Reflections

Across the way, frogs send their familiar melodies into the night, awaiting the coming rain. In town, the cherry trees along the sidewalks promise spring with the appearance of their pink and white blossoms. I notice these comforting signs of changing seasons as I drive home, weary and spent, after a long day. The neighbor cat is waiting for me by the door, a welcome bit of furry company, who after much fussing settles down on my lap and consents to let me pet him while I listen to relaxing music and type mostly one-handed.
Tonight was a concert night, and I always have much to reflect on after performing or directing a concert. Letting the thoughts run over and out of me this way helps to release the stress and adrenaline, and even if I refrain from writing all the details, I have processed it and can move on, hopefully.
My voice is tired, so very tired; I have over-worked my fatigued voice again because my kids needed me and there was no choice but to use it on a day that I would have stayed home sick if it weren't for this concert. Only a month after being ill and voiceless, I caught another respiratory bug and am now back to square one of trying to recover my singing voice and general health. But at least what voice I had did last through the day just enough for me to corral my choir kids (which is often like herding cats).
I went into this concert with a feeling of trepidation and dread, knowing that 60% of my little group did not know their music securely, and that this was the least-prepared and least cohesive group I have ever taken to a public performance. The inexperienced and hyperactive students tend to overpower the experienced and well-behaved ones...but thankfully I didn't have to make anyone sit out the concert, even though I often wondered during practice if I would have to do so. Our first song was supposed to be sung as a round, but the younger kids would always end up singing the same thing as the ones who were "chasing" them, so I settled for a bit of a compromise but more secure option: all the kids sang the melody together while the singers on the recording provided the harmony of the round (usually I use accompaniment only for performances, but this was a necessary exception). It went decently, and potential disasters were avoided. The second song was one everyone knew the best, and with the exception of the sound being a little too low and an "oops!" moment where some singers came in early, it went pretty good and was a crowd pleaser.
The two large group pieces that all the choirs performed together en masse (there were two other elementaries besides us and a high school jazz choir) were a feat of logistics and something we directors prepared for as best we good and hoped we could pull it off without disaster. Being a music director means living in a spotlight and wearing a calm expression even when underneath you are acutely aware of how well or how horribly things can turn out in the next five minutes! After a lot of problem-solving via email, we had one practice all together right before the performance, and then closed the concert with those two songs. I directed one; it was a bit nerve-wracking being in front of and in charge of 4 choirs at once, but it was also a powerful and beautiful thing to bring the song to a full realization that could not be achieved in our separate rehearsals, simply because of the number of voices needed. It felt like...confirmation, a big "ahh...yes...this is what it should be," and I hope the students were able to be free of anxiety so that they could enjoy the moment and the music they were making.
I wish it weren't such a struggle; teaching children to sing well and in harmony is no easy thing, it is a battle against bad habits, misconceptions, short attention spans, and the time that limits how much can be taught and practiced. I just listened to the incredibly pure and precise singing of the Libera boys and the boy choir on the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, and I more thoroughly appreciate how much work has gone into such beauty. I also envy the directors, who get to work with a whole group of dedicated kids who love music enough to want to work at it; the few students I have who are like that are the ones who give me hope and get me to keep trying, they deserve the keys to unlock the abilities they possess. All kids deserve the opportunity to learn to sing, don't get me wrong. But not every kid in the choir will develop into that rare gem that a teacher secretly longs for: an Artist. The voice of a child who sings skillfully and beautifully is an incomparable, fantastic thing, not to be underestimated.
With a voice that is broken and incapable of beauty right now, it is torture to listen to others and not be able to join in; I must vicariously sing through them, sing from the heart, for that is where the root of my art lies. I guess this is what the sacrifice of being a teacher is; I give up my own voice in the service of helping my students discover theirs.
Like looking in a pool that glimmers with light on ripples, these reflections once again show me a bit of myself, and make me hope that I can give my students at least a taste of what it means and feels like to be an artist.