Singing the Defiant Requiem

Our first rehearsal with the maestro for the Verdi “Requiem” was at Daemen college, where we usually rehearse on Monday evenings. But it was Wednesday, and the room we usually rehearse in was not available. So they jammed us into a lecture room with a small stage and an out of tune piano (as Sidlin noticed, and thanked us for providing such an authentic reproduction of the piano used at Terezin), and stadium seating with bolted down seats that had the swing up desk to write on.

Very uncomfortable for us, and acoustically not very nice either. I felt a bit embarrassed by the conditions under which he’d have to rehearse us. But there was nothing else to be done, I am sure. Patrick warmed us up, as we have no permanent director and Thomas Sheets was gone, the conductor who’d been our interim for this concert and the John Adam’s “Harmonium” concert in April. We were also missing our beloved and incomparable accompanist, Betty Alice, due to persistent pain in her wrists.

Just before 7:30, Maestro Sidlin arrived. He was led up on to the small stage area where he proceeded to place his thick and substantial red bound score for the Verdi “Requiem” on a pathetic regular size black music stand. The stand immediately flipped and the beautiful score fell off the stage and to the floor, scattering his papers with it. A chorus member rushed to collect it and hand it to him. Sidlin joked about having to “schlepp” the score he paid a large amount of money for, and so he was going to use it (laughter from the chorus–despite the somber subject matter at hand, he was amusing). He appeared unfazed still. Someone else offered her stand and that one seemed to hold it without flipping.

He spoke a bit, here and there, about the story behind the concert we were about to take part in. I feel strange even calling it a concert now. It almost seems too light a term, for the experience. I wouldn’t call it a memorial either. I’m not sure. Tribute? No. I digress. These ruminations for another post.

Back to rehearsal. Time passed quickly. I felt in the moment. Watching him intently, so that I would not be the one to miss an entrance or sing a wrong note, drag or rush. There were moments when he seemed impatient, but always respectful. The one time he chastised someone in the back (a soprano? who knows) about laughing, I felt he was completely within his right to do so. This was not something to be taken lightly. Not this music for this purpose.

He talked about what the music demanded. What Verdi wanted in different places. He mentioned these things often. He was able to bring our attention to very specific lines, in particular, a section where dissonance in the orchestra contradicted the dulcet line we were singing. It evoked pain.

And pain is what we were singing about and for, no? I think so. I’ve never heard a masterwork’s inner workings the way I did this weekend. People in the audience mentioned this as well, that the balance was precise and I would have to agree. Various instruments and voices emerged through the tangle of lines, being handed off from place to place, with what seemed ease and fluidity. You could hear things I’d never heard before when I sang this piece.

But that’s again, for another post…

I sat next to the bass section, unusual for me, and so it was a bit difficult to hear myself at times. But since I’d practiced and practiced this music (much to the dismay? I hope not, of my neighbors) I was still able to sing well. I was in good voice, and taking great care to breathe correctly and not strain, despite the loud mouths next to me.

There were parts that were very muddy, and again, I felt embarrassed. Shouldn’t people have taken this more seriously? I felt a respect for and commitment to the music to a level I don’t know if I ever have.

I thought continuously all week, about the survivors that were coming to witness this. I did not want to disrespect them in any way. Not knowing your music, in my opinion, is disrespectful.

They were terrorized, torn apart from loved ones, hungry, cold, sick, and lacked the basic dignities afforded to human beings. And still these people sang. Learning the music by rote. One score. An out of tune piano with only one leg. A conductor imprisoned himself.

At any moment they could have been taken away (and many were), their fates always unknown.

Imagine not knowing the music after knowing what they went through. Not really knowing, because we never can, but just having that information.

I was embarrassed by the people around me who were fumbling in places. I’m not perfect, and I make mistakes too. But I was trying not to. I think, after that first night, people started to really understand. I know by Sunday, the fumbling was gone.