It’s not at all uncommon for singers and those who love
singing in choirs to ponder what it is that makes the art of communal singing
so magical. Uniquely to singers, our
bodies are our instruments, which has a tremendous effect on us psychically and
physically, but to my knowledge few have followed this line of thinking very
far. Until recently, that is. Just this week I came across Andrew Corsello’s
article, The Vulgarian in the Choir Loft, in which he bares his soul,
in almost poetic terms, regarding his newly acquired choir habit. For a self-described vulgarian, he captures
the unknown essence of singing with amazing perception, and even delicacy at
times. Perhaps it takes a vulgarian to really
see it! And it certainly takes a good
writer to describe it.
He begins by painting a picture of himself as a true vulgarian,
one who, as a child for example, pocketed change from the church collection
plate. A counselor once asked him what
he wanted to be when he grew up. His
answer: a military dictator, “who spends his days ordering smarter, more
attractive, more popular people to perform humiliating monkey tricks for his
amusement. All of it televised, of
course.” Her response? “Oh Andrew, you’ll
never be a choirboy, will you?”
Apparently he easily carried this natural contrariness
into adulthood, and it meshed quite well with his chosen career as a journalist. But then one day the choirmaster of his
church asked…no, compelled…him to join one of the church’s choirs, and it
spurred a journey that surely resonates with every singer in the world, for he
discovered that singing, and especially singing in a chorus, makes a difference
in his life—in a way, makes him a choirboy.
He calls singing nakedness, “a far more fathomless form
of nakedness than that achieved by the removal of clothes.” A piano remains a
piano whether the player is happy or sad, but “when you are your own instrument,
it gets very emotional…to do singing right, you have to get in touch with
something deeply personal about yourself.
It is almost impossible…to lie
when you sing.”
When Corsello asked his choir master why we sing what we
sing, he replied, "It basically
comes down to essences, our carnal and spiritual selves, and trying to
touch what is outside the fleshy realm.”
And yet the
fleshy realm is very active. “Frequent
singing tunes you to your physical aspect in a way that makes you think,
strangely, My body was present all along and I never even knew it. There
is…a sense of how physically unnatural one's life was prior to singing.” I find that a remarkable statement. I have sung since I can remember, as the most
natural thing in the world. I had no
life prior to singing!
And so his
choir has taught Corsello something about himself. He has discovered “that I have spent the past
three decades dedicating myself almost exclusively to solo pursuits… The
ambition has always been for voice—not just to acquire it, but to impose
it. In a way, my job is but a refined and slightly less violent version of my
childhood fantasy of one-man dictatorship; a license to subvert whatever and
whoever comes before me, including myself.” And this has nudged him to look outward.
An extraordinary journey of self-discovery! And all because he joined a choir.
The entire article can be found here.
If you sing in a choir, cherish the
experience. And go out and listen to
other choirs. Support this art that
feeds us, whether observer or participant, on so many levels.
Dr. Linda Gingrich
Artistic Director and Conductor
Master Chorus Eastside
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