The song of the righteous is a prayer unto Him

But maybe this doesn’t count if the song sounds like crap. The noise that came from tonight’s choir practice could not be considered a prayer, I don’t think. If anything, it was like a prank call or some other obnoxious thing, which will probably be met with swift retribution in the form of a plague or drought or similar.

I should tell you I’ve been spoiled this past year by having the best ward (Latter-day Saint congregation, for anyone not familiar w/the lingo) choir director ever. She is amazing and talented and pushed us and expected all kinds of greatness. It was wonderful—we just trusted that she knew exactly what she was doing, and that if we did what she said we would sound amazing. I got all into the Joy of the Voice.

Yeah. The joy, she is gone.

First off, tonight’s practice lasted two hours, which is just wrong. So I had two hours to realize that I was back in civilian land, with all the familiar cast members (the quavery old soprano ladies, the Bossy Butts, the tone-deafs, the choir director who doesn’t know what she’s doing because she’s never actually directed a choir before and just got stuck with it, etc.). I, by the way, fall into the “Alto with no range who can’t always find her notes but knows enough about music to know when things suck, even if she doesn't have solutions” role.

It didn’t help that one of the songs we’re doing is “Consider the Lilies.” I kind of hate that song. I only like it when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings it, and even then it’s a stretch. This is probably because my first exposure to it was at the hands of a Quavery Old Lady ward choir who mangled it and caused an irreversible impression on my mind.

I forget what the second piece was that we practiced, but there weren’t enough copies for everyone, so we had to share. But the lady next to me had this desperate desperate need to look at every single page, even when we weren’t singing. So she kept reaching over onto my lap and pawing through pages, or taking parts of it out of my hand. Now, I don’t care if she is a sweet frumpy English lady. After about the 6th instance, I thought, “Lady, I don’t care if this is the chapel. If you get in my space again you’re getting an elbow to the throat. Also I will gag you with your own scrunchie.” Luckily we finished the song and moved on to the other one before she did it again. And before you ask, no, I could not have just handed her the pages and let her be in charge of them.

When you give in like that, then the terrorists will have already won.

Posted in: England