Written June, 2002
I sang last Monday night on the main stage at Carnegie Hall. Len Leatherwood from little Bonham, Texas, sang at Carnegie Hall in New York City.
How did THAT happen?
I am not an exceptional singer. I wish I were, but I’m not. I’m a good singer with a decent soprano voice. I have good pitch and a clear tone. I blend well. My vocal training consists solely of the years I sang at Holy Trinity Episcopal church while growingup in our rural Texas town.
Our little Anglican mission in the middle of the Bible belt was lucky to have twenty people on a good Sunday. Of that number, at least a third were old ladies whose voices weren’t nearly as good as the potato salad and fried chicken they cooked for our numerous potluck suppers.
Our unofficial choir was a group of five or six kids who sat on the back row of the church nearest the organ, which was played by my brother, John. We belted out hymns, psalms and choral responses to prayers with hearts and throats wide open. There was no room for self-consciousness. A slightly off-key, but loud voice was better than listening to old Mrs. Catron bark like a coyote at the moon.
I discovered two things while at Holy Trinity church. One, that I loved to sing, and two, that life is a lot happier when you sing with others.
Cut to thirty-two years later at Carnegie Hall.
I am standing on the front row of risers with two hundred other choral singers from all over the country. The Los Angeles Camerata (of which I am a member), the Pace University Chorale, The Connecticut Choral Society, and Queen’s College Chorale. The New England Symphonic Ensemble is seated right in front of us.
The orchestra begins playing the first strains of Mozart’s Kyrie in D Minor. I look out and see the red and gold of Carnegie Hall. The hall is three-quarters filled even on a Monday night.
Two hundred voices sing in unison:
“Kyrie,”
My heart goes in my throat. What a sound. So full.
“Kyrie.”
Ah, what sweet strains those violins make.
“Kyrie.”
Then just the sopranos quietly sing:
“Eleison, Eleison, Eleison.”
Ah, can anyone write more beautiful music than Mozart?
Never did I expect to sing at Carnegie Hall. I will remember it for a lifetime.
I will also remember that tiny church in rural Texas where being shy about one’s voice wasn’t even a consideration.
Comments