This is the Record

For context, I've written this on the 11:31 to London Paddington, before changing at Plymouth to pick up the 13:25 to Edinburgh, landing in Derby.

Last time I opened by saying how as we reached the end of this year, it felt like coming out of a trance into time again. The elastic nature of the last 6 months, with January's long dark winter dragging on for eternity as waves of wind and rain battered our hearts (yet did not seek to mend), February's spring through to the broadcast, just after half term and then... Christ. Where the hell did Trinity go? It almost feels like last week that I was sat going upcountry, but that time was for the Chief's Wedding, notable for many things but primarily the first time I've had any time off from the Stall at Truro. This trip is in aid of yet another wedding, and the fact that I'm missing the very last of the last weekends for that which is most precious does discomfort me... But the Michalemas mid term break is close after all.

Trinity's short(?) term brought its own joyes though, with the choir trip to Scilly being an unofficial start (who needs an Easter holiday anyway), whipping through to the CD recording (soon to be available in all good record stores and online retailers), and the month of June... Ah yes, June. June with its concert weekends that spilled into July: St. Mary's Singers taking on Mozart's reorchestration of Handel's Messiah; For the Fallen, the Cathedral Choir's Summer concert; the Spurious Bach Vespers the week after, with two entire cantatas and a sung Lord's Prayer that was equal to any musical marathon; then to July, with Handel's Israel in Egypt, performed thankfully by Three Spires Singers (but still a Saturday night on for the Boss), the next day webcasting of Missa Papa Marcelli... And now Sunday gone, with the webcasting of the Kodály in the morning, then Walton's celebrated The Twelve at evensong AND THEN the Valedictory proceedings, which came to a quiet close at around 3 in the morning of the following day for me.

I know there's always talk of the “Champagne Year” of scholars, which must be some ten years ago now, but 'ere!  There's sum bleddy vintage to this year as well. I could think of no better group to form my first year 'out of the house', and certainly no better year of repertoire and solos to ease me into having some confidence in my own abilities (as much as I still don't really like myself) and my place as a Lay Vicar. Reliability is the focus, as the ever-present cornerstone of the Altos, often to be found at the centre of jolly japes with the Senior Lay Vicar, but still with a responsible attitude towards services and preparation... Jeez I ought to be putting this on my resume! Some of the highest tributes paid to me this very term were from the Senior, for my rendition of the Record of John, from the Boss for my “outstanding” cantata solo, and finally from Mr. Walker, who simply said he wished I had been his friend for years. Really... It's the last of these which means the most. True, I assumed the role of John the Baptist in tribute to my friend Father Michael Bartlett, God rest his soul, and knew exactly how to deal with the devotional solo with love o'erflowing from Cantata 117... But to hear that? Especially from someone whom I feel has already achieved far more than I ever will? Hands down the most respect showed to me the entire year.

I've been saying goodbye for a long time, I know. This is some sort of coping mechanism gone into overdrive, in order to belay the shock of letting go all at once. Once the last departs in the beginning of August, I will be all but alone. I'm tired of hearing people tell me it's going to be okay and it won't be long until September because really that isn't the point. Those who arrive will not be those who have left. Of course I'm looking forward to greeting the new Scholars and helping to put them through the inevitable initiation of booze and curry and Vanilla. Of course I am. But they won't be them. I remember something that came up with The Admiral in Nelson Court, and also with my right trusty cousin at the end of my first year in Truro, that once we leave NC15, or this Cathedral, we die. That life ends. But it's only through one life ending that another can begin.

All I have said the last few weeks is “Don't go”. I want to hold on to all the happiness s year has brought, whether by cooing in public as a Countertenor greeting, grunting harshly out of windows to frighten (or be frightened by), and even (perhaps especially) all the fighting has helped me realise just how good everything is. As the old saying goes though, if you love something, or someone, you let them go. More vital now is how I proceed; if I look back constantly, I learn nothing from this year, or any other year gone. There needs to be a positive difference. In six months time, I'll need to book flights. If I don't have the money, I can't book the flights. If I don't have the money, it means I haven't been sensible with my budget. If I haven't been sensible with my budget, it means I'm still basically looking backwards, trading meaningless expenditure for genuine personal growth. And if I can't book the flights... Then I really have failed. Damning perhaps, but all true nonetheless. I have plenty to catch up on over this 8 week vacation, and not just a wage either. It is time I put away childish things.

Obviously September is the dawn of a brave new world. A new life, indeed, the first service of which is appropriately on the seventh. After all the doubtful noises, I feel secure in not leaving this choir, but only hope that the usual promise to do more early rep again is not as hollow as it was this time last year. I'm not really sure where I could go, either. I have had plenty of places thrown at me for consideration, but who else would want this sound, halfway between a razorblade and a battering ram? If nothing else, at least a reference to my home town's mascot (among other RAMs). It's time to wake up the next suite as well, and turn my attention to the dour and passionate BWV1008. As little time as I have for Bach's organ music (not only for it's sheer ubiquitousness and the fact I can't play it) and also the unweildlyness of the vocal material, the 'Cello suites are mine, even if an host of cellists rise up against me for saying so. Two years ago, I conquered the G major suite, characterising it as a summer's day, complete with a late afternoon squall before a fine and dry evening of dancing. Perhaps I will find 1008 reflected somewhere else? Perhaps not. Perhaps I will even find its reflection in my own self, but that would just be melodramatic, wouldn't it!

To conclude, I must reiterate my congratulations to the leavers this year. Even simply surviving without resigning is a triumph in and of itself, let alone some of the fantastic solo and ensemble performances by this back row. Arguably, the Papa Marcelli is the more polished of the two last webcasts, even if I ultimately prefer the roughshod nature of the Kodaly. In the Palestrina, the blend is sublime, the tone peerless, and the ensemble enviable. It is the very best of what we can do, free of the emotional supercharge and blistering tessiturae that the last Sunday of term brought us. It's a real shame that the last Evensong wasn't recorded at all, if only for our personal enjoyment rather than international webcasting. Most of the sorrow has come from reminiscence, from those first few days of getting totally lost, or not having an oven for three days, or dinner with you on the day you arrived; how apart we all were in those days.

It is almost finished. Just over a fortnight until all those who won't stay are left, and then a month until the new boys come. I truly wonder what will become of them. How they will fare against the accommodation, the rising cost of a pint and whether they'll get jobs? I usually leave future predictions to my Mother (Jewish not Pagan), but she hardly ever shares that sort of information. This is certainly no goodbye though. London calls, and strong at that! As for the Swedish language barrier... Well, we can work on that. And while it may not be my home or native land, I am certain there will be plenty of room for me when the time comes that I can get to Canada. For now though? I guess I'll keep everything running as usual. Why try to fix what isn't broken?

(Thanks, Orlando)