Connections: Lift Every Voice
There was a time when, as a young mother, I drove from the South Fork to New York City once a week in a meticulously maintained old Cadillac (we called it the Brown Cloud) for singing lessons. It’s hard to say exactly what my motivation was; perhaps it just was a respite from family life.
The teacher I found in New York was revered among some of the city’s up-and-coming young professionals in the opera world, so I was honored to be at her piano’s side. She taught in an apartment with a dramatic view of the Hudson River, a setting sophisticated enough to imbue me with high notions about my singing. But I never had a misimpression that it might be possible to use my light soprano professionally. My teacher had me concentrate on the American Songbook, and I still sometimes run through one or another classic song in my head. At the time, I vocalized to high C, while now I don’t get much above an F as a high alto.
I realized as I grew older that whatever talent I had as a singer could be described as it had been when, in a quartet of high school students auditioning for the New Jersey All State Chorus, the leader said, “She held her group together.” In other words, my singing was steady and on key, useful in a group — but pretty mundane praise.
I was 13 when I had my first singing lessons. My mother, who varied between wishing I would become another Shirley Temple and envisioning me as an opera star, knew of a voice teacher not far from home, whom I could reach by bus. That early teacher didn’t offer much about technique, but plunged me right into a serious repertoire, with lyrics principally in Italian. One of the songs was the sad but lovely Handel aria “Lascia ch’io pianga.” I recommend your finding it on YouTube if you are so inclined. It’s about cruel fate.
Before I left New York City to be married and move out east, I spent some time with the prestigious Canterbury Choral Society at Manhattan’s Church of the Heavenly Rest, under the direction of Charles Dodsley Walker. After some years living here on the East End, someone told me about the Choral Society of the Hamptons.
Before I first started singing with
the Choral Society, I wasn’t particularly enthralled with the idea, being snobbish enough to assume it would be mediocre. But then one day I saw a man with an unforgettable name listed as a member: Dinwiddie Smith. He had sung at the Church of the Heavenly Rest at the same time I did, and if this local group was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. I have been a dedicated chorister ever since.
One of the good things about the Choral Society is that it just gets better and better. Today, many members are professional musicians, as teachers or directors of church choirs, and they lift up our voices. The society also has a superior conductor and music director, Mark Mangini, and engages other fine conductors from time to time. (This gives me an opportunity to let you know that our next concert will be at the East Hampton Presbyterian Church on March 31, under the direction of Walter Klauss.)
As my years with the Choral Society go by, I have become more and more grateful to be a member. Only last week, on a wicked winter Monday night as we wrapped up our rehearsal at East Hampton’s Presbyterian Church, I stepped outside and realized it was really too cold to walk home. I asked another of the stalwart, longtime members — a fellow singer who has become a longtime friend — to give me a ride home, and I must say I enjoyed riding down Main Street in her Tesla.
young mother, I drove from the South Fork to New York City once a week in a meticulously maintained old Cadillac (we called it the Brown Cloud) for singing lessons. It’s hard to say exactly what my motivation was; perhaps it just was a respite from family life.
The teacher I found in New York was revered among some of the city’s up-and-coming young professionals in the opera world, so I was honored to be at her piano’s side. She taught in an apartment with a dramatic view of the Hudson River, a setting sophisticated enough to imbue me with high notions about my singing. But I never had a misimpression that it might be possible to use my light soprano professionally. My teacher had me concentrate on the American Songbook, and I still sometimes run through one or another classic song in my head. At the time, I vocalized to high C, while now I don’t get much above an F as a high alto.
I realized as I grew older that whatever talent I had as a singer could be described as it had been when, in a quartet of high school students auditioning for the New Jersey All State Chorus, the leader said, “She held her group together.” In other words, my singing was steady and on key, useful in a group — but pretty mundane praise.
I was 13 when I had my first singing lessons. My mother, who varied between wishing I would become another Shirley Temple and envisioning me as an opera star, knew of a voice teacher not far from home, whom I could reach by bus. That early teacher didn’t offer much about technique, but plunged me right into a serious repertoire, with lyrics principally in Italian. One of the songs was the sad but lovely Handel aria “Lascia ch’io pianga.” I recommend your finding it on YouTube if you are so inclined. It’s about cruel fate.
Before I left New York City to be married and move out east, I spent some time with the prestigious Canterbury Choral Society at Manhattan’s Church of the Heavenly Rest, under the direction of Charles Dodsley Walker. After some years living here on the East End, someone told me about the Choral Society of the Hamptons.
Before I first started singing with
the Choral Society, I wasn’t particularly enthralled with the idea, being snobbish enough to assume it would be mediocre. But then one day I saw a man with an unforgettable name listed as a member: Dinwiddie Smith. He had sung at the Church of the Heavenly Rest at the same time I did, and if this local group was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. I have been a dedicated chorister ever since.
One of the good things about the Choral Society is that it just gets better and better. Today, many members are professional musicians, as teachers or directors of church choirs, and they lift up our voices. The society also has a superior conductor and music director, Mark Mangini, and engages other fine conductors from time to time. (This gives me an opportunity to let you know that our next concert will be at the East Hampton Presbyterian Church on March 31, under the direction of Walter Klauss.)
As my years with the Choral Society go by, I have become more and more grateful to be a member. Only last week, on a wicked winter Monday night as we wrapped up our rehearsal at East Hampton’s Presbyterian Church, I stepped outside and realized it was really too cold to walk home. I asked another of the stalwart, longtime members — a fellow singer who has become a longtime friend — to give me a ride home, and I must say I enjoyed riding down Main Street in her Tesla.