Don't hold, don't aim

I just read John Weir’s new novel, What I Did Wrong.

The narrator, Tom, an English Teacher at Queens College, recollects an episode from his high school days. Scared of sports, and targeted as gay, some kids beat him up after gym class. Feeling hopeless, he goes to his best friend Richie’s house. Richie, a gifted athlete, distracts Tom by teaching him how to shoot a basketball. No one ever had the patience to teach this to Tom before, so until now he has judged himself to be “pretty bad.”

“I can’t even really hold a ball. I mean, forget throwing it. Forget aiming it.” Richie offers Tom two rules: Don’t hold the ball, and don’t aim. “Can you do those two things?” Tom shoots, and the ball goes in the basket, for the first time in his life. They play for an hour practicing baskets, and about half of Tom’s shots go in. It’s a huge accomplishment.

Tom realizes this was the happiest day of his life. “I don’t want kindness, exactly, or salvation, but just a way to grasp things and how to throw them away, a mental trick: Don’t hold, don’t aim.”

Weir could have written these passages to describe my singing. Both my problems (for years, no one was able to teach me the right way, I didn’t know how to hold or let go) and the solutions (Don’t hold, don’t aim).

As I practice this week, when I remember the “Don’t hold, don’t aim” rules my singing is better, easier, and more natural than ever before. I don’t tense up, and my vocal mechanism does pretty much what it’s been trained to do, without my conscious interference (“breathe, prepare, support, find the pitch, blah, blah”). This new ease isn’t consistent yet in all the music I sing, but a sprout is taking root. To sing using a conscious mental trick like “don’t hold, don’t aim” risks being distracting. One needs to keep one’s mind on how to make music, rather than on the mechanical operations of the voice. The rules will work best when they become automatic and unconscious.

People who... whatever

At the very end of her concert at Madison Square Garden last night, Barbra Streisand sang "Just Smile" as an encore.

In ballads like this, custom permits a singer to drop out at the start of the second verse and let the music play alone until she rejoins for the final chorus. In performance, a singer like Streisand might draw the ears of the audience in closer during the pause with a brief, spoken remark intended to express something personal.

Last night, as the orchestra flowed into the second verse of "Just Smile" Streisand started to murmur a few words about the airplane accident on the East Side that had happened earlier in the day. She spoke as she went along, heartfelt and consoling, but a little aimlessly. As the music inched closer to the chorus, she suddenly ran out of time to talk and floundered, “Our hearts go out… to… all those who… whatever.”

At least I think that’s what she said. Many times in the course of the evening words were lost in the Garden’s inapt acoustic. So I may have misheard her fumbled remark. Whatever the case, I shook with the giggles all the way to the end of the song.

My favorite attraction at Madison Square Garden

Since 1994, I've been to Madison Square Garden twice. One of those times was to see Barbra Streisand live in concert. Tonight, with Mr. Supersweetie and his sister at my side, I entered the Garden a third time, to see the entertainment legend I had excitedly worshipped twelve years ago.

Streisand's voice sounds wonderful; better than I expected, possibly better than I remember in 1994. Time has given her sound a full, dusky quality and a warmth that doesn't come across in the recordings. Returning to songs she sang in the 60s, it would be natural for her to resort to lower transpositions for comfort. But I'm not sure she did. The high end of her range seems to be mostly still there, and she was often generous with it.

According to a man I chatted up on the subway ride home after the concert, Streisand's performance tonight was more exciting and better sung than Monday's. An Italian, from Arezzo, the man had travelled to New York especially to attend both of Streisand's Garden appearances this week.

Published reviews of Monday's concert lamented the weak spoken sections that moved the show along (or didn't) in between songs. I think Streisand and her staff paid attention to the press, because tonight these sections were paced well enough to end just before irritation set in. The "Happy Days Are Here Again" duet with the George Bush impersonator was thankfully cut. As for the heckler incident that made news of Monday's concert echo around the world and back a million times, Streisand offered this comment (which I quote to the best of my recollection):

"You may have heard about my outburst the other night." [laughter, applause] Well, I guess you can take the girl out of Brooklyn but you can't take Brooklyn out of the girl." [Cheering. Cue next song]

The male vocal quartet, Il Divo, a filler act who sang while Streisand went backstage to rest, was undermined by an amplification system that showed their voices to woeful disadvantage. (At least I hope the sound system was to blame.) Their stiff, off-the-shelf blocking is ripe for imitation, which I hope to do sometime with three other tenor friends of mine.

