From Brahms to Brahms: Look How Far I’ve Come

These last few weeks have been filled with details.  It’s been hard to think much beyond the things I need to accomplish in the next hour.  I have had no clue what day of the week it has been since spring break, and because of insanely busy weekends, I have had the bizarre experience of looking forward to Mondays.  This past Sunday, Pastor Ian reminded us in his sermon to take time to look at the bigger picture.  I needed that reminder, and here’s my response:

As I reflect on my entire Yale experience, I can’t help but notice how it started and ended with Brahms.  In 2009, as my year of Lutheran Volunteer Corps wrapped up, I auditioned for the choral conducting program at Yale.  I had no clue if it was really what I wanted to do, nor did I know how to prepare.  But for some reason, I felt drawn to grad school, so in March 2009, I took a train up to New Haven for audition day.  It was one of the most stressful days of my life.  In addition to 8am dictation and 9:30pm conducting the best choir at Yale (yes, this is back when Schola sang for auditions), I also had a 4pm interview with Maggie and Jeff.  They asked me to do rhythmic, tonal, and atonal sight-singing, play a 4-part Bach chorale in open score (different clefs) at the piano, conduct a movement of Carmina Burana, and do score identification.  I had never really had to do score IDs before and found myself really faking my way through this part of the audition process.  They showed me a piece of music and asked me what it was or what I could tell them about it.  I said, “Well, it’s in German…” “Yesss…” they replied.  ”It appears to be a Requiem text…” “Good…so?!?!  What is it??”  ”No clue.”  Now, for any musicians out there, you’ll know how embarrassing this moment was.  It was Brahms’ Requiem – THE German Requiem, and one of the most famous pieces of choral repertoire.  But the sad thing is that I didn’t even know I should be embarrassed at the time.  When I called my parents to tell them about the audition, they scolded me: “What?!  You didn’t get the Brahms Requiem?!”  I was wait-listed for the program and never got an offer.  I thought long and hard about this and decided (with great encouragement from Maggie) to reapply a couple years later.  She suggested that, in the meantime, I find a music partner who can help brush me up on things I had learned in college but which were long forgotten.  (This was the start of Tom Paradise moving to DC – another chapter of my life.)  Ironically, between that Yale audition and my next one, I had the opportunity to sing the Brahms Requiem.  What a piece.

So even though I’ve been in this program since the fall of 2011, I have truly been working for it since 2009.  I set my sights on this goal and didn’t let go, and when I found out I was accepted in 2011, I prayed my new teachers had forgotten about the Brahms incident.  Now, in the final semester of my masters degree, I took a class on Brahms.  It only seemed appropriate to come full circle.  It just so happened to be one of the best classes I’ve ever taken, but boy did it work me to the end.  Yesterday was my Brahms final exam – my FINAL final.  Afterwards, I lied in the grass of cross campus and smiled.  I still have so much to learn, but for now, I get to be thankful that I’ve learned so much.  

Graduation is May 20.  This degree has perhaps not been the most important accomplishment of my life, but it has certainly been the biggest one.  Thank you to so many people for supporting me throughout these last two years.  I’m looking forward to reclaiming all of the parts of myself that have been set aside in order to focus on choral conducting alone.  One of those parts is writing!  More blog entries to come.

March Madness

February was one of the toughest months of my life to date.  It seems silly in retrospect to write about how upsetting it was to have my recital postponed, but it truly was hard.  I had put so much work into a weekend that didn’t happen.  Huge amounts of time, wasted.  And I’m not just being overdramatic!  If you think about it, I spent hours putting together logistics that were, in the end, never used.  So when I received the phone call from my teacher on Feb 9 confirming that we would, indeed, have to postpone my recital, I must admit that tears streamed down my face.  There was no use in trying to hide it.  I felt overwhelmed with the disappointment that my family spent money and time to come to a recital that wouldn’t happen; that they wouldn’t be able to come back for the real one; that the day I had been envisioning for a year would not happen as I had spent so much time planning; that the immense amounts of stress I had been feeling for the last few weeks would be prolonged and multiplied.  Through the darkness I was feeling, I sought a little bit of light.

