Look Up Here Every Now and Then and Make Sure I'm Alright

As a choral director of a choir of 7th-12th graders, I use many different approaches and techniques to teach music and help the singers perfect it for performance. Because of the great age span, and therefore multiple maturity and musicality levels, in my choir, I vary activities and approaches regularly. We always perform by memory, but use the score as we are learning and perfecting a piece. As with most groups, my choir has a tendency to look down and into the score if they are holding it and referring to it. We use multiple things to 'remind' them to watch, but a lot of times I will light-heartedly say, "Hey, look up here every now and then just to make sure I'm alright!" We have a good laugh, and for at least a time, they hold the score higher and attempt to look over it more often for cues from me.

A few weeks ago, this saying of mine took on a whole new meaning. Our school is in the midst of a major construction project that has many of us meeting our classes in spaces we are not accustomed to, and this semester, the choir is meeting in the theatre. For this particular rehearsal, we were in formation seated on the stage area, which is only about 4" above the floor level. (The seating is elevated.) We perform in this space twice a year, and I always have to remind myself repeatedly not to back off the 4" rise. On this day, the choir was seated and actively engaged in working on a fairly new piece. At this stage in the learning, I move around a great deal, going from part to part and section to section so that I can listen as they begin to put things together. I was moving hurriedly, and skirting the 8-foot Steinway, and on my way from the sopranos around the piano to the altos, my foot hung on the 4" rise and I knew I was going to fall. I felt as if I were in a movie, in slow motion, and even had time to think, "Yes, you're going down, and no, you shouldn't try to grab the piano to stop yourself because you could break your arm." Once I hit the floor with what seemed to me the noise of an atomic explosion, I was able to tell myself not to move for a few seconds so that I could stabilize my equilibrium. By the time I did rise (mere seconds, actually), one of my baritones had vaulted from his seat on the back row to come to my aid. The entire choir had gasped in unison and gone silent. I'm sure they were taken aback by my sudden disappearance, as I went down behind the huge piano that stood between them and me. I was able to be thankful that, especially since I was wearing a skirt that day, I didn't go head-over-heels. That would have traumatized us all!

Once I reassured them all that I was fine (though I had black and blue knees for two weeks!), I reminded them, "I told you all to look up here every now and then and make sure I'm alright. Now you know why!"