There is a difference between spectating and participating.

This seems obvious, but it is something that really came home for me this week for t’was Concert Week. I had a Chamber Singers practice every day this week except Wednesday. All in preparation for our concert with Marcel Khalife. And this is the lesson I learned.

But the Khalife concert wasn’t the only concert I attended. I also went to the Bryn Mawr Concert Series’ MisterWives and Little Daylights concert.

They were contrasting experiences. The first was teeming with people and all very nerve-wracking. The second was reasonably well attended (~110 people) but felt sparse because the space could hold twice that number. All through the MisterWives concert, I longed for a seat, knowledge of the words, or more excitement. I didn’t quite know what to do and felt like a bit of an imposter. Like I was doing something just because others do it (which, to be fair, was kinda true. I’ve never really been to a concert and wanted to try it out). I wanted to go crazy and get into the music but never felt I had the chance. I peered over heads and tried to find the best vantage point but all were lackluster.

Did I need to see the performers? Even when they were hopping excitedly, I didn’t feel like following them. Truly, the best part of the concert was when the lead singer of MisterWives got her band members to dance poorly for us. Then, at least, I got to cheer and have a laugh.

Note: Even saying all this, I want to give a massive shoutout to the members of the Bryn Mawr Concert Series group; they did a phenomonal job promoting and hosting the entire concert. (Brief info on them: they arrange for different classical and contemporary arts acts to come to campus and perform for free).

The concert made me want to re-examine my dreams of being a singer. How can I want to perform when I don’t enjoy concerts? When looking and listening to the lead singer made me think of the burny ears I get when I perform and how she must have felt?

The Khalife concert was worlds away from the other–in more ways than one. It was at Haverford, a Chamber Singers event (meaning I had a starring role in the night), and the music I was singing was in Arabic.

And it was amazing.

Our piece, Chants of the East (written by Mr. Khalife), went by extremely fast. Every other measure we were sitting down. No, standing up. Or hold on, waiting for the boys choir to sing their part? I started to conduct to myself so I could feel internally the same beat that Tom, our conductor, motions and bounces along. It was fun to stacatto out each word. Each word that I had struggled with so during rehearsals. Sometimes I kinda missed the cue or belatedly followed my fellows (I’m still learning to sight-read properly, after all). But sometimes I led them in parts where the vocal section has no breaks. I trilled out the high notes and played with the harmonies on the lower ones.

And in the ending chord I wished I was a first soprano so I could just attempt to sing that high note; so I could share in the glory of the ending and not just hover in the middle.

Sure. My ears felt hot as an oven. And yeah, I stood up from the bow a little too soon and thought something horrendously embarrassing was due to happen any moment. (Cue: music folder falling from hands. Cue: Zubin fainting because her knees locked. Cue: Zubin laughing for no apparent reason in the midst of silence).

But it was OK. It was splendiferous anyway. I beamed like an idiot after it was over and the cutest thing was Marcel Khalife giving Tom a hug and walking off the stage with him, arm in arm.

We’d done good.

I know now that no, I can not like most concerts and still perform. Performing is the opposite of spectating and I revel in it. I need to be in the action, bouncing and reeling, making noise and reacting.

That’s just who I am.

Info: http://www.philly.com/philly/columnists/david_patrick_stearns/20141113_Music_transcends_the_East-West_divide.html