Email Link
Facebook
Twitter
Digg
When Performance Becomes Listening
Yesterday’s interpretation of the Passion Gospel by the Trinity Choir was the most arresting interpretation I have ever experienced, an instant indelible memory.
The technical aspects of what the choir did were impressive: the solos, duets, and full-choir parts were all completely improvised – the choir had no music, only text (the way the early monastics used to sing) - and one rehearsal to gel. This meant that they had to listen to one another intensely, in the moment, and they had to listen to what the text, and the moment itself, was telling them to do.
The result was riveting - the way certain words and phrases opened up to new interpretation, sung in a spiraling thin line, a forceful baritone blast, or augmented with edgy half-tone grace notes. I heard this story again for the first time.
I spoke with some of the singers afterward. Far from a simple “performance,” they had found themselves soulfully drawn deeper into the text. Two of the principal singers said they were sweating profusely from the concentration it took to listen so deeply to one another and to the emerging meaning. The moment that will remain burned in my memory was the interpretation of Jesus’ words “Take, eat, this is my body.” My whole world pivoted in that moment (a rare gift for the liturgist who plans worship). The singer said later that in rehearsal he had sung the lines lower, with more weight, but in the moment he could sense Jesus’ extreme vulnerability, and was led to a higher pitch. Those words as he sang them had such a plaintive, almost confessional quality. Their humanity came through so piercingly.
That’s the word: pierced. The passion reading pierced me this year. It could do that because it was piercing the choir in that moment, and they were clear and generous channels. But I wasn’t just getting the choir’s single interpretation; like a sermon preached from the pulpit, the people in the pew each hear a unique message, the sermon they need to hear. Everyone has to be listening for this to be able to happen.
These are precious moments in life, whether on the stage, in the pulpit, or over coffee, when “performer” and “listener” distinctions fall away, and each makes available their whole selves to this moment’s transformation. There is only listening, and then generous living.
It’s only Monday; we’ve got a lot of that ahead this week!
Watch the Trinity Choir chant the Passion
The technical aspects of what the choir did were impressive: the solos, duets, and full-choir parts were all completely improvised – the choir had no music, only text (the way the early monastics used to sing) - and one rehearsal to gel. This meant that they had to listen to one another intensely, in the moment, and they had to listen to what the text, and the moment itself, was telling them to do.
The result was riveting - the way certain words and phrases opened up to new interpretation, sung in a spiraling thin line, a forceful baritone blast, or augmented with edgy half-tone grace notes. I heard this story again for the first time.
I spoke with some of the singers afterward. Far from a simple “performance,” they had found themselves soulfully drawn deeper into the text. Two of the principal singers said they were sweating profusely from the concentration it took to listen so deeply to one another and to the emerging meaning. The moment that will remain burned in my memory was the interpretation of Jesus’ words “Take, eat, this is my body.” My whole world pivoted in that moment (a rare gift for the liturgist who plans worship). The singer said later that in rehearsal he had sung the lines lower, with more weight, but in the moment he could sense Jesus’ extreme vulnerability, and was led to a higher pitch. Those words as he sang them had such a plaintive, almost confessional quality. Their humanity came through so piercingly.
That’s the word: pierced. The passion reading pierced me this year. It could do that because it was piercing the choir in that moment, and they were clear and generous channels. But I wasn’t just getting the choir’s single interpretation; like a sermon preached from the pulpit, the people in the pew each hear a unique message, the sermon they need to hear. Everyone has to be listening for this to be able to happen.
These are precious moments in life, whether on the stage, in the pulpit, or over coffee, when “performer” and “listener” distinctions fall away, and each makes available their whole selves to this moment’s transformation. There is only listening, and then generous living.
It’s only Monday; we’ve got a lot of that ahead this week!
Posted April 2, 2012
Author: The Rev. Daniel Simons
Created: July 21, 2009
Worship is the single greatest investment of resources in any church's life, including Trinity Wall Street, and it is the primary lens that focuses our life together. Worship is a language that links us back through generations and yet is newly born in each moment!
