It will be great to be back at Choir next Thursday.  As we continue our rehearsals for this year’s performances of Messiah, memories return of previous performances in which I have sung .  I reckon I have performed the work around 20 times.  This may sound impressive, but it is nothing compared to Robyn Blainey’s tally.  She sang her 100th Messiah with the Choir in 2014, and has doubtlessly clocked up a few more since.

However, Messiah always takes me back to when I was 15, my voice had deepened sufficiently to sing Bass for the first time, and the school choir spent a whole year rehearsing Messiah for what was to be my first experience of a full performance.   Sectional rehearsals on Monday to Thursday lunchtimes were complemented by a full rehearsal each Friday.  The school music master was in charge.  At no more than five feet tall, Rev Frank R Rust may have been of slight physical stature, but he was a force to be reckoned with.  As this performance was to mark his 25 years teaching at the school, he was determined to do the work justice.

Rehearsals were hard work, with seemingly endless repetition of phrase after phrase until each was just right.  However, there was a lighter side too.  Ferd (for that was our somewhat irreverent nickname for the Reverend) would quite justifiably become exasperated with us from time to time.  At that point, the swing of his baton increased and the Altos had to duck to avoid potentially painful contact.  And I remember his expostulation once when instead of singing “blessing” we came in with a rather vague “…lessing”.  “Do you not realise”,  he almost shouted, “that ‘b’ is the most expressive consonant in the English language?  Think of all those rude words – no don’t think of them………”.  As he became more exasperated and flustered, not only did the baton wave more erratically, but his top front tooth and its plate dislodged itself.  Schoolboys are not known for their reserve.  We laughed.  Embarrassed but unbowed, Ferd laughed with us, won us over, and was soon back to drilling us hard.

Ferd was a wonderful teacher.  His insights and encouragement were seminal in creating my life-long passion for music.  So as we sing Messiah, you might hear at times a sotto voce “Thank you, Ferd” from the ranks of the Basses.

“Ting ting'” goes my phone in the pub in Winton, Qld, where we are waiting for our meals to arrive, recalling the travels of the day over a particularly mellow Sauvignon Blanc.  No, it is not an incoming message.  It is the diary reminding me that it is 7.15pm on Thursday:15 minutes to MW Choir practice.

This is the third rehearsal I have missed, and I will miss next week’s too.  And it is the one thing I really miss about being away.  Most other aspects of being at home can be passed by for a few weeks, but singing does not fall in that category.

But in compensation we have seen some wonderful features of the Australian landscape.  The broad vistas of the Flinders Ranges, the magnificence of the Big Red sand dune at the edge of the Simpson Desert, and the “jump up” hills of SW Queensland are some of the stand out items – standing out in part because of the huge distances between them.  And the huge distances are themselves impressive, mile upon mile of flat, arid landscape which is not lifeless but which somehow provides a habitat for a few mammals, birds and insects and even provides a living for a few hardy souls.

The one vaguely musical component of our travels was this afternoon when we found the newly opened Waltzing Matilda Centre the only place in town serving proper coffee.  I took the obligatory photo of the statue of AB Banjo Patterson and we saw many versions of the song in print, and that was it.  There was no-one singing the song and it did not seem appropriate to do so solo.  So we left.

I hope that tonight’s rehearsal for Messiah has gone well, and I look forward very much to re-joining everyone in a couple of weeks’ time.

Carolynn Everett writes this week about two contrasting Sundays in Canberra.

Last November during a visit to Canberra we attended a delightful Sunday afternoon concert at the High Court Building on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin. There is a regular program of such concerts, (which are free, but which must be booked online): you can find all the details at www.hcourt.gov.au

This monumental concrete and glass building, which was opened in 1980, has a very large foyer which is several stories high. Those hard surfaces make for a rather remarkable acoustic, and so singing there is a unique experience.

This concert was given by The Llewellyn Choir, which is based at the ANU School of Music. The choir has a similar number of singers to MWC, and grey hair pre-dominated! The dress code seemed to be ‘full black’ for everyone, including the optional (black) ties for the gentlemen.
Interestingly, their repertoire seems to be similar to ours: recent concerts have included Ariel Ramirez’s ‘Missa Criolla’, the Brahms ‘German Requiem’, and Karl Jenkin’s ’The Armed Man’.

