University Chorale Fall 2011

Along with teaching Sight Singing, assisting in BYU's Women's Chorus, conducting Stake Choir, singing with the SCO Renaissance Choir, accompanying and singing in BYU Singers, I teach and conduct University Chorale.  and I love it.  

1st miracle.  Lorie, in the teal and white.  I foolishly didn't order professor copies of the music that the bookstore ordered, so I went to the bookstore to buy my own copies of the music.  Well, I went to check out, and the my cashier said that she had seen so many students check out with this music and it looked so wonderful-- what was included in the packet?  I told her all about it, and that I conducted this group.  She was so interested, and for some reason, I felt like I should invite her to sing with us.   So I did.  She joined our choir and was a wonderful addition for the alto section as well as the girls around her.    She was such a positive support to me the whole semester long, I could hardly look her way without smiling.  She so enjoyed singing with us, and her joy was contagious.   

Second miracle.  Missionaries.  About a dozen students in Chorale received their mission calls this semester or are actively awaiting them to go off into the world serving the Lord.  I was so grateful that they sang with us while preparing to leave.  There are so many opportunities to testify through song in Chorale as well as on missions.  Joe, playing the reorder here, is one of those awaiting his call to serve.  He plays a dozen instruments and was so positive in his support of choir.  We sang for a devotional when Elder Callister spoke, and he brought a book to be signed by this general authority as he spoke to us.  Elder Callister willingly complied and I was so impressed by Joe's bright faith and excitement as he prepared to serve the Lord.   

One last picture from our concert, conducting Handel's The Many Rend the Skies from Alexander's Feast. We are just starting up again for another semester where I can be more organized, more musical, more enthusiastic, more planned and more faithful.

Filled

Filled with Carols, both felt and sung
Filled with twinkling of the candles & stars
Filled with smells of spices and Warmth
Filled with feasts of Words and of bread
Filled with favorite stories of renewal and good will
Filled with the Joy of human's love
Filled with the Spirit so palpable, I cry

Filled with a heart swelling as great as this world
Filled with Love from the dear ones nearby
Filled with Thanks for comforts and rest
Filled with admiration for Joseph, now 206!
Filled with inspiration to do better and be more--
Filled with Song.  Hope, and Joy.
Filled with family's laughter and Trust
Filled with surprises & anticipation for what's next
Filled with memories to make any lifetime content
Filled with traditions, both old and the new
Filled with newness, lists and goals
Filled with empathy for those feeling remorse
Filled with courage to start again, persevere
Filled with Giving, sharing, partaking
Filled with a mind, open for increase
Filled with thoughts I could ponder for years
Filled with Charity. Serenity, Peace.
Filled with fresh Vision from the True guide
Filled with recognition of what's given and required
Filled with humility for particular gifts of Light
Filled with Faith and engendered confidence
Filled with Desires so deeply rooted in my core
Filled with Emotion, Christ-like and human
Filled with Wonder, awe and cheers
Filled with Gloria's, praising God above
Filled with Rejoicing for goodness imparted to me
Filled with astonishment at how far these feelings reach...

Memories and traditions from the past, Love and serenity in the moment, and awaiting the brightest future... This is how I feel today.

Merry,  Merry,   Merry Christmas.

Overwhelmed

I'd already sung several songs with BYU Singers and even played on the 10 ft Fazioli that BYU's trying out but I had not been nervous beforehand. For a moment, I was alone in a forgotten corridor of the H-FAC and said another prayer... Father, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this honor. but please help me. Concert Choir was filing off stage, and I could hear the risers creaking with Women's Chorus members milling into place. It seemed like forever until the creaking and clapping stopped and it was my turn to walk on. First the accompanist, then me, then Jean Applonie. I bowed with my mentor and then stepped onto the podium.

Being in the middle of the de Jong concert hall stage was not intimidating whatsoever, but I could never have been prepared for what I saw next. I looked up and saw 185 beautiful women, shining... their sparkly tops, their bright faces, their eyes full of anticipation for their part of the concert and their minds focused on each reminder... bright red smiles of people I love. and so I raised my hands. Overwhelmed.