Impromptu performance with half my choir at my reception

We held the reception we had planned, even though the recital was cancelled.  It was a beautiful time, and around 50 friends trudged through 3 feet of snow to support me.  I have never felt so lifted up!  We ate, drank, and danced for hours, and when that was over, we went sledding.  I was incredibly thankful to share a bit of my grad school life with my family that evening.  They know all about me as a musician – hell, they formed that part of me! – but meeting my friends and colleagues in this program was a real gift.  Still, when I returned home that night, as the 90s music stopped and the warmth returned to my snow-numbed skin, I was filled with deep sadness.  Reality struck, and I knew the next few weeks would be difficult.

The next day, people kept asking when my recital was rescheduled for.  Ha!  That was the real nightmare.  When would the 40 musicians participating in my recital all be free to reschedule?  I went to work sending emails and doing the logistical stuff all over again.

My teacher suggested that I may have to split the program into two different concerts to accomodate singers and players, but I was determined to find a date where we could do the program as a whole, as it was intended to be.  Magically, we found a date – March 3.  I had to replace 3 instrumentalists, and I lost 2 singers, but all in all, it worked out.  In the end, I felt like I had planned two recitals.

Finally, the big day arrived.  The weather was beautiful, and my brother was able to come up from Bridgeport and represent my family.  It felt like what I imagine a wedding day would feel like (though if it’s equally as stressful, I’m good to not get married for aWHILE).

My housemate, Anna, assisted me all day – keeping me calm, going on a run with me, cooking for me, doing my hair, helping me get dressed, etc.  (I later wrote her a thank you card for being the maid of honor for my recital…seriously.)I thought I was going to have a heart attack most of the day, but when 3pm rolled around and I carefully stepped onto the podium (why did I wear such tall heels, Caleb?!), all fears subsided and I had a blast.  It was a fun hour of great music-making.  My singers and instrumentalists wowed me, and I simply got to stand in front of them and dance to the music they were making.  I’m a lucky girl.

Speaking of being lucky, my recital day launched a whole string of fabulous opportunities this month.  The week following my recital, I traveled back and forth to NYC to rehearse and perform with the NY Philharmonic and Bach Collegium Japan under Maestro Masaaki Suzuki. Then it was Spring Break, of which I spent the first week at home, sick in my bed. Sounds awful, and I suppose it was, but I was again supported by loving friends (and teachers…Ms. Panetti brought me tilapia, yams, and broccoli!), and got a lot of much needed rest.  The second week of Spring Break, I traveled to Quito, Ecuador (as I over-advertised on Facebook…sorry…but I was really excited!).  I was asked to sing a couple gigs in Quito with a small group of 8 singers and 5 instrumentalists.  The director had no idea I had spent the previous summer in Quito and was itching to get back!  It was such a blessing to revisit my host family and teacher, and to show so many friends around a city I love.

And now it’s back to school for the race to the finish line!  While there are many things I am going to miss about this experience, I must say that I cannot wait to reclaim parts of myself I feel that I have lost in the last two years.  I can’t wait to write more (blog/journal), create more art, cook more, exercise more, and spend more time catching up with friends.  I feel confident that these things will happen, mostly because they must.

There’s still a string of chores and blessings that lie between me and the finish line, including a group project on Ives’ Psalm 90, lots of studying Brahms, a 15-page paper on a topic I have yet to pick, a conducting masterclass in Switzerland, and a choir tour in Singapore and Japan.  Oh yeah, and finding a job.  Gotta remember that one.

I feel thankful for so many friends that make efforts to keep up with me even while I’m struggling to keep up with myself.  Sorry to be such an infrequent writer as of late, though rest assured…there are many thoughts I am longing to write!  Blessings to all as we enter Holy Week.  May it be a time of deep reflection in preparation for great joy!

