Laurel Massé

Bloggie goes a walking... to visit ChoralNet

I just discovered that my blog post of June 12, Why SIng? was picked up on ChoralNet. I was quite surprised, and also rather flattered that something I wrote "went choral" (next best thing to going viral).

I checked out the site, which seems a marvelous resource for choral singers of all kinds. There, I also discovered that Hal Leonard Music has purchased Shawnee Press. This pleases me. I am forever talking to students about pronouncing the words so that the listener can understand what the lyrics are about. Now, just maybe, it will be possible to get that helpful little Shawnee Press pamphlet, Tone Syllables, that outlines the techniques I first learned at my grandfather's knee - he was for many the lead baritone with Fred Waring's Pennsylvanians - and then had reinforced at Fred Waring's Youth Choral Workshop in 1966 (when I was extremely youthful!). I have never once sung onstage without using what I learned that summer, and I am completely mystified as to why every chorus and choir doesn't use this same concept. If a song has words, there is no reason whatsoever for the words to be unintelligible. I don't mean that lyrics in German should be understandable by non-German speaking listeners, but they certainly should be making sense to Germans! I am especially shocked to hear opera sung in English that is so mangled as to have to be supertitled. For cryin' out loud, folks! I realize there are technical difficulties in producing that incredible volume of sound, and several classical singers (and teachers of same) tell me that it is impossible to clearly enunciate. I might have believed them... had I never heard Rufus Muller.

I was privileged to get a ticket to his recent performance in Jonathan Miller's production of Bach's St. Matthew Passion. Rufus sang the tenor role ot The Evangelist (the central role) with exquisite control of his voice; able to caress, grieve, whisper, thunder, and inflect with a razor's edge of irony when called for. It was thrilling and gorgeous singing - and I understood every word.

Which proves it can be done, and there, for the moment, I rest my case. Let's have a run on Shawnee Press's Tone Syllables, and change the singing world!

Face to face

All right now, gang. Today I am hoping we are going to talk about Facebook.

I am very conflicted about the site. There are things about it that I really like. Finding old friends is at the top of the list, as I have moved many times in my life, and never knew what some of my junior high and high school friends grew up to be. Or where they are. Through Facebook, I have reconnected with several folks I have not seen since 1965 in Paris. Or 1968 in Andover. I also have made the cyber acquaintance of some very lovely people, some long-time fans whose support means a great deal to me. And I certainly know what a lot of people are doing at any given moment.

But...

I am not a fan of applications, of green plants in computer art form, of digital ponies. Of being hounded by people who invite me over and over to join something I don't want to join. Of seeing how many of my friends are Facebook-obsessed. Of finding so many emails from friends (who already had my email address) coming to me now through Facebook. And most importantly, I am not comfortable with Facebook's ownership of what is posted to its site, which is why I am no longer feeding my blog directly to my Facebook page, at least for the moment.

Those of you who are performing artists: have you seen an increase in your audience, your bookings and your income because of your Facebook page? Is there enough gain to offset the world domination aspect? Am I just being too 20th century, or is Facebook really devouring everything?

Pure gold

I just visited Elizabeth Lawley's blog, mamamusings. Elizabeth writes about technology, academia and family. In a way, she and her husband Gerald are responsible for every blogpost I have ever written , since they pushed me (hard!) to begin. She has posted a favorite Robert Frost poem which I so love that I am putting it up here for you all. Thank you, Liz!


Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

—Robert Frost

Monday morning musing

Yesterday it rained. Today it will rain. It has been raining for two weeks, and that's a lot of grey sky, and a lot of weather to be under. My cat Bobby is doing the sensible thing: sleeping until the sun comes out. I am having a cup of tea, and letting my mind roam in a sort of "puzzley puzzley wonder why" (a John Lennon coinage, as I recall) about a lot of things, in no particular order.

Will the New York Times ever review me?

What would be the state of the world if those of us who claim to be following Christ actually did?

