Singing Our Hearts Out

Cast members in 2007.

A version of this post originally appeared at Last Word on Nothing.

Recently I was rehearsing a glorious 16th-century motet with a small chorus, for the Washington Revels 30th Anniversary CD. Haec dies quam fecit Dominus, the song begins. This is the day that the Lord has made; let us be glad and rejoice in it. It’s an Easter text and a lovely thought. This is a day; let’s enjoy it.

The piece is by William Byrd, an English composer of Shakespeare’s time—yes, he’s wearing a ruff in his portrait—who wrote a lot of sacred music like this. The idea that different people could sing different things at the same time was fairly new in the Renaissance, and composers like Byrd went to town with it. We sang it in the 2007 Christmas Revels, which had an Elizabethan theme.

In Byrd’s six-part Haec Dies, the words and melody are split up and tossed back and forth between the vocal parts. I sing second soprano, the second highest. The first sopranos start the piece, then the altos join, then us. Sometimes we have the most prominent line; sometimes it’s another part. Women and tenors start the second section together: exultemus! Let’s exult! We settle into the alleluias, then sing a short duet with the basses, their low voices anchoring our rising line. Other parts pop out in turn. The lines come together and we converge and land, triumphant, on the final syllable of the final word. A perfectly tuned D-major chord fills the room. It feels as if everyone’s unified voice is flowing through my torso.

Last month, Swedish researchers published a study about heart rate in choirs. Fifteen 18-year-olds sat in a semicircle with heart-rate monitors clipped to their ears. The kids sang together, three different ways, each for five minutes. First they hummed a single tone, each breathing when needed. Then they sang a hymn. Last they sang a simple, slow tune that forced a breath after every 10-second phrase.

The singers’ heart rates went up and down as they breathed and sang. When they were just humming, their heart rates cycled at all different speeds. But when they were all breathing together in strict rhythm, the up-and-down lined up. In the hymn, breaths were less evenly spaced, so the picture was more complex, but the same thing happened; heart rates varied at the frequency of the breaths.

The researchers tie this to a known phenomenon: heart rate and breathing are linked. Your heartbeats vary all the time, depending on a lot of things, like loud sounds, exercise, and whether or not you’re being stalked by a lion. Breathe in and the heart speeds up; breathe out and it slows down.

When we’re singing the lively, complicated Byrd motet, things are surely even more complex than in the study’s sweet, unison hymn. Across the rehearsal room, in each section, hearts speed and slow together. The second sopranos breathe in and hearts beat faster; we breathe out on an alleluia and our hearts slow. We breathe in to end the phrase and our hearts speed up again, then slow while we wait for our next entrance. Last week we recorded the piece with the Washington Revels Brass breathing right along with us.

Singing together is deeply satisfying. Whether it’s Byrd’s polyphony or “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” you’re joining in common purpose with the people around you. Now we know part of why it feels so right: when we sing together, we’re lining up our hearts, too.

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Photo: Erin Sutherland

Adventures in Haircutting

Early in the process for the Christmas Revels, everyone in the cast gets the word: No cutting your hair until after the show. That means men, too, although it’s possible to get special permission if you just can’t live with the big hair look. Some people end up with wigs. But, the rest of the year, your hair is your own.

My civil war look.

That’s why I got a haircut 10 days before the Washington Revels Heritage Voices show at Ford’s Theatre last month. It had vaguely crossed my mind that my long hair might be an asset to a Civil War-era show, but, well, an opportunity arose and I put my hair in the hands of a very talented young lady at a salon on U Street. My hair, which used to reach well past the middle of my back, is now just below my chin.

The day of the next rehearsal, it occurred to me that I should e-mail Kate McGhee, the costume designer for the gig, to let her know. I am told that quite a wail emanated from Kate’s office when she read the message. Oops. Sorry, Kate.

Fortunately, with the help of bobby pins, some fake hair, and a snood, I looked perfectly presentable onstage, although probably not as awesome as I would have looked in the 19th-century hairdo Kate had planned for me.

 

Winter Concert at the Birchmere

Singers from the Revels (left) and the Ocean Orchestra (right) practice in the rehearsal room, which has a lot of Andalusian props in it right now. Photo: Helen Fields

Back in the early 90’s, Washington Revels did a few post-Christmas shows at the Birchmere with the local folk-rock band The New St. George. Now the New St. George’s leader, Jennifer Cutting, has a fabulous new band, and we’re reuniting with her to do a show tonight at the Birchmere!

Monday night was our last rehearsal–the show is tonight at 7:30. We ran through a few songs from this year’s Christmas Revels and also practiced with Jennifer Cutting’s Ocean Orchestra.

The biggest thing we do at Washington Revels is The Christmas Revels, but we have lots of events through the year, too. I love this kind of gig, where we don’t have much rehearsal and the directors are figuring things out on the fly. Some of the arrangements changed over the weekend. The mummers rehearsed their play tonight for the first time. It feels very seat-of-the-pants, but it’s great to know that we can put together a great show quickly, after the massive, months-long project of The Christmas Revels.

