Our choral art form is unique: it is group story telling that unites music and words in a way that heightens the meaningful impact of each. The corporate aspect of choral music making—something done together by many different individuals at the same moment in time in the same place—powerfully magnifies and intensifies the impact of the story we ultimately share with the audience.
As choral artists, we want to express something profoundly truthful about the human condition: who we are, where we’ve come from, who we want to be, where we hope to go, what matters most to us, and so forth. We want to create real-time, tangible beauty that transforms those who make it and receive it, engaging singers and listeners in an encounter that is active on both ends of the circuit. And we long to be part of something truly transcendent, an artistic expression that bridges the gulf that all too often separates and isolates people. Even if it only lasts for three minutes, we want to create an experience of community.
But there is no community without communication, if by “communication” we mean an exchange where we give away what we have to those who receive it. And there’s the rub: for if communication is going to be honest, we must accept that we cannot give what we do not own, and accept that ownership always comes with an acquisition price that we ourselves must pay.
We pay it by doing the work necessary to understand the meaning of the text we sing. As conductors, an important aspect of our work is empowering our singers to successfully grapple with the texts they sing, to wrestle meaning out of the words until the words they proclaim are owned by those who sing them. We need to incorporate the discipline of mining text for meaning into our own score preparation, of course, but above all we need to find ways to make it a regular part of the rehearsals we conduct.
One effective way to do this is to ask questions. In my own work as both a conductor and composer of choral music, there are the five key questions (groups of questions, really) which I ask to help facilitate this process.
First, who is speaking these words? Whose words are the ones we find in our mouth? Who are we representing in our singing? Second, to whom are these words being spoken? Who is the intended audience for our message? Are they likely to be open to the message? Why or why not? Third, what is the message we’re proclaiming? What is its content? What is its essence? What’s the nature of these words? What is the type of message we’re singing–an exhortation, a correction, a reminder, a love song, a prophecy?
Fourth, why are we singing these particular words to this particular audience in this particular way? What’s our motive for singing them? What do we hope to achieve by our singing? How do we hope the hearers will be different as the result of what we do? And finally, how is this message communicated musically? How do decisions made by the composer (melody, harmony, texture, dynamics, color, weight/articulation) reflect the intent and the content of the text?
By way of illustration, consider a text set by Victoria, Poulenc, Pinkham, Lauridsen and a host of other composers (including me): O magnum mysterium et admirable sacramentum, ut animalia viderent Dominum natum, jacentem in praesepio. O Beata Virgo, cujus viscera meruerunt portare Dominum: alleluia! Familiar words. Stunning words. Miraculous words.
But whose words are they? Who is singing them through us? Not Mary, certainly: she is exhausted from the act of childbirth. Not Joseph: he’s still sorting out whose child has just been born. Not the shepherds: they’re still on the hillsides tending their flocks by night. Not the Magi, either: they’re still en route; their ETA is at least a week in the future, according to the liturgical calendar.
The process of elimination fueled by the first key question leaves but one likely answer: the angels. The words in our mouths are the words of the hosts of deep heaven themselves. Believe it or not, we’re singing angelic language with our human voices.
And to whom are we proclaiming this angelic message? Who is the audience for what we’re sharing? The text proclaims something radical, almost unthinkable: that the Eternal Divine has taken on human form. A substantial degree of theological perspective and sophistication is needed to decode a message like this. Who can grasp the reality of what has just happened in that manger?
Mary sees her first-born son. Joseph sees his tired wife and an infant boy child whose father he isn’t. The animals sense at best the presence of human intruders. The shepherds and Magi aren’t yet there. There is only one person on the scene with the ability to understand the full import and meaning of the angels’ song: the little babe, the king become a slave for love.
So what do we have here? An act of adoration, a love song sung by the angels for an audience of one: the child in the manger. What does this mean in terms of how we render the text? What kind of vocal weight should angelic song display? What sort of vocal color do angelic voices carry? What kind of articulation, and tempo, and dynamic range are appropriate for an angelic love song?
These are interpretative issues well worth considering, and we have come to the point of confronting them because we have first grappled with the text. This is the benefit of asking key questions.
How we ask these questions is almost as important as deciding to ask them at all. Don’t feel compelled to come up with the “right” or “perfect” answer to any of them. What’s most important is to issue an invitation for intentional engagement to our singers. If we expect them to respond thoughtfully, they generally will.
In my experience, modeling the process is important when beginning to incorporate key questions into the rehearsal process. When you do, gradually personalize the process: “What did this mean to the author? What did this mean to the audience? What do these words mean to you, today—what in your life experience reinforces their message?” Be patient, and allow sufficient time for this new approach to gain traction. Above all, help the singers to make the text their own in the present moment, before they give it away!
Dr. Gerald Custer is Director of Music at First Presbyterian Church in Farmington Hills, music director of the Seaway Chorale and Orchestra in the downriver area, and conductor of the chamber choir Cantate. He teaches music theory, composition, and graduate choral literature at Wayne State University, and is a Grammy-nominated, award-winning composer.