When you fall through a crack, do you land on something, or do you fall forever?

Manhattan is not a very big island - why can't it be car-free?

What exactly is the problem with universal health care?

Was Little Feat really a better band when Lowell was alive? Or did it just have Lowell?

Why are the arts so poorly-supported in this country? Is this somehow related to the health care question? I mean, is there someone actually deciding who and what deserves life and who and what does not? Based on what criteria?

Why are people who are incapable of returning phone calls hired to book venues?

What would happen if I went down into the subway and just started singing what is in my heart?

What would happen if I did the same at a cathedral?

How much longer will the watermelon be sweet this season?

How does one truly surrender?

Will I ever get a handwritten letter again?

Will the New York Times review the JaLaLa cd?

How do we really feel about Facebook? Isn't it a little "let us be your entire universe" creepy?

What's in the refrigerator for dinner?

Untroubled by these and many other questions, Bobby's still sleeping. All his needs are attended to (in aforementioned refrigerator there is lots of cat food, and he has trained me to execute a complicated behavior chain - go to fridge, open same, remove jar of food, close fridge, remove lid from jar, get spoon, put food on spoon, convey food to dish, place dish on floor, put lid back on jar, place jar in fridge, close fridge) and in return he has only to keep breathing, and be himself. He doesn't even have to heel.

Verily, I tell you, it's the cat's meow.

 

Why sing?

This was originally posted on my Songbird Salon blog, but someone just asked me today why I am a singer, so I decided to reiterate. Or perhaps reaffirm is the more precise word.

"Why sing?" There are many possible answers. For me, the easiest answer has been that I sing because I cannot do otherwise. I was born singing, into a singing family. I have never been a non-singer. There is, for me, no greater joy, and no greater sense of connection to God. So, as the Quaker hymn asks, "How can I keep from singing?"

But that only explains why I sing at home. Why do I go out into the world and sing? What is the purpose? What is the singing for?

Ysaye Barnwell, of the women's a capella group Sweet Honey in the Rock, teaches inspiring workshops in the art of singing, in which she speaks of singing as a way to express profound emotion, to gather in community, and to connect with the Divine. It's hard to improve on that. Three aspects: personal, communal, spiritual.

I believe with all my heart that I am called, that it is my gift, my obligation, my responsibility to sing. To express that which cannot be expressed in words alone, in the company of others. The good songs speak of our shared human experiences, and if I am doing my very best, there is nothing that divides us into performer and performed-for. Rather, we are just "us", and I happen to be the one carrying the melody at that moment as we go along. There are many others doing the same, a family, a community of song. When I am gone, someone else will pick up the melody, as I also believe I am part of a lineage. We'll all keep going along, for humans are born to sing, and that will never end.

New Haven concert

Erv Raible just called to invite me to sing a concert in New Haven this summer as part of my yearly stint at Yale. The date is set now for Saturday, August 1. These concerts always feature two artists; I am paired with my dear friend Amanda McBroom, who has just released Chanson, her new CD of Jacques Brel songs (some in new translations that more faithfully reflect his original lyrics than what has been previously done). I'll post more info as it becomes available, and you can also check out The Cabaret Conference at Yale. Though the events page is still showing last year's concerts, I expect it will be updated soon.

Gigs: plural

Rumor has it that JaLaLa will be doing some performances to promote the new CD, probably in mid-to-late August.

In the meantime, I will be dropping in to sing a few songs with the Morningside Jazz Quartet at their benefit for the Carpenter's Kids program, a partnership between the Anglican Diocese of Central Tanganyika and the Episcopal Diocese of New York. "Carpenter's Kids" are HIV/AIDs orphans and other vulnerable children who are selected after screening by their parishes. All children are eligible to become a Carpenter's Kid regardless of their religion. The goal is to support 50 children in each of 200 parishes.The benefit is being held this Friday, June 12 from 9 PM to 11 PM in Manhattan at La Negrita, on Columbus Avenue at 109th St. There is no cover charge, but donations are being gladly accepted. To learn more about the Carpenter's Kids program, go here.