The mummers rehearse. With Betsy Miller as the doctor, Glyn Collinson as St. George, and Guen Spilsbury as the dragon. Photo: Helen Fields

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Tarasque Spotted in Wild

Chorus member Terry Winslow e-mailed this photograph of a tarasque to the chorus this week:

A tarasque in Provence. Photo: cyark.org

Here’s proof that the tarasque is a real live piece of Provence’s folk history: a carving on a column at the church of Saint-Trophime in Arles. If I understand the construction history correctly, the oldest parts of the complex date back to the 12th century. This column is part of the cloister next to the church. Explore the church on this nifty website.

Three of the tarasques. Photo: Helen Fields

Terry’s wife, Diane, was the one who had the idea to knit tiny tarasques, and she pointed out how much this carved tarasque looks like my design. My brilliant team of tarasque knitters used my pattern to produce 10 of the little guys to be sold at the merchandise table the second weekend of The Christmas Revels.

If you’re a knitter, the tarasque has its own pattern page on Ravelry, although I haven’t uploaded the pattern yet.

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Goodbye to Andalusia

Chorus member Charles Blue carries a piece of the gorgeous flooring from the stage. Photo: Helen Fields

Well, it’s over. Our beautiful Andalusian world has been dismantled.

The final step in The Christmas Revels is taking down the set and moving all of our things out of the theater that we’d occupied for the last two weeks.

The entire cast helps out with strike. The actual set was mostly taken apart by professionals wielding power tools. The main task for the rest of us is carrying things. Props, pieces of flooring, bundles of costumes tied up in sheets. When the truck was full, anyone who was available drove to the Revels office in Silver Spring to move everything back off the truck. I’m not usually one for volunteering for extra heavy lifting, but I know it goes better with more people, and I didn’t have to get up early in the morning.

A box of programs makes the trip back down from the mezzanine. Photo: Helen Fields

We formed bucket brigades passing merchandise up to the mezzanine, programs to the mezzanine, programs back down from the mezzanine (there was indecision about the programs), props into the rehearsal room to await sorting, hair and makeup supplies down to the basement, and programs to their final location, stacked on a landing halfway to the basement. It was midnight when I left the office.

The enchantment has ended. The magnificent treasure room has somehow turned back into two-by-fours and piles of elderly sofa cushions. And those of us in the chorus go back to our regularly scheduled lives as lawyers and teachers and speechwriters and science writers–taking the memory of Al-Andalus forward into the world.

The tarasque returns to its basement lair at the Revels office. Photo: Helen Fields

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There’s a Wig Under There

Most of us get to walk around on stage with our own hair showing, but if your hair is too short or too pink, you have to wear a wig. Yesterday Jane Bloodworth, alto section leader and all-around awesome person, was kind enough to let me take pictures of having her wig put on with the help of volunteer Barbara Brodie.

First step: Fluffing up Jane's hair in front. Photo: Helen Fields

Jane’s hair is pinned down in the back, but nice and floofy in front. That’s because the front of her hair will be combed over the front of the wig to make it look more natural.

Pins hold the wig to Jane's hair underneath. Photo: Helen Fields

When we do the show over and over, first in practice, then in performance, we start to notice who we run into as we move around the stage during the show. There are some people I never see – I have exactly one chance to stop and chat with my friend Autumn Wilson, and a moment near the beginning where I say hi to Will Wurzel. Otherwise I hardly see either of them. But there are at least three points in the show where I look behind me and see Jane. I like knowing that, at any point, this smiling face could appear behind me.

Ready to go on stage. Photo: Helen Fields

Doesn’t her wig look great? I’m always happy to see this face behind me. (I feel lucky to hear her voice behind me, too – Jane’s a great singer.)

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
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Eating, Singing, and Hydrating After the Show

A group of teens (and former teens) lead us in a favorite song from the American show. Photo: Helen Fields

This year the evening performances of The Christmas Revels are over at about 10:15. After the show I hang around in the lobby to chat with any friends who were at that performance, then go upstairs to get out of costume, wash my face, and leave the theater.

Then I have two choices: Go home or go to Bertucci’s. Last Saturday night my choice was Bertucci’s. It’s an Italian restaurant in the lower level of a shopping mall near Lisner Auditorium. For several years, people from the cast, crew members, specialty performers, and friends have been retiring there after the evening performances to eat and drink. They do a great job of looking after us. They even keep the kitchen open late, bless them. (For the past few years, we’ve sung “Happy Birthday” to one of the waitresses – somebody had better remember that tonight or tomorrow.)

This is Revels, so singing is a big part of the event. We sing Revels standards, like “Let Union Be” and “Country Life.” Favorite songs from the shows find their way into the Bertucci’s repertoire; the American-themed Christmas Revels show from 2006 has a particularly large number of very singable songs. Some years the specialty performers lead us in song and dance. In 2008, the Quebecois dancer Pierre Chartrand called some fantastic dances.

