Singing ELIJAH

Penny and I just returned from singing in the Island Chorus (about 100 voices), doing Mendelsohnn’s ELIJAH. We were joined by a small orchestra, mostly imported from off-island, as well as some soloists.

We’ve been practicing this complex and long piece for months, since January, when a friend enticed us into the group. There were times of deep disappointment for me, because it was the first time I ever sang bass and because I know so little about reading music on clefs below Middle C (I did take piano lessons as a kid, but really only could read the right hand parts). And the timing! Don’t forget that! The timing was particularly difficult because the composer uses it creatively. So I came close to dropping out several times.

Results? Glorious music and we felt grateful to be a part of it, but it was a bit like being part of a sophisticated drill team and yet not having proper instruction in all the complexities of its moves.

Somehow we got through. At several points today during the singing I almost broke down: tears popped into my eyes and my throat clutched and I had to just wait until I had emotional control enough to proceed.

It is a gorgeous piece of music, deeply spiritual and moving. Listen to Neville Mariner’s version on CD (because it’s in English rather than German). It will bring a thrill.

ADD ON NEXT DAY
Neither Pen nor I slept well last night. Both of us had vibrant memories of the songs echoing through us, but perhaps it was more than that, something we don't quite understand yet perhaps. Just now, taking a shower, I tried to sing the last section, a building set of crescendos of which a main repetition is "Lord our Creator, how excellent thy name is...in all the nations," repeating with more emphasis on a rising scale of what I think would be called contrapuntal melodies. Again and again I tried and again and again I choke up on it. Tremendous is too small a word for the feelings it engenders.
Don't give up on anything worthwhile. I am so grateful that I stuck with this.

Amen.