Process vs. Product

The summer before I came to Yale, I lived in the Twin Cities and worked part time as an art teacher at an awesome non-profit called Articulture.  There, I learned one of the most valuable lessons yet – one that I think I already knew but had never really articulated.  Here’s a snippet from an old blog post to help explain:

The cool thing about Articulture is their philosophy that the process is more important than the outcome.  So many art classes give the kids paint-by-number types of projects so that the result is something aesthetically pleasing.  Parents expect their kids to come home with a beautiful work of art.  We feel differently.  It’s about giving the kids a blank piece of paper and letting them create what they want.  And if, instead of drawing a cute puppy, they fold and tear the paper into a million pieces, well then…that’s their process!  For adults who are goal-oriented and product-centric, it’s a challenge to let go of expectation for kids who are learning.  But kids babble to learn to talk, and crawl to walk… it’s okay to let them experiment with art too.  Articulture exists to create creative thinkers, not necessarily artists. 

I had no idea at that time how applicable this concept would be to my life as a graduate student studying music at Yale.  This is a place where product is highly valued, and as a result, I remind myself time and again that the real learning is in the process.

For the past year, I’ve been in the process of putting together my masters recital – an hour of me conducting singers/instrumentalists, required to obtain my degree.  There are many different ways to approach a requirement such as this.  It was tempting to pick favorite pieces and hack my way through necessary rehearsals simply to fulfill the task.  Yet as I allowed myself to engage the process of choosing music, I really started to fall in love.  I started realizing that yes, I could pick favorite pieces, but I could also choose music in a more intentional way that, when put together, could create a meaningful experience for those who listen.  

Very early in my process of choosing music for this recital, I decided I did not want everything I chose to be composed by white men.  For a variety of reasons, I was interested in some amount of diversity – of the possibility of bringing to life music (or composers) that are perhaps not often heard.  I was not, however, prepared for the ways in which this decision would complicate the process. I learned quickly that music composed by women and people of color is not as readily accessible.  That is not to say that this music doesn’t exist, but rather is not often included in catalogs of choral music, online recording databases, and other frequently used sources.  I became very thankful for one book in particular – “A Catalog of Music Written in Honor of Martin Luther King, Jr.”, by Anthony McDonald.  This book, unlike any others I was able to find, introduced me to a multitude of composers and works I most likely would never have encountered, including James Newton’s The King’s Way, one of the pieces I ended up choosing for my recital.

After many months of toiling over repertoire, I finally settled into a program – one which by no means is a perfect end to the challenge I gave myself, but I did learn many things along the way.  I learned that in addition to paying attention to the diversity of music we choose in putting together programs – is it a good mix of time periods? tempos? tonality? – we have the opportunity to pay attention to the diversity of composers we are representing.  All kinds of people are writing music; whose voices often go unheard and why?  

But the process doesn’t stop there.  Once you choose repertoire, you have the opportunity to teach it to your musicians!  And when I say “teach it”, I don’t simply mean teach the notes.  You get to display your passion for the music, why it’s important to you, and hope that others fall in love just as you have.  The last two months, while stressful, have been a blast in this regard.  Few people knew the music for my recital, and each week, people have said more and more how much they have grown to like certain things.

The product – my recital – was to have been this evening at 7pm, but alas, 3 feet of snow stand in the way.  It will happen at another time (because it MUST happen for me to graduate!), but today, we celebrate the process.  I’m thankful to have family in town who have coached me through the last year, encouraging my musical exploration.  They have witnessed so much of the wrestling and the discoveries, and although they will miss the finished product (which has yet to be rescheduled), a party is in order!  So, though my recital today is canceled, my reception is not.  Come to the Great Hall today at 4pm to celebrate the process of finding joy in music…something this place does not always take the time to do.  Thanks to the third snowpocalypse I’ve experienced for continuing to slow my life down and remind me that as much as I want to be, I am not in control of everything!

me and my car!

My First Prison Experience

As I mentioned in a previous post, one of my projects this year is a collaborative one; I’ve partnered with a divinity school student to learn about prison choirs and do some reflecting on the power of choral music, especially within the context of a church congregation (and considering what would happen if church music moved beyond the walls of the church).  We arrived at this topic because of my experiences with music and homelessness, and my partner Marilyn’s passion around racial justice and incarceration.  So together, we’ve been reading, interviewing, watching, and most recently, visiting prison choirs.

