I've covered dance, right? I've said everything one can say about it. Except it's a pretty futile pursuit: writing about music, and dance, or painting (that's coming next). The whole thing about music is that you're supposed to experience it through hearing, your senses, and not your rational, reading brain. But people in general, I think, like to sort things out, especially things that move one, so we end up doing something silly like writing about dancing, which isn't at all like dancing, but is kind of as close as you can get, short of actually dancing.
I've noticed before, this tendency to write - or read - about something I can't actually DO. I don't mean like reading about ancient Egypt because you can't otherwise experience ancient Egypt, I mean something like buying a book about meditation because you want to meditate more. You probably don't need the book, you just need to actually meditate. There's a certain sort of creative type that has shelves full of craft and art reference books, ostensibly there to aid one during creation, but really it's more of a way to feel like you are getting somewhere, when in fact, you aren't.
At any rate, during the winter session, it's not just weekend after weekend of dancing at the Dickens Faire, it's also lots of singing. I have a group I regularly do improvisational circle singing with (a la Bobby McFerrin-style...check out his CD Circlesongs and you will get the idea - in fact, one of the main circle leaders studied and toured with Bobby). We sing monthly all year round, but we have our biggest event, a 12-hour circlesong, from noon to midnight, every Dec 30, and many people outside the regular circle attend. I've been singing with the same group for a few years, and in recent years (though not this time), we also performed at Yoshi's in Oakland, acting as a sort of backup choir for the acapella group many of our leaders sing with.
So, there's this intense singing for a few months, rehearsals for the show, and getting ready for the end of the year event - lots of singing and lots of talk around and about the singing. And the main event, the 12 hours, is an absolutely astounding event. It's very hard to describe, as is circlesinging. Our group settled on this:
CircleSinging can be described lots of ways: vocal improvisation, vocal "jamming", add-a-part/change-a-part, vocal orchestra, "voicestra", a "drum circle" for singers, or just plain "make it up" singing. It's done all over the world in countless different ways and it dates back to the earliest forms of human singing.
Normally, it goes like this: we stand, as you might imagine, in a circle, in parts (soprano, alto, tenor, bass) if we can manage it, and there's a leader who stands in the center, making up parts and keeping us together - kind of like a conductor. The leader sings the parts - for instance, maybe a bass part for the guys, a repeating phrase - to different part of the circle, and after the song is built, sometimes we add embellishments (they'd be called "ornamental" by my old violin teacher) or harmonies of our own. If you like, if you feel moved to do so, you can step into the middle of the circle, which is a signal that you want to solo - and then you can sing your own part, made up in the moment, with the group "backing you up" with their song. Then we change what we're singing - sometimes gently, a phrase morphing into something else - and sometimes the leader will stop us all and start with a totally new key, tempo, mood, etc. During the 12-hour circle, leaders and participants come and go, but there's always a note going - we never stop, but only change, the music.
Just like waltzing (turn around together, over and over), circlesinging (stand in a circle and sing) sounds absurdly simple but is more than the sum of its parts. (Oddly, they have some things in common: circles, music, and you need other people, preferably a community.) We describe the circle as the "no mistake zone," meaning it's the place to experiment, vocally, judgement-free. And it's amazing - sometimes it's a non-singer, learning how to listen to others, how to blend....or a new singer, holding her part for the first time, or learning how to sing harmony. It's hard to learn how to sing harmony - you either have to learn a set part, or make it up as you go. Either way, someone has to teach you unless you grew up with it. But you CAN learn in the circle.
It's also quite moving when someone goes in - which I do - and does a solo; it's amazing how great a spontaneous song can be. Often, I've wondered if the spontaneous and immediate isn't the best stuff - in my playwriting class, the improv stuff was always MUCH funnier than the pre-written jokes; the Judd Apatow style of filmmaking, with actors riffing off a theme, has changed the way good comedies are made in Hollywood. We like the authentic. One needs to stay authentic when you're in the middle of the circle - like dancing, you have to have some technique (you gotta know the steps) but you can't be attached to the specifics: you just have to step into the middle, open your mouth and trust that something will come. And the more you can trust in...what? yourself? the circle? the universe? the great flow of life?...I'm not exactly sure what you are trusting, but you really do need to clear out all fear. The less the fear, the better the song, the more open and powerful.
Once again, as with partner dancing, it's all about the Zen of it - all about balance, desire without attachment. You have to make it happen at the same time you let it happen. This is the hardest thing in the world to do, really. And it's fantastic to participate in it - it's damn fine fun, more than you'd expect from looking at it from the outside. People come to the circle - some are regulars, some come once a year to the big event - and they come alive. They bloom, they blossom, they literally find their voice. Sometimes they grieve or cry or shake, too - the relief of being allowed to really express oneself can be overwhelming. The majority of Americans have no platform for safe, creative self-expression in a supportive group setting, and it's a shame, because I think it's a human right.
I won't go into the beauty and majesty and transformative power that the circle, at its height, can reach; I won't go into all the little amusements and triumphs one can experience, or the whole subject of leaders, and how they can change the whole thing, just like any good teacher can transform a class. And, no matter how hard I try and describe it, I certainly won't be able to do any justice to one of the best feelings on the planet - in dancing, or singing - which is the moment of stopping perfectly together: the pleasure of finishing at the exact same moment. The few times my little amateur string quartet just really nailed the final chord - our notes would hang in the air and fade out at precisely the same microsecond - well, it's like an orgasm, only with lots of other people and all our clothes on. And everyone looks at each other with full recognition of what happened - we all know we just nailed it, and it was...so...good.
But what I do want to say this: part of the reason it does feel so good is that humans are supposed to be always singing and dancing. Some of us do it, on occasion, but almost no one does it every day, and many people don't do it at all. We're supposed to be singing and dancing around the fire every night, in our skins and furs (or what have you); it's really as necessary (and natural) as eating, talking, making love. But it's been relegated to the sidelines, as something only professionals do, or only people of a certain type (geeky, crafty, edgy, or what have you). There's often a concern that the community which supports it will shrink, or lose funding enough to keep on doing what it's doing.
So: if you don't do it, get out there and sing and dance. If you do do it, keep it up. If you happen to know me personally, feel free to dance and sing with me. I will pretty much always say yes.
Kaaaar!
ReplyDeleteI love this - thanks so much for going deep with it :)
Eve