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| Version | User | Scope of changes |
|---|---|---|
| Dec 1 2007, 7:56 PM EST (current) | Katharine.Hadow | 1 word deleted |
| Dec 1 2007, 7:55 PM EST | Katharine.Hadow | 2 words added, 1 word deleted |
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Is it like this at your church? The service is nearly over. You’re starting to think about that cup of coffee, when all of a sudden there’s this caterwauling at the back of the church. You check your hymnal but those high notes are not in the book. What’s going on? Call it “Anarchy in the Soprano Section.”
The roots of this anarchy go way back, to when they only let men and boys sing in choirs. I have two little boys. I know what they’re like-they can’t pay attention. And if I were a choir director and I had to have some music ready by Sunday, I know what I would do. I would give them the easiest line in the piece and keep my fingers crossed. That’s exactly what happened. The choir directors gave the easiest part—the melody—to the people with the highest, squeakiest voices.
The tradition continued, so that if you visit a choir practice today, this is what you will see: The altos, tenors and basses sit up straight, both feet on the floor, watching the choir director. The sopranos loll around, talking to one another, doing anything but paying attention. Why? Because they don’t have to. Singing the melody is easy. If you show up most of the time and pay attention some of the time, you can sing the melody. This is why choir directors are always on the prowl for the lower three voices. Do you know a talented alto, or baritone with a big voice but no car? The choir director will make sure that someone gives them a ride. Know a soprano without wheels? Sopranos are a dime a dozen—she can hitchhike or take the bus. That’s because singing harmony is work, and it’s always harder to find people who want to work.
The hitch—and there is a hitch—is that as our vocal cords get older, they lose flexibility. We lose those high notes. This is a terrible thing for a soprano. Completely out of our control. And there is no Viagra for the voice. We live in dread of the day when the choir director pulls us aside and suggests that, honey, maybe you want to try singing alto. What, God? Isn’t one change of life enough? Now you want me to harmonize?
So there she is, our soprano, at the end of the church service. Her voice is finally warmed up, and she is bursting with the glory of God—and the desire to prove that she still has those high notes. She takes a deep breath and assigns herself a solo, raising the rafters with notes so high the congregation gets whiplash craning to see which soprano is smirking this week.
You can call this anarchy in the soprano section. Or you can call it an echo of the days to come when we will all be able to hit all the notes, and all of us, even the congregation, will be able to harmonize, joining together in singing “Alleluia, amen.”
A note from Katharine: Thank you for visiting soprano.wetpaint.com. What you read above was my comedy routine in the McDonalds GospelFest 2006 Gospel Comedy competition. I was too busy to enter the competition in 2007. Find out why at katharineandlloyd.wetpaint.com
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The roots of this anarchy go way back, to when they only let men and boys sing in choirs. I have two little boys. I know what they’re like-they can’t pay attention. And if I were a choir director and I had to have some music ready by Sunday, I know what I would do. I would give them the easiest line in the piece and keep my fingers crossed. That’s exactly what happened. The choir directors gave the easiest part—the melody—to the people with the highest, squeakiest voices.
The tradition continued, so that if you visit a choir practice today, this is what you will see: The altos, tenors and basses sit up straight, both feet on the floor, watching the choir director. The sopranos loll around, talking to one another, doing anything but paying attention. Why? Because they don’t have to. Singing the melody is easy. If you show up most of the time and pay attention some of the time, you can sing the melody. This is why choir directors are always on the prowl for the lower three voices. Do you know a talented alto, or baritone with a big voice but no car? The choir director will make sure that someone gives them a ride. Know a soprano without wheels? Sopranos are a dime a dozen—she can hitchhike or take the bus. That’s because singing harmony is work, and it’s always harder to find people who want to work.
The hitch—and there is a hitch—is that as our vocal cords get older, they lose flexibility. We lose those high notes. This is a terrible thing for a soprano. Completely out of our control. And there is no Viagra for the voice. We live in dread of the day when the choir director pulls us aside and suggests that, honey, maybe you want to try singing alto. What, God? Isn’t one change of life enough? Now you want me to harmonize?
So there she is, our soprano, at the end of the church service. Her voice is finally warmed up, and she is bursting with the glory of God—and the desire to prove that she still has those high notes. She takes a deep breath and assigns herself a solo, raising the rafters with notes so high the congregation gets whiplash craning to see which soprano is smirking this week.
You can call this anarchy in the soprano section. Or you can call it an echo of the days to come when we will all be able to hit all the notes, and all of us, even the congregation, will be able to harmonize, joining together in singing “Alleluia, amen.”
A note from Katharine: Thank you for visiting soprano.wetpaint.com. What you read above was my comedy routine in the McDonalds GospelFest 2006 Gospel Comedy competition. I was too busy to enter the competition in 2007. Find out why at katharineandlloyd.wetpaint.com
home
i878
