A Love Letter

Dear Final Chords in Renaissance Polyphonic Choral Music,

I love you. There, I said it.

It is so satisfying to sing through a piece and reach you, Final Chord. All the busyness and complexity of the piece dissolves into stillness, and you settle in perfection.

As an alto, I am often the one who gets to fill in the third of the chord – a powerful and beautiful position! But I can’t do it alone. It only really works when the fifths around me are perfectly tuned and I can fit my note, just-so.

I love that, after years of singing this music, I don’t have to work hard when I get to you, Final Chord. I trust my ears, my instincts, and my voice. I trust the composer and the people around me, and just sing.

Love, Katy

---

Here are a couple pieces if you would like to fill your ears with polyphony, and enjoy hearing some Final Chords:

Pigeonholes

Pigeons-in-holes.jpg by en:User:BenFrantzDale; CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve been thinking lately about pigeonholing.

Pigeonholes were, originally, exactly what the word implies: nesting spots for pigeons. It also means small compartments in furniture, especially where you sort things (letters, files, etc).

And, as a verb, it means “to assign to a definite place; to put aside for the present, especially with the intention of ignoring or forgetting, often indefinitely” (dictionary.com).**

This is where, I think, we can get stuck in creative lives: we sort ourselves into a pigeonhole, and then never leave it. This is an especially dangerous practice for musicians, artists, and any creative folks.

We make grand proclamations: “I am a conductor!” (pianist, early music singer, jazz saxaphonist, ballroom dancer, watercolour painter, etc), and then we never leave our pigeonhole. We get comfy, make our nest, and believe that’s that.

Sometimes we do a reverse-pigeonholing with our proclamations: “I’m not a composer!” with exactly the same results.

But this isn’t a good way to live as an artist, or as anyone out in the world. To pigeonhole ourselves is to blind ourselves to other possibilities, expanded identities, and new pathways.

What pigeonholes have you created for yourself? Can you (gently) question them and explore something new?

To that end, here is something I composed! I am looking out of my “I’m not a composer” pigeonhole to see what else there might be for me to do and try.

**Incidentally, there is something called the Pigeonhole Principle in mathematics, which has nothing to do with what I’m talking about here, but is quite interesting!

Singing Ourselves into Courage

Over the past month or so, Canadians have been dealing with noise: some with the literal, terrible noise of truck horns and protestors yelling, and the rest of us with the noise of the online arguments, the media, the videos and podcasts and vitriol. It is exhausting on top of everything else that is exhausting.

The tactic of using trucks (and their horns) for this protest is smart political theatre. It is hard to ignore such a large presence, and it makes the protestors take up a lot of space and air, even if there aren’t very many actual people. For better or worse, we can’t turn away from it.

I’m not here to get into the whys or why nots of these protests, but I do want to shine the spotlight on another way of doing things, one that is unexpected: singing together.

I’m reading John Green’s book The Anthropocene Reviewed: essays on a human-centered planet. In it, he has an essay about the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from the Rodgers and Hammerstein show Carousel. The song has been adopted by fans of the Liverpool football team, and they’ll sing it together in celebration of a win, and in communal grief over a loss.

Green points out that:

These songs are made great by the communities singing them. They are assertions of unity in sorry and unity in triumph…Though our dreams be tossed and blown, still we sing ourselves and one another into courage. (12)

This brought to mind the Singing Revolution in Estonia in 1987-1991, where Estonians literally sang their way to independence from Soviet occupation. They gathered in large numbers, joined hands, and sang their traditional folk songs that had been banned for decades by the Soviets. There was nothing the Soviets could do against tens of thousands of people peacefully singing together, and it was a major factor in the Soviets’ retreat from Estonia. Similar peaceful/singing revolutions happened in Lithuania and Latvia.

The Estonians sang songs of freedom, of love for their country, of peace. Singing together brought them courage, and power. If you have never heard of the Singing Revolution, watch this trailer from a documentary about it that gives the smallest taste.

In 1989, an estimated 2,000,000 people from Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia joined hands and formed a human chain. The Baltic Way, stretched 675km across all three countries, connecting the capital cities. The people in the chain held their place and sang their songs in direct defiance of the Soviets. How powerful, to hold hands and sing together.

Estonians still gather every five years for the Laulupidu, the national song festival: 30,000 people on stage, with another 80,000 people watching (and singing along, I’m sure). Together, they sing the songs that they know brought their freedom and independence.

I get chills just thinking about it. Trucks are loud. But maybe voices singing together can be louder.

What do we wear?

A question was recently asked on Facebook about how to word choir dress codes to be inclusive of all choir members, regardless of gender. The question-asker indicated that there are some non-binary and/or transgender singers in the ensemble, which has prompted a re-consideration of the policies.

