I am on the verge of Midsummer. Now is the time when the Sun King sacrifices Him Self at the apex of His power and gives way for Auberon's retinue to teach lessons the Trickster way. Good times; and, as experience might have taught you as it's taught me, the best time of the year for culling.
Today I've let go of one of the choirs I've been involved with. I joined this choir last September, following an ad at the municipality's musical library requesting tenors for a young people's choir. Truth is that I've been really uncomfortable in there for the whole year. Sexism, classism, arrogance, veiled discrimination against me for being a Latin American gay living in a working class district, and scandalous hipocrisy. As any Brazilian person is highly trained to, I simply shut my eyes and denied the atmosphere. I refused to recognise severe disrespectful actions of many kinds for several reasons: I was new in town and desperate to hang out with my own people, developping my own social circle and not relying on Jose's; I wanted to continue practicing my favourite art form and maybe get heads-up for coaches, recitals and local movidas; I knew the best way to learn fast the language was coexisting regularly with natives who couldn't speak Portuguese.
But since the other choir last month, when I was given the solo and rediscovered the joy of singing free from anxieties and OCD, enjoying the best about being an amateur, I knew I wouldn't fit this choir anymore. So I resisted almost two months of very boring rehearsals, early-morning Saturday sessions, awful singers getting laurels because they fitted the director's delirious fantasy of "good" choral performance (that really doesn't exist except for maybe in the newest CDs produced with hundreds of audio softwares on the recorded voices).
This morning, I decided to "cut the string that makes the hammer strike", as John Dowland used to sing centuries ago, and step out into the mushroom circle. The talk with the director was excellent and very honest, and I did wonderfully. I was very respectful, almost didn't stutter, thanked him for all the great help he gave me when I began in his choir and said that I planned to come back when I was good enough for them, bringing with me the scores of Brazilian music I still have in my parents' house whenever I went back home for a visit. He said the door will always be open for me, and I was relieved that I at least left on good terms.
Having a good time is the whole point in all of this. Everything less than a good time is a suspicious sign and Midsummer is the messenger of letting-go.
Image: Puck. I've never been too good in saying no to him.
Today I've let go of one of the choirs I've been involved with. I joined this choir last September, following an ad at the municipality's musical library requesting tenors for a young people's choir. Truth is that I've been really uncomfortable in there for the whole year. Sexism, classism, arrogance, veiled discrimination against me for being a Latin American gay living in a working class district, and scandalous hipocrisy. As any Brazilian person is highly trained to, I simply shut my eyes and denied the atmosphere. I refused to recognise severe disrespectful actions of many kinds for several reasons: I was new in town and desperate to hang out with my own people, developping my own social circle and not relying on Jose's; I wanted to continue practicing my favourite art form and maybe get heads-up for coaches, recitals and local movidas; I knew the best way to learn fast the language was coexisting regularly with natives who couldn't speak Portuguese.
But since the other choir last month, when I was given the solo and rediscovered the joy of singing free from anxieties and OCD, enjoying the best about being an amateur, I knew I wouldn't fit this choir anymore. So I resisted almost two months of very boring rehearsals, early-morning Saturday sessions, awful singers getting laurels because they fitted the director's delirious fantasy of "good" choral performance (that really doesn't exist except for maybe in the newest CDs produced with hundreds of audio softwares on the recorded voices).
This morning, I decided to "cut the string that makes the hammer strike", as John Dowland used to sing centuries ago, and step out into the mushroom circle. The talk with the director was excellent and very honest, and I did wonderfully. I was very respectful, almost didn't stutter, thanked him for all the great help he gave me when I began in his choir and said that I planned to come back when I was good enough for them, bringing with me the scores of Brazilian music I still have in my parents' house whenever I went back home for a visit. He said the door will always be open for me, and I was relieved that I at least left on good terms.
Having a good time is the whole point in all of this. Everything less than a good time is a suspicious sign and Midsummer is the messenger of letting-go.
Image: Puck. I've never been too good in saying no to him.
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