Broomhall Community Choir One Year On

Margaret was excited: "We're holding a Remembrance Service here at St Andrews, and the Minister would like the Choir to sing."  So, as the day drew near, we had to rehearse, and rehearse, and refine. 

Steve, our choirmaster proposed a vote on including some World War I favourites, and Keep the Home Fires Burning won.  The remainder of the morning's offering was drawn from our current repertoire: Tebe Poem by Dmitry Bortniansky, Locus Iste by Anton Bruckner, Mozart's Ave Verum (K618), and God So Loved the World from John Stainer's Crucifixion.  Perhaps the biggest challenge was that first two items would be unaccompanied.

We gathered an hour early to finalise seating and warm up our bronchials.  Everyone was remarkably friendly.  St Andrews lost their full-time minister last year.  Sarah was quite a catalyst in the local scene, and I hadn't met Robert, her successor.   For this Armistice Day event, there was a screen set up at the front, and Robert stood to one side to lead the proceedings.

The music went well.  Barrie stayed on afterwards to listen to the recording, and was impressed.  As the two-minute silence approached, Robert, wearing a white poppy, read a long poem while suitable historical pictures played out on the screen.  The message seemed to be: we decline to mention that WWI was deemed to be "to God's glory", but don't mind commending sacrifice as a principle; and, things haven't travelled too well for Christian religious sentiment (universally amongst the young) in the century that's followed - un-British Islam's ascendancy is driving us to greater humility.  Hmmm.  (I wish I could find the original, but URC's website hasn't helped.)

Steve didn't stay for refreshments, so I sent him a text congratulating him on where he's got the Choir to in 12 months.  I guess it'll be carols at the Sheffield University's main Firth Hall before the year is out, too.

More Songs and St Andrews

The Broomhall Community Choir has made its public debut.  Nothing very exalted, but we've broken the ice.  St Andrews (URC) held an afternoon Christmas party to mark the redecoration of their church hall, and we did a couple of pieces.

Mary's brother Tony, of City of Bath Bach Choir fame, let on that he was due to become a grandfather again.  In conversation, Mary told him how much she was enjoying the choir.  He later emailed that they were tackling James MacMillan's St John's Passion - the first amateur group to do so.  And the composer was making the journey from Glasgow to support the performance.  With this as the backdrop, you'll rate our challenge less impressive!

Choirmaster Steve turned up in a dark suit, resplendent with blood-red shirt and white bow tie.  He'd been a busy man, with a major concert the night before, and one to follow in the evening.  Fellow bass Ian had gone down with a croaky cold, and Worrall Male Voice Choir member David had already given his apologies.  It was down to Terry and me to bang out the "fat" in "Christmas is coming".  Although I'd missed a vital rehearsal, I'd got adequate memories of singing it at a school.  I realised that Terry and I were up against unfamiliar parts. 

Steve gave us a glowing introduction, and a pressing invitation for others to come and join the choir in the New Year.

Now I hang my head in shame.  We started with St Winifred ("Cradled in a manger, meanly").  When Steve brightly proposed 'unaccompanied', he was outvoted.  Furthermore, heads buried into music sheets while he - valiantly conducting with his left hand while playing the four-part harmony with his right, sitting sideways on to us at the piano keyboard - didn't get a glance through all four verses.  "Look at me!" he pleaded.  He wasn't best pleased.

I resolved not to let him down with the "fat".  The second song was passable, but hardly a credit.  I never did see Steve leave. 

Viv had turned up, having had a hand in designing a new CAT5 wiring loop for the Hall.  He munched his way through the buffet, and then announced he needed to go and pick up a table from Freecycle.  So I stacked a few chairs and went to give him a hand, while the nice catering ladies tidied up.  And that was that.  We've taken our first step to public recognition. 

Steve says it's madrigals next.

Sweet Bells and St Winifred

Mary and I have joined the local choir.  Back in the summer there were rumours that one would start in Broomhall, and I was interested.  Our mission motivators intermittently ask what we'd like to do to 'get out a bit more' and 'meet some normal people'.  Courses, clubs, and groups is the category I most readily warm to.  I had a brief flirtation with the University of the Third Age Creative Writing group.  Please believe me when I say it was so that I could improve the quality of my blogs!   But the choir means that Mary and I can go together.  Broomhall News announced it would form in November. 

"They'll probably want us to do a Christmas Concert..." Mary was apprehensive.  "Nah," I reassured.  "They'll hardly have sorted out if we're tenors or altos or whatever by then."

Wrong.  At our first practise, we were drilled in breathing techniques, sang scales to ooh, aah, eeh and lah, learned - as a memory exercise - the first half of the Humming Chorus from Puccini's Madam Butterfly, and tackled 'Cradled in a manger, meanly' ("don't forget the comma, the English doesn't make sense without it...").  Christmas Oratorio looked well within reach by December.

Our choirmaster is Steve.  If you check out energetic, irrepressible and enthusiastic in your online Thesaurus (who needs a creative writing course?), you'll get a suitable a cohort of adjectives (what is the collective noun for adjectives? an embroidery?).  He has a distinguished track record: director of the Sheffield Youth orchestra, Worrall Male Voice Choir, etc.  Inevitably, there have been comparisons with Gareth Malone of BBC Choir series.  Steve is dismissive.

Mary's brother, Tony, reluctantly joined the City of Bath Bach Choir (meeting in the Abbey).  Apprehensive at the technical challenges, he was surprised to find that the mid-rehearsal tea break is the best bit of each practise.  It is the same for all amateur groups?  It is for us.  Week one I met Ian, a quietly-spoken emeritus professor, and week two, John, retired team leader from the Social Services Department.  Week three Terry joined us, and week four, David from the aforesaid WMVC.  Meanwhile Mary's been sorting out the Sheilas, Marjories and Margarets, half of whom seem to be elders at the local URC Church where we meet for Tuesday practice.  Then we learnt that Ray and Ruth, newly relocated from Belfast to Battlecentre, have joined a choir that meets in the Royal Opera House.  Provincial just can't compete!

With week two came "Sweet Bells".  This is variation on the traditional "While shepherds watched their flocks" with a jolly chorus.  The objective seems to be for the men to cram in as many sweet bells, chiming bells and Christmas bells as the available notes and syllables will permit.  Steve seemed to think this exercise in lyrical shoe-horning was all good sport, and part of what gives each interpretation its distinctive local character.  Frustrated, I went home and drained YouTube of available renditions, until I had a workable version.  Then I set to, out of harm's way, while on the rowing machine in the cellar, to master the challenge.  Mary laughed at me as I woke up humming, drove humming and ate humming.  I was not to be deterred, even if I hoped we never had to sing it in performance. 

Flushed with triumph, I returned in week three to find that Ian had similarly marked up his score - with a different result!  Chaos again among the basses.  Back to the cellar and heavy editing.  Then came week four's anticlimax.  "We won't sing that this week." Steve announced.  "Well be joining two other choirs at the University in a couple of weeks, so let's try something else."   Out came "Cradled in a manager, meanly" again, til we'd mastered it unaccompanied.  You'll  find nothing on YouTube for the tune St Winifred.  But I have a bootleg video that I shot on stage in the main Firth Hall performance, and I'm sorely tempted to be first to post it.

How have we been propelled to such dizzying choral heights when we only wanted to 'meet some normal people'?