In church yesterday we watched one of those videos from the '80's that, while having some great and worthwhile messages, hasn't aged particularly well. Sure, the hairstyles and clothes are kind of embarrassing now, but what really got to me was the music. It was, to use my voice teacher's term, "Je-zak" (Jesus + Muzak), the pop-ified style of music I've heard in countless Church videos and special musical numbers during meetings. It's usually accompanied by piano and sung with as much breathiness or pressed phonation as possible. While I certainly don't fault the folks who sing it, seeing as how most of them have no vocal training, sometimes I really envy the other religious denominations with their long-standing musical traditions and trained singers.
I actually wrote a paper this semester about music education in the LDS Church and was able to briefly mention the amount of singing that accompanies our worship (group singing in almost every type of meeting, both formal and informal) and the huge amount of discretion allowed to local leadership to determine how strictly to interpret the directions from Church headquarters on proper music in worship. Because of this discretion, in a given geographical cluster of wards (congregations) in a Stake (like a diocese) you might get a bishop in one ward who will only allow music or arrangements from the hymnbook right next to a ward like mine where my friend M played the "Meditation" from Thaïs in Sacrament meeting. (Which was awesome, BTW.)
But vocal music is especially thorny. Instrumental music from outside the Church you can often get away with much easier, since it doesn't have any words. Vocal music, on the other hand, has to have a text that is doctrinally accurate and in the language of the congregation (not that I mind), but that tends to eliminate a lot of the music from non-LDS composers. In addition, music in the Church needs to avoid drawing attention to the performers themselves and away from the service.
Thus, when you combine the guidelines on appropriate music with an untrained laity who typically volunteers to do solo singing you tend to hear a lot of Je-zak in LDS Sunday meetings. No wonder I'm treated like such a freak when I visit my home ward.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
In which I root for the underdog
Today was the first day of my annual waterfront lifeguarding course and perhaps for the first time ever since I became a Lifeguarding Instructor (LGI), all my students passed the prerequisite skills. It was inspiring, really.
On the first day of class, potential lifeguard candidates are required to undergo a pre-course session that tests whether they have the skills and comfort in the water to endure the demands of the class. Those that have been competitive swimmers usually find this to be a breeze, but it's pretty grueling for everyone else, especially those with less-accomplished stroke technique. I've seen people literally make themselves sick attempting to complete it. In fact, when I was originally trained, I finished the 500 meter swim--in a backyard pool that was less than 25 meters which meant I had to do about 40 laps instead of the usual 20--only to climb out and throw up all over the deck. (Although, in my defense, I was just recovering from a long-term illness.)
What's so inspiring in all of this is watching the swimmers who are less sure of themselves stick it out and finish the tests, despite the pain and exhaustion. Determination and the ability to push past discomfort and get the job done are valuable traits in a lifeguard, particularly when someone's life may be on the line.
This morning, I had one girl, in particular, who barely squeaked into the course. But man, she wanted it and when the chips were down, she got the job done. It's going to be a great week.
On the first day of class, potential lifeguard candidates are required to undergo a pre-course session that tests whether they have the skills and comfort in the water to endure the demands of the class. Those that have been competitive swimmers usually find this to be a breeze, but it's pretty grueling for everyone else, especially those with less-accomplished stroke technique. I've seen people literally make themselves sick attempting to complete it. In fact, when I was originally trained, I finished the 500 meter swim--in a backyard pool that was less than 25 meters which meant I had to do about 40 laps instead of the usual 20--only to climb out and throw up all over the deck. (Although, in my defense, I was just recovering from a long-term illness.)
What's so inspiring in all of this is watching the swimmers who are less sure of themselves stick it out and finish the tests, despite the pain and exhaustion. Determination and the ability to push past discomfort and get the job done are valuable traits in a lifeguard, particularly when someone's life may be on the line.
This morning, I had one girl, in particular, who barely squeaked into the course. But man, she wanted it and when the chips were down, she got the job done. It's going to be a great week.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
In which I discuss video games as a vehicle for family togetherness
I grew up on video games. My older brother and I bonded over them when we were kids. He would play and I would watch, occasionally consulting together on the solutions to various puzzles ("Maybe...if you light those torches?") and I could wander off when things got boring or level-grindy.
As time went on and more kids came along, all of my siblings and I sort of settled into this routine on games. Some of us remain more watchers then players and a brand-new nifty game will still get us back into familiar patterns of gathering around the TV, offering unsolicited advice during moments of crisis, staying up half the night during Christmas break, and fighting over who's going to play and when.
My parents, particularly my mother, are still a bit baffled by this whole phenomenon. My father has officially been sucked into being a casual gamer through "Rock Band", but both of them still scratched their heads this past Christmas as the five kids congregated in the basement to watch a combination of us beat "The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess."
