Today was the day. Guinea Pig choir. I took the train to my bus stop and after a long wait I was at home in a seat next to the window and on my way to the campus.
I got there early to eat and work a little on my pieces. The Lauridsen was what I was focusing on, although we won't be cracking into that one until Wednesday. As I worked my way through the work I was reminded of how Morten Lauridsen was our artist-in-residence two years ago and of how I wished I didn't have to drop that semester so I could have participated. I began to wonder, what is the purpose of an artist-in-residence? Is it to inspire us, teach up about the business and technicalities of music, or to just tell us about their lives so that we may sit back in wonder and awe? Or all of those things? I remembered how last year our artist-in-residence was a now 24-year-old violin prodigy. Before the age of 19 when he joined the LA Philharmonic he got a Masters in music from Yale, an undergraduate degree in pre-med biology, and had attended Julliard and the Manhattan School of Music.
All you could do was be amazed, and I say that to point out the limitations of the experience. He was great, yes, and special, but there's no way I could call him a role model. Role models for me are people I can relate to in a way. People who have achieved great things that make me think to myself, "Wow...if they can do that, I can, too." With singers my role models tend to be people who got into music later in life than the average music student and managed to have a successful career. They didn't have music surrounding them all the time in childhood, didn't participate as much in it, and then found their passion for it in an arbitrary way and made it happen. Role models for me also tend to be people who, combined with the aforementioned qualities, give back to their communities by providing education and music opportunities for children. As I worked on my pieces before choir today I pondered the two people who came to mind as possible role models: the bass Keith Miller (what an interesting background he has) and the LA native mezzo-soprano Suzanna Guzman. Suzanna's efforts to make opera accessible to children in LA have been particularly inspiring to me although I've never been able to see her perform live.
At 5:00 PM rehearsal began. We were given eight new pieces and two hours to get a basic feel for all of them. I flexed my sight-reading skills and was happy with myself. Not flawless, but I'm getting better. That's one reason why I love Guinea Pig choir: we work on so many pieces quickly and by the end of a 15 minute period we make so much progress. There were pieces that were simpler and pieces that were challenging: I'd say the most pleasant read was Gwyneth Walker's "If Two Were Ever One," which is beautiful, and the hardest was "O vos omnes" János Vajda, which is interesting but goes up to a damn Bb. I thought I chose to be second soprano for a reason! Ah well. It was funny because for the first few pieces as a second soprano I was missing singing high notes and then BAM, this piece shows up to remind me of how much I am not ready to do that in a choral setting. All the pieces were fun, nonetheless, and I can't wait to do them as much justice as I can this summer.
But to conclude this entry, let me tell you about a funny little trick fate played on me while we were on break. We had finished running through the bulk of our pieces so I took a few sips of water and chatted idly with a few of my choirmates before heading to the restroom to wash my face. As I walked down the hall to do so guess who walked through the building entrance in front of me? Suzanna Guzman. I have no idea why she was on campus at all but there she was, tall and instantly recognizable. I had a moment. I was thinking about her no earlier than an hour and a half before and then there she was, entering the restroom with me. I smiled at her but mentioned nothing about my knowing who she was or how I appreciated her however distantly...curse my shyness because I wish I had. As she washed and dried her hands while I waited for my chance for a paper towel she asked me, "Are you rehearsing?"
"Yes!" I replied, keeping my cool.
"You're performing this week?" Perhaps she was confusing our group for something else but I didn't care.
"No, we have performances in August," I said, being ever kind and smiling.
"Well, have fun!" she said and then left.
It was one of those moments, indeed. Was this a sign? I don't know. But music brings experiences both big and small into my life.
