Singing in a choir is a phenomenal experience. Never before have I participated in creating such a sound: one that is unified amongst over one hundred fellow voices; in essence, it is a Sound that unifies over one hundred fellow human beings. And how often does that happen in this world. Really.

There's something about the combination of counterpoint and text that is so delightfully ecstatic. One of our pieces, Lauridsen's O Magnum Mysterium (O Great Mystery), with its painful and beautiful suspensions, is sung at such a slow tempo -- yet, every note carries a very quiet intensity. Such strength is found in counterpoint! The text is famous for its juxtiposition of Christ the Savior and His humble beginnings in a manger. O Magnum Mysterium is reflective and reverent.

I highly recommend joining a choir, especially one with a good director that has musical ideas and expressive gestures. It is a deeply satisfying, and deeply spiritual, experience.

After the final performance of the Weill opera excerpts...

My friend Jon, a Guitar/Composition major, invited me out with the other performers and music students for the usual post-concert festivities. Initially, I wanted to go. But I kindly declined seeing that I woke up at six this morning, worked all day, then performed at night.

Instead, I came home and sharpened all my HB pencils. I did this because I like my pencils pointy.

Obviously, someone needs sleep.

Hidden in the shadow beneath the black wooden box, she sits with her knees pulled to her chest, trembling. It is a feverish chill, and fearful.

(To perform is to always be at your best)

Their voices keep vying for her time in circles above her head. Ever so cleverly, they are taunting, snickering, waiting like hawks for her to break. Their smiles are deliciously angelic.

(To always be at your best is a lonely pursuit)

Angled correctly, the wooden box is beautifully curvacious. It looks something like a coffin.

While sight reading my part during a rehearsal for a performance of the Weill opera excerpts: (at such times, to weather the anxiety, I give myself pep talks)

Hey, Rebecca...you're nailing all the notes! And you were worried! Worried over nothing! This is great; you just got the music this morning and you're not even dropping notes! You musical genius. Oh wait. No one else is playing here? My solo? Pretty boring solo, if you ask me --

I looked up from the piano while carrying on with my part. The conductor had his baton in mid-air, stopped conducting and made eye contact with me. I kept playing my "solo" while my fellow musicians held their instruments and, one by one, turned around to look at me too.

I stopped playing. Oblivious, as if they stopped the show for no reason, I said, "What"

They broke into laughter. The conductor shook his head. "Rebecca, there's a fermata at the end of bar 45. Everyone paused and waited for my cue, you played right through it."

I looked at my score. Oh right. There it is, the fermata. It wasn't a solo.

Musical genius, hmph. You're just an idiot.