Despite the crazy wind and rain, spring is apparently peeping over the horizon. Actually, this is pretty spring-like weather round these parts.
I didn’t expect to see out another winter in Strasbourg. There you go. If I should have learned anything by now, it's that things don’t tend to go to plan.
But plans I do still make. My sister comments on how busy I am during one of our weekly Skype chats. It’s a matter of survival. If I don't leave the confines of my flat at least once a day, I’ll go stir crazy.
One thing I anticipated -with trepidation- when my contract ended in autumn, was the lack of regular interaction. As psychologically exhausting as it could be working at The Organisation, I didn’t want for human contact. Now, outside of my regular extra-curricular activities, I have to make concerted efforts not to feel alienated by spending time in cafés or libraries. There’s no guarantee even then that I’ll have much in the way of meaningful conversation. I chat with the security guards at the Malraux Médiathèque. I might bump into someone I know or meet up with an acquaintance. Otherwise, I’ll spend several hours a day in my own company. Something I usually appreciate can at times feel like a mixed blessing.
By late February, my morale takes a major hit. It sometimes takes monumental psychological effort to will myself to apply for work. In nearly a year of job hunting, I’ve had one interview and that was only in January.
At least the choir is a sanctum.
One week in mid-late February we receive an email (or rather a summons) to an important meeting that Friday. The message is concise. Nothing particularly dramatic. Yet something between the lines suggests it’s not going to be cheerful news.
The mild urgency of the tone has the required effect. It’s a good turnout. Some members who haven’t shown their faces for many moons make an appearance. Choir director, Kiasi, is running late, having recently returned from an East African mission.
After waiting for half an hour, chief soprano and occasional director Nicole, decides to get things under way. She circulates the results of an online survey recently carried out amongst members. The results are mixed. A number of choristers claim the atmosphere has been tense of late. Whilst some (like myself) felt the recording session in December went well overall, others believe we were ill-prepared. A few minutes into Nicole’s overview, Kiasi waltzes in. He’s on edge about the meeting beginning without him. He and Nicole have a terse exchange.
The agenda moves to the real business of the day. There's an important announcement. Flanked by Elisabeth and other members of the choir’s administrative team, Nicole explains they have taken the difficult decision to no longer collaborate with Kiasi.
Problems have not just materialised overnight. There have been numerous slights. Poor timekeeping. Not following up on engagements that he himself proposed. Divergent opinions on how the choir can or should move forward...
Recriminations fly back and forth. Kiasi is hyper-defensive. He cuts off members of Le Bureau mid-flow. They in turn ask him to allow them to finish their sentences. He cites problems with his work schedule and examples where he believes he gave sufficient notice. He speaks of being bombarded with no-show messages minutes before rehearsal. The choir has peaked below its potential, he states, and there doesn't seem to be a willingness to move forward.
Awkward isn’t the word. It’s like watching parents argue.
To complicate matters further, Johnny-Come-Lately, Marlène recites a litany of all that, according to her, has gone wrong with the choir. She blames a deterioration in quality for her own lack of attendance.
I just don’t get the chills anymore when I come.
She emphasises the spiritual aspect of singing in a Gospel choir, even if one does not believe. She speaks of halcyon days when the choir's vocal performances not only gave her goosebumps but they members were also tight like a family.
Things start to get personal. Marlène critiques recent concerts that she has attended. She then makes a veiled reference to the last solo she heard me sing.
I felt nothing. Maybe she was just nervous that day...
Elisabeth’s daughter, Lorraine comes to my defence.
Hang on. That’s not very nice for the soloist, is it?
Marlène tries to back-pedal.
Oh, I wasn’t talking about her recorded solo. I really felt something then...
(For the record, I’m not overly-pleased with my studio vocal. It’s pitchy as heck).
I was already peeved by Marlène’s intervention. I’m aware of the choir’s shortfalls. As someone who enjoys clean and consistent harmonies I know we have a long way to go. I’ve noticed that many of the more innately musical members have left; either relocated to other parts of the country or simply can no longer be bothered to come. There are too few male voices. Either their attendance fluctuates or their vocals do or both.
On the other hand, I’m also aware of the time and energy invested by certain members; new and old. I feel offended on theirs not to mention my own behalf. I also know that Marlène has a romanticised view of the past. By all accounts from more truthful veterans, schisms and fall outs have been part and parcel of the HRGS experience.
I wish I had said what was on my mind before Marlène dragged me into it. Now it will look as if I’m piping up because of ego. I can’t rule out that possibility but it’s not my main motivation.
With all due respect, I venture, you no longer come to rehearsals. You haven’t for a long time. You are not in the position to criticise us. Your feedback isn’t constructive and you’re doing nothing to improve the situation…
At this moment alto, Mia decides to add her two pence. She’s like a playground stirrer, egging on the mouthy kid in a fight. Both her and Marlène invoke the need to be honest. It's funny how for some, that means a licence to be insensitive. Mia too speaks of the choir’s mythical glory days; the need to recognise the spiritual significance of singing Gospel music etc etc...
How rich.
Her remarks infuriate me more than Marlène’s.
We should take the Good News message seriously, no doubt. But neither we should use the spiritual as an excuse to ignore the practical. Mia attends practices on a regular basis but contributes next to nothing. She’s been part of the group longer than most but still hasn’t mastered the required skills. She relies on the graft of more innately musical choristers. She thus has no right to indirectly undermine those who put in the work.
This is how it is all evening. An unedifying mess. Nicole and Le Bureau do their best to fight our corner; contextualise any perceived ‘decline’, point out that each new wave of members will bring a different sound and energy.
Soprano, Melissa speaks of how hurtful it is, as a comparatively newer chorister, to receive such negative commentary from veterans.
