Capital Vox Jazz Choir, under the direction of Elise Letourneau, will be presenting "Capital Vox Gets The Blues" at the National Arts Centre 4th Stage for two evenings on February 25 & 26, 2011. The 30-voice choir will perform a mix of blues and blues-infused music in a variety of settings and textures with the venerable Brian Browne assuming the piano seat, Mike Tremblay on saxophones, guitarist Tim Bedner, bassist Mark Alcorn, and drummer Marilee Townsend. Listeners can look forward to a spirited romp through 50+ years of classic blues music, big vocals, and indomitable groove-making.
Capital Vox Jazz Choir was formed as a community choir to explore the works of classic jazz composers, as well as standards old and new, in a large group vocal setting. It also seeks to present music by Canadian jazz composers and expand the existing body of Canadian jazz choral repertoire; as well as recast traditional music in a new, jazzy light. The choir membership seeks continual growth in vocal, improvisational, and musicianship skills; culminating in quality music-making and concert performances.
Concert begins at 7:30 PM, and doors open at 7 PM. All are welcome. Tickets are $20, available from the NAC box office or Ticketmaster. Please visit www.capitalvox.ca for more information about Capital Vox Jazz Choir.
I spend a lot of time writing music. Some people who know me think I write obsessively and possibly to the exclusion of other things that are important. To whom I concede they might have a valid point. But I don't see how else this stuff going to get written.
In early January it occurred to me to write a piece for double choir. Climbing a mountain because it was there I suppose - there was no specific reason. And I loved the process. It was like having the big box of 200 crayons, and no choral texture seemed impossible. When I was about three-quarters done, I came across a posting about Jon Washburn and the Vancouver Chamber Choir inviting composers to send in their work to be considered for their Interplay programme. I decided to get it finished up and sent it in. I figured it was a great chance to have the eyeballs of Jon Washburn on a score of mine for, say 30-45 seconds, before he took a pass and moved on to the next score in the pile.
I was completely gobsmacked when I received an email saying that mine was one of three scores selected for the Winnipeg sessions, and would I please confirm my participation.
I said yes immediately - it was a no-brainer. Though I admit I waited a few days to make my travel arrangements, some part of me convinced there would be a subsequent email apologizing for their mistake. But instead, the subsequent email said there wouldn't be any major changes needed at this point and to go ahead and make 25 copies of the score. Which also blows me away, because if Jon Washburn had asked me to rewrite the entire score, I would have.
So in 10 days I'm off to Winnipeg, with 25 copies of a score to music that did not exist 8 weeks ago. With the opportunity to have my composition workshopped and critiqued and dissected and reconstructed by people who are at the top of their game. It's going to be like going back to school!
By way of introduction to the uninitiated, the Vancouver Chamber Choir is one of two or three (for sure less than a handful) Canadian professional choirs - i.e. every chorister is paid - and Jon Washburn is their conductor and artistic director. In today's non-profit arts market, this is not insignificant. It represents 40 years of sweat and dedication on the part of a lot of people.
I am a very lucky gal to benefit in this way. I could never buy an experience like this. It is lovely that they do this, but more importantly it is a measure of their character that they choose to share the fruits of the deserved success of their many years of labour by creating opportunities like this for other Canadian artists.
You can help Jon Washburn and the Vancouver Chamber Choir keep doing what they do. Visit their website at www.vancouverchamberchoir.com when you get a moment. Purchase one of their CD's as a gift to yourself or a friend who loves choral music. If they come to your town on one of their tours, go to their concert. These people are as good as it gets.
That said, it's also important to support your local choirs. But that's a subject I'll save for another post.
There are so many brilliant singers out there, and there are so many ways to be brilliant. A singer can be technically amazing, or stunningly inventive. A singer can be disarmingly believable, or a skilled interpreter. Or fearless. Or spontaneous. Or gorgeous, or popular, or energetic, or charming. They might also write, or dance, or ooze soul and personality. Or, dare I say it, all of the above.
But the most brilliant thing a singer can be - ANY singer - is their own self. It could be argued that it's also the most difficult and the most scary thing a singer can be. It may be ephemeral, and it's tough to pin down sometimes - it can't be described well, and it can't really be taught very well - but we know it when we see it and hear it.
We all have our personal lists of favourite vocalists - many of them household names, and perhaps some less known but nevertheless we find they move us as well.
I'd like to share with you the stories of a few unsung singers that I have found unforgettable. All any of them did was sing from their heart. Most of them I encountered a decade or more ago.
Airplane Boy:
I was on a flight from Newark to Detroit, and this little man who couldn't have been more than three-and-a-half years old stood up in his seat directly in front of me, turned around, and treated his fellow passengers to a word-perfect (and remarkably in-tune) rendition of Jimmy Buffett's Margharitaville. Aside from the airplane noise, you could have heard a pin drop in the place, until he got to the end. When he sang the part about "some people claim that there's a woman to blame, but I know it's my own damn fault" we all broke out in giggles, presumably at the incongruity of hearing a line like that sung from the mouth such an angel-faced cherub. At his audience's reaction, he figured we must have really liked it, so he immediately did it again, and then periodically a few more times before Detroit. If that flight had been continuing on, I'm sure I would have stayed put, not caring where the flight might have ultimately led me.