I was full of energy, hopefully channeling it into my conducting and to the girls I work with. Elbows up a little farther. look into their faces-- JOY! then slow down, flexible wrist. the meaning of the piece. and more joy. and it was over. I just looked at them.

I must have smiled (how could I not?) but forgot completely what I was supposed to do for a moment. The hall was full of applause, so I stepped down from my pedestal and motioned a hand to recognize the beautiful singers and bowed. They are glorious.

The last number of the concert was sung with all of the combined choirs and I was lucky enough to accompany them 'Of the Father's Love Begotten.' Dr. Staheli always motions for me to stand before he even turns around (perhaps it makes up for so many invisible accompanists) and when he does, it is so easy to smile at the audience. especially after knowing and loving one more choir.

San Francisco

Concert Series at the Presidio, San Francisco Debut


Debussy:
l'Isle joyeuse
Reflets dans l'eau

Poulenc:
Napoli Suite
Barcarolle
Nocturne
Italian Caprice (intermission)

Ravel: Ondine
Chopin: Nocturne Op. 27.2
Prokofiev: Sonata #1

The clapping was enthusiastic at the end of the Prokofiev both nights, and many were standing. On Friday night, an older gentleman in the audience ran up to present me with a handful of beautiful wildflowers! So, I gave an encore:

Marciack
Île St. Louis from Impressions de Paris

This was the last piece that I studied with Monsieur Marciack in Paris. He composed two books of "Impressions de Paris" for his students to play. He cried at one of the last performances I gave while studying with him, and I wondered, 'why would someone cry to music?' Although I studied another one or two of his works with Christina Van Dohm in Antwerp, I put the books away when I moved to Wisconsin. For some reason, I packed them with me when I went off to College (not sure what I was thinking) and found them again when I was living with my Grandmother during the Spring term.

I looked through the pieces, and was reminded of many early musical memories associated with Monsieur Marciack, his handwriting, his music, his mannerisms, his laugh, his love for me... and then I played through the Île St Louis. I started to cry at the end of the first line and cried during the whole piece. It reminded me of everything that was Paris, everything that I learned musically there, every pain I had felt leaving, and every pain I had felt there. I was reminded of how many 'weird' things I did that were simply cross-culture conflicts and how much I loved Paris, Music, Monsieur Marciack, and how blessed I was to have all of those things.

After each performance, the audience greeted and congratulated me in the foyer and to my surprise, I noted accents (especially European) from the majority of the audience members. They thought that Marian Marciack might have been a famous French folk song, Schumann, a Song without Words, MacDowell or Gottschalk... he would be flattered. Others told me they felt it was my prayer. It was.

Liz Olson, my best friend from High School surprised me by attending both concerts and took me out to see her favorite spots in San Francisco, favorite roads, favorite ice cream place, and favorite real San Fransiscan restaurant. She and many other audience members asked when I would be coming back? soon in any case. If this was a 'debut,' that simply means 'beginning' (it's french, of course). So I will return. with friends. and perhaps more musical instruments. ;) see you then.

meeting Kirk Richards

BYU's Museum of Art has always been one of my favorite places. To meditate, to enjoy great artists, to have stimulating conversations with tour guides, to sing, to play the piano, to eat...

The first exhibit that I attended repeatedly and even obsessively was entitled Beholding Salvation. The ten minute changing period between classes in the H-FAC would give me at least five minutes in the MOA. That is when I first encountered Kirk Richards. His painting Gethsemane captured and held my attention so much--perhaps that is why I had to return so often. But even upon returning, I'd spend a bulk of my time in front of that painting.

So many pictures of the atonement show Christ suffering at a tree, but rarely do I feel his pain and see the blood he shed. Layers of red, brown, gold, and sin slapped onto the canvas screamed of His emotion. His suffering. and the saving angel rising up in white sang of such comfort. The exhibit also carried his Baptism of Christ, another favorite of the exhibit.

