Sound of Silence

Ministerial Meandering

Sound of Silence

You went to the concert, you heard the song, you may even have bought the T-shirt; but did you actually listen to the message?

Last night I was rehearsing with my a cappella singing group, ‘The Cheam Mountain Singers’.  We were coming together for the first time after the long summer break, and trying to get into the business of making music again.  It isn’t always easy, although - like riding a bike - you know you can do it, you just wobble a bit when you get on it again after a long while.

I now have a co-director - which is a Good Thing as I am about to go on leave for three weeks (and you will have no Meanderings during that time) - and Chris and I have very different styles of conducting and leading choirs.

I started with a fast, fun piece to get us all tuned up again and in the mood for singing; then moved on to a quieter piece, which called for a lot more sensitivity.  What I was after was a sense of continuity through a ‘rest’ - that’s when there is no singing at all - before starting the next phrase, in order to keep the sense of the narrative of the song flowing.  To do so, I asked the singers to imagine that they were singing the last note of the first phrase all the way through the rest - but not sound it - then continue straight on with the second phrase.  In other words, for the musicians amongst you, to sing (tacet/silently) through the rest.

When I had done with my pieces, I handed over to Chris to rehearse her pieces.  She sat us all down and told a story about Isaac Stern, the celebrated violinist.  When he had reached his 80’s, he was still performing, although some of his technical prowess was not as good as it had been in his hey-day.  He knew this, but when asked how he managed, said that ‘it was not so much the notes that (he) played that made the music special, but the gaps in between the notes.’

In essence, Chris and I were saying the same thing - as was Isaac Stern.  Technical ability in music may be amazing and admirable, but it will never make the hair stand up on the back of your neck, nor allow a tear to escape your eye.  The technician will never understand this, no matter how hard you try to explain it to them.  “I’m playing the notes without a single mistake!” - they complain, “and the piece is really difficult!”

Yes - and yes again!  But they are not making music - however hard they try.

Give me a gifted 4-year old, who knows that what he or she is singing is sad - and when they sing it, however simple, and you will feel the pain in every note and the gaps in between.  It is like drawing a sobbing breath - and every bit as holy.

Philip+