Here is a program list, reproduced from my imperfect memory. I think I've forgotten at least one song, and may have bungled the order slightly. I urge anyone who also attended the concert to post corrections and/or ammendments.

Overture -- Funny Girl (stage version)

Starting Here, Starting Now
Down with Love
The Way We Were
Come Rain or Come Shine
Ma première chanson
Evergreen (joined by Il Divo)

Unbreak My Heart (french version) -- Il Divo
Le canzon non si spiegano -- Il Divo
My Way/a mi mañera -- Il Divo

Don't Rain on My Parade
Funny Girl
Music That Makes Me Dance... My Man
People

INTERMISSION (20 min.)

Entr'acte (medley incl. Funny Girl opening credits music - film version, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, etc.)

Passerà (?) -- Il Divo
Music of the Night -- Il Divo (joined by Streisand)

When the Sun Comes Out
Carefully Taught... Children Will Listen
In a Very Unusual Way
What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life
Stoney End (parody version)
Happy Days are Here Again
Have I Stayed Too Long at the Fair
Cock-Eyed Optimist
My Shining Hour
(I think I've forgotten a song that came at this point)
Somewhere (joined by Il Divo)

Encores:
Until I See You Again
Don't Rain on My Parade (reprise)
Just Smile

Petty Grievance

I often notice an error from people who talk or write about my religious denomination. I urge them all to follow the guidelines below.

The noun “Episcopalian” is for people.
The adjective “Episcopal” is for things.

Ex.(a): “She’s an Episcopalian.” “The Episcopalians are out of their minds.” “Are you Episcopalian?”
Ex.(b): “The church across the street is Episcopal.” “The Episcopal service is held in the University Chapel on Tuesdays.” “He is an Episcopal priest.”

The last example shows "Episcopal" applied to a person rather than a thing. That's perfectly correct. Why? I don’t know.

Grammatically, I would say “Episcopalian” works like an adjectival noun (as in “The Texas senate”) while “Episcopal” is definitely an adjective (“Are you Texan?”). Psychologically, perhaps in some way Episcopalians regard ordained ministers -- Bishops, Priests, Deacons -- as things rather than people.

Be aware that the expression, “Episcopalian priest,” is wrong, wrong, WRONG. It's true that Episcopal priests are Episcopalians but the sentence "Episcopalian priests are Episcopal" is just a total mess.

If any of you are listening, I beg you, please follow the guidelines.

Starstruck

Today I think I saw a virtual celebrity. I'm pretty sure it was Andy, a blogger I really look up to.

We were walking in opposite directions, he with a man to whom he was talking, and I by myself, en route to a choir rehearsal. I surmised that Andy had just left Sunday morning service at his parish, the very parish I was about to enter.

Our eyes met for a moment. He may or may not have sensed that I was an admirer. I, not wanting to appear like some sort of 'autograph seeker'-type, averted my gaze and ducked into the entrance to the church house that was my destination. It wasn't the right moment to make an approach, especially since Andy was with someone.

I felt so shy. He-- a big star, and me, nobody.

Anglo-Catholics: What they believe -- II.

What is Anglo-Catholicism?

Strictly speaking, there is no such thing. But there is a thing called Catholicism, which is a way of loving God. And there are people called Anglo-Catholics; that is, Catholics who are in communion with the Anglican Church in different parts of the world. And as Anglo-Catholics are not in the least ashamed of saying that they believe their way of loving God to be the best possible way in all the circumstances, it is desirable to explain, at least in outline, the principles on which their belief rests.

I just love this.

Most people don’t know what on earth Anglo-Catholicism is. Instead of telling people I’m Anglo-Catholic, I usually just say I’m an Episcopalian, which is kind of a half-truth. Explaining what an Anglo-Catholic is comes across as complicated, or just nutty. Aren’t there enough different Christian sects? Anglo-Catholics don’t even seem to agree among ourselves what we are or should be.

