Boston University invited alumni to join in a 500-person amateur chorus backing a practice session with the BU Chorus and Symphony Orchestra under the direction of visiting luminary Robert Shaw. Shaw was a magnificent, exacting conductor who certainly stood at the pinnacle of top choral composers and conductors in the world. Watching him rehearse such a large group was mesmerizing; acting like I was participating in it as a member of the chorus was terrifying.
The key point here is that I can't sing. Details, details! However, my sister and I thought this would be an interesting afternoon's education and entertainment, so we took our mother with us. We didn't tell her that we'd be expected to sing. The first clue should have been an usher questioning us as to whether we wanted to sit in the soprano section. I said yes, of course, knowing that my mother missed that exchange. The next clue might have been another usher handing us a libretto for the Brahm's German Requiem. Yet it wasn't until we all started singing - or lip-synching in my case, so as not to destroy the performance - that my mother understood we were far more than just idle spectators. The look of shock and humorous dismay on her face when, at one point, Shaw turned toward our section and, well, yelled at us - constructively of course - was worth the price of admission.
It reminds me of a story the late George Plimpton told a small group of us at BU years ago. He had convinced Leonard Bernstein to let him "play" triangle in a piece to be performed throughout a Canadian tour of the New York Philharmonic. One night in Vancouver, however, it seems he missed his sole triangle moment. He told us that, at intermission, Bernstein excoriated him in a manner that was worse than anything he ever experienced with the Detroit Lions, Boston Bruins, in the ring with Sugar Ray Robinson or on the tennis court with Pancho Gonzalez.
The key point here is that I can't sing. Details, details! However, my sister and I thought this would be an interesting afternoon's education and entertainment, so we took our mother with us. We didn't tell her that we'd be expected to sing. The first clue should have been an usher questioning us as to whether we wanted to sit in the soprano section. I said yes, of course, knowing that my mother missed that exchange. The next clue might have been another usher handing us a libretto for the Brahm's German Requiem. Yet it wasn't until we all started singing - or lip-synching in my case, so as not to destroy the performance - that my mother understood we were far more than just idle spectators. The look of shock and humorous dismay on her face when, at one point, Shaw turned toward our section and, well, yelled at us - constructively of course - was worth the price of admission.
It reminds me of a story the late George Plimpton told a small group of us at BU years ago. He had convinced Leonard Bernstein to let him "play" triangle in a piece to be performed throughout a Canadian tour of the New York Philharmonic. One night in Vancouver, however, it seems he missed his sole triangle moment. He told us that, at intermission, Bernstein excoriated him in a manner that was worse than anything he ever experienced with the Detroit Lions, Boston Bruins, in the ring with Sugar Ray Robinson or on the tennis court with Pancho Gonzalez.