Their Music Director, Rowan Harvey-Martin, is a highly qualified and very experienced young woman, who is also a violinist. Anthony Smith is the choir’s repetiteur: as well as being a remarkable pianist, he is also a musicologist, composer, and arranger. They are a formidable team!

The concert included Berlioz’s ‘Shepherd’s Farewell to the Holy Family’, (from ‘L’enfance du Christ’), songs from Argentinian composers Carlos Guavastino and Astor Piazzolla, and excerpts from Will Todd’s ‘Mass in Blue’, written in 2003. This was an excellent program, and the choir sang with great enthusiasm, while obviously enjoying themselves.

Earlier this year the choir were to travel to Spain, where they were to present concerts in Madrid, Salamanca, Cordoba and Barcelona. What an adventure!

And at the end of the concert, after much applause, the choir members were busily packing up, including clearing away several hundred chairs … all part of the joys of community choirs! Next time you are in Canberra … 

Footnote: And the second Sunday afternoon …? Back in the early 1990’s I visited Canberra with a Sydney choir which numbered around 30, and we had the privilege of presenting a concert in this magnificent building during the weekend.

This was not a formal concert – there was no seating for the audience, and so visitors came and went as they explored the building. There was no piano, so we provided our own keyboard. However, we thoroughly enjoyed singing there, and counted it a real privilege to have had the opportunity to perform in such a space, with its remarkable acoustic.

Marian Hambly joined the Choir a few years ago in the sopranos, joining her uncle, Graeme Richards, who has sung bass with us for many years.  Graeme of course had a long career as a singer and music teacher.  However, Marian’s artistic interests are somewhat different.

Marian’s career was as a clinical psychologist, but she has always has maintained an active interest in the visual arts.  During a career break whilst raising children, she took an arts degree, and ran a print-making studio.  On retiring from clinical psychology, she has researched and written a number of film screenplays.

Most recently, Marian took a post graduate degree in film-making at the Australian Film, Theatre and Radio School, during which she directed the production of a documentary about the Manly Pool, a feature of the beach by the Wharf from 1931 to 1974.  Many Choir members will have happy memories of the pool.  There will be a day dedicated to memories of the pool during this year’s Manly Arts Festival (click here for more details).  There is currently a move sponsored by some Northern Beaches councillors to have it restored.

Marian describes how the film came to be made, and its enthusiastic reception by both audiences and industry professionals, in this article.

To watch the film itself, click here.

Was it not wonderful to be singing Handel last night?   Preparing for and performing the concert on Sunday had also been wonderful, but we had been stretched beyond our comfort zone and had to focus and concentrate with extra power to sing music which was quite different from our usual fare.

So rehearsal last night felt like settling into the soothing comfort of a warm bath after a strenuous cycle ride or a session at the gym, or after a day in which loads of physical energy had been expended in the backyard.

We could relax.

Handel is the sort of music we are accustomed to.  The harmonies and rhythms are standard stuff.  We know how it is meant to sound.  It pretty much sings itself.  And those of us who have sung Messiah more times than we care to count felt particularly smug, singing sections from memory with only the occasional reference to the score.

We could indeed relax.

I do not remember Carlos actually taking his sweater off, but after a few minutes it seemed as though he might well have done so.  We had sung through all the choruses in Part 1 and were looking forward to Parts 2 and 3 when he returned to the first chorus.

The sense of relaxation evaporated.

This music may be familiar to many of us, but it is not straightforward.  Carlos had us work hard on just two choruses for the remainder of the rehearsal.

There are runs with repeated patters which have to be sung very precisely.  There are entries which depend on successive voices pitching and starting exactly on the note.  There are notes at the ends of phrases which have to be held for exactly the right length.  There are consonants which have to be enunciated by everyone at exactly the same moment.  And much more besides.

Not to mention, of course, the spirit and meaning of the music which Carlos never lets us forget, even on our first run-through.

It was indeed pleasant to relax briefly into the sort of music we know and love.  But it will be even more satisfying to join learn how best to communicate this sublime music and its underlying meaning to our audiences in December.

It will not be a particularly easy journey, but it will be immensely satisfying, and, with Carlos in the driving seat, it will be great fun.