Sing it loud, Sing it proud!

 

A confession

My name is Mike and I am a baritone.

Lest you think you’ve wandered into a 12-step meeting for recovering shower singers, let me explain.

Baritones are the Mookie Wilson of the music world. (New York Mets fans will get this.) None of the glamour or recognition of the swooping aria sopranos like Maria Callas. No wall-vibrating bass a la James Earl Jones. (“Luke, I am your father!!!”) No sky-scraping tenor ring-outs like Luciano Pavarotti. (End the note, Lucky, you’ll hurt yourself!)

Just a pleasant, mid lower range, sing-the well-marked-harmony parts-baritone. Even altos exude more glamour.

I have always sung. Loudly. In my car to the radio or mp3 player. On the stage in community theater musicals. In inappropriate settings like the soup aisle of the supermarket. And, (sigh) yes, in the shower. Soap on a rope can be easily adapted into a fantasy microphone. And you should see me dance a dripping Nae Nae.

My earliest memories are as an eight-year-old warbler. I think I caught the bug after winning a $25 savings bond at the Bandon, Oregon Cranberry Festival talent show with my unforgettable rendition of “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.” 

Of course, my roly-poly build provided an vivid visual aid that really sold the lyrics. Later in my career (as a nine- and ten-year old), I sang folk music with my teenaged sister and her friend. In those days I was a soprano, of course. I had to retire when the two of them cruelly insinuated I was “screeching.” That prolonged high E above high F is a bear to maintain.  

 

These days I croon with the Clark College community choir. Not to be confused with the Clark College concert choir which involves people who can actually carry a tune. A mix of students, older people and homeless folks who wandered in off the street, we’re working on holiday tunes with lovely harmonies and uplifting lyrics. My personal favorites are Bach Cantata 61 (far superior to Bach Cantatas 59 and 60), Music in The Night (which we perform with our eyes squeezed tightly shut) and the song that was number one on the Vatican radio station for 17 straight weeks, Verbum Caro Factum Est. Which loosely translated means “God will get you for that.”

 All kidding aside, I’m really enjoying reaching for those magic chords with my other choir members. When we hit the perfect harmony, little bitty fun bumps break out all over my body. It’s a transcendent moment. I have no idea what that means but it’s my word-of-the-day challenge so I had to work it in.

 We had a perfect choir moment at our last rehearsal. One older gentleman stood up and asked us for a favor. “My grandson is turning nine today. If I get him on the phone,” he said, waving his cell around, “could we all sing happy birthday to him?” Who’s going to turn down a request like that? You risk inclusion in the hard-hearted hall of fame if  you do. He punched in the numbers and got his daughter to put grandkid on the line.

 “Jason.” (Disclosure: not his real name. You never know when there’s a lawyer lurking.) “I’m here with some friends and they want to wish you a happy birthday.” After setting the phone down he gave us the high sign and we launched a slightly quavery version of that well-loved American classic. I’m pretty sure several of us struggled to remember the lyrics. When we finished, proud grandfather picked up the phone.

 “So, what did you think?” he asked Jason. (Still not his real name.) “Wasn’t that special?” He listened for a moment, nodded his head, and then ended the call. Very honestly, he looked a little glum.

 “So what did Jason (Still . . . oh, never mind) think?” One of the sopranos asked the grumpy gramps.

 “He said I interrupted his game of prancing pteradacyls on his cell phone.”

 “Nonsense!” exclaimed one of the altos. “It was a moment he’ll remember forever.”

 “Yeah,” mumbled the official choir curmudgeon. “If the therapy proves to be unsuccessful.” Everyone cast stink eyes at me.  

 All in all, my experience with the choir has been rewarding. Under the direction of Doctor Funk (I’m not making this up. His name is Jacob Funk), we’re preparing for two performances in early December. He’s knowledgeable, inspirational and highly supportive. He even reassured me that my reach for the higher notes in the baritone range were not bordering on falsetto. Even though I sometimes feel like I’m on the verge of launching into the intro to The Lion Sleeps Tonight.

 With any luck we’ll negotiate the Verbum, the Bach (to pronounce correctly pretend you’re a cat trying to expel an especially pernicious furball) and the other wonderful music we’ve been practicing. I’m hoping for a full house, perfect harmony, and no life-threatening injuries.