing something simply for the beauty of it.

“It takes intense focus to sing this well,” Mr. Fernando tells his singers in rehearsal in February. “It doesn’t mean it doesn’t have energy.” He’s letting them know he will not let them phone it in. To be in the choir takes more than a commitment to show up to rehearsal. They must engage while they are there. Without this dialogue, they would not be the phenomenal choir they are. Their sound would be more static, less alive. Their phrasing flat. Their pitch wobbly.

Sadly, there’s not a lot of engagement going on these days at LACC, which is to be expected. Choir has turned into an online musicianship course, with a weekly worksheet. There is no communing. No singing together. No blending. No counterpoint, or harmony. No being one with a large body that accomplishes great things.

Milestones are passing these kids by – graduations, proms, sweet 16 parties, driving school, and for some, an A-list summer of activities, such as a choir trip to Spain. These are the growth experiences that transcend school-learning for high school students. Clearly, COVID-19 is going to define this generation, but in what way? I watch as my teenager connects online – going inward at a time in his life when he needs to be guided outward. Opportunity to engage meaningfully is on hold indefinitely, which to teenagers who may be adults by the time the virus is no longer a threat, feels like an eternity.

“If you ask the finest singers about singing on the breath, they say it feels like the sound is outside you and you are doing nothing,” Mr. Fernando tells his singers. There’s a murmur in the room as Mr. Fernando pickups up his baton. Again, their attention focuses on him.

“Remember, on the breath.”

This piece first appeared in ECAMERONline, a pop-up project in which members of this community take turns telling stories, as did the original protagonists of Boccaccio’s Decameron, to pass the days while they were in flight from the plague in Trecento Florence.

Corey Carleton is a Baroque soprano with music degrees from University of California – Berkeley and Indiana University, who lives in Los Angeles with her husband and son. She has sung nationally and internationally, but primarily performs chamber music in Southern and Northern California with groups such as Tesserae Baroque, Corona del Mar Baroque Festival, and Les Violettes – ensembles that champion the music of the Italian Renaissance, Bach, Buxtehude, and the French Baroque. When Corey isn’t singing, she’s writing for small businesses and arts organizations. 

First a Voice, Then a Choir

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By Frank R. Lloyd

When I entered Occidental College in 1965 a friend from my hometown who was a year ahead of me urged me to take at least one semester of choir because the director was an extraordinary teacher and a dynamic personality. I took her advice and joined Occidental’s College and Chapel Choirs. Despite limited talent and no formal vocal training, I sang in Occidental’s choirs all four years I was there, and I have persisted in choral singing over the ensuing fifty years. Learning and performing choral works has allowed me to experience the emotional and physical thrills of blending into an ensemble whose output is greater than the sum of its individual parts. It has immersed me in caring communities, the world’s best music, and inspiring messages. Looking ahead, losing myself in the ensemble connects me to something greater which foreshadows a life to come.

I brought no choral singing experience to Occidental’s choirs. My knowledge of how to read music was acquired during one year of piano lessons in third grade my mother mandated. I could carry a tune, though, and in high school I learned to play the guitar as part of the 1960s folk music boom. My maternal grandfather, a long-time church choir singer himself, taught me the basics.

I joined Occidental’s bass section because it was easiest for me to read the bottom line of notes to find my part. Being tall, I took a place at the end of the top row. I was immediately confronted by music for classical choral anthems—Mozart, Brahms, Handel—as well as spirituals and other traditional anthems. More alarming, I received the full score for a major work to prepare for the annual spring concert: Bach’s B Minor Mass. I had jumped into the deep end!

Nevertheless, I quickly experienced the thrill of losing my voice in an ensemble that created something beautiful. This was—and is still—a visceral experience in my face and chest. I am in a place where time stands still and my current surroundings disappear. It is a specific emotional place–joy, discouragement, sorrow, triumph, hope–strong enough to make my throat catch or my eyes tear up. I do not feel this at all times, only when I know the music well enough to get past the notes and technical requirements of a passage. However, from the beginning I experienced this sensation just often enough to keep going.

For the past twenty-five years I have sung in choirs at two churches. While both pursued missions of caring, music quality, and communication, each grew my appreciation for one of these as directors changed.

