Choir Practice at Riviera Apartments

**** Written in Provo, Approximately 1999 ****

Today we had choir practice. Choir is always fun because it is a place where you can sing loudly, in your usual raspy, out-of-tune manner, and feel as though you're doing well, because you can't hear yourself sing.

We sang "Where Can I Turn For Peace". Well I observed several interesting things. As we sang, I noted to myself with great alarm this fact: "Something is dreadfully wrong." I think the choir director just maybe might have also noted the fact that we all sang the notes with about as much accuracy, harmony, and beauty as a group of 90 year old deaf men with those electronic voice boxes you get when you smoke too much. Our singing was a mess. Physicists have noted that there is an interesting phenomenon that occurs when sounds of all frequencies occur at once, such as radio static or say, a session of congress. Acousticians have called this "white noise." Well, our choir was essentially one large, white glob of noise.

I noted the director's distress as she decided to try an experiment. We all knew full well that we did not create with our combined voices what you would rightfully call "music." Thus, we were all concerned, and wanted to find out who was singing off key, because dang it, we each knew for sure it wasn't ourselves. Due to the fact that some of us felt we were more on key than the others, we sang louder, attempting to act as a sort of harmonious guide to those around us. But each time, everyone else would then place their notes up as beacons as well, until the resulting sound was, simply put, about as pleasing as a Mack truck in a honking war with a Union Pacific Freight engine.

Thus, our director thought it wise to attempt to isolate the problem. "Ok sopranos and altos let's have you sing without the other parts." The girls then proceeded to sing. We heard harmony; it was almost as shocking as turning on a bright light early in the morning, while your eyes are still partially glued shut. All of us guys in the back row were astounded — "So THAT'S what a choir sounds like!"

"Ok, boys, let's have you take it from the top." The piano began playing, also resulting in what you would call "music," thus it was obviously not the piano that was causing the problem. Suddenly, coinciding exactly with the moment we were to begin singing, a horrible noise resembling the sound of 10 or 20 dying camels completely covered the sound of our singing. My note, of course, was right on, I'm sure of it. Or at least, it was at several instances throughout the song, much in the same way a stopped clock is accurate twice a day. Analyzing our spectrum of voices, we noted that one or two of us were singing a completely randomized variation of 3 notes, while others of us apparently have the belief that singing bass consists of basically talking at different pitches, much like rap. Meanwhile, one of us especially (and I don't mean to be rude, but this is true) sang the very loudest, usually changing between 3 or 4 random notes, changing pitch much like one of those slide whistle things, and apparently just hoping that somehow he would get the right note, which, I will add, he never did. When somebody sings so loudly like that, it is very hard not to follow him.

Anyway, as we finished singing, the bleating camels also ceased. We all stood, some shaking their heads, the director with a look of disturbed hopelessness, and the girls mostly holding their ears or laughing quietly.

"Brethren," we all conceded silently, "I believe the problem lies with us."