To put you in the mindset I was in the evening before my first prison experience, I must share with you the dress code I was required to follow: no excessively baggy or tight clothing, nothing spandex, no scrubs, no camouflage, no double layering on the bottom half of the person, no bobby pins, barrettes, or ribbons, no jackets, coats, vests, or outerwear of any type, no blue or black jeans, no jewelry, no dresses or skirts above the knee, no tank tops, no sweatshirts, sweatpants, wind pants or exercise clothing, no hats, nothing ripped, torn, or missing buttons.  Now, I’ve only shared about half the list, but it’s enough to give you a headache.  I’ve never spent so long picking out an outfit and then second-guessing my choices right up until the moment I was allowed into the prison.  Though to be clear, that wasn’t a very distinct moment either.  We were almost let in, but then kicked out. “You have to remove your nose ring.  And your cartilage ring too.”  Then almost let in, but kicked out.  ”No scarves!”  Then almost let in, but kicked out.  ”Who told you you could bring these photos in?”  The process was beyond frustrating.  I had been holding so much fear around meeting the prisoners, but in that moment, I knew the staff was the real test.

Once we finally entered the classroom, all anxieties dissipated in relief.  The men were so happy to welcome us, and joked, saying, “I hear you guys had a tough time getting in?  Commit a crime and they’ll let you in with no problem!”  The kind of joke that makes you bear your teeth and stretch your collar in discomfort, but the fact is, it’s true!  Prisoners have an easy time getting in and a hard time getting out, while volunteers face the exact opposite scenario.  The men we sang with that day were an unexpected blessing.  They are all a part of Boston University’s Prison Teaching Program, which enables prisoners to receive a college education while in prison.  This music class was just one of many classes they can take.  The three hour class passed too quickly, as have the weeks since that day.  I’ve been able to do a bit of reflecting on my experience, and I’d like to share a short piece I wrote on it with you now.  Nothing poetic (yet!), but perhaps a little more put together than my Thanksgiving break mind could handle right now!  Enjoy:

Last Tuesday, I visited a prison for the first time.  I spent time reflecting beforehand on how I was feeling.  The unsettling mixture of fear, nerves, and hopefulness were all confirmed in the thirty minutes it took to get through “the trap” and enter into the classroom.  The process of stripping down – removing all accessories, letting go of all belongings, following orders, and being escorted around – really got me thinking for the first time about the life of a prisoner.  All this to be contrasted so immediately as I stepped into the music class – a gathering of about thirty men, circled up, eager to learn.  Suddenly, in the face of fear, we were singing “Lift up your voice, be not afraid”; in the face of hopelessness, we were singing “Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King”; in a setting infused with loneliness and distrust, we were holding hands, making eye contact with one another, and uniting our many voices as one.  Music carries this power.  When we sing together, we are creating a counterculture – a radical experience of life and love and community that is too often dismissed in today’s society.  This is true of all choirs, but especially in the setting of a prison.  Within a lifestyle where freedom no longer exists, the men of this prison experience an oasis in music class where they are freed to express themselves, to create music, to write their own lyrics, to gain a sense of leadership, and to discover how their individuality does contribute to a community.  As André explained at the end of class, all of this is experienced through a focus on the process rather than the product.  The men were encouraged to “make a beautiful sound” by Jamie, not because they need to please a future audience but simply because they can.  There is such rich potential for music to be used in the bringing together of communities, especially communities that may not have regular access to musical opportunities.  At the end of my visit, each member of the class thanked me for coming, and many thanked me especially for my bravery.  I was so moved to feel such a joy in singing and an eagerness to welcome others into the family they’ve formed.  The fear and nerves I felt in entering the prison transformed into hopefulness as I walked out, leaving a piece of myself with the choir, and taking their message with me.

