As the flames upward licked, Uzi placed another copy of 'Gather Comprehensive' in the fireplace to guard against a cold evening when he came across this article in his latest copy of Instaurare: "Band of Roving Altos Menace Campus.""What has become of my beloved alma mater?," he said aloud, "and what of the choir? "and . . . what of the altos?" "They didn't used to be like this! They were so shy and unobtrusive, so - "unsoprano-like." (Well, at least unlike the caricature of the soprano prima donna.) He fondly recalled the T-shirt some of them used to wear: "The Alto Section: We're Not So Bad After All, In Fact We're Pretty Swell, When You Think About It, If You Have The Time, But - No Big Hurry."
Self-esteem issues. Talented, true; and very faithful - but, self-esteem issues. Well, that's what happens when you are the "composer's after thought." The sopranos soaring, the basses bounding, the tenors triumphant, but the altos - "Oh, yeah, I forgot, I guess I'll have them double the root of the chord." But then Uzi saw a name - Sally Schwartz - and things began to click. It seems she was the ring leader of this gang of altos. Sally, or "Big Gal Sal," used to taunt Polly when she would walk by in her Sunday finest. "Hey pretty girl," she would spit out, "why don't you come down off of those stilts and fight like a man." Everyone knew what the tough act was ultimately about. Sally was jealous of all the attention Polly got from Texas Schola Dawg.
Not that Polly wanted it. As far as Polly was concerned, Sally could have Texas Schola Dawg, all of him - all the time. But Texas Schola Dawg never noticed Sally, nor did any of the other tenors or basses.
After all, she was only an alto.
Four years of not being asked to Spring Formal, or rarely asked to dance at all. From this long term neglect can come bitterness and resentment - neglect's two misbegotten children - and then, a certain hardening. Sally first, but then, many of the other altos followed suit.
Often they would hang around outside of St. Catherine's waiting for the more girly sopranos to come out. Tripping them or shooting verbal darts like, "I've seen you without makeup," or "Are your hips getting bigger?," they would reduce them to tears. Polly watched with maternal concern. Something had to be done, but what? The administration was barely aware of the problem, student life only offered "mediation," the choir director was a hopeless artiste caught up in his own little world.
She needed action. She needed Uzi - Super Schola Dog. The problem was that she needed his HELP, she didn't need HIM, but sometimes he got the two confused. "And" she wondered, "could he deal with fighting girl dogs?" Still, this was an emergency. She had to try something. Sally swallowed hard and then sent out her distress signal.
Uzi responded immediately and, circling over the Christendom campus, spotted the girl fight (or the cat fight among dogs?) - this time near St. Augustine's. Still not sure what he was going to do, he landed suddenly, and the sight of a short, stocky dog with a cape dropping from the sky was enough to scatter all of them - except Sally. She stared menacingly at him, and he at her. He decided he was going to teach her a lesson.
A voice lesson.
So taking her into the St. Augustine piano room, he sat down with her at the piano and took her through some warm-up excercises, messa di voce, onset and release. They tried head/chest voice excercises and scales. She could easily sing above the staff, the notes in the middle of the staff were quite strong, and - surprise, surprise - her lower passaggio was an "f."
They both looked at each other. She spoke first.
"So you mean I'm not actually an alto, . . . I'm . . . a . . . a . . ."
"A mezzo-soprano," completed Uzi.
As a tear slid down her cheek, Sally removed her backwards baseball cap. A mound of golden, blonde hair (which Uzi had never seen) cascaded down her neck and shoulders. She removed her glasses. A cloud parted and a beam of gentle sunlight shined through the window and kissed her now pleasant face. She was beautiful. "My dear sir," she addressed Uzi, "you have awakened in me a spark of tenderness, of feminine sentiment I have not felt in years. For the first time in a very long time I feel like . . ."
"a woman."