I think most people only notice the word, “Catholic,” which sets their minds right away upon preconceptions of what a Roman Catholic is. So any definition of Anglo-Catholicism usually has to back-pedal from there. Being able to say, light-heartedly, “What’s an Anglo-Catholic? Nothing at all really,” would be really freeing. And to disarm Catholicism of all its baggage, calling it, “A way of loving God,” would be, well, really exciting. I guess the trick is getting people who have a reason to be skeptical about Catholicism (or God in general) to believe that the remark is true.

I don’t know whether or not Anglo-Catholics really say unashamedly that their way of loving God is the best way. Some of us do. But who knows how many of us there are that don’t. Or aren’t sure.

I feel a lot of pressure to avoid regarding any one religion as better than another. Touting one’s religion as “better” and others as “worse” is risky, even belligerent. But the pressure “to believe in something” is just as great. A personality without beliefs is weak and deficient. Simply having a viewpoint in life requires basic beliefs, religious or not. So a person must both possess and deny his or her beliefs at the same time. Is that even possible?

Anglo-Catholics: What they believe -- I.

Intro.:

I’ve just been reading a leaflet about Anglo-Catholicism. It’s a good, clear explanation of its topic. And it's as short as it could possibly be without sacrificing the basics. As I read it, I can feel myself reacting to the text in various ways, which is kind of exciting.

I should probably explain my interest in the subject. I'm an Episcopalian, baptized and confirmed as an adult, and from the beginning I have aligned myself with the Anglo-Catholic faction of my denomination. I cannot claim to be a lockstep adherent to the Anglo-Catholic movement’s precepts because, on a personal level, the intensity of my interest, devotion, and faith tends to vary. But I always regard with seriousness the faith I wish to proclaim, even if I fail to do so.

The leaflet is nearly 80 years old. But the writing style is clear and unadorned. The content avoids specific issues of its day, enabling the text to remain an accurate statement of facts, comprehensible and useful today.

The leaflet is accessible via two different links (that I know of): a parish link: the Church of the Resurrection, New York City, and an archival link: Project Canterbury.

N.B.: In acknowledgment of the work of the transcriber, Melissa Hunsberger, I will present the text in my blog, bit by bit, entry by entry, exactly as I access it from the internet, unless I lose interest and decide to stop.

Title info:

Anglo-Catholics: What they believe
By Leonard Prestige

Published for the Catholic Literature Association of the Anglo-Catholic Congress by the Society of SS. Peter & Paul, Limited, Westminster House, 8 Great Smith Street, London, S.W. I, 1927

Dropping in on the Met: Idomeneo

Idomeneo last night at the Met. Having lucked into two comps, I brought along Mr. Supersweetie.

Ben Heppner sang the title role in this opera, just as he had 15 years ago when he debuted at the Met. I had been there then, and I was glad to hear him in this role again after all this time. I love Idomeneo very much. The depth of emotion in the vocal lines and the inventiveness in the orchestral writing are miracles of art.

But Idomeneo succeeds only when all the artists involved can do the music and the drama justice. Since this is rarely the case I tend to get disappointed, but I try to stay as open as I can to whatever strengths the performers offer.

I let myself enjoy Ben Heppner’s probing gravitas and robust tone, even though Anthony Rolfe Johnson’s sturdy suppleness had so much more life and complexity when I heard him in the role. I let myself enjoy Dorothea Röschmann’s biting passion as Ilia, even though I would have preferred Hei-Kyung Hong’s soaring tenderness. I let myself enjoy Kristine Jepson’s urgent portrayal of Idamante, even though I remember Anne Sofie von Otter singing the role with ten times the depth and one tenth the effort. I let myself enjoy Olga Makarina’s gleaming virtuosity as Elettra, even though Carol Vaness used to make the character’s hammy blocking completely believable and terrifying. I let myself enjoy the nimble precision of the orchestra, even though every tempo felt weightless.

I’ve been nervous about overexposing Mr. Supersweetie to performances he’s not ready to appreciate. Since he’s used to musicals, operas are mysterious to him and hard to enjoy. I tried my best to help him along with improvised explanations of opera seria during the intermissions. Espresso, bits of chocolate, and glasses of champagne also helped the medicine go down.