Ms. Help The Homeless:
In Boston there was this homeless woman who hung out a lot on Boylston Street. I'd call her a bag lady, except I'm not sure she even had a bag to her name. Not a person in the sort of situation where most of us would think she had a lot to sing about. But when she wasn't having a salty conversation with a person only she could see, she sang. She had her own personal theme song, and those of us who lived in the neighbourhood all had it memorized. She'd walk straight down her sidewalk singing it, head up, Dunkin' Donuts cup outstretched. I say her sidewalk because she wouldn't change her path for anybody - you had to move for her. The lyrics went "Help the homeless, Have a good day, Put in your money and be on your way". And she'd repeat it over and over. Thing is, if you listened long enough you were rewarded. Every fifth or sixth time through, she'd change the last line to "Put in your money go home and get laid" and then give this goofy little chortle.
Little Recorder Man:
I never saw him stand up, but I say little because I think he may have been one of the taller varieties of "Little People". Or maybe he was just plain short. Or maybe I'm just plain tall. Anyways, he played recorder in the Government Center subway station in Boston. And at Christmastime he always played The Twelve Days of Christmas. Uh-huh, all twelve verses. Yep, on the recorder. And he played pretty well too, but one might think that a solo instrumental version of that song isn't necessarily what your typical commuter might want to hear after putting in their 8 hours. If you're wondering how he got into a blog post about singing, it's because in his mind and heart, he really was singing. Every time he got to "seven swans a-swimming" you'd hear "doo-doot" where the word "seven" went. Strangely, instead of tuning him out, in my head I would end up counting down what my true love gave to me right along with him, waiting for that all-important "doo-doot" and it was always right on time, so he had to be singing inside. And you could tell the people who were listening by the grins and nods of recognition.
Ms. Break On Through:
In the early nineties I attended a week-long music camp for jazz singers just outside of Chicago. A big part of it dealt with scat singing. There were people who had some prior experience with vocal improvisation, and there were some who had never tried it. And there were some who had never tried it, and who were deathly afraid to, like Ms. Break On Through. So the last night of the camp we all had to perform in a concert. And it was open to the public, and there was a pretty good turnout too. And they hired a killin' rhythm section to back us all - they would have caught a singer from no matter how high he or she fell. So Ms. Break On Through sang the first part of her song, and when she got to the part where she was to improvise, she just froze. The music kept going, but she was like a deer in the headlights. And a few kind souls started egging her on and "Go Girl"ing her, but most of us held our breath until she finally opened her mouth again. And when she finally did it was loud and clear and with all the gumption she could muster. It was a big, giant "WOOF". We were all stunned, and simultaneously laughing and crying for her inside. But then she kept going, and going, and she did it. And it was such a privilege to watch her draw down her fear and kick out her blocks, live and in person.
Evening Shift Janitor:
It was after some sort of gig, and I don't remember what the occasion was. But I was alone, finishing packing up the gear in the special events space at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, while the other person on the gig (my husband Tim) went to get the car and double-park it in front of the building. I don't think he knew I was there - there was one of those removable banquet walls between us. He inspired me to write a poem, called Spying On God, which I'll paste in below, because I don't think I can describe him to you any better: I saw God last night Or at least I heard Him I just know it He came in after everyone else had left The food was eaten The music was over Running water Fixing up Looking after the rest of us As usual He must not have known I was still there On the other side of the banquet wall Still packing up (Forever packing up) Even though they say He knows it all Because He was singing In the sweetest falsetto And could He sing! "All I need is Jesus He will take care of me Aaaaaall I neeeeee is Jeeeeesuuuus Heeee will taaake care He wiiiill take caaaare of meeeee" So I stayed as long as I could That Man could sing And it felt like it was just for me And I learned not to take God So literally
I will probably never know these people's names, and I probably won't see them again. But they moved me, and they are etched on my heart forever. I can only hope they are still singing.
Elise
(As if this second post wasn't long enough - this probably won't happen every day folks! - here are a few more singers being brilliant at being themselves, and making the best possible use of air. Three beautiful hearts.)
I have laryngitis today. The full blown I-must-completely-shut-up-if-I'm-gonna-sing-on-Saturday variety. So maybe creating this blog today of all days is just a measure of the desperation of a vocalist who can't sing today even if she wanted to. And of course I want to!
Or maybe it's a brilliant alternative to finishing writing the band parts that have to be ready for dress rehearsal on Sunday. Deadline looming. Or a far more savoury choice than doing the taxes for the choir I direct. Deadline looming.
It wasn't even on today's ToDo list, but for whatever reason, today is the day for the birth of this blog. It's something I've been meaning to get around to for a long while now. I want this to be a place to explore and celebrate our human instrument from multiple angles. I want long-time singers to find it interesting, and I want new singers to find it welcoming. I want people of varying vocal styles to find a home here, because no matter what it is we choose to sing, when we sing it we put something Good out into the world that wasn't there a moment ago. And whether our personal gift for singing is immense, moderate, or nominal, when we sing we pass it on. We give of our hearts and souls, and we honour our birthright by using the instrument we have been given.
So I offer a blog on singing.
Because I really can't think of a better use for air.