---------------------------
Cut to: Main Street, Front Royal, Virginia
A lonely musician/writer artiste walks on a deserted sidewalk and passes the gazebo. He is about to cross the road when suddenly, almost out of nowhere, four black Lincoln Town Cars screech to a stop in front of him. Federal agents in dark suits, sunglasses, and ear pieces bound out and surround him menacingly.
"What's this all about?"
The leader shows him a badge. They are with the Federal Agency for Anti-discrimination Against Altos, Resulting in Outrageous Unemployment Troubles, or FAAAAR OUT, established in 1967. What had been a hippie-dippie agency founded at the tail end of Johnson's "Great Society," had acquired black-ops technology and "attitude" during the Reagan administration. For some odd reason, they kept the name.
"We have been monitoring your blog stories for sometime now and have decided to intervene," said the leader of the group. "Your sneering references to altos were bad enough, but implying that an alto isn't actually a woman is going too far. You have crossed the line Mister - and there will be a price to pay."
Suddenly, ten Front Royal police cars arrive. Sirens blaring, lights flashing, they surround the federal agents. Thirty deputies get out and train their rifles on the federal agents. A quintessential Southern Sheriff ambles out of one of the cars while hiking his pants over his almost obligatory paunch.
"What we have hyere, is a failure to communicate," he directs at the federal agents. "Haven't ah told you federal boys before that this hyere is mah jurisdiction?" "Now, he may be a Ca-tho-lick, but he is one of mah boys. And if he is a-misbehavin', ah will take care of it. You hyear?"
"But, we're federal agents, we have jurisdiction everywhere!," one of them said defiantly.
The Sheriff smiled and said, "Ah believe the answer to that is in what mah Ca-tho-lick friends call the principle of sub-si-dee-AR-i-TEE," he pronounced slowly. All thirty Front Royal deputies simultaneously cocked their rifles, as if to make the point a little more forcefully than St. Thomas would have.
"Now, ah will kahndly ask you boys to get your $1,000 Brooks Brothers suits back into yo' cars, and head back east on US 66. If'n ah ever need your help, AH will ask for it!," he spat at them. Then he grinned, "Y'all DON'T come back now, ya hear?"
The federal agents skulk back into their cars and drive off as the deputies laugh.
Finally, the sheriff turns to me. "Nahw boy. Haven't we a-been through this enough? Have you forgotten the soprano strike of 2002? D'ya really want to go through this agin, but with the altos? I know that when that muse comes a-knocking its hard not to let her in, but, boy, you have to excercise some more of what your St. Thomas calls, "pru-DEN-ti-a." Especially when it comes to the womenfolk."
"ESPECIALLY when it comes to the womenfolk," he repeats solemnly.
Looking down at my shoes shamefacedly, I shake my head affirmatively. "Yes sir, of course, sir."
"But ah likes you boy," he says touching my shoulder, "so that is whahy ah am gonna let you off with anotha warnin'." Pausing, he looks at me and says, "Yo sure have some talent, though. Ah love them doggie stories! You keep a-writin' them there doggie stories!"
He playfully wags a finger at me and says, "but ah'll be a-watchin' you, boy," and then a big wink to make sure I know its not too serious, "ah'll be a-watchin' you!"
I wait until the Front Royal police all drive off and then stand, alone, on Main Street. Breathing in the night air, I think about how glad I am to be alive, and out of trouble, I say a brief prayer:
"Thank God for altos - oh, and sopranos, too!"
9 comments:
I can't sing above the staff. Sometimes I can't even make it to the top of the staff without squeaking like a rusty hinge in dire need of WD-40. If I am forced to the top of the staff when singing in a group, I often panic like a startled deer, turn tail and scamper down an octave.
All the above is true. However, I also firmly believe that I possess two X chromosomes, based on the following:
I like to wear jewelery and sometimes even skirts and high heels. I get my hair highlighted. I won't wear a baseball cap, backwards, forwards, or any other way, because it will mess up my hair. I won't go out (or even spend the day around the house with only my family) without makeup. I like flowers and pretty clothes. I shave my legs. (We should probably leave out the parts about my owning and shooting a 12 guage Mossburg pump action shotgun and a 40 caliber Glock handgun and knowing how to butcher turkeys. Otherwise, I think I qualify as a pretty sterotypical female). Having married a man and given birth kind of confirms it.