Lisa, my good friend and tour guide had invited me to the opening gala and mentioned that Kirk Richards had been there, but alas, I had not had the good fortune of meeting him there.

well, several years later, he came back to BYU for campus education week. I of course bought an affordable (for a starving musician) little Gethsemane print (the texturing of the oil is of course lost, but it will always remind me of the original) as well as several postcards of his work, and shook his hand. What an honor! He took the time to to ask me about myself, my life and dreams and accepted my compliments congenially and graciously.

While looking at the few originals and prints in the Bookstore, an older woman started a conversation with me. She took such interest in my connections to BYU Singers, to music, to Palo Alto, to Wisconsin, to Paris, to redheads... and then asked, 'have you eaten yet?' well no... 'how about I treat you to dinner!' Of course she wouldn't accept a 'no' for a drink or fries but invited her husband and oldest son to come join us the the cougar eat and talk with me.

However unexpected the encounter was, and however moving the art was, my education week finished with me thinking how there are so many wonderful people in the world.

Belonging

One of the reasons I love france so much is that so much of me grew up there--despite my American blood and nationality, I will always feel that I belong.

Real friends that are excited about my passions make me feel like I belong.

There are 134 operating temples for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (not including the temple announced for Paris, FRANCE!); and yet, when I went to work on my shift yesterday with the kindest ladies in white of the Wednesday 3B session in the Provo, Utah temple, I just felt a rush of comfort, of home, of happiness. It is there I belong.

I just signed a real contract for fall / winter semesters at a big, lovely place and feel so happy having included God in the decision-making process, having made a decision, and having come to terms with each part of the decision. I finally have a wonderful roommate, a place to live, to work out, and a ward where I can belong.

Freeing up my conducting this summer with Dr. Shapiro has given me great leave to 'create' more than ever. I finally feel that I really belong in front of a choir or orchestra.

Today might have been the first time in my life that I listened to a radio station by myself other than a classical station. It was liberating. and it wasn't bad music either. I was happy being myself and didn't change the radio station right away. I like who I am, I love my fetish with classical, modern classical, musical theatre, and jazz--but I can listen to whatever I want in the moment. My tastes are a part with me. and I belong in who I am.

The day started with biking around Hobble Creek, and ended with driving back up the canyon to the setting sun. It was behind the mountains when I got here, but the moon was just rising. I put down my things and ran outside. The moon was shining exactly upon my balcony. and the sun has kept the earth warm enough for my bare feet. I of course ran down the stairs, and around the yard, singing to my heart's content with the trees and curtsying to the stars coming out. I twirled as the breeze brushed through my hair and the wildflowers bid their goodnight. I couldn't stop smiling. I feel loved and I belong.

I best be off to the Fazioli for a Chopin nocturne tonight. yes, I belong there too.

Underground Parisian Music

When we’re not above ground getting live performances, there’s always more underground—the metros are full of musicians. Most of them can’t really play, but every now and then there’s a Great accordion player, or the Navaho-looking guy who plays several different types of South American flutes with percussion accompaniment. And I give money to any of them more often than I do the other beggars. On this trip, most of the metro instrumentalists I heard were violinists… and I was not impressed with one of them (all pickiness aside. Honestly). Disappointment. Ah well.

But there’s not only Metros in the underground.

It’s going into the jazz piano bars with the gypsy guitarists with their fellow accordion and bass players. Never seen such quick guitar fingering. And jazz is always better in a crowded, smoky dark room late at night. By far the best quality music you can find in the underground.

And then underneath the bridges and along the seine, there are groups of friends who come together with dozens of instruments to throw folk songs together, dancing, clapping, singing and playing. Most of them needed work (especially the clarinetist…) but it never detracted because of the ambiance. It was so much fun to on the quai with them, and so often that is what music needs to be about—a good time.