Not One Wrong Note

Yesterday, my wife and I experienced the remarkable musical institution known as the Vienna Boy's Choir. As we slid into the perfectly placed seats at Baltimore's Meyerhoff' Symphony Hall, memories of my days as a boy in the Choir of Downtown's Old Saint Paul's Church came flooding to mind, with the jittery moments before the baton was raised, and then the rush that can only come from the inhale of breath and a silence broken for ever. The sweet notes found full flower, and we were off, stunned momentarily, to find so full and strong a sound, from these boys who have been toughened and tried, demanding much of themselves...my thoughts had need of wandering, for the experience of this performance made me review the accolades that my own Boy's Choir colleagues once dreamed of attaining. While we found other ways and other paths, we remained faithful to the quest for accurate pitch, pin-point attack, and many of the other skills that separate the casual whistler from the budding musician. For myself, music, and it's practice, holds a world of beauty and accuracy to which many are called, but few are chosen. While in the long run, I could not make the grade, I had a good long draught at the well, and it has given me great love for music in all it's forms. Hic Finis Est