Changing something that is historically very gendered into something more neutral is a great shift towards being actively inclusive. Because even if you aren’t aware of gender-diverse folks in your organization, it’s highly likely that they are there! And so, making these changes will only benefit everyone in your ensemble.

But first, some tough love: This work should only be done if you are truly ready to be accepting of everyone, and have done the self-reflection beforehand.

For example, if someone you assumed to be a man, because they sing in your bass section and have never corrected your assumption, showed up in a more typically feminine outfit, how would you feel? Be honest with yourself here. Would it be a ‘big deal’? Would you be supportive? Would you be concerned about the reaction of your audience? Would you be worried about the ‘image’ of the choir? Would you know how to handle it if someone commented negatively about it to you?

In addition to preparing yourself, you must also prepare the choir. Include language in the dress code that explicitly states its inclusivity, and have a conversation about it to ensure that everyone understands, accepts, and upholds that the choir is a safe place for people of all genders – and gender expressions.

All that being said, here is something you could put in your policy that is explicitly inclusive. Please feel free to copy and paste, if it is helpful for you!

This dress code is not tied to voice parts, and all gender expressions are welcome. I want you to be comfortable in your performance outfit so that you can focus on singing your best.

And then list the guidelines, keeping the focus on the pieces of clothing, rather than the person who might wear it. Again, here is a hypothetical dress code that you can adapt to your situation.

All clothing should be clean, pressed, and semi-formal black. Ensure you can sing, take a full bow, and stand comfortably for the whole concert.

Tops: sleeves at least 3/4 length. Bottoms: floor length pants/dress/skirt, and not leggings. Jackets/blazers: optional, but welcome. Jewellery/ties/bowties: optional, but welcome. Shoes/socks/tights/belt must be black.

This does bring up a whole other argument of whether we need overly prescriptive dress codes for choir. In my example above, I could potentially stop after the first two sentences. But that is for another day.

In the end, just as with other examples of outward inclusivity, the changes should be done without major fanfare and without being overly notable. For many people, the shift in language in your dress code won’t change a thing for them — they will wear what they have always worn.

But for some members, and for new people coming into the choir, it might mean they (finally) feel safe to wear something more comfortable and more aligned with who they are – and that is immeasurably good.

When can we have choir again?

Snapshot of some comments on a survey to choir members.

“When can we have choir again?”

I am asked this question frequently these days. I find it a stressful one, and I don’t think I’m alone in that.

Do I want to have everyone back together to sing? Of course I do. But I also can’t be reckless with peoples’ health and safety. There are so many factors and considerations that go far beyond “I miss choir, so let’s get back to it.”

I want to be cautious, but at what point am I being too cautious?

Am I overcorrecting my own impatience?

Am I using the crutch of “let’s wait and see what happens” to justify my own discomfort about trying to balance and mitigate all the various risks and comfort levels of my singers?

If I’m honest, I am scared of making the wrong choice – whether that choice is to start up or to wait.

This pandemic isn’t over, and it isn’t going away anytime soon. But, as it has always done, all it gives us is more questions and no answers.

Rethinking "Blend"

A rarely talked about facet of inclusiveness in choir is: blend.

In the European/British classical choral tradition, conductors work hard to ensure that there is a perfect blend, to smooth out all the voices and make it sound as though they are one. But at what cost? By implying that everyone needs to sound the same, what do we lose?

If we want to be truly inclusive in choir, we should be asking for our singers to sing with their full, true voice.

This is a bit of a radical idea to me, because “of course choir is an inclusive place!” But how can it be if, even after we do all the right things to welcome someone as they are, we still ask them to modify an integral part of themselves - their voice - to fit an outdated aesthetic.

Now, I’m not suggesting that we don’t strive for a unified sound. But I believe there are ways to achieve this and still honour every unique voice.

Voice matching. This is going to have to be a whole entry on its own, but the magic of voice matching within a choir cannot be understated. Sonically, some voices fit well together, and some fight with each other. By taking the time to find the right combination and order of voices in a seating plan, we are making the choir fit the singers instead of the other way around. Voice matching allows us to find a place for every voice, based on each person’s unique sound. Once they are in the right place, they can sing more freely, and the choir sounds better - it hasn’t failed me yet!

Repertoire. Just like voice matching, choose pieces that fit the singers instead of the other way around. Listen to the voices that are in the choir, and make the music work for them.

Vowels. A unified sound is as much about vowel shape (and diction, generally) as it is anything else. There is an important distinction between asking someone to modify their vowel (i.e. articulators and resonance), and asking someone to modify their voice (i.e. “sing with straight tone”). A choir with unified vowels will have a more unified sound.

Listening. One of my favourite phrases about listening in choir is: “Sing into each other’s sound.” In other words, listen to the people beside and around, and hear how your voices can fit together. Importantly, this isn’t about merging. It is about singing with awareness towards a common goal.

Once we banish the word “blend” from rehearsals, and choir members see, feel, and hear that their unique and authentic voice is welcome and encouraged in choir, only then can we say that the choir is truly inclusive.

I am grateful to Knox Sutterfield, a New York City-based conductor and singer with the Inspire: A Choir for Unity organization, for bringing this idea to me and giving me something to think about.

Thoughts from the Greenhouse

Broccoli seedlings, happy in their bigger homes!

This week at the farm, we are transplanting seedlings into bigger pots so they get stronger in the greenhouse before we put them in the ground. It got me thinking about life, and creative life especially.

When we transplant the seedlings, we give them new and better nutrients, their roots have more room to spread, and they thrive very quickly. At first, they look too small in their new home and they flop over because of the shock of the change. But after a day, some water, and some sun, they stand right up, ready to grow!

Think about your life and your creative practices. Do you need ‘transplanting’ so you can stretch your roots and grow? How about some new ‘nutrients’? Are you giving yourself enough ‘water’ and ‘sun’ and taking care of yourself?

The metaphor can only take us so far, I suppose. But it’s worth looking at how you might be limiting yourself, what you wish you had more of in your life, and whether you are looking after yourself in ways that are good for you.

This isn’t about taking a huge leap from a little starter pot into a giant planter. Just the next size up.

Maybe it means that you take the next tiny step towards that dream you’ve always had - or you allow yourself to even consider it at all. Or you unsubscribe from the news on social media and go to bed earlier. Or you stand in the sun and breathe for a minute or two.

For me, the nutrients I want to add in my life are adventure, curiosity, and trust. I’m looking after myself by going outside every day, playing piano, and drinking good tea with milk - simple things that nurture me. These days, I feel like a newly transplanted seedling, ready to grow!

What do you think? Are your roots feeling a little cramped? Or are you in a new and bigger pot, and feeling a bit shocked? What’s one small thing you can do today to help yourself grow?

We Are Designers!

My friend and colleague, Geung Kroeker-Lee, has a passion for urban design. He believes that “our environment can/should inspire us, and shape our behaviour.”

This belief spills over into his musical life. He recently gave a presentation to choral colleagues, where he presented this definition of a healthy community from the Canadian Institute of Planners’ Policy on Healthy Communities Planning:

... a healthy community is defined as “a place where healthy built, social, economic, and natural environments give citizens the opportunity to live to their full potential,” regardless of their socially, culturally, or economically defined circumstances.
A healthy community allows “people to come together to make their community better for themselves, their family, their friends, their neighbours, and others.
A healthy community creates ongoing dialogue, generates leadership opportunities for all, embraces diversity, connects people and resources, fosters a sense of community, and shapes its own future.”

This definition already speaks to me, but he has adapted it for choral communities:

... a healthy choir community is defined as “a group of people where healthy built, social environments give individuals the opportunity to sing to their full potential,” regardless of their musical background, training, or socially/culturally defined circumstances.
A healthy choir community allows “individuals to come together to create beauty, develop empathy and understanding, and through singing make their wider community better for themselves, their family, their friends, their neighbours, and others.
A healthy choir community creates ongoing dialogue, generates leadership opportunities for all, embraces diversity, connects people and resources, fosters a sense of community, and shapes its own future.”

I love this.

For Geung, taking the time to be mindful planners of our choral community is as important as the music we create, and that it isn’t much different than a city planner designing a neighbourhood.

He has admitted to me that he loves thinking about the start of the choral season: How can we set the tone for the whole season from the very beginning? What foundational pieces do we lay to ensure that our communities stay resilient and healthy? How do routines define and shape our community’s behaviour?

These are worthwhile questions to consider – especially as we start to look forward to rehearsing in-person again.

Designing a community might seem daunting, but it is well worth the effort! Don’t forget: Good Community = Good Music.

Here are some of Geung’s suggestions for starting a new choral season from a community design perspective:

1. Consider having a “returning members meeting” (an idea we have both learned from our Edmonton colleague, Katy Luyk) where your returning members can see each other and catch up, reminisce about the previous season, and close the previous chapter together. They can then welcome the new members with open arms, ready for new connections.

2. For the first rehearsal, don’t set up rows of chairs right away. Allow people to greet each other and mingle (as opposed to only meeting the one or two people right next to them, or only their section-mates). Do your warm-up, some ice breakers, and move around the whole available space while encouraging your singers to interact with each other.