See, the five of us have grown apart in many ways over the years. We hold different (sometimes stridently different) religious views and political views. We live scattered across the country and aren't always the best in keeping in touch with each other. So, it kinda warms my heart to see us finding a way to relate to each other and bond like we did as children, despite the years.
And besides if you can't bond over watching a blond elf lay the righteous smackdown on a centuries-old evil pig-man, what can you bond over?
As time went on and more kids came along, all of my siblings and I sort of settled into this routine on games. Some of us remain more watchers then players and a brand-new nifty game will still get us back into familiar patterns of gathering around the TV, offering unsolicited advice during moments of crisis, staying up half the night during Christmas break, and fighting over who's going to play and when.
My parents, particularly my mother, are still a bit baffled by this whole phenomenon. My father has officially been sucked into being a casual gamer through "Rock Band", but both of them still scratched their heads this past Christmas as the five kids congregated in the basement to watch a combination of us beat "The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess."
See, the five of us have grown apart in many ways over the years. We hold different (sometimes stridently different) religious views and political views. We live scattered across the country and aren't always the best in keeping in touch with each other. So, it kinda warms my heart to see us finding a way to relate to each other and bond like we did as children, despite the years.
And besides if you can't bond over watching a blond elf lay the righteous smackdown on a centuries-old evil pig-man, what can you bond over?
In which I contemplate your death
Ah, summer. It reminds me of a song we used to sing in Primary when I was a kid:
(Well, okay. I can't really remember the words, but they went something like this.)
Oh, what do you do in the summertime when all the trees are green? Do you sit by a stream or lazily dream or watch as the clouds float by? Is that what you do? So do I!
I sit by the pool and a) ruin people's fun, b) keep them from killing themselves or someone they love or c) both.
Yes, a lifeguard's lot is not a happy one. Despite the impression that "Baywatch" may have given you, being a lifeguard is actually a pretty dull job most of the time. It involves a level of attention that has to be high enough to notice what's going on in your area, but not so focused that you cease taking in the whole picture.
Consequently, guards come up with various ways of keeping their minds active while on duty. One of the methods that's actually suggested in the literature is to imagine rescue scenarios involving the people currently under your watch.
That 70-ish lap swimmer breathing hard at the end of each lap? Heart attack.
That irritating frat boy who keeps diving headfirst into shallow water no matter how many times you tell him not to? TWEEET!!! Broken neck.
That snot-nosed kid who likes to float motionless at the surface for an excruciating amount of time? Drowning.
Doing this sort of thing not only helps you constantly review your skills, but it keeps your attention at just about the right level.
But things have taken a bit of a morbid turn in my case.
Since I'm also an instructor for various training courses, I have to review skills in my head almost constantly just to keep them all straight. This has lead me to imagine emergency scenarios almost everywhere. At school. At church. On road trips.
So, I guess what I'm asking is: Does this make me paranoid? Or just a little unbalanced?
(Well, okay. I can't really remember the words, but they went something like this.)
Oh, what do you do in the summertime when all the trees are green? Do you sit by a stream or lazily dream or watch as the clouds float by? Is that what you do? So do I!
I sit by the pool and a) ruin people's fun, b) keep them from killing themselves or someone they love or c) both.
Yes, a lifeguard's lot is not a happy one. Despite the impression that "Baywatch" may have given you, being a lifeguard is actually a pretty dull job most of the time. It involves a level of attention that has to be high enough to notice what's going on in your area, but not so focused that you cease taking in the whole picture.
Consequently, guards come up with various ways of keeping their minds active while on duty. One of the methods that's actually suggested in the literature is to imagine rescue scenarios involving the people currently under your watch.
That 70-ish lap swimmer breathing hard at the end of each lap? Heart attack.
That irritating frat boy who keeps diving headfirst into shallow water no matter how many times you tell him not to? TWEEET!!! Broken neck.
That snot-nosed kid who likes to float motionless at the surface for an excruciating amount of time? Drowning.
Doing this sort of thing not only helps you constantly review your skills, but it keeps your attention at just about the right level.
But things have taken a bit of a morbid turn in my case.
Since I'm also an instructor for various training courses, I have to review skills in my head almost constantly just to keep them all straight. This has lead me to imagine emergency scenarios almost everywhere. At school. At church. On road trips.
So, I guess what I'm asking is: Does this make me paranoid? Or just a little unbalanced?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
In which I wonder how the heck I got to this point
When I was in fifth grade, I remember telling my homeroom teacher Mrs. Noble that I was going perform on Broadway when I grew up. It was a sure thing and I was very serious about it. I think she expressed some good-natured skepticism about this idea which I promptly shot down.
