It was a simple practice session. We were 30 individuals, but for three glorious minutes, we were one.
For months, we had sang the song. We memorized the lyrics and practiced the mechanics (from a whisper-like pianissimo to a steadied and balanced fortissimo). We worked on taking simultaneous breaths. We could not master it. The sopranos or tenors were too loud, the altos soft, or the breaths too frequent.
It was a mammoth of a song, an a cappella Ave Maria by the gifted composer Sergei Rachmaninoff. It required so much of us, yet we loved it. The song was a delight to sing, and while we did so imperfectly, it was altogether captivating.
That day was different. It was competition day. We were to sing this to judges in two hours. While other choirs practiced outside in the parking lot of a school, our choir director had booked a church for the morning. We would practice the song in its natural environment.
The director pressed record on his tape recorder, lifted his hands, and we took a deep breath in unison. His hand dropped, and we began the first notes of the song. “Bogoroditse djevo,” echoed through the chambers.
In that moment, we knew: this was the performance of our lifetime. We shared the same breaths, sang the pianissimo at the same level as the person next to us, and as the crescendo rose, so too did the beating of our hearts. We whisper-sang the final notes and held our breath. The finale echoed through the church as the director put his hands to his sides and let out a peaceful sigh. We wiped the tears from our eyes and stood silent for a time.
Returning to our teenage bodies and minds, our irreverent cheers reverberated through the halls and sanctuary, and the moment was gone.
We never matched that performance, even later at the competition, but we still took home top prize that day. Most of all, we left with the knowledge that we had known perfection for three solid minutes.
“Returning to our teenage bodies and minds, our irreverent cheers reverberated through the halls and sanctuary, and the moment was gone.”
This line struck such a sweet cord in me. Those moments of deep ringing wonder that last a breath, or a note, or a yell…and then gone…
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Thanks so much! 😀
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I agree with you absolutely, Melony. The joy, exaltation almost, of a performance well done is profound. It can stay with you for the rest of your life. Congrats on your experience.
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Thank you! It’s been over 20 years since that performance, and it still gives me goosebumps thinking about it. Music can be the most magical part of our world.
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I know this feeling well and I miss it terribly. Your description is perfection.
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Wow! Thanks, Christine! I miss it so much. I often wonder if I should find a local choir or ensemble just so I could feel the exhilaration of being part of something so magical again, but I fear my voice isn’t what it once was.
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That’s my problem too – it’s been years since I sang with any regularity. *sigh*
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This took me straight back to my college choir days! I liked your descriptions of the synergy that takes place among singers, especially: “We shared the same breaths, sang the pianissimo at the same level as the person next to us, and as the crescendo rose, so too did the beating of our hearts.” This makes it clear that you don’t just hear but also feel the music. Well done.
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Melony, this was just lovely. I’ll bet that special moment had everything to do with the director ‘s choice of setting. Inspiring.
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