Suzy Q Homemaker

The only thing that would have made this weekend perfect was if I had a singing voice.  It’s the one thing I lacked on the weekend that was planned two years in advance.  Two years!!  Mack Wilberg was in our church with our choir, my alma mater’s chorale, and a friend’s university choir and I couldn’t sing.

On the positive side, not being able to sing allowed me many chances to listen, observe, and simply enjoy the wall of sound that washed over the sanctuary during rehearsals.  I was proud to be standing in the ensemble and contributing what little I could on Sunday.  I was also proud to be standing with a group of young singers from Davidson.  It’s hard to believe I graduated more than a decade ago, but there I was with a bunch of teenagers who had no idea that I was in the first senior class to graduate from the new building after we closed the doors on the asbestos-filled death trap that now sits decaying on Telfair St.

The entire ensemble was spot-0n. Wilberg’s style is quick and to the point and the kids really stepped up to the plate. From an audience member’s point of view, they could do no wrong.

However.

From a fellow singer’s point of view, I wanted to turn around and shove a few of those girls off the back risers.  While we warmed up for the second concert, a little clutch of mean girls could not control their giggles as my colleague had us sing the word “hung”.  They sat on the floor, criss-cross-applesauce all slouched over their phones, whispering to one another while the rest of us old folk tried not to give them Mom Stares.

Instead of doing that, I sneaked over to their choir director (also a colleague–we sing in The Cecelia Ensemble together) and told him to go hover over them to give them Teacher Glares.

Oh, the power.

It really didn’t end there.  During the concert, yes during the concert, and not just during the applause between pieces, but DURING THE SINGING they were whispering to each other!  One girl was even having her own personal concert while we were taking our places on the risers.  Far be it from me to call out a bunch of snotty sopranos, but HOLY CRAP they were unprofessional.  I finally did have to give them a Mom Stare when they wouldn’t shut up during the men’s piece.  It was all I could do not to elbow the girl behind me in the shins every time her folder bumped the back of my head.

I’m pretty sure she was doing it on purpose.  Either that or she was so far in her own world that she no longer had control of her body.

So that was my weekend.  Teenagers, Wilberg, and music.  Not too bad.

I’m in a magazine!, originally uploaded by sheandaru.

It’s surreal seeing my face on a glossy page.

Lake Logan, originally uploaded by sheandaru.

Until next year…

I finally figured it out.  It took weeks of wondering what on earth was making me dread and detest one of the yoga teachers at our Family Y.  The first time I took one of his classes was not on purpose.  He was subbing for my usual (and most favorite) teacher.  His choice in music freaked me out because I was not expecting a lot of contemporary stuff.  I didn’t know any of the songs he played and it bothered me how distracted I was by all the vocals and emo-riffic chord progressions.

You see, I’m a traditional kind of gal.  I like, if I do listen to music during yoga, to listen to something ethereal, calming, and relaxing.  I have a couple of go-to CD’s that I even copied for my favorite yoga teacher.  She has incorporated them into her playlists, too!  I prefer down-tempo, earthy music or just no music at all.  My advanced yoga teacher prefers no music because her class operates in more of a workshop-type mode.  We start the first have with vinyasas at our own pace and spend the last part of the class getting individual attention while working on the advanced pose du jour.  Last night I did my first headstand in nearly eight years.  Hallelujah!

I digress.

After tweeting with a friend of mine who mentioned him busting out the “Eclipse” soundtrack during yoga when she took one of his classes, it all started clicking into place.  So I looked up one of the songs that I could remember from last week’s class.  It was Muse’s “Neutral Star Collision”…from the “Eclipse” soundtrack.  Okay.  I think Muse is alright.  Just not for yoga.  Then yesterday morning I was able to remember another song and looked it up when I got home.

