beetiger

The community choir I sing in charges a moderately large fee for the privelege. The money goes for the most part to a conductor who is better than we deserve, the ridiculous amount it costs to rent a half-decent hall around here, and for professional soloists and instrumentalists. Sometimes we do big productions like the Bach Magnificat, and manage to acquire adequate musicians for all the parts. But sometimes we do things that require a smaller number of people, and then we manage to get a much better caliber of folks.

The concert we’re singing tomorrow is an unusual one. The Ariel Ramirez Missa Criolla is being done with an Argentinian quartet, only one member of which reads standard Western notation. They just listened to recordings of the piece a lot. They’re amazingly good, and singing with them feels less like a mass of odd rhythms and more like a really obvious singalong than it has during the last few months of rehearsal. And the pieces from the Duke Ellington Sacred Concert are being done with a jazz quartet, two soloists (the soprano is extremely good, and the baritone competent even if he’s got a bit of the feel of a white guy trying to “sound black” in his performance), and a tap dancer. Jimmy Tate, to be specific, the first person to play the Tap Dance Kid on Broadway. Due to the setup of the stage, and the placement of the alto section, and the fact that as a short and competent singer, I end up in the front row, he’s practically dancing on top of me. I need to be careful to stay back against the riser so as to make sure he’s got the space he needs.

Not only is it a fascinating study in human anatomy to watch the musculature on his calves while he’s dancing, he actually vibrates that whole section of the stage with his feet. I discovered to my amusement that by the end of the piece, I was noticeably (to myself, anyway) aroused. Does that make me a freak?