This blog focuses more on primal patterns than technique --looking at how we are embodied souls needing to act out our faith. It is a reflecting pool for leaders of other congregations, for members of Trinity seeking to understand the patterns of the liturgy more fully, and for seekers who are aware of or interested in the power of ritual.
Trinity Blogs
- Lenten Meditations 2013
- The Trinity Pilgrims
- Trinity in Panama, May 2012
- Rector's Diary
- This Old Church
- Discoveries
- Youth Lenten Meditations
- A Visit to Burundi
- Observing 9/11/11
- All Souls Music Camp
- Trinity in Panama: May, 2011
- Charlotte's Place
- The Broad Way
- Pew & Partner Notes
- Stewardship Reflections
- In The Moment
- The Archivist's Mailbag
- The Fullness
Trinity Wall Street | for a world of good
Comments
Breathtakingly beautiful!!
Robert Renwick on April 2, 2012
This has re-energized this reading for me. Thank you.
Peter Ellis on April 4, 2012
Daniel, I'm reminded of a time at Good Friday at St. Gregory's, San Francisco when, wholly in the moment, we invited Bishop Franzo King of St. John Coltrane African Orthodox Church to bless us at the end of our Good Friday liturgy. Our parishioner who knows Arabic and Arabic chant had just sung, "we bow to your sufferings, Lord Jesus Christ, now show us your holy resurrection" three times through with the whole congregation's deep bows as he sang. That tonality and solemnity hung in the air and Bishop King, with has jazz and blues background sang a blessing musically fusing what he knew well and what he'd just heard. I don't remember the notes at all, but I can still feel the vibrant, electric attentiveness in the room and how it felt in my body. I think modeling improvisation and listening to the moment and find ways of inviting the congregation into doing it themselves is a huge opportunity for Christian formation. It's a lived practice that allows or even demands that we plunge creatively into our uncertainty and not knowing - the very place we must inhabit to live the Gospel in daily life. "What am I supposed to do now?" Listen deeply, trust and Spirit, and sing...or do whatever is called for. We'll know. That's where improvisation can take us. I'd love to hear more of how this happened. Was the choir on board from the moment they heard the proposed process? Who among them had any previous experience of musical improvisation? Were there any improvisational theater practitioners among them? Thanks so much for posting this.
Donald Schell on April 4, 2012
Thank you for this gift!
Beth Taylor, Christ Church Cranbrook on April 4, 2012
What a wonderful experience, Daniel. It also reminded me of taking part in Scott King's Passion -- again, just hearing the next in new ways. I'll pass this on widely!
Diana Landau on April 4, 2012
I've always wanted to do something like this. I've sung in prayer sometimes, alone, and it sounds so similar to this. I'm convinced that the Holy Spirit can move greatly when we just open our mouths to sing and let him take over. Your video is proof of that. What absolutely floors me is how two or more people can be singing together and their rhythm, modality, and harmony are totally in synch. I guess that's what happens when all are surrendered to the same perfect will at the same moment. What an amazing God we serve!
Lynette Johnson on April 5, 2012
so so beautiful. This is something I'll want to listen to every Holy Week. Thank you for sharing it.
Leanne Shawler on April 6, 2012
One of the things that made this possible is that the choir sings in this style every week at Compline, and so they have strengthened that particular listening-risking muscle. Interestingly, Julian, our music director, said he got them over their initial fear of improvising chant by having them sing through Dr. Seuss together. Taking it out of the realm of the 'sacred' made it playful and lowered the sense of risk, or the need to perform "seriously." Fascinating to me how that playfulness has given such profound depth and resonance to their music-making. There's a sermon in that somewhere!
Daniel Simons on April 8, 2012
The question is: Are you going to do this again next year? That would give us outside NYCity a chance to make plans for a possible visit to Trinity on Holy Week. My wife and I have done this in the past, visiting other churches in Manhattan from Palm Sunday through Easter. This the essence of what music is for in the church. Thank you for sharing. (From Austin, TX)
Josemaria Gonzalez on April 19, 2012
Share Your Comments Below: