Tell Me Why

So, in Sweet Addies (but, apparently, not all Sweet Addies choruses, according to that cutie patootie Jim Arns), you have to 'pass your tape' to be able to sing a song in concert or competition. I started out like gangbusters and have passed my first two songs, but one or two measures in a few others are giving me some trouble. Passing a tape requires you singing into a personal cassette recorder (yes, they still make those) for the entirety of the unpassed song in your place on the risers while the chorus sings. Got that? One of the new songs is Reba's 'Why Haven't I Heard From You?' - a personal fav and one of my former cabaret songs - but I keep re-writing the words in my head. Unintentionally, at first, and then more like sneaking a cigarette until it becomes obvious I haven't learned it yet.

Well back in April of the year we got this brand new song
I thought 'Just like the others this one won't take long.'
By the middle of May I'd yet to learn the tune
I started picking up the words rehearsal day, right at noon.
Now I could have started sooner, could have learned at least 8 bars
Coulda listened to my learning tape while driving in my car.

So tell me why haven't I passed this tape.
Tell me why haven't I passed this tape?
Section Leader, I have no defensive case
Why haven't I passed this tape?

I'd keep going but I have to go learn my new song.

The Roar of the Greasepaint, The Smell of the Crowd

(Yes, that is a real song title - as well as a musical written by Anthony Newelly - we remember him from the oft-parodied 'What Kind of Fool Am I', correct?)

I have missed the giddiness. The excited chatter while we complain about the room chosen to accomodate us (for size, not privacy or lighting). The silliness that accompanies nervous energy. Putting on makeup fit only for actors and hookers (OHA!). Making fun of our Carnival Cruise Lines costumes and feeling strangely sisterhood-ish when they're finally donned. Warm-ups (I love warm-ups - what a great way to get all of my frenetic energy focused). Down time in-between where we get to know one another and sneak peeks at each other's family (no, mine wasn't present, that would be silly. I almost got my daughter there, but it was too long for her to hang out with old people.)

So how did a Barbershop Show Choir in Maine compare to professional theatre in New York? Favorably. In some ways, better. Yes, it's true. I'd have to say the differences were minor. The intention was the same. In some ways, our chorus is much more focused than even Olivier - in certain respects only. It felt the same. It played the same. Only this time...

The backbiting (for the most part) was gone. The challenge to keep oneself from being upstaged by esteem-impaired fellow professionals was missing. Instead, a feeling of camaraderie, acceptance and desire to see each other be incredible was fostered. How can that NOT be better?

Yes, I miss performing. Yes, I miss the spotlight. But, believe it or not, I get to fill some of my own personal spotlight needs by being a part of an ensemble. Because the gals I sing with know when I get it right. They know when I'm amazing and they say "we want that right here, standing with us" instead of "I could have done that better."

And if that doesn't get ya. Riding in a car with 6 other barbershopper girls (OHA!) to the local Pizza Hut for salad bar (and WHY did we order those breadsticks, again?), the windows down, a glorious sunny day, radio blasting...no, not the Beachboys, not Frank Sinatra - not even Barry Manilow. It was one of the top Sweet Adeline Quartets, UnderAge, and we were all singing four part harmony at the top of our lungs. And I'll be damned if I suddenly didn't, for just a second, feel like I was cruising Noland Road with Renee in her Brown Ford Fairmont (with the ooga horn), singing Juice Newton and Hall and Oates at the top of our lungs.

What an incredibly successful day for me. Thanks, gals.