...would appear to be the voice. On Saturday morning we sang through a long but extremely beautiful piece by Thomas Tallis:

Gaude Gloriosa, thought to be inspired by the example of Queen Mary returning England to the Catholic faith, is one of Tallis’s most sonorous compositions. It belongs very much in style pre-Reformation music, where large-scale pieces in many sections made full use of a tapestry of sound resulting from dense and complex polyphony. Notable in the middle of the piece is a section scored for 2 trebles, 2 means and bass, where high, piercing voices vie with the darker tones in a breathtaking passage.

(Thank you, Brighton Consort). Even though I’ve pretty much decided that English music from the first half of the sixteenth century is my favourite genre of all-time, singing it was a nightmarish chore. The thing that appeals to me the most about the music is that it goes on and on and on (this only appeals to me if the composer is good; bad music that drags on is toture). Unfortunately, with my voice requiring a supreme effort to achieve the melodious resonance of a metal pole dragging along concrete, the going on and on and on thing wasn’t much fun at all.

After three days wondering how I was going to sing the piece with solos that go on and on and on and long exhausting choir bits live on national radio without an embarrassing squark or coughing fit, I went to the rehearsal tonight. Tonight my voice was golden, and weaving my line into the delicate tapestry was effortless. One of the sopranos (who has the disconcerting habit of looking back suddenly if she hears something either particularly bad or particularly beautiful from the men) told me my singing was excellent. Does that mean that before the concert I should get very little sleep, then eat a fishburger for dinner? Oh, and spend the afternoon entertaining the work experience kid?

On a different note (groan), many thanks to Hiss and Niceguymike, whose respective postcards arrived with a day of each other. Mike’s postcard of early spring tulips reminded me of the Netherlands (except for the mountains in the background). Hiss’s card was the tackiest postcard from Townsville she could find, but alas it didn’t really rate very highly on the tackiness scale. All I know about Townsville I’ve learned from a cultured singing friend who grew up there with the feeling that not everyone in town shared her love of the arts, so you never know when you will be surprised by a lack of bad taste. On tour in Vienna we had to get a present for a randomly selected member of our group. As my recipient had a Jesus beard, I thought it would be easy to get a statues in a shop near the main catholic church, just as you can do almost anywhere. But not, it would seem, in Vienna. The very same Vienna where musicians dress up in 18th century gear and spruik the concert that evening where they play classical favourites in the same gear. A bit like the bright-eyed starlets who arrive at Hollywood and end up making porn perhaps.

Apologies for the discursiveness of this entry. For better or worse, it’s a true representation of my mind at this time of morning.☺

Here’s an interesting entry I’ve been reading by the newly reinvented Molly!.

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