Kiasi spends most of the evening lamenting how much the group has been a disappointment lately. He says we always need a ‘carrot’ to motivate us. It’s not a wholly unjustified observation but lacks nuance.
His diva antics can be alternately entertaining and needlessly catty. No guesses which category he falls into that night.
Maybe it’s his bruised pride. I've sensed a disenchantment in him for some time. Things intimated in private. I believe it's deepened since Evan stepped down as co-director. I am trying to be even-handed but I'm too emotional; angry, tired, deflated...
So, does this mean you're leaving us?
Of course not, he reassures. He may no longer be director but he's still part of the family.
Hmm. On verra.
In the meantime, we'll have to muddle through. Evan will step in from time to time to direct our concerts. Nicole will do what she can. The rest of us will have to show more initiative, more often.
A couple of demoralising hours later, with no singing to compensate, the meeting starts to draw to a close. I have a bus to catch. I stand up abruptly whilst Kiasi is holding court. I say my goodbyes, ignoring his forced-cheery farewell.
The following morning, I’m bombarded with texts and emails of support from other choristers; some of whom weren’t at the meeting.
In the scheme of climate disaster, war and epidemic it’s really a non-event. Still, I’m seething. The messages of solidarity nevertheless take the edge off my annoyance.
Some offer a listening ear. I demur. Not now. It’ll only come out as a rant. At some point I’ll endeavour to have a conversation with those who put my nose out of joint, if time and opportunity allow. I need to calm down first.
That afternoon, whilst in the library I feel the prolonged vibration of my phone. Incoming from Kiasi. I press the ‘end call’ icon.
Elisabeth’s daughter, Lorraine comes to my defence.
Hang on. That’s not very nice for the soloist, is it?
Marlène tries to back-pedal.
Oh, I wasn’t talking about her recorded solo. I really felt something then...
(For the record, I’m not overly-pleased with my studio vocal. It’s pitchy as heck).
I was already peeved by Marlène’s intervention. I’m aware of the choir’s shortfalls. As someone who enjoys clean and consistent harmonies I know we have a long way to go. I’ve noticed that many of the more innately musical members have left; either relocated to other parts of the country or simply can no longer be bothered to come. There are too few male voices. Either their attendance fluctuates or their vocals do or both.
On the other hand, I’m also aware of the time and energy invested by certain members; new and old. I feel offended on theirs not to mention my own behalf. I also know that Marlène has a romanticised view of the past. By all accounts from more truthful veterans, schisms and fall outs have been part and parcel of the HRGS experience.
I wish I had said what was on my mind before Marlène dragged me into it. Now it will look as if I’m piping up because of ego. I can’t rule out that possibility but it’s not my main motivation.
With all due respect, I venture, you no longer come to rehearsals. You haven’t for a long time. You are not in the position to criticise us. Your feedback isn’t constructive and you’re doing nothing to improve the situation…
At this moment alto, Mia decides to add her two pence. She’s like a playground stirrer, egging on the mouthy kid in a fight. Both her and Marlène invoke the need to be honest. It's funny how for some, that means a licence to be insensitive. Mia too speaks of the choir’s mythical glory days; the need to recognise the spiritual significance of singing Gospel music etc etc...
How rich.
Her remarks infuriate me more than Marlène’s.
We should take the Good News message seriously, no doubt. But neither we should use the spiritual as an excuse to ignore the practical. Mia attends practices on a regular basis but contributes next to nothing. She’s been part of the group longer than most but still hasn’t mastered the required skills. She relies on the graft of more innately musical choristers. She thus has no right to indirectly undermine those who put in the work.
This is how it is all evening. An unedifying mess. Nicole and Le Bureau do their best to fight our corner; contextualise any perceived ‘decline’, point out that each new wave of members will bring a different sound and energy.
Soprano, Melissa speaks of how hurtful it is, as a comparatively newer chorister, to receive such negative commentary from veterans.
Kiasi spends most of the evening lamenting how much the group has been a disappointment lately. He says we always need a ‘carrot’ to motivate us. It’s not a wholly unjustified observation but lacks nuance.
His diva antics can be alternately entertaining and needlessly catty. No guesses which category he falls into that night.
Maybe it’s his bruised pride. I've sensed a disenchantment in him for some time. Things intimated in private. I believe it's deepened since Evan stepped down as co-director. I am trying to be even-handed but I'm too emotional; angry, tired, deflated...
So, does this mean you're leaving us?
Of course not, he reassures. He may no longer be director but he's still part of the family.
Hmm. On verra.
In the meantime, we'll have to muddle through. Evan will step in from time to time to direct our concerts. Nicole will do what she can. The rest of us will have to show more initiative, more often.
A couple of demoralising hours later, with no singing to compensate, the meeting starts to draw to a close. I have a bus to catch. I stand up abruptly whilst Kiasi is holding court. I say my goodbyes, ignoring his forced-cheery farewell.
The following morning, I’m bombarded with texts and emails of support from other choristers; some of whom weren’t at the meeting.
In the scheme of climate disaster, war and epidemic it’s really a non-event. Still, I’m seething. The messages of solidarity nevertheless take the edge off my annoyance.
Some offer a listening ear. I demur. Not now. It’ll only come out as a rant. At some point I’ll endeavour to have a conversation with those who put my nose out of joint, if time and opportunity allow. I need to calm down first.
That afternoon, whilst in the library I feel the prolonged vibration of my phone. Incoming from Kiasi. I press the ‘end call’ icon.
Soundtrack: Night Dreamer by Seu Jorge & Rogê, Topaz Jones - various, Sweet by Pho Queue, Walkie Talkie by Brijean.
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