My love of musicals continued unabated until high school when my mother got the brilliant idea of taking me and my friend C to a touring company's performance of Puccini's "La Bohème" in State College. Opera quickly displaced the musical as my genre of choice.
I entered my undergraduate years at Oberlin fully intending to have a performing career as an opera singer. I had many a thrilling experience there (including enough weird anecdotes about Obies to write a memoir) and some great performance opportunities. However, by the end of undergrad, and as I transitioned to grad school at IU, my singing technique was in shambles, my confidence was shot, and my performance anxiety had become almost intolerable.
With my arrival at IU, I still clung to the idea of having a performing career. I abandoned my up-until-then usual course of auditioning for everything in sight in order to get my technique back in working order and diffuse the performance anxiety. Still auditioned for cattle calls (the big open auditions for the university's six mainstage productions), but was only cast in a small role after three years (Although I did get to wear the BEST. COSTUME. EVER.) and an ensemble part almost three years after that.
Somewhere in all of this, I decided that what I really wanted to do was teach. The idea had actually been percolating in my head since my senior year at Oberlin, but I think I was in denial about it for many years. I had identified myself as a singer--as a performer--for so long that it was a very difficult and slow process to reconfigure what I viewed as a core aspect of my personality.
A few weeks ago, I was having a conversation with another singer friend in which he stated that he felt "called" to the profession. That sentiment struck me for some reason, perhaps because I rarely hear people outside of the Church use it in that way. But I finally realized that I did at last feel "called" to my profession as a teacher and that I was satisfied with that. Part of me thinks that all those years of angst over being a performer may have been necessary for me to realize that it wasn't for me.
So hey, I guess I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.
My love of musicals continued unabated until high school when my mother got the brilliant idea of taking me and my friend C to a touring company's performance of Puccini's "La Bohème" in State College. Opera quickly displaced the musical as my genre of choice.
I entered my undergraduate years at Oberlin fully intending to have a performing career as an opera singer. I had many a thrilling experience there (including enough weird anecdotes about Obies to write a memoir) and some great performance opportunities. However, by the end of undergrad, and as I transitioned to grad school at IU, my singing technique was in shambles, my confidence was shot, and my performance anxiety had become almost intolerable.
With my arrival at IU, I still clung to the idea of having a performing career. I abandoned my up-until-then usual course of auditioning for everything in sight in order to get my technique back in working order and diffuse the performance anxiety. Still auditioned for cattle calls (the big open auditions for the university's six mainstage productions), but was only cast in a small role after three years (Although I did get to wear the BEST. COSTUME. EVER.) and an ensemble part almost three years after that.
Somewhere in all of this, I decided that what I really wanted to do was teach. The idea had actually been percolating in my head since my senior year at Oberlin, but I think I was in denial about it for many years. I had identified myself as a singer--as a performer--for so long that it was a very difficult and slow process to reconfigure what I viewed as a core aspect of my personality.
A few weeks ago, I was having a conversation with another singer friend in which he stated that he felt "called" to the profession. That sentiment struck me for some reason, perhaps because I rarely hear people outside of the Church use it in that way. But I finally realized that I did at last feel "called" to my profession as a teacher and that I was satisfied with that. Part of me thinks that all those years of angst over being a performer may have been necessary for me to realize that it wasn't for me.
So hey, I guess I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.
In which I actually start using this blog
So. I created this blog several years ago around the time when I started to discover that my friends had blogs. How neat were they! Pithy! Insightful! Witty!
As has become a common pattern in my life, having a blog seemed like so much fun and surely I could come up with interesting things to post about, and MAN, I wanted in on that action. I took the plunge, created the blog, messed around with the settings a bit and then tried to come up with a few nifty posts.
Several days later and my enthusiasm had basically dried up. Real Life had reared its ugly head again. But I figured maybe I'd get around to it eventually.
Now, with the completion of my doctoral coursework and the end of my academic career as a student looming, I've found myself reflecting quite a bit. So now seemed as good of a time as any to dust off the blog thing and give it another shot.
We'll see how long it lasts this time.
As has become a common pattern in my life, having a blog seemed like so much fun and surely I could come up with interesting things to post about, and MAN, I wanted in on that action. I took the plunge, created the blog, messed around with the settings a bit and then tried to come up with a few nifty posts.
Several days later and my enthusiasm had basically dried up. Real Life had reared its ugly head again. But I figured maybe I'd get around to it eventually.
Now, with the completion of my doctoral coursework and the end of my academic career as a student looming, I've found myself reflecting quite a bit. So now seemed as good of a time as any to dust off the blog thing and give it another shot.
We'll see how long it lasts this time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)