It’s 10:03 Sunday evening – the end of an incredibly demanding and draining weekend – and the last thing I should attempt is the crafting of coherent sentences. But I just sang my faculty recital a few hours ago and I want to try and write a few words about it while the experience is still fresh and vivid. And yet, I’m not sure what that can accomplish. If you were there, you know what it was like. And if you weren’t, then you probably can’t. But of course, that’s not going to stop me from pecking out a few words of reflection on one of the greatest mountaintop experiences of my life.
First of all, I was rather nervous going into this recital because it was unlike any other recital I had ever done. Rather than the standard 3 Purcell /3 Schubert /3 Faure kind of program (which is frankly what I favor) I found myself inspired to do something a bit more personal and unique. Part of the impetus was having celebrated my 50th birthday earlier this year. . . a logical occasion for reflecting on one’s life and on what’s most important to you. . . and the other impetus was the wonderful lecture/recital which my faculty colleague Dimitri Shapovalov gave last year. His recital on Romanticism and Imagination was a powerful inspiration to me in putting my own together and in thinking beyond the obvious. I decided that the theme would be “Why I Sing” and I would build the program around some of the ways that singing has given me such joy and satisfaction. I wrestled for a long time just to build that framework – adding, discarding, shuffling – before it finally began to settle into place. Still, I worried that it might be a crazy quilt of scattered songs and personal reflections might just add up to a big, confused mess. (Just because you have something worked out in your head does not necessarily mean that it will work out in real life.)
Another complication: Because Dimitri was busy launching his new community chorus and Jane was busy preparing for her trio’s performance this Friday night, I didn’t feel right about approaching either of my accompanists of choice – which is when I got the brilliant but crackpot idea of playing for myself. There have been a few self-accompanied classical singers, including Samuel Barber, but it’s obviously not very common at all. And because I was bound and determined to do this without any music in front of me (that point was non-negotiable) it felt like I was recklessly walking a high wire without a net. Would I sing well? Would I play well? Would I drown out my singing with my overly enthusiastic playing? Those were all significant questions and sources of worry. Add do that the fact that I took care of typing, duplicating and stuffing the programs – and helped with the baking and frosting of the cupcakes I requested for the reception – and I was left with the sinking feeling that I hadn’t spent enough time focusing on what mattered the most: the music itself. So was this going to be a success? Or the biggest flop since “Magruber: The Movie”?
Well I can’t began to explain just how it happened, but the recital exceeded my every hope and expectation – and not just because the performance itself went well. Much more important than that was how it was received. It was a big audience that pretty much packed the recital hall to the rafters- a vibrant mix of students, faculty, family, and friends from the community- and in a truly extraordinary way it was like they were hanging on every note and every word. But it wasn’t just that they were listening intently. It was that I felt truly and profoundly loved. . . and I honestly can’t ever remember giving a performance where I felt such waves of love flowing from the audience. It was absolutely extra- ordinary. And it brings to mind some words spoken by a legendary singer named Lotte Lehmann at her dramatic final NYC recital in 1951. She had not announced beforehand that this was her NYC farewell, but right before intermission she decided to tell the audience that this was it. At one point she tried to put into words what it had meant for her to sing for her devoted public over the years. She said to them: You have given me much inspiration. You were the wings on which I soared. Today, I was soaring- and it had very little to do with me and everything to do with the people who listened so lovingly, so openly, so gratefully to what I had to share. I will never forget that sensation for as long as I live.
The program:
I sing. . .
TO MAKE BELIEVE
When I think upon the Maidens (micheal head)
Deh vieni alla finestra (mozart)
The Vagabond (vaughan williams)
Chanson a boire (ravel)
TO WAX POETIC
3 songs from Dichterliebe (robert schumann)
TO SING A MONA LISA (one of the masterworks)
Widmung
TO BE A GOOD STEWARD (of the gift I’ve been given)
Bella siccome un angelo (donizetti)
TO QUIET THE ROOM
Younger than Springtime (south pacific)
TO AMUSE
The New Ashmoleon Marching Society and Student Conservatory Band (where’s charley- frank loesser)
TO BEFRIEND THE CLOCK
The Kerry Dance – Auld Lang Syne
TO FIND AND GIVE COMFORT
We live on borrowed time
TO GIVE GLORY TO GOD
How Can I Keep from Singing – Amazing Grace (singalong)
TO INSPIRE AND BE INSPIRED
Old Man River
and somewhere in the mix, I threw in one of my own songs, “Caleb’s Song” – and as an encore, Gershwin’s S’Wonderful