Orcas Choral Society is Singin’ It Up!

I’ve thought of joining the Choral Society for years but wasn’t ever sure if I wanted to leave the house in the evenings when our kids are home and we’re all eating dinner and hanging out. I decided to go for it this year, and even though I’m not a “singer” per se (though I’d like to be), I knew from the first night I attended that I had to stick with this. Not because I remember what all the notations mean when reading music – it’s been awhile since playing the flute in middle school band! Not because I love the sound of our voices – we’re still learning our songs and parts. Not even because I love practicing the songs themselves – some of them don’t sound real pretty when I sing them alone at home! I knew I had to continue because of our choir director, Bruce Langford.

Back in college, I used to fill my class schedule at the start of each quarter with seven or eight classes, and I’d try them all and drop the ones with uninteresting professors, leaving me with fascinating people to listen to and learn from each class period. Bruce is one of those kinds of teachers. He is dynamic, hilarious, gracious with us yet fast-paced, a great storyteller, and doesn’t dumb anything down. And boy, does he know what he’s doing. I don’t even need to know his background to know he’s the real deal.

Mind you, most people in there know what they’re doing, while my learning curve is steep. I have never sung in a choir, I cannot look at a note and pull an E out of thin air with my voice, nor can I say that choral music itself is my thing. But it’s not the type of music that matters to me in this endeavor. It’s the act of being and singing together with a group of people of all ages and from all kinds of backgrounds. There’s just something deeply fulfilling and downright spiritual that you can only experience when you sing or make music with other human beings.

We’re not there yet. As we learn our songs at home by listening to our individual singing parts on Choral Tracks in order to ingrain the melodies and harmonies in our memories, we’re getting there day by day. As we gather for two hours on Tuesday (and some Thursday) evenings at Orcas Center from 7-9 PM, we’re being transformed by Bruce and our fantastic, knowledgeable, patient pianist, Terri Triplett. She is quietly, humbly solid in her skills, and I’m learning just how much I don’t know from listening to her play all our parts singularly and together.

What I know is that in this process, we will gradually evolve from thinking and mechanical to flowing and blissful. Perhaps even otherworldly, or at least that’s how we will feel on the inside when our brain knowledge, vocal muscle memory, and inner joy all come together to make something we could never make alone. I’m enjoying the process of delayed gratification, fully trusting that we are making something beautiful one day at a time. (Lots of folks already sound beautiful – and are quite learned and talented when it comes to music, I’m gathering – I’m just getting up to speed!)

I don’t come from a line of singers. I come from a line of audience members. I’ve spent my life thoroughly appreciating the singing, dancing, and theatrical talents of others. I went to college at UC Santa Barbara, and one of the highlights was the student prices of tickets to stunning performances by world-renowned thinkers, musicians, dance troupes, and artists at the 800-seat Campbell Hall. I attended as many events each year as my meager budget would allow. (Did you know that when asked a question about the universe, Stephen Hawking would take anywhere from five to ten minutes to silently formulate an answer? I learned that right there. Did you know that pinworms are easily spread underneath someone’s fingernails? I learned that there too – I missed photographer Galen Rowell’s entire – and most likely breathtaking – presentation when my friend ran out of Campbell Hall just as we had sat down to enjoy the event. What he expelled in the bathroom that evening fills me with alarm anytime I see a child whose fingernail-clipping is long overdue.)

One day, as a new college quarter dawned, I added a singing class to my schedule. I showed up the first day, and to my horror, we each had to go in a quiet room and audition for the class with the instructor. This was scarier than selling books door-to-door in New Jersey to make summer money, or kayaking in big, open-ocean swells with UCSB’s Adventure Programs. I sang the Happy Birthday song and just about died when I walked out of the classroom. Was I supposed to just sing it so she knew I could stay in tune? Should I have asked her to sing melody while I harmonized? Should I have gone opera with it? (I’m kidding but there’s a part of me that thinks I really could go opera if I had had the right training early on!) I had no earthly idea what was expected of me. I’d never been in that kind of situation before. I sang it in tune, but gosh, was it boring. We’d know if we got in the class the next week by checking a roster taped on the door. Of all the adventurous things I had done up to that point and afterward, singing in front of someone seems pretty darn trivial. But for some reason it was big. I never checked the roster out of fear. I let the idea of being in the class go. (I know. Ridiculous.)

Now I know what it feels like to sing and make music with others. My church has been ever so gracious and tolerant in allowing me to stand on that stage (and still wish to not be seen or heard) in order to be a part of the Sunday band. I never want any moment of it to be about me – I just want to experience that feeling you get when you’re part of the music. (I’ve even come so close as to ask if I can just sit in the front row with a microphone, where no one will really know where the voice is coming from. Who needs to see me anyway? Ha!)

I decided that I belong in a place where I am not center stage. Where my voice isn’t a focal point. Where I can even duck out for a moment and it won’t matter all that much, as the vocal giants around me hold the foundation. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be one of those giants too. I want to know the music for myself. I don’t want to lean on listening to them for the correct notes. I’m no follower, but I am happy to be a learner. I want to have a voice that makes people swoon rather than wilt. I’m not sure that part will ever happen, but I’m really into doing things I want to do, even if they scare me a bit.

Thank you, Choral Society, for being a welcoming place for me to improve my skills without an immediate spotlight on my own performance. Thank you, Bruce, for being a fantastic director. Every evening we practice, I feel like I am in an entertaining college course – I learn more in our choral time than I do in most aspects of daily life. I am having a blast (I think we all are), and I urge anyone reading this to consider stepping into the things you really want to do too. Now is the time.

Look out for our winter performance in December…

More on Bruce, from the Choral Society website:

Bruce Langford served more than 25 years as Professor of Music History and Voice at Citrus College in Glendora, California. He has performed with and conducted vocal and instrumental ensembles throughout the United States, Europe, and Australia, and held principal roles in more than 50 theatrical productions. He was a program director for several years on classical KUSC Radio in Los Angeles and has appeared as a guest lecturer for arts organizations such as the William Hall Chorale, Pacific Chorale, Los Angeles Master Chorale, Long Beach Symphony Orchestra, and Los Angeles Opera. Bruce received his music degrees from the California Institute of The Arts and Southwestern School of Music. He has published numerous articles on music, literature, and the arts.