Let me sidetrack again:  I like Cee Lo/Gnarls Barkley.  I do.  I have an old Goodie Mob album that I enjoy listening to and his songs are my favorites, especially this one:

But it totally threw me when I was trying to “float” into downward-facing dog while his voice was resounding throughout the room.  I was thoroughly distracted.  When I looked up that song, it was a non-surprise that this Cee Lo song was from that damned soundtrack, too.  So I put it out of my mind and tried to take care of my work for the day.  I had to do some laundry, finish up a StoryBook for a client, and deal with the many temper tantrums that Timothy threw whenever I couldn’t hold him.  Later that evening I had a Parent Orientation at the boys’ school and I went to Advanced Yoga afterward to make up for my bad experience that morning.

While Jamie and I were relaxing last night, we got to talking about the situation with this particular yoga teacher and I started investigating the rest of the songs from the “Eclipse” soundtrack.  It was immediately apparent that he was using the entire thing for our yoga routine and he opens with a piece by Philip Glass.

In the many years it took me to complete my music degree, I grew and changed a lot.  I learned to appreciate many genres of music.  As a freshman, I hated contemporary music that was “dissonant”, but later developed an appreciation for composers like Argento and Poulenc.  One genre I could never get past,though, was minimalism.  To put it bluntly: minimalist music makes me feel like hurting someone.  There is a list of movies that I hate.  I never quite put my finger on what it is I hated about these movies until the credits started rolling and the name Philip Glass popped up:

• The Illusionist (stupid movie made worse by stupid music)
• Neverwas (ditto)
• Secret Window (ditto)

Suddenly it all made sense.  The irritation I feel during yoga warm-up isn’t because I’m anticipating his random music–it’s from listening to PHILIP GLASS.  From the moment we’ve been trying to focus our breathing for the practice to come, I’ve been trying not to focus on the fact that the piano music in the background isn’t doing anything.  It’s nearly eight minutes of torture that I had been attributing to the fact that it was morning or I had a headache.

While I can no longer put full blame on the yoga teacher, I do believe he should be made aware of my and my friends’ distaste for his musical choices in class.  Perhaps on a comment card that reads:

If Daniel does not stop playing the “Eclipse” soundtrack during yoga class, I’m going to stab my eyes out.

Everyone and their mama came to hear the summer choir with Joe Jennings on Sunday.  Even my yoga teacher came!  It was great to have the support of the community, friends, and family.  We worked very, VERY hard every Monday night in Aiken with Joe pushing us to the vocal limit.  It’s always a great experience working with different directors.  With Joe, the word “experience” is putting it mildly.

Instead of driving to Aiken and back from my house (a very long trek), I drove into Augusta and hitched a ride with friends who were kind enough to put up with the incessant talking that seems to come out of me when beers are put into my body.  I’m pretty sure they learned more about me than anyone really needs to know…

Rehearsals were grueling.  There’s a strange dichotomy in Joe Jennings: “Praise Jesus!” is often followed by some off-color remark or semblance of a dirty joke.  And there wasn’t a piece we did that I didn’t come to love in some way, no matter how atonal, chromatic, or full of screamissimo high B-flats.  I was honored to have a couple of solos, too, my favorite being the little tiny one in “Greater Love”.  Oh, and I also got to squeeze out a high D at the end of a Moses Hogan piece.  That was fun.

So, here I sit, trying to recover from whatever sinus infection/cold/conjunctivitis/strep(?) thing I have going on that causes me to hack, wheeze, blow colorful objects from my nose, and have to pry my left eye open in the morning.  Though I want desperately to take fifty naps every day, I have to get back to the gym to re-lose those five pounds I gained drinking beers after rehearsals and eating those FREAKING DELICIOUS jalepeño things from Soirée.

I’ll be putting my nose to the grindstone again next week, though.  The all Fauré recital is coming up at the end of August, and I expect EVERYONE I KNOW to be there.  You hear me?  EVERYONE.

That is all.  :)

OH!  Except for this: a photo from Sunday’s concert.  See me?  I’m right down front!