Some nights a lot of people go; after a particularly long day (or before a particularly long day) more of us might make the other choice, to go home and get some rest. There’s a risk of messing up your voice or making yourself too tired for the next day’s performances. I don’t know if I’ll have enough energy for Bertucci’s either night this weekend.

This is Revels. I love performing, but our get-togethers at Bertucci’s really get to the essence of the experience: celebrating with your community in song and dance.

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
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You Can’t Revel Without an Audience

A 2007 Christmas Revels audience fills the lower lobby for "Lord of the Dance." Photo: Erin Sutherland

Last night I went to a play at the Shakespeare Theatre. After the performance, some of the actors came back out on stage to answer questions. Someone asked what part the audience plays in a performance. One of the actors said that audiences have different personalities; one night everything will be hilarious and the next night you’ll have an audience who never laughs at anything.

This sounded very familiar to me. The audience is the last part of The Christmas Revels to fall into place, and every audience is different. The audience is so important that, for our final dress rehearsal, we bring in several hundred people who wouldn’t otherwise get to see the show to help us practice. In most stage productions, the audience pretty much has two roles: laugh at the jokes and clap at the good parts. Revels goes a step beyond, into the realm of audience participation.

Audience participation is scary. It makes people think of being dragged on stage and humiliated by a hypnotist. Revels isn’t like that. Yes, we are going to bring one person on stage, but it will be someone who wants to do it, and they don’t have to hop on one foot or quack like a duck or anything. For everyone else, there are opportunities to sing along – lyrics and music are printed in the program.

Some people only come to the show for one reason: to join hands and dance down the aisles in “Lord of the Dance.” At most performances, there are traffic jams in the aisles. This moment belongs to the audience – they even sing different lyrics from us. It wasn’t until I joined the cast that I learned that the refrain starts with the words “Dance, then.” The audience sings “Dance, dance” and that is ok. Not everyone wants to dance. We’re directed to offer a hand to audience members along the aisle, but if they’re not interested, you just smile and move on. Maybe next year they’ll change their mind. One of my best friends comes to see the show every year, but always sits firmly in the middle of a row so there’s no risk of getting dragged into the dance.

At the Shakespeare Theatre last night, the actor Ted van Griethuysen said he’d once been told something like “an audience is a group of people who are together for one moment  in their lives.” I love this. We put on The Christmas Revels nine times – one dress rehearsal and eight performances – for nine different assemblages of people. Every time, we’re joining them for an authentic, joyful celebration and every time is different. You never know if an audience will applaud in a solemn moment or wait, breathless. Some audiences sing out, while others hold back. And on some special nights, in the silent moment of the poem “The Shortest Day,” when we’re listening for the sounds of our ancestors, a baby cries. I’m sure the baby’s parents are mortified, but I love it. That’s exactly the sound of our ancestors, isn’t it?

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
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Wait, I Don’t Live in Andalusia?

Apparently teen Meghan Siritzky was having trouble concentrating in math class today. Photo: Meghan Siritzky

Sunday night I was waiting in line at the grocery store and felt on my fingers for my rings. Except I don’t wear rings. Those are part of my costume. After nine straight days of rehearsal and performance, it’s odd to return to the real world.

When I left the theater after our last show of the first weekend of Christmas Revels performances, my carpool-mate and I both needed groceries. We walked into Trader Joe’s and I said, “Whoa, people who aren’t in Revels.” It was a little overwhelming to be in a brightly-lit space full of people buying food. No adorable children were dancing with eggplants or anything.

After I’d started writing this, Meghan Siritzky, a member of the teen chorus, put in a special request via Facebook for a blog post about surviving Revels withdrawal. I don’t really get Revels withdrawal anymore – the fact that it keeps coming around every year helps. And, honestly, I’m relieved to have four whole days when I can pay attention to my neglected work and I don’t have to put on makeup or remember my lyrics.

But it’s nice to know that I’ll be back in Andalusia Friday night, for the start of our final five performances.

Anyone else have any suggestions for Meghan?

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
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Opening Day

Helen Fields and stage husband Bobby Gravitz. Photo: Erin Sutherland

It’s finally here! We auditioned in May, we started rehearsing in September, and we’ve been at Lisner Auditorium every night this week. Last night, we had a rehearsal with a practice audience. This afternoon is our opening night. (Yeah, I know. But “opening matinee” sounds silly.)

In case you’re reading this and don’t already know what I look like, I thought I’d help you out. Friends who’ve known me for years have trouble finding me on stage with no glasses and with my hair covered. Plus there are something like 80 people on the stage.

So, look for the one in white and come say hi to me after the show. Actually, there are at least two of us in white, but you can say hi to anybody you want.

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
View the Schedule of Performances and Purchase Tickets