The pleasure I remember deriving—and still derive—from performing my greatest individual musical triumphs—singing “Once In A Lifetime” at high school commencement, earning the Valjean understudy role in FUSE’s semi-pro staging of LES MIS, delivering “She Loves Me” at my FUSE cabaret debut, rendering the national anthem at Medlar Field—does not compare to that which I remember deriving from any time I have managed to inhabit vocal harmony, feeling the buzz of the air between me and other singers, triumphant performance or no: the Boyz II Men arrangement of “Yesterday” at high school senior reflections night at Daylesford Abbey, the fifteen minutes of abortive choir rehearsal of “An Irish Blessing” in the lobby of Teen Mania Ministries, “Helplessly Hoping” with Matt and Ben as part of Puddintown Roots, “Something’s Coming” with Madeline, James, and Clara at a later FUSE cabaret, even the two-part improvisations Carla and I frequently used to entertain ourselves with while commuting or traveling as twentysomethings.
What’s more, I hardly remember the embarrassment or chagrin accompanying disappointments and failures in solo performance—ranking twenty-third out of twenty-four baritones at States, melting down and dropping out of Voice 100J, forgetting the lyrics of a simple Vineyard song at Mommom’s funeral, not earning the Valjean role in FUSE’s semi-pro staging of LES MIS. Instead, the disappointments that still stick are the ones that resulted in me missing an opportunity to feel vocal harmony: failing to make Penn State’s Concert Choir and learning that standing at the back of the tenor section of State College Choral Society relegates me to hearing only other tenors.
The above observations make one thing clear to me: I want to be in a vocal group that lets me live inside the buzz of the buzz of tight vocal harmonies. The trick will be to find one whose membership could put up with my relative lack of sight-reading chops. Bonus if we could be genre hoppers; I don’t think I’d like doing only barbershop, only classical, or only pop as much as I’d like doing it all.