Thinking About a Man Whose Name Rhymes with Amy Dersh

[My writing style is being influenced by an author whose name rhymes with Gorge Ponders. Can you tell?]

In today’s post, I am going to relate to you some things regarding my university’s choir director, whose name I will not name because this is not a call-out post (I have already Cancelled him in relevant circles) but more a reflection. For I confess it is not only he who is a strange one, but also me.

Here is why I Cancelled him: He is a bad director. He is a lazy coward, he is a Bad Communicator, he self-soothes by talking way too much in rehearsal. To sum it up, he does not, as far as I could ever tell, care to give his students a fulfilling experience with art. How did I come to find out these shitty qualities of his? By thinking they weren’t the case, of course. He seemed open to students doing more than just barely hitting the notes, I tried to follow up on that and convince him that we, a halfway decent group of singers, were actually Capable of Something (where Something is doing the solos in the 40-minute piece we were performing which was like 40% solos), and he decided some weeks later that it—what did he say? It was too hard? Or something? When we would be the ones doing all the work and saving him from having to hire four professional singers (one of whom was bad anyway)? When I told him, “I wish you had at least communicated with me [before telling the entire choir via Canvas after two weeks of silence on Outlook [because I was the main one driving this whole thing]] about your decision [because I have been working on this rep for weeks and spent multiple voice lessons on it]” and he couldn’t do more than mutter a “…sorry” then it finally clicked for me: He sucks.

But that’s fine. I mean, that’s just bad directing. What is strange about this guy is what got me into this situation in the first place, and it’s that you (I) might (did) think that he wouldn’t be like this. Because when he conducts he sweats balls. Because he gets nervous when he gives program notes (should take a class on public speaking, quite frankly. Hard to watch). Because he’s conductor of like a bajillion groups and his resume is totally stacked.

My plan to convince Amy, suggested by Amy himself, was, as I’ve said, to start learning the rep and show him that this could really work, man! So I learned it and after rehearsal I joined him at the piano and we played through one of the arias while everyone else packed their bags. We get to the end and he goes:

“Are you getting what you need here?”

I give myself a few seconds to feel Total Confusion and then: Ohh, this is…a compliment? Or maybe he’s posing a genuine concern? I have actually maybe never encountered an utterance belonging to this exact category? What the hell am I supposed to say? So I (woman) go like:

“Yeah…I love it here. Ha ha.”

I need you to understand how odd this exchange was for me, a person who is always trying to ensure people are at ease and feel In Good Company when talking to me. Sure, I say confusing stuff, but that’s stuff that’s supposed to be confusing. I never say something that isn’t supposed to be confusing and just let it confuse people. Now, why this guy would be trying to confuse me I had no clue. With my current Powers of Reflection, I can see perhaps he was indulging the male urge to do a “You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful”. But in the moment, my only conclusion was that it was not supposed to be confusing, but Boy was I fucking confused Because he was dead serious. No hint of joke anywhere. And so a new wave of confusion came over me once I understood the literal meaning of his sentence, like full of fish which glubbed unanswerable (because inappropriate, or because I was too confused/afraid to ask) questions:

Fish #1: He is saying you’re the goat?

Fish #2: Does this guy want to make you uncomfortable?

Fish #3: Is anyone else hearing this?

Fish #Me: So…can I sing this at the concert?

But maybe this was the most honest response he could have given me: In other words, this choir is not going to be enough for you. I hope you know that.

What I really wanted to say was: It can be enough for me if you let me do this. Don’t insinuate that I am Above and Beyond and so throw up your hands. You can give me what I need right fucking now.

I was so heartbroken when, eventually, he didn’t.

. . .

That was in my second year. Or second semester second year, or something. Some time before that, we sang the Vivaldi Magnificat, the third movement of which totally makes me cream my pants, like quintessential baroque funeral march perfection. So we’re performing it, orchestra sounds so good and we sound… fine. And I’m looking at him and only him cause the music’s memorized by that point and I think he’s looking at me and it is just

The most intense looking that has ever looked. Looking so hard I could die.

Meanwhile, I’m creaming my pants from the music alone. And I think way back in my skull, never have I ever wanted to have sex with this man/guy/my director or be near him or even talk to him, really. It’s not so funny when he’s trying to be funny and I can’t remember him ever providing a real insight about singing or choirs or music or anything at all.

But like, if I ever did, this would be better.

This feels too good.

. . .

Am I a freak? Be honest.

Here’s my take: I think I am kind of a freak when I perform. I go a little nuts cause I really like it. I think I’ve let that freakiness go unpronounced (at risk of seeming like a freak), but I’ve got it in me somewhere. Most professional performers, I think, must be utterly freaky about performing. It feels awesome to be Witnessed, to put yourself in such a situation on purpose where, in a backwards way, I, at least, feel like I actually don’t need to perform at all. It’s corny and cliche, but God if it ain’t my truth! I feel like I don’t need to be responsible for my Being anymore, don’t need to make it clear who I am and what I’m doing, don’t need to navigate/police every little potential reaction of my audience, because this Audience has come to find out exactly that. They have no idea who I am, no idea what I’m gonna tell them. So I get to do whatever, and they get to hold it.

To those who know me (anyone reading this): you may, if you wish, chalk up a lot of things about me to this whole performance attitude, which maybe you already know about anyway.

And to Amy Dersh: You’re not all that. I merely Lo-ove to Sing!