The first was a culture of caring for one another. Relationships deepened through projects and social events, especially “Broadway” musicals. The scripts were written by one of the choir members. The scenery, costumes, and make-up were self-made. We were taught to sing and dance in ensembles that showcased individual members and small groups such as a doo-wop men’s quartet. The stories were stitched together with a pastiche of show tunes. The preparation and performances developed interpersonal relationships and created a community outside the choir room.

The other, where I continue to sing, was musically demanding at first. We prepared two anthems per week for worship and four for communion, ten per month. Anthems included hymn and spiritual arrangements and original compositions by renowned contemporary composers along with classical pieces. We performed major works with professional symphony musicians. The high level was a difficult challenge for me and required diligent attendance and outside study. Under a new director the choir emphasizes music that conveys a powerful message to change lives. I find joy in the missions of community, quality, and communication as well as the higher joy in losing myself in the ensemble and its music.

Now retired, I ponder death and the afterlife. Some believe that we are like raindrops. When we die, we fall into an ocean. The drop does not go away; it is embraced by the whole. Similarly, the air we breathe and expel as singing becomes air at death. If first there is a drop then an ocean, and if first there is breath then air, I am comforted that death could be like losing oneself within a beautiful ensemble. First there is a voice, then a choir. Like John Wesley, I am comforted to think that “I am a creature of a day, passing through life as an arrow through the air. I am a spirit come from God and returning to God; just hovering over the great gulf, till a few moments hence I am no more seen—I drop into an unchangeable eternity!” Choral singing suggests that the ensemble into which we are absorbed is a spiritually connected community much like an aspen grove is a single organism connected underground. I am drawn into this spiritual connection just as a voice is absorbed into the sound and community of a choir.

Frank Lloyd is the retired Associate Dean for Executive Education at Southern Methodist University’s Cox School of Business.  He is a Bass II in Highland Park United Methodist Church’s (Dallas) Chancel Choir.  Formerly, he was vice president at the Thunderbird School of Global Management and a human resources executive for General Motors.  He and his fellow chorister wife, Barbara, live in Dallas, Texas.

The Conductor as Yogi: You already are one

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With this post, Dr. Ramona Wis begins a weekly blog series entitled The Conductor as Yogi. In the same way The Conductor as Leader applied foundational leadership principles to our conductor-teacher-leader roles, The Conductor as Yogi blog will explore mindfulness, wellness, inspirational writings, and classic yoga philosophy and practice to encourage readers towards greater wholeness in their professional and personal lives. The Conductor as Yogi is an authentic, conversational approach to finding one’s personal voice amid a sea of chatter and to letting that voice speak in the practice of life.

By Ramona M. Wis

Say the word “yoga” in a room of 10 or fewer people (in our era of social distancing) and you will get that many reactions.  From “I practice every day!” to “I am not flexible enough” to “um, no thanks, too hippie-dippie,” perspectives on yoga and one who practices it (a yogi) are widespread but often, incomplete.

When we have an unselfish thought, take a conscious breath, stretch our bodies, or witness a moment of intuition, we experience yoga.  When we use our unique talents and gifts in service of something greater, we are living aligned with principles espoused by historical yoga writings, apart from religious background or spiritual bent.  When we can ponder the beauty of a choral melody and a health crisis with equanimity, we are applying yoga to our life in a powerful way.  And as I will say more than once, when we can look into the eyes of someone who appears not at all “like us” and see that they actually are us, we understand the core of yoga. 

I have been a conductor and teacher for many years.  A late athletic bloomer, I began to experience life from a new dimension of the body-informed mind when I had the opportunity to swim on a university team (the workouts alone were my personal Olympics).  As my teaching career unfolded, I kept movement as a regular part of my life—dance classes, a little running, bad 80’s aerobics videos, weight training, more running—and along the way, I developed an awareness of how body and mind and spirit really are connected in everything we experience. 

Initially, this led me to explore using gesture and body movement as part of the rehearsal process to help singers come to a deeper understanding of musical concepts and to sing more naturally, intuitively; to develop self-management tools for their musical challenges, whether that was singing an end-range note with more freedom and better intonation or making it through a long phrase on one well-supported breath.  My evolving body-mind awareness fostered an entire pedagogy which I continued to develop, explore with singers, and share with colleagues and conducting students.  Then came yoga.

