Into the Music

As you walk into the Music Building past the practice room hallway, you’d be lucky if the room next to you didn’t contain a trumpet or saxophone. Straight ahead you see students filing out of the classrooms by the masses. You pass by that same kid who, at 3pm, sits outside the Music Lab waiting for the key to his practice room and always tries to hit on you. “Sorry, No. I’m taken” You try to tell him, but the same thing happens every Tuesday. You don’t even know his name! All you do know is that he plays the guitar always seems to be wearing the same “Metallica” sweatshirt and probably doesn’t shower daily…

“Do WAAAHHH!” Oy… Now past the Jazz Choir rooms. Sometimes wondering how they spend their practice times. Twice a week, for twelve weeks, for three hours a day? Why aren’t they good? Nobody knows… Rooms of all shapes and sizes line the hall. Sometimes you come across a hallway leading to a single room, never seeing anyone ever go in or come out. Finally at the end the hallway, we push open the big double glass door. Always cold on the inside handle, from the way-too-cold thermostat.

Ah. The outdoors, that reminiscent smell of tobacco stench covered up by the freshly cut grass. At the end of the day you are parched and can taste the remains of that bagel you had that morning, scarfing it before class at eight am. Now, making that straight A-line to the old vending machine, trying to get there before the group of Skater- boy thugs with their saggy pants and big hooded, stained and torn sweatshirts stand there to smoke their weed.

SHHHCK. The sound of a newly opened bottle cap. A cold surge down your throat clears away the dryness. Finally back into the music building hearing all the sounds, singing, trumpets, out of tune chords, the running copy machine, making photocopies for the one kid who “lost” his music (even though he only got it yesterday), and “TURN YOUR MELODIA TO PAGE 5!”

Practice Rooms

Yuck! The smell of sweat from the guy who was in the practice room before you fills your nose. Padded “sound-proof” walls, with the foam peelings. Put the music down on the well-worn piano. Sit down on the wobbly, squeaky, chipped-paint bench. Piano keys chipped and discolored. Focusing on your piano playing. “DUM DUM DUM DUM” the loud sound of a tuba rings in from the room next door, disturbing your practice… Oh look. A stain on the floor, likely from a Starbucks somebody had the day before. Us Music Majors all run on coffee, without it you would see a hallway filled with walking zombies. We spend all of the hours in the day practicing, going to rehearsals, practicing, voice lessons, piano lessons, general ed. classes, practicing. We always find time to eat, get coffee and occasionally we sleep. When we do sleep we wake up and repeat the cycle.

Rehearsals

Dun Dum Dum Dum Dum Dummmmm! Piano playing time for warm-ups. Swarms of people running in from the halls. Choir folder in one hand, tuning fork in the other. “Ahhhhh” arpeggiated up the scales. All while you duel your fellow choir members for the last remaining music stand, even though it squeaks, won’t stand up and wobbles every time you inhale a little too much, you still want to have it. (Holding your music for that long hurts!)

“Open up the Bach to the Magnificat!” Cheryl calls from her tiny, black podium in the front of the room. Everyone quickly begins to sift through their score to call out the page numbers, because everyone wants their tiny recognition from Cheryl.

“It starts on page 12!” a bass calls. Those who have not found it yet would catch up quickly as the piano has already started the intro.

“Magni…” the choir would sing.

“STOP!” Cheryl would yell and cut us off. Looking up hoping she is not staring at you… Whew! She’s looking at the basses, “Boys! You are flat! Let’s try it again!”

After 3 more tries we get it correct enough to move on. Ah! So many beautiful sounds. The pure silence after finishing a piece. Stunning. Pure magic.
Concert Day

Walk into the rotten, old, run-down “dressing rooms” of the Holy Cross Church. Now these “dressing rooms,” are really just the old school and current Family Shelter Building.

Classic white walls with old pictures of Christ. The accumulation of dust making it seem as though this place hadn’t been cleaned in months, maybe years. On the ground a mini-golf-course green carpet. Stains of brownish-gray rubbed into the floor due to muddy or dusty shoes.

But then, you open the brown wooden doors, with a classroom-like window, the wood grain like a beautiful tree, with only a few knots in the wood. You push open the door to reveal a room of black.

Women and men dressed up in their “fancy clothes”. Men in tuxes and women in floor length dresses, velvety tops and plain bottoms. Pearl earrings and pearl necklaces. You can smell the scent of makeup, which everyone caked on, clothes on the floor and binders everywhere. “Where’s my Binder?!” people call. A scramble of singers fighting over binders. Everyone anxious to take the stage.

In a choir they say, “Hearts beat as one.” On concert day you feel your hearts beating together as one musical entity. Finally we congregate in our lines men in the front and women in the back. March on stage. Breathe. Silence. Not a soul in the room could come up with a decent enough word to describe how this feels. The reaction of the audience makes everything worthwhile. Joy, sadness and fear are received. Everything that we and the composer tried to accomplish. We succeeded.

Stunning. Brilliant. Magical. Too many feelings to be able to fit into one person. Butterflies emerge from your stomach once the concert ceases. The most beautiful place on earth is contained wherever we go and wherever our voices can be heard.
Empty Hallways

Tumbleweeds roll across the ground, crickets chirp in the silence; Empty walls. No announcements for “Auditions!” or “Spring Concert!” all with conflicting dates. How could you ever choose? Empty hallways. No more “Flash-mob” like serenades from the cute boy in MUS-17b. No more barbershop fans congregating in the halls. No more piano majors in the recital hall making you think, “Damnit! How come I can’t be that talented!” Big instrument lockers left open. Doors locked, no people in sight. No more students being trampled by musicians carrying their instruments out of class. No more classes.

The feeling of emptiness, not quite knowing what exactly is missing. Walking back out of the cold double doors into the warm summer sun, the air warm, and the campus empty. Just wishing fall would come sooner.