One of the hardest things for me about being a composer is the worry over whether or not the piece in question will be well received, both by the singers for whom it’s written as well as for the audience or congregation who will be hearing it. I think I’m still haunted by my very earliest, earnest efforts when, like a lot of young composers, I blithely assumed that every note that flowed from my pen was the work of sheer genius. I know better now, and find myself writing with a much healthier dose of humility and self-doubt stirred into the mix, which I hope in turn has helped me become a much better composer than I used to be. And even if all I’m composing is an anthem that my senior choir will sing on the 15th Sunday after Pentecost or some similar “ordinary” Sunday, I try to create something that is worthwhile – and worthy of my singers’ talent and time. To be perfectly honest, what I really try to do is write anthems that are good enough that nobody in the choir will be think to themselves “ho hum- another Greg Berg piece. When are we going to sing something really good” or “Well, that was okay, but not one of his best efforts.” I certainly know that not every piece is going to be a winner, but I earnestly hope that I never put in front of my choir – or anyone else – something truly pedestrian that really never needed to be written, that turns out to be a waste of their time (and mine.) That substantial sense of responsibility weighs heavily on me just about any time I am putting musical dots on the page.
But then there are those instances when one is writing music under circumstances that are far from ordinary- for an occasion that matters and which deserves something truly noteworthy. This past January, I actually found myself in a gauntlet like I had never experienced before, with three substantial projects on my plate simultaneously. Two of them I’ve blogged about (perhaps ad nauseum)- a new anthem for the Kenosha Unified School District’s 50th annual Choral Festival … and my very first opera, Black September. For as intimidating as those two assignments were, at least they were written on somewhat friendly and familiar ground: I had been to perhaps 20 KUSD choral festivals over the years – and the opera was crafted with students/singers I knew very well at Carthage.
The third assignment. however, was much more a case of writing for strangers …. and for an exceptionally important occasion to boot. It was a commission that came from a friend of mine from the Weston Noble Alumni Choir, Trish Jordahl – who for several decades has been a choral director at Eastern Arizona College. Trish is a vigorous, warm-hearted, fun-loving dynamo, and it was great to get to know her during several different experiences in our summertime choral reunions in Decorah. Trish had encountered a couple of my original pieces when they were sung by the WNAC (I loved the way she tore into one of the solos for my piece “Strength”) so when it came time for her to find something special for her retirement at EAC, she thought of me. She wondered if I would be willing to compose something that would be sung by her Women’s Choir on her final concert.
Gulp.
Actually, this was a case of where I leapt before I looked. My “yes” was instantaneous. It was only after the fact that I began to feel the emotional weight of such a responsibility. I needed to try and write a piece that would somehow reflect who Trish is, what music means to her, and what the young women in her choir mean to her. AND because it would be those women who would be singing it, I needed the piece to somehow reflect their feelings of esteem and gratitude for her. And beyond that, I needed it to be musically suitable for them as well as something that they would enjoy singing. All of that is challenging enough when you’re writing for someone you know well. To do this for a group I had never seen or heard before felt like an entirely different and supremely difficult challenge.
Fortunately, Trish supplied me with a video of her group in performance earlier this year, and I couldn’t get over what a difference that made! First of all, they were a strong group that sang skillfully and expressively- and you could also sense how much they loved singing and how they loved their director. Without having ever met a single one of them, I felt like I already knew them- and it made me want to do this for Trish and for them all the more.
I looked far and wide for a suitable extant text but nothing seemed quite right – and my initial efforts to write an original text kept slipping into maudlin, overwrought emotionalism. I wanted this piece to convey deep feeling but it also needed to say something of substance beyond “we love you, we’ll miss you, and yay, music!” After shedding a number of initial attempts, I finally decided to do what I should have done right off the bat; I tried to put myself in Trish’s shoes. What would she be feeling in her heart as she stood in front of them for the very last time? That got me thinking to a wrenching loss I experienced when the Chamber Singers that I had conducted for a dozen years were abruptly given over to someone else during what amounted to a reorganization of the department. It was heartbreaking for me- and one of the things I did to try and come to terms with my sense of loss was to compose a song and sing it for them during our last rehearsal of the year. I cried- some of them cried- and it was one more way to say goodbye and thank you. I never wrote the song down- but I have a shaky homemade video of it that I take out once in a great while if I feel like reliving that powerful if painful moment in my professional life.
Most of the song I do not remember- but I remember its title …. Never Shall I Forget” …. as well as its general gist. I decided to take that and make it the kernel of a brand new text, in which I would celebrate many facets of the choral experience – and from both the perspective of the singers as well as their director.
- Never will I forget the depth of your kindness. Never will I forget how deeply you cared.
When I was lost and lonely, sad and forsaken, never will I forget how you were always there.
2.Never will I forget the joy of your laughter. Never will I forget the warmth of your smile.
You were the kind of friend who parted the shadows. Never will I forget, across the years and miles.
bridge: Never will I forget the sound of your singing. Never will I forget the music we shared.
Such beauty and wonder, sister to sister. Never will I forget the songs that filled the air.
3. Never will I forget how much we accomplished. Never will I forget the great things we’ve done.
So many different voices, but blending together. Never will I forget the joy – the JOY! – in being one.
Then I realized that the occasion of Trish’s retirement needed to be framed, so I crafted these words as an opening:
It is time to turn the page …. Time to write a brand new chapter ….
And time to be thankful for the love and laughter ….
All we are and all we bring … into whatever comes after.
The concert occurred at the end of April, and it was impossible for me to be there – but I was sent a video that at least gave me a taste of what it was like to be there. And it was a really powerful and moving experience for me to see these young women- all complete strangers, whom I have ever met and almost certainly never will meet- singing my piece and singing it so expressively. I hope the experience was helpful for them – and for their beloved director – as they stand poised on the brink of Whatever Comes After.