Yoga entered the picture for me about 12 years ago (tight hamstrings, free class) but within a few months of practicing I realized that yoga was more than stretching; while it started on the mat, yoga really was a “life practice,” a modality for helping me balance and integrate the seemingly disparate parts of my life off the mat.  I began to understand what Rolf Gates has so aptly said—“Yoga is not a work-out, it is a work-in”—as I found my maturing body-mind-spirit awareness filtering into my rehearsal teaching and my research and in time, informing my artistic practices, my thinking about leadership, and my overall understanding of how to find wellness in an often unwell world. 

I have to admit, even as a certified yoga teacher, I hesitate to call myself a yogi because of the stereotype it evokes as either a bendy, Cirque du Soleil performer or the sage who is always calm and “rolling with it.”  (I don’t claim to be either.)  For me and for the purposes of this blog, the term yogi is a viewpoint from which we can look at our conductor-teacher-leader-human lives in broad, inspired, grounded, practical, and synergistic ways—tapping into the simple and the profound, the “to-do list” and the “hmm, I wonder,” and the healthy and the whole.  I will always write with an integrative awareness—with the desire to pause life for a moment and perhaps, think more deeply, while knowing we need to keep our feet on the ground and in the rehearsal, in whatever format that may be for our current world. 

Along The Conductor as Yogi journey, you will encounter ideas you may want to explore more on your own and I will provide resources for you to do that.  But you don’t have to run to the nearest yoga studio or take a course in Eastern Philosophy to find something of use.  Yoga teaches us that who we are, underneath the layers of all that life has put upon us, is our authentic self—so come as you are and seek what you need. 

Dr. Ramona Wis is the Mimi Rolland Endowed Professor in the Fine Arts, Professor of Music, and Director of Choral Activities at North Central College in Naperville, Illinois and a 500-hour CYT (Certified Yoga Teacher).  She is the author of The Conductor as Leader:  Principles of Leadership Applied to Life on the Podium.

Resources
Rolf Gates’ website. https://rolfgates.com/
Ramona M. Wis, “Physical Metaphor in the Choral Rehearsal: A Gesture-Based Approach to Developing Vocal Skill and Musical Understanding.” https://acda-publications.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/choral_journals/October_1999_Wis_R.pdf
Ramona M. Wis, Gesture and Body Movement as Physical Metaphor to Facilitate Learning and to Enhance Musical Experience in the Choral Rehearsal.

Thoughts on These Times, by Lynne Gackle

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The realities of our new “normal” are becoming more apparent each day as we end one semester and plan for the way things might look in the fall. Many things have changed and, as the “visionary adapters” that we are, we have taken things in stride and made necessary changes to our teaching, our communication, and our music-making. Those changes have pushed many of us far outside our comfort zones into places that we never thought about or ever wanted to be.

Ideas for teaching online swirl over social media. Virtual choirs continue to demonstrate the ability to sing “together” and somehow fill the need that people have to create music together. Zoom and other communication platforms have shown that instruction can continue. The technology that allows for all of this, though imperfect, is a wonderful gift available even to those of us who are not as technologically savvy as others.

People are also sharing information in new ways. Teachers are helping teachers, and music businesses have come to the aid of programs across the country. In the spirit of achieving a common goal, resources and ideas are being made available to help us continue. All of these adaptations speak to the spirit within our membership’s heart to share, to give, and to reach out through the choral art.

At the same time, these adaptations can never completely fulfill the artistic and educational objectives of the “in person” choral experience for singer, conductor/teacher, and audience. In fact, many might view these current adaptations as limitations.

There is no denying that we have been limited – quarantine has a way of doing that! This invisible foe we face has forced us into the corner for a moment because limiting our “presence” is the best tool we have right now to fight this deadly menace.

However, that will change. A vaccine will be found, and life and human interaction will occur again. I also have no doubt that we will adapt and become safer, more intentional, and more thoughtful in our approach to our work and to each other in the future. In the meantime, we have a choice about how we view these limitations.

In his book Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art, Stephen Nachmanovitch penned a chapter entitled “The Power of Limits” in which he discusses “form” as a type of limitation. “If form is mechanically applied, it may indeed result in work that is conventional, if not pedantic or stupid. But form used well can become the very vehicle of freedom, of discovering the creative surprises that liberate mind-at-play.”

