PART TEN: My Choir, Your Choir, Chicago's Choir: A History of Wicker Park Choral Singers, 2008 - 2012
“So that’s what you really like about your project, then?” I asked. “That you get to give back? Engage people?” “Yeah, that’s definitely part of it,” Mark mused. “But, you know, I also enjoy that at some point, after a few seasons of honing the choir, of honing our musicianship, it was really no longer just my choir. It became our choir. And it’s even becoming Chicago’s choir. It belongs to everyone, even the audience.”
“You’ll have to explain that one. I mean, I understand that the audience can enjoy the music, that’s fine, but how does the choir belong to them?”
He leaned forward. Angela leaned forward, too. I hesitated and then joined the conspiracy. “The thing is,” Mark said, “everyone is a choral music fan. They just don’t know it yet.”
I shook my head and turned another page in my notebook. “I don’t buy it.”
Mark held up a hand. “See, every new person we bring into the fold, every person who hears choral music for the first time, or chooses to support the choir, or even just learns something new about how music can sound…they get to hold and cherish and own that moment where we helped them expand their horizons, or where they supported us so we could expand ours.”
I was still suspicious. “Can you prove it? Have you seen this ‘ownership’ in action?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Angela said, rising to the challenge. “Here’s your proof.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a pamphlet, tossing it down on the table definitively. “That’s the program for our ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ concert.”
I flipped it open, and scanned the first few pages as she talked it through. “For starters, we took this concert right out to the public. We partnered with Chris Jackson of the Jackson Junge Gallery to stage the event in a non-traditional location. We hired an amazing caterer, Jason Shiver-Simpson of Stone Root Catering. We sold tickets, we dressed up in our party best, we talked about art and music. I’m telling you, this was solid ritz.”
“Alright, I can believe that,” I nodded.
“And then the audience ownership,” she said. “Well, we had a standard rep by then. We had openers, closers, experimental music, fast and slow pieces. And we decided to group pieces together by their type, three to a group, and sing little snippets of each piece to the audience as the night progressed. Four rounds of snippet singing.”
“Why just snippets? Why not sing the whole song.”
“Well, we wanted to create some mystery,” she shrugged a shoulder. “And besides, if we sang the whole piece, then we would have just been telling the audience what to listen to. No, this way, they got to decide which pieces intrigued them, and then vote on the piece they wanted to hear in its entirety.”
“Ohhh, so that’s how the audience…”
“Took ownership of the concert, yes,” finished Angela. “They picked all the pieces they wanted to hear, and in the meantime, we walked around and mingled and talked about our choir and our music and asked them about their choices, and what about each piece had drawn them in. And they came up with the most amazing things to say. People immediately felt connected to the emotionality of a piece, or the pace of it, or the humor in it. They were anticipatory. They really, truly hoped they’d win the vote and get their piece on the program. They owned their decisions.”
“Alright, well, that’s certifiably cool,” I said. “You’ve convinced me.”
“I don’t think we can argue that the people at the concert were all brand new to choral music,” said Mark in reflection. “But you know what? We made you like the choir, didn’t we?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, well…I suppose in a way, that…”
“Admit it, you’re a choral music fan now.”
I scratched the back of my head. “Well, I did like the recordings you gave me to listen to…and I did think the members I met were pretty interesting, so…” I finally relented a smile. “Yeah, I think I’m a choral music fan.”
Mark clapped his hands together in absolute triumph. “I knew it!”
Angela’s mink let out a tiny hiccup and slid from the table, drunk as a skunk. She sighed and picked the mink up off the floor, setting him around her shoulders. His paws dangled down in blissful oblivion. “You better be…” she said.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I have more than enough for the radio installments, now. The only thing left is to have you both in to the studio to do a bit of recorded interview…which I think…” I flipped open my pocket calendar. “Yeah, I have you down here for next Tuesday.”
Angela looked at Mark, in cahoots about something or another. “What…” I asked. “Tuesday won’t work?”
“It’s not that. Well, I have one last secret to share with you,” Angela said. “It might surprise you.”
“After all this? I doubt it. But lay it on me.”
“Your boss, Stephanie Malmquist?”
“Yeah…” I said, growing wary.
“She’s in the choir.”
To Be Continued.....