One Step at a Time

I’d been thinking about writing some sort of back-to-school blog post, but I guess it’s already almost November.  Boy am I behind!  And not just in blogging.  It always feels like I’m treading water furiously and barely keeping my head up (which is a pretty accurate description of how bad I actually am at treading water).  When I feel stressed in this way, I often get an old song stuck in my head.  It’s from a church musical I was in as a child with Psalty, the singing Songbook (or Psalm book).  The musical was about a camping trip, and we sang, “One step at a time, one step at a time with Jesus by my side. I’m climbing this mountaintop one step at a time!”  (Incidentally, this is the same song I sing to myself while I’m hiking.)

To really give you the full experience, I’ve included a short video from the musical – my first solo (at 5 years of age!).  The words to this song are also a good reminder.  In fact, it’s a song I can never actually forget, partially because my housemates think this video is hilarious and sing it to me often.  Their favorite part is my dad’s bizarre Psalty voice followed by his rich tenor tone when he starts singing – yes, he’s the dude in the blue cardboard box.  Other things to notice: 1) my mom playing keyboard, 2) my breath support has always been bad, 3) my 3-yr-old best friend must have seriously thought I was lost because she hugs me bigtime once I’ve been found!, and 4) my dad saying Ahh–ayyymen!  Enjoy:

In all seriousness though, I have been taking this semester one step at a time.  Both figuratively, and literally!  Not only have I tried to limit my stress to whatever a particular day deserves (rather than freaking out about the entire year), I also have been running one mile each day.  This has been a roommate bonding experience.  Anna and I decided that for the month of October, we’d each run at least one mile a day, allowing ourselves one day off a week.  It has been totally doable (just 10 minutes of each day required), and I’m feeling great!

In other news, school is wonderful.  This semester, in addition to singing in a million choirs, I’m taking voice lessons, violin lessons, and saxophone lessons, am a teaching assistant for my favorite teacher (Ms. Panetti and “Hearing” class), and I’m taking a class called “Intro to Analysis of NonTonal Music” (which I would like to rename “Music and Math”).  The semester is not easy by any means, but I feel much more grounded than last year.  Instead of putting my energy into figuring out what I’m supposed to be doing in this program and worrying about what people think of me, I’m actually putting it into music.  Ahhh, so refreshing!  Two years here is not long enough.

Other exciting topics that I dream about blogging include my current project on prison choirs (I’ll be teaching in a prison this coming Tuesday!), and all that I’m learning in researching my recital music.  Which, by the way, I should invite you to!  If you’d like to make a trip to New Haven, consider coming on February 10 for my 7pm recital.  There’s a lot to be done between now and then, but I’m just gonna keep on taking it one step at a time.  Thanks, Psalty.  I never imagined that your Camping Adventure would teach me life lessons.

Celebrating Life

After a summer of international traveling, I had a couple more trips I needed to make. These trips were about celebrating life, though not all aspects of this was easy.

First, a bonding trip with my housemates.  Not much has changed with us except that we’ve welcomed Caleb into our house for this year and we’ve changed houses.  Otherwise, we’re all in the same programs we’ve been in for a year now and enjoying each other’s company as much as always!

Two days after Caleb and I returned from Sweden, Joel, John, and Anna left for the White Mountains in New Hampshire.  Caleb and I were exhausted and needed a couple of days to rest before meeting the other three halfway up Mount Washington.  We hiked in with packs, only 2.5 miles, but straight uphill, taking about 2 hours (note that I am also a HORRIBLE hiker…always have been).

John, Joel, and Anna’s view during most of their hike..

Lots of sweat later, we met our housemates on the trail with huge hugs and lots of stories. They had hiked all over The Presidentials and had quite a rigorous experience with lots of rain.  (Caleb and I made out pretty easy…we brought the sun with us!)  We enjoyed a night of beans and rice and stargazing before heading back down the mountain the next day.

Our next mission was a visit to Burlington, VT – a trip we had been planning for almost a year.  It was Joel’s birthday, so we filled it full with breweries and good food.  No one ever told me how awesome and hipster Burlington is!  It was quite a surprise to us all, and we promised to come back as soon as possible.  The end of our two days in Burlington involved a trip to the Magic Hat Brewery and a dip in Lake Champlain.  Both were fun, though Magic Hat was a bit of a disappointment, honestly.  Too commercial and too strict about their tastings!  Still, nothing will keep me from enjoying #9 and the bottlecap snips.  “Here’s a toast to a ghost.”

