discover your inner nerd

Last Sunday I performed (yes, it's performing, you pretentious church musicians, who say it's "worshipping through song") a few songs at the little church I go to in Mt. Vernon. The first piece (a trumpet and soprano duet by Handel) went really well; I managed to hit all the high notes, and enjoy the buzzing overtones between the instruments. The minister then preached a funny sermon, about geeky people who aren't fun at your party - the vegetarian that makes everyone kind of feel guilty about eating meat, the girl who's abstaining from alcohol to show support for her alcoholic brother, the killjoys, the virginal, squeaky-clean, pains-in-the-ass. Each description got a lot of laughs in this church - Mt. Vernon's Christians aren't the kind that don't party, drink or smoke, and wait 'til marriage. They're the kind that hold peace rallies and gay rights parades, and buy fairly-traded goodies for their wild parties.

Nonetheless, she argued that the world needs those sort of people. She ended with a story about Mr. Rogers, in which a radio host paired him up with the most offensive guest possible, hoping to bring out an angry, vengeful side of the sweet children's show star. Instead, the guest told Mr. Rogers sad stories about his childhood, and ended up crying. Now, don't get me wrong - a lot of people pretend to be all goodness and light, and it's pure hypocrisy. But when that sweetness comes from a sincere place, it's irresistable.

My second song was "At the River", a slow version of an old spiritual. Usually I sing it with a little too much bravado, trying to force the power and emotion that it calls for. It really would best be sung by a huge black opera singer, with a rich deep voice. But my voice isn't like that - if I was in an opera, I'd be the little dorky soprano that sings a warbly song about fairies or some shit. I realized that I'd have to embrace my geekiness and face the fact that my voice is more Charlotte Church than Jessye Norman, and hope my sincerity would be enough to sell the song.

It worked. I was me, in all my badly-lit-PBS-Special glory. I was actually able to put more emotion into my less-affected singing. After I was done, the trumpet player said, "I cried. You made me cry."

Musicians can mess around with people's emotions, if they want to, but bringing people to a catharsis through an honest rendering of a wise and beautiful song? That's what it's all about.