Similarly, poet Wendell Berry writes: “There are, it seems, two Muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate vision and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say, “It is yet more difficult than you thought.” This is the Muse of form. . . . It may be that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work and that when we no longer know which way to go we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.”

We all want to sing again – together! And we will! Music created in the moment, in the present, reminds all of us, performers and singers alike, of our connectedness and our humanness. As Brené Brown has stated, “We are hardwired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it there is suffering.”

I am reminded of the meme that has recently floated around the internet. Accompanying a picture of empty chairs and music stands in a rehearsal room is the statement “Someday soon choirs, bands, and orchestras will gather together again. The conductor will signal for the first note to sound, and musicians will remember it’s hard to read music with tears in their eyes.”

What a happy day that will be.

Lynne Gackle is national president of American Choral Directors Association. She is the Director of Choral Activities at Baylor University and holds the Mary Jane Gibbs Professor of Music Chair. 

“Here Rests In Honored Glory”

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By Donald B. Miller

On December 28, 2018, New York State Governor Andrew Cuomo signed a law making “Here Rests In Honored Glory” New York State’s Official Hymn of Remembrance in honor of all American Veterans. The composition is scored for SATB chorus, three trumpets, two trombones, tuba, timpani, and organ. This work is intended for any patriotic holiday, concert or service, and is published and distributed by Hal Leonard Publishing, Inc. All composer’s royalties are divided between two veterans’ groups: Paralyzed Veterans of America and Vietnam Veterans of America.

During the 1960s I was eligible for the military draft but was never called to serve. I always felt guilty that I did not serve in the Vietnam War. My feelings of guilt combined with the reception our military personnel received on coming home, led me to want to do something positive. I realized we have a national anthem, but we don’t have a national hymn of remembrance for our veterans. With that, “Here Rests In Honored Glory” was born. The work was created in 1986 and was inspired by the inscription on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Arlington National Cemetery, and is the only musical setting of the text on the Tomb.

A brief summary of the composition is as follows:

  • The piece has been adopted by Paralyzed Veterans of America and Vietnam Veterans of America as their “Official Hymn of Remembrance.” All composer’s royalties go to these two organizations.
  • The work has been performed in Arlington National Cemetery Amphitheater, the Vietnam Wall, the United States Naval Academy, Annapolis, MD, during a Sunday worship service, aired on NPR and other FM stations during Memorial Day and other patriotic occasions.
  • In 2006 the work was recorded by the North Carolina Master Chorale, Raleigh, NC, and the sale of the CD benefited TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors). For seven years my wife and I raised money for TAPS, a national organization that serves our military families who have had a loved one die while on active duty. I shall never forget one Memorial Day weekend while attending TAPS’ national conference in Crystal City, VA, a young man and his two young children came up to me and said they were going to go to Arlington National Cemetery to celebrate Memorial Day. He and his children were going to have a picnic. They were going to spread a large blanket over his wife’s grave, play the CD of “Here Rests In Honored Glory” and share a meal. It goes without saying, this was the most humbling experience of my life. I wrote the work to bring honor and comfort to our Veterans and all those who serve. We can never thank them enough.
  • In 2008 the work received the George Washington Medal of Honor from the Freedoms Foundation at Valley Forge.
  • In August 2015 in Normandy, France, I was presented the D-Day Medal from the Memorial Museum of the Battle of Normandy by the Curator of the Museum. I was told that each June 6 the museum will play the CD of the work in commemoration of D-Day.
  • On December 28, 2018 the piece was established by law as New York State’s Official Hymn of Remembrance in honor of American Veterans.

You may listen to the piece here, performed by North Carolina Master Chorale in Raleigh: https://ensemble.itec.suny.edu/hapi/v1/contents/permalinks/Rg4w8PXs/view.

Donald B. Miller, DMA, is a former New York ACDA President. His career included full-time teaching at Onondaga Community College and part-time at LeMoyne College (Syracuse, NY). He directed choirs, taught classical and jazz guitar, and music history. In retirement he continues to compose and arrange music. His published body of works includes compositions for chorus, guitar ensemble arrangements, and compositions for orchestra and instrumental music.

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