This short trip was a joy and quite a way to celebrate our house and look forward to a new year.  Only one thing could boost me up yet another notch: a trip to DC.

me n summer amanda

I needed to visit DC because there were lives to celebrate there as well.  My good friend Summer Amanda lost her sister unexpectedly this past winter, and a few months later, her brother-in-law died in a motorcycle accident.  They had four children who are now orphaned and being cared for by other members of the family.  It was important to me to take time to visit with Summer Amanda.  Another DC-area family that is a second family to me – the Horne Family – lost their oldest son this July in a climbing accident in Peru.

me n math

me n liz

my friend kristy

I’ve worked with the other three kids – Liz, Math, and Eric – at camp for many summers and have served on the Mar-Lu-Ridge Board of Directors with Papa Horne.  Ben was the oldest, most elusive of the Horne Family.  I adore that family so much that for quite awhile, Liz and I joked that I should marry Ben so I could officially become part of the family.  I only spent time with him once, in some sort of intense philosophical conversation.  His death was national news, an unanticipated tragedy that has called forth the sharing of his life as a beautiful reaction.  I was fortunate to spend this past Saturday with members of the Horne family, hammering open crabs in a true Chesapeake Bay style and reminiscing about Ben’s life.  The Horne family is a classic Mar-Lu-Ridge family, just like the Schlueters.  I’ve worked at camp with my friend Kristy for many summers – a job destined for her as her parents met at MLR.  Shortly after my dad made it through his bout with cancer about a year and half ago, Kristy’s mom was diagnosed with Leukemia.  I felt so close to her situation, as it was similar to my dad’s, and I followed her CaringBridge site closely to read about her first bone marrow transplant, which didn’t take, and then her second.  It was heartbreaking to read her entry the day the doctors sent her home and said there was nothing else they could do.  And finally, this past Thursday, Jay Schlueter lost her life.  And so, I was called to DC by powers other than my own to celebrate the lives of Summer Amanda’s family, Ben Horne, and Jay Schlueter.  This was a lot for such a little girl to handle, I will willingly admit that, but death is no stranger in my past, and with God’s strength, I feel able to crawl my way through these tragedies once again.  And while they are full of sadness, they are also about celebrating incredible lives, and so I am thankful.

DC did not greet me only with sadness, but also with joy.  While I was there to mourn losses, I was also there to celebrate the engagement of my friend Nick Krafft, the recent marriage of my friends Daniel and Laurel, the baptism of my friend Greg’s son, and the marriage of Pastor Karen, my former supervisor at Luther Place Church.

Today, I am especially thankful.  Two years ago, my dad received a stem cell transplant in an attempt to cure his incurable cancer – multiple myeloma.  And today, I received a text message from him that shared that his doctors are finally using the phrase “long term remission” to describe his situation.  What an opportunity to celebrate!

And so I think that now, finally, I am ready to head back to school.  I have been reminded this summer that life is much bigger than me or Yale.  And I remember God’s promise, that while weeping may last through the night, joy comes in the morning.

My dad always praises my seldom-written poetry.  So in celebration of his life today, and in celebration of the marriage of Pastor Karen and Ed, I end this post by sharing my most recent poem:

Blessed Be
a poem in thanksgiving for the marriage of PK & Ed

One creative soul for another
hands dug deep
planting
restoring
giving life
life given for us
life and love and now we receive
hands open
bread which we grasp
dirt beneath fingernails
our hunger being filled
by one who led us to each other
stomach fuller
heart fuller
lives fuller
ready to work
to dig deeper
and now together
held up by a community of witnesses.

God says
You did not choose me
but I chose you.
Blessed be this union
that blesses us
chosen by God
sprouting from the earth
reaching for the sun
displaying beauty
strength
grace.
Blessed be this union
that blesses us.