Who Do You Follow?
It began with a single, soft note . . . a brief pause . . . and then a perfectly formed chord of four, six or even eight notes. And from that single chord a perfectly lovely melody was built, ebbing and flowing, rising and falling, drifting through the symphony hall and into the ears and down into the souls of all who were listening. It was moving and stirring. And it all began with a single, soft note.
Most of the selections performed that night by the magnificent choir from St. Olaf College were sung a cappella, and I found myself watching each time for a young man on the second row to render that single, soft note from a pitch pipe before each piece. At first I thought two things: Either he’s the most trusted member of the college choir, or he’s a freshman and this is some kind of initiation ritual. Later it was revealed by the choir’s director that the young man is a gifted composer and arranger – the choir sang one of his compositions – so it’s likely that playing the pitch pipe is a role of high honor and trust.
It’s a simple task, really, but a critical one. Without that first perfect note, the choristers might start in different places and fill the hall with dissonance. Even if they have perfect pitch (and many surely do), some might start a half step high or low of the intended mark. They might eventually find their way to harmony, but there’d be a moment of bent notes, swooping and searching before they all got in tune. Or they might have wandered aimlessly until the director silenced them to start again. And if not trustworthy or serious, the young man with the pitch pipe might have blown the wrong note and started them off equally lost.
To get it right, the person with the pitch pipe must play the right note, and the choristers fanned out around him must listen intently, draw that sound into their mind, place their own first note alongside what they’ve just heard, and then voice it as precisely as they imagined it. It’s actually a very complex process.
I’m not a singer and you may not be either, but we all listen to others at different times and in different ways in search of the perfect pitch for our lives. We key off others as we seek harmony in our relationships, careers, vocations, daily movement through this world.
None of us are solo performers; we interact with others all the time. So . . . who are we listening to, and how well are we listening? Are we being led to harmony, or to dissonance? And, who is listening to us?
My husband was a choral director and he always trusted one student with the pitch pipe. He loved the St. Olaf Choir and I have several of their CDs.