Christmas is coming. I know because my Messiah rehearsals have
started. (Not that I'm practicing to be the Messiah, you
understand, rather to sing in Mr. Handel's wonderful oratorio).
I've done it every year for the last seven years, and it's a great joy.
I'm a contralto - in the chorus we are characterized by middle aged
women with large bosoms and sensible shoes. We don't get to sing
the showy bits - we provide the harmonies.
As an exercise in logistics, staging The Messiah is a challenge.
There is the choir, plus orchestra, plus four soloists, and there are
four performances. Preparing that many people for a public
performance involves a number of different chorus masters. Alas,
like policemen, and doctors, chorus masters are getting younger every
year, and I suspect that this year's model is not long out of puberty.
It's clearly his first time, and he is dealing with a bunch of people
who've done it lots of times, and have very firm views on how it should
go. We didn't do it like that last year, says a bolshie
soprano. We don't sing that bit, whinges a stroppy tenor.
Last year we sang "towards men" - why do we have to sing "toward men"?,
and on and on they go. A more experienced chorus master would
simply shout "because I said so", but our pale and trembling youth has
clearly been told he is meant to keep us all happy, and literally
singing from the same hymn book.
Our most recent rehearsal was meant to involve him giving us lots of
notes about what the conductor wants. What actually happened is
that we gave him lots of notes on how we think it should go, and the
poor thing has had to go away for a lie-down.
The people who manage the choir are made of sterner stuff. They
know all the tricks a cunning chorister can pull, and I suspect that
during the week our novice chorus master will have his spine
re-inserted by the management team, and will be engaging in a spot of
what I believe is called these days "push-back".
A choir is no place for rugged individualists, and the managers have
the ultimate weapon. "Do as I say, or you're not singing."
Missed a rehearsal? Too bad, you're sacked. Don't want to
wear your white shirt tucked into your black skirt? Good-bye.
Don't want to sit in that spot? No problems - close the door on your way out.
We have to sign in, do exactly as we're told, and pay for the
privilege. And it's fantastic. The folks who run that choir
wield power without mercy, but when that audience rises to meet us as
we begin the Hallelujah Chorus, I think my heart will burst with pure
happiness.
So tonight our tyro chorus master will step up to the podium again, and
now that we've flexed our collective muscle, we'll all sing like angels
- because we must.
|
Change of Life 
