I spend the whole afternoon with my cousin Lucy, and her daughter Lucyann, age 15. They came from Puerto Rico because Lucyann was accepted to participate at the American High School Honor Performance Series at Carnegie Hall. Tomorrow Sunday she'll be singing as a member of the honor chorus in Carnegie Hall.
During todays rehearsal, conducted by Dr. Jeffery L. Aims, my notions of the power of the voice was reinforced. Two hundred and fifty voices: the highs, lows, long notes and phrases, short notes and phrases. The Harmony. Oh, I could have heard them singing forever!
I experienced something on the same idea last week. I was singing at 14th Street and 6th Avenue, on the F/M train line downtown. My singing spot is between the benches; most musicians place themselves closer to the stairs. I looked on and I noticed that people were avoiding the first bench as they come toward me. There's an abandoned backpack on the bench. I don't want people to avoid the bench; I want them to sit and listen to me sing, and then give me a donation. If they don't sit on the bench they won't enjoy my singing. No money.
When a train left and the station was quiet I got up and listened to the backpack. Silence. Gingerly I opened the top zipper. Books. Notebooks. I opened the second zipper. More books and notebooks. Ballpoints. I decided to place the bookback with my things. It was heavy. How could anyone leave behind such a heavy backpack?
About forty minutes later a young man, face flushed, says: "You have my backpack. Thank you for saving it for me." "It's a heavy bag. How come you forgot it?", I asked as the train entered the station. "I was listening to you. Your voice's so beautiful...I was in a trance..."
:)
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