And yet I have a low voice. Sigh. Guess I'll have to take refuge in the genre that tends to not only tolerate, but celebrate altos/contraltos - horrors - popular music. (I can see the Christendom director shuddering here). Did you ever notice how many lower female voices there have been in popular music? Karen Carpenter, Anne Murray, "Mama" Cass Elliot, Dionne Warwick, Cher etc, etc. Seems that in popular music, usually the women sing low and the guys sing high, as a rule. Wonder why that is?
Anyway, would the proper "vocal intervention" turn me into a mezzo soprano? Maybe. (In my youth, I wished I could be a soprano, and thought something was wrong with me because I couldn't trill like a little wren). But I don't need to sing high, I guess. "I yam what I yam", as Popeye said.
Anyway, that's the tongue-in-cheek reaction you've provoked from me. Wonder what others will have to say?
You win, Dr. P.
What is there to say, but poor Sally Schwartz! Imagine how traumatized she must be- She's indeed a mezzo. Poor thing. She should be treated to a nice soothing 2nd soprano line to let her get used to her new self.
Hilarious! Enjoyed it immensely.
Let's see: two altos opposed, one soprano in favor. Not bad. My mother liked it, but I am not sure if she is a soprano or an alto.
Good dog, Uzi, good dog.
lol! Superb. Choir is so not PC.
Anne, it's funny you mention that because just today I was noticing as I was driving home and screeching along to (male) popular singers on the radio how very unpleasant the female voice sounds when singing really high in that style. I mean, I sounded really, really obnoxious! Then, as if to confirm it, a song came on in which the woman really was belting it out up there, and I was convinced: it shouldn't be done. (For the children's sake, think of the children!) On the other hand, I do love listening to sopranos such as Cecilia Bartoli or Maria Callas sing in the classical style...
And then I started thinking randomly about how fun it would be to able to break glass by singing so loud on just the right high pitch! Is that a bad sign?
Yes, Sanguine, I know what you mean. A lot of the rock/pop songs sung by higher voiced males sound just awful when a soprano tries to sing it in that style. Now, I sing along to those, too, but I'm right on-tone with them most of the time, since I am comfortable in most of the tenor range.;-)
Now, while I may seem to be offended by the seeming preference for sopranos in these stories, it really doesn't bother me that much. If Kurt has a personal preference for higher voices in females, there is certainly nothing wrong with that and we all certainly have preferences and differences in taste.
So now I need to make a confession about my preferences when it comes to male singing voices. I don't personally care much for listening to tenors. (Getting ready to duck various flying objects here). I've just always had this notion of male=deep voice=baritone/bass. (Just as some may have the notion of female=high voice=soprano). I know that there are some very talented tenors, and that they are just as "male" as their baritone/bass counterparts, but, that's just my preference.
Although, oddly enough, I make an exception for the late Roy Orbison. I don't know why....that quavering, sometimes near falsetto tenor of his would seem to be just what would annoy me most...but...I don't know if it was the dark glasses, his choice of material, his whole persona, or what...but somehow he made it work. Give a listen to "In Dreams" sometime....one of his songs that is not played nearly enough on the radio. (It's sure to be found on Youtube somewhere.) Love it.
Anne,
Who are some of your favorite bass singers?
I have to plead ignorance of basses on the operatic side of things. In popular music there really weren't a whole lot of true basses. (More's the pity, since I love them). One that comes to mind is the very suave Barry White. Most of the basses were not solo artists, but were part of an ensemble. (For example, Fred Johnson of the Marcels, whom you hear on the intro to their 1961 rendition of "Blue Moon".) I think Elvis had a great voice, but he was really a baritone.
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