A prof once asked my undergrad music education class to state our personal philosophy of music for an assignment. I had no idea how to answer it, so I made something up that sounded plausible. Only now, many years later, can I actually lay claim to my own philosophy of music making.

It is simple:

Good Community = Good Music

Simple to say, yes, but there are so many facets to explore in what can contribute to “good community.” At a basic level, I believe that if the people making music together care for and about each other, the music will be better and performances more impactful.

The singers who feel supported and part of a community will be comfortable to be vulnerable with each other when they sing together. They will get on stage and be able to connect directly with the audience because they genuinely connect with each other.

That is when the magic happens. That is how you hook the people who have always thought choir is boring, and show them how engaging it can be.

There is so much more to this idea, but for now, you can see it in action with this Bon Iver piece sung by Prairie Voices. This choir has always strived to have a culture of strong community and connection between its members.

Here, they lay all their emotions out and aren’t ashamed or scared of them. I never had to demand or cajole or convince them to do it, we talked about the song and the text, and they did the rest.

It is powerful music. It is powerful community.

One of the things that has happened during this pandemic is that I - and all of us - have had to make a lot of difficult decisions in all parts of life. My choir life has been the most changed since this all started. From cancelling everything in the spring, to trying to navigate new research, to adjusting to new realities, and readjusting to changing circumstances, there have been many tough calls to make.

However, when we look at it, many of these decisions aren’t actually that difficult. They are actually very easy decisions to make. If we care about the health and wellbeing of our choir members and our colleagues, then deciding to cancel a concert or gathering in person out of concern for keeping everyone healthy is very easy.

The difficult part is our own emotions about the cancelling, the changing, the waiting, the hibernating, the pausing. For me, I feel a lot of disappointment. And anger that my grand plans are on hold (and why did I wait so long to get them going in the first place?). And sadness that so many people are missing their communities, their income, their passion, their anchor. And right now, I’m wondering if I’m ‘giving up’ by not trying to run a choir virtually.

On the other hand, perhaps some things are worth waiting for. When we can hold a potluck to celebrate a concert (not to mention all the rehearsals leading up to it), it will be the best meal. That day when I can get up in front of a gathered Beer Choir Sing-Along Messiah and conduct the Hallelujah Chorus will be like no other performance of that piece.

Then again, maybe things will never go back to how they were, and I’ll just have to reimagine everything anyway, so why not get a head start. To be honest, I’ve been unmotivated to do much thinking or innovating about choir in the past number of months. I am continually amazed by colleagues who have such wonderful vision and innovative ideas, but I haven’t got there yet.

I feel that shifting, though. I want to get back to sharing what I love about choir, and I think writing is going to be my way forward right now. If I can’t get up in front of a choir and show you in rehearsal, well, I can at least post it on the internet!

To all my friends, colleagues, teachers, conductors, singers, composers, accompanists, administrators: You are doing so well. Whatever you’re able to do right now, with the resources you have, is enough. You have made difficult easy decisions already, and there will be more in the future. But we are a strong community, and we will come out singing.