 

Gig: noun

Every once in a while I have to explain to a non-musician friends what a gig is. It happened a couple of times this past week, and I found myself wondering about the word. Oh joy! A good excuse for a romp in the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, 3750 pages, conveniently bound in two massive volumes. That's the "shorter" part: there are only two. The full-size Oxford is a set of books bigger than my apartment.

As it turns out, gig as a noun has many definitions, only one which is the one I am using: (the engagement of a musician or musicians for) a performance of jazz,pop music, etc, especially for one night only; the place of such a performance.

But most of the other definitions fit, too, in their own ways...

A thing that whirls; a device consisting of an arrangement of feathers used to attract birds to a net by revolving. Perhaps the arrangement of feathers is the "chirp", aka "canary", aka "chick singer"?

A fancy, a joke, a whim. Fun. merriment glee. Sometimes, yes. And "on the gig" can mean in a state of boisterous hilarity. That would be when Richard de Rosa is on drums, and on a roll with his puns.

An arrangement of hooks set back to back... That would be the pop music gig, yes? No. It's a device for catching fish. Or frogs.

Finally, and my favorite, really: a two-storied lift used by miners in ascending or descending a pit-shaft. Anyone who has been working in jazz for a while knows that there are clubs like that. And when you are in one of them, it can be pretty dark. You need gig lamps, otherwise known as spectacles (which reminds me of a fabled bit of audio tape of Jimi Hendrix in the recording studio on which he can be heard talking about his "ear goggles", i.e. headphones).

A gig is also a light, two-wheeled one-horse carriage, and a gigster is the horse suitable for pulling it. Or... a musician who performs at gigs.

Let's not discuss the gigolo.

 

Dream team

Enrique just sent me this link. It takes you to the Amazon.com page of That Ol' Mercer Magic, the debut CD of the trio, JaLaLa. You can listen to samples (!!!!), which I just did. That listening has blown my illusion of keeping cool, and I started dancing around my apartment, a sophisticated and elegant dance, of course, even though it did include some jumping up and down, bubbly little jumps with giggling, like coffee percolating.

Or like champagne.

Apparently you're never to old to become suddenly unblasé. I have been looking forward to this release, but my excitement is taking me by surprise. I have been in the business for 37 years, for heaven's sake!  JaLaLa is the fruition of the idea Janis Siegel and I first dreamed with Cheryl Bentyne, when we sang together as Moxie. When Cheryl bowed out because of time commitments, we called Lauren Kinhan of New York Voices, who said yes, and JaLaLa stepped out of the dream and into the kitchen (thereby obeying the three Rules of Rehearsal: 1: there must be food, 2: the food has to be as good as the music, and 3: save the wine for the end of rehearsal).

My dears, tonight is wine to me. So raise a glass, and cheers!

 

More dreams

My cat is asleep on the sofa next to me. He's dreaming. His ears are twitching, his whiskers vibrating, and his white paws are having little flurries of motion. He's quiet, though, except for the tiniest of tiny snores.

When my dogs dreamed, they were loudly vocal. Shekinah howled in her sleep, and Shadow yipped. They often woke me, as I now often wake myself by talking in my sleep. Sometimes I am shouting "no!", or "yes!". Sometimes I wake in the middle of long complex explanations that make perfect sense in the dream's reality, but get very misty and vague in the transition to wakefulness, and the more conscious I become, the more I wonder what the heck I am talking about. Sometimes I am singing. I suppose my paws twitch, too.

I have a big box full of the notebooks in which I wrote down every dream. sometimes several dreams a night, for seven years. Then the dreams slowed. There were dreamless nights. Eventually, there were only dreamless nights for a couple of years. This spring, though, I have begun to dream more actively again. Something's stirring. Are any of you experiencing this?