A Nice Warble Down (Musical) Memory Lane

Yesterday, while I was washing the dishes, a Latin phrase popped into my head:

Omnes, omnes, generationes ...
(which means, "all generations")

These words were, of course, accompanied by a tremendous punching mix of musical notes, all part of a chorus that had lain quite dormant in my brain for quite some time. I have no idea why this particular chorus suddenly revived itself, yet it did. And I'm glad of it.

This piece is part of a larger work by Johann Sebastian Bach, The Magnificat (or, "The Song of Mary") first performed in 1723. This is a pretty significant thing for me, because it is the first major work of which I was a part. Now, I love to sing and I have been a part of choirs ever since I was a child, joining our church's "Junior Choir" for starters. The first choral piece I ever sang, in that same Junior Choir, was "The Palms," which looking back kind of makes me laugh. I'll never forget rehearsing that piece, thinking I was big stuff (at the impressive age of about 10), donning the silky olive green robe and mustard-color stole. I felt I had arrived.

I sang in church choirs and school choirs from then on, but it wasn't until my Sophomore year in high school where I was rather overcome by truly good music. Our choir director was a passionate, hot-blooded Italian man who knew his stuff and who challenged us in ways that were new to me. I branched out into musicals ("Fiddler on the roof" and "The Pirates of Penzance"), but it was the classical choruses that truly touched my soul and unleashed something within me. That Sophomore year we were told that we would be performing Bach's Magnificat ... and I was hooked immediately. A professional orchestra was enlisted to accompany our choir, soloists were selected, and off we went. I was in heaven.

That was 20 years ago (augh!) and I still remember every single Latin word and every single beautiful alto note of the entire work. I even know the arias, even though I was not a soloist. I was so enthralled with this, my first participation in a work of major proportions, that I didn't want to limit myself to just the choruses. I belted out the alto solo parts; I tucked in my chin to release the tenor solo; I took deep breaths and perfected my "head voice" to join in with the sopranos; I easily raised the bass aria an octive higher so I could sing along without hurting myself. I was, in all honesty, so impressed that I -- at the age of 14 -- could do such a thing. I discovered a new love.

I really like the fact that 20 years later, I still know all of this perfectly by heart. I can hear Alex, a teenage girl with a mind-boggling extraordinary soprano voice, singing like an operatic angel. I can see clearly the man with whom I became infatuated, the oboist from the hired orchestra -- a man who first showed me that breathing into a long tube could produce near-tangible velvet. I can see him sitting in the chair, back perfectly erect, his face slightly tinged with exerted red, the veins beginning to show themselves around his temples, and the notes ... oh, those notes! I fell in love with that oboe, one of the most hauntingly gorgeous instruments ever played.

Yesterday afternoon I found a recording of the Magnificat, given to me by Don years ago. I popped it into my car's player as I drove to pick up Aidan, and as the first strings and trumpets filled my car's interior, I smiled. I was standing on my high school auditorium's stage, shaking a bit not from performance anxiety but from my fear of heights on those deadly risers. I am wearing a royal blue choir robe, a white silken stole around my neck. My heart is beating hard, those notes immediately making their way into my blood stream, those strangely beautiful Latin words on the tip of my tongue like savored melted chocolate.

Magnificat.
My soul magnifies the Lord.

I sang the six miles to the school, every note recalled, every dramatic, almost frantic run rolling off my tongue. Sure, 20 years later, my "instrument" is rusty since I don't currently sing in a choir; I wasn't breathing properly in the front seat of my car, bound by my seatbelt. But all in all, I did it. It still stirs my soul in an almost inexplicable way.

My soul does magnify the Lord.
Thanks, Lord, for the magnificent reminder.