3. Invite your choir members to help define what the community will look like for the season. Put up chart paper with some prompts and markers, and ask your singers to add to them anonymously and at their leisure. The prompts could be: what are their personal goals for the season, their goals for the choir, what do they need from each other, and from the artistic staff. Read them out and discuss, or type them up and print it for everyone (perhaps as a word cloud).

As conductors, we wear many hats and do many jobs, but our goal at the heart of it all is to bring people together to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Mindfully designing healthy choir communities is one aspect of that.

We are community designers! Let’s make healthy choir communities!

Take Heart

Today, March 11, marks one year since my last pre-covid choral experience: a dress rehearsal in the church where our concert was to take place a few days later. A normal rehearsal of polishing and details and logistics (stand here, enter this way, exit that way).

I remember a chorister looking at his phone and being surprised to see that the NBA was shutting down – one of the first of the major sports/cultural institutions to do it. I think that was the turning point for me, and for many people, to finally believe that this was bigger than we could imagine.

Everything changed within a few days, and now here we are.

What would I have done differently if I had known it was the last time we’d be together in the way it had always been? I’d have focused less on the minutiae. I’d have ensured we did as much singing as possible. I’d have left there with my heart and spirit full, and braced for the crash.

But we weren’t ready. How could we have been?

What we are still feeling is grief. A year later we are still mourning the things that we never got to do, the things we miss doing, the things we may never do again, the people we haven’t seen.

My friend and colleague, Brian Mummert, shared these thoughts with me:

So much of the music we love was written in exactly this context. Humans spent hundreds of years living with the plague…and so communities developed and strengthened communal rituals in part to process these experiences.
I think we wildly underestimate that, absent any kind of germ theory, coming together in large groups to perform or observe artistic and religious rituals is one of our species' major coping mechanisms for this kind of collective grief.
What might make this situation unique, then, is that greater understanding of germ theory: we've discovered that the mechanisms society has used in the past are exactly the ones that become super-spreader events, and ultimately have neither the biological nor the cultural evolutionary tools to process this past year as a result.
I don’t think there will be much processing happening until we can be together in groups participating in rituals (which can be as simple as wine with friends). They’ll look different, sure, but my guess is that some degree of physical proximity and biological entrainment are necessary for communal processing in particular.

We sometimes feel that we should have figured this all out by now, that we should be okay and fine with everything. I just don’t believe that is a realistic expectation.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel in the vaccines, but they aren’t magic wands that will make it all go back to the way it was before. It is going to take time, and that gives us plenty more chances to feel difficult emotions.

It’s exhausting, right?

Geese returning to Winnipeg on their yearly migration north, March 2021.

Be kind to yourself. Take the time and space and rest you need, and reach out to find the support that will help you. Allow yourself to grieve, and try not to be frustrated if it comes up again and again – “Haven’t I been through this already?!”

Take heart, we will come through this, and we will sing together again. That “last” rehearsal isn’t actually my last ever, no matter how unlikely it feels right now.

Outward Inclusivity

Choir is often seen as a safe place for people to be themselves and explore their identities, especially for high school students or young adults. So how do we, as conductors, guarantee that for them?

Right now there is a wonderful shift in the choral community towards gender inclusivity.

For example, we can be accurate in rehearsal and stop saying “men” or “women” when we really mean “basses” or “sopranos”. We can revamp dress codes to give a range of options/guidelines, without tying it to gender or voice parts. We can talk about policies with boards and choir members. We can wear nametags with our pronouns.

These are all wonderful and necessary changes that every choir and conductor should make. But they are internal, and we can do even better.

We need to make sure that a potential member sees that choir is a safe place and that they will be welcome before they even join.

Some ideas of what this outward inclusivity looks like:

1. Using inclusive/accurate language in the name of the choir: Upper Voices, Lower Voices, Bass Clef Choir, Trebles.

2. Updating forms and information gathering tools to include a spot for people to put their pronouns, so that from their very first interaction with the choir, we respect who they are.

3. Being explicitly inclusive in the description of the choir. For example, one of the first things someone reads about my ensemble Winnipeg Upper Voices is: “We welcome women, men, trans, and non-binary singers.”

4. Using inclusive language at concerts and in programs. This could be by swapping out “ladies and gentlemen” for “everyone” in introductory remarks: “Welcome, everyone, to the big show!” Artist biographies in the program can include pronouns: “Katy Harmer (she/her) is the conductor.”

These changes should be made without fanfare and without it being a big deal. But they will be noticed by the people who need to see them the most.

Being more inclusive benefits everyone, and ensures that our choirs actually are the safe places we strive for them to be.