Let me cut straight to the chase, then if you’re at all interested you can read the build up to it.
My new year’s resolution is to get more music in my life. Not just listening to the radio or cuing up tunes on my music library, although no doubt I’ll do that, too. But I want to sing more, perform a bit, whatever it takes.
One of the things I’ll do to achieve that is to finish the pirate musical I started last year, and then the other. I’m also going to try out for a chorus next week. I have some other things in mind as well, but those are the two big ones to start with.
Now, here’s the story behind it, in many unrelated pieces.
The story started about 10 days before Christmas. Or in September. Or possibly in 1965.
Ten days before Christmas Tori and I went to see Max and the UNO choir join with the Symphony Chorus of New Orleans to perform Handel’s “Messiah.” (I didn’t mention that? Check this video.) It was really great, and to Tori’s chagrin, I found myself singing along to the parts I knew – and I surprised myself with how many there were.
It reminded me of when I was fourth grader at Christ the King School in Nashville and a member of the choir. There was some big to-do we sang at in the Nashville cathedral, something to do with the bishop. Maybe his birthday, or funeral, or installation. I don’t know and I’m not sure I ever did. Anyway, it was a big deal, a full mass, and we practiced like crazy for a couple of months under the tutelage of our choir director, Mr. Guertz, a German choir master who seemed to be at least 400 years old. I was pretty sure he’d known Bach personally. Anyway, we were pretty good, got a lot of compliments. It made an impression. I can still remember parts of the service we sang, although I doubt I could sing it now, my voice was significantly higher in those days.
My dad was a singer. He sang everywhere, all the time. Especially in the car. Any family trip was a singalong. When he retired he joined SPEBSQSA (Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barber Shop Quartet Singing in America, now known as the Barbershop Harmony Society) and put as much time and energy into that as he had his professional career. He even wrote his chapter’s annual show once or twice, and wrote/edited the chapter newsletter for years until he died. God, he loved it.
So I grew up singing. Although, like dad, I can’t read music. Got a pretty good ear, but I can’t read.
In September I mentioned on Facebook that I needed some new vices. Tori and I had marked the 100th day since we’d quit smoking. (FYI, s of this writing we’ve marked 214.) I also have cut back on my coffee consumption, and we recently realized we don’t drink much anymore. We didn’t “quit drinking alcohol,” we just realized we hardly ever do anymore. So I need some vices. And my Facebook friends were very helpful. If by “Helpful” you mean mostly mocking.
Among the offerings were suggestions that I take up meth (a non-starter), knitting and/or crocheting, move back to the northwest “and ease into the CBD trade,” volunteer for some do-good group or agency, get a New York Times crossword puzzle book (I already have the NYTimes crossword a day calendar. Any more than that would lead to madness.) online gambling or becoming a regular at a casino poker table, or adopting several cats and posting daily photos of their antics. Oh, and someone suggested that to fill the time I used to spend smoking, I take up smoking. Still scratching my head over that.
Two of the suggestions, however, weren’t stupid. The first sounded odd at first blush, but hear me out. FB friend Steve Sanders said “Try writing poetry. It is highly addictive, horribly distracting, and you will never make a living doing it. The perfect vice.” Well, he’s close. As I said up above, I’m writing the book for a pirate musical. A friend is writing the music. With a little luck the first draft will be ready by late spring. So it isn’t exactly writing poetry – but I will be writing and thinking in rhythm and rhyme.
And my son Max suggested he could teach me to play guitar. So that’s gonna be on the agenda as well this winter. Oh, I don’t expect I’ll ever be much good at it, but I want to be able to pick up a guitar and tinker around, make a little noise that is recognizable as music, and please myself, if no one else.
That was September. Then this Christmas we saw “The Messiah,” and although it wasn’t a sing along, that’s what I did.
And Tori, afterwords said she wanted me to start singing again. I have a very special wife. She’s never been the, “Oh, behave yourself and be serious” type. She’s the “How do we make this work?” type, and often knows what I want better than I do myself. So we talked about different things I might try, and I agreed my resolution for the new year would be to find a way to get music back in my life. Then Max came home and said the Symphony Chorus of New Orleans, which he had just sung with, was holding auditions and he invited me to come try out with him.
So that’s what I’ve come up with so far, the musical, the chorus and maybe guitar.
At the front door of the Guitar Center there is a sign that says “We Sell the Best Feeling on Earth” and every time I see it I think, “They must all be virgins.”
But I’m willing to give it a shot and find out if they know something I don’t.