Certainties
I’ve been thinking about the challenges of singing a fugue and its relevance to everyday life. A quick and crude explanation for the non-musicians reading – in choral music, and elsewhere, a fugue consists of a theme, or themes, sung in one part and taken up by the others at different times, with some variations, overlapping and building, weaving together an interlocking and exhilarating piece of music. It can be a challenge to sing.
Why a challenge? First, your entries as a singer can come fast and furious with little in the way of assistance from the other lines of music – the weave makes cues difficult to pick up on. The singer has to be alert, counting (sometimes furiously), watching the conductor, keeping an eye on his place in the score, confident in coming in, and accurate. Second, losing your place in the piece is a real danger and, if you do, finding a way back in is tricky because of the nature of the form. There’s just too much going on. It’s all a little nerve racking – and, yes, exhilarating.
It struck me that singing a fugue is a little like navigating a complicated world in the need to be aware of everything around us, but at the same time staying focussed on our part in it – confident of when to come in and what to ‘sing’ but not too certain, too arrogant, too complacent. The singer who is certain of his or her entries without paying any attention to what is going on around them is riding for a fall and could even bring the whole thing crashing down (that’s the nightmare). Singing, like life, is a communal activity and if the pace alters, the musical director decides to take it a little faster maybe, the singer has to be able to adjust, cannot be too certain. That would be dangerous.
The spark for these musings was a passage in Colin Heber-Percy’s book, Lost in the Forest, in which he talks about the dangers of certainty in the wider world. Wars, he points out, tend not to be started because of doubt but because of certainty – ‘I’m right’, ‘This belongs to me’. Lesser conflicts too. Doubt means being in two minds about something - the right approach, the right decision, the rules. Heber-Percy comments on the role of Doubting Thomas in the resurrection story and points out that, as a twin, Thomas would have grown up with two points of view always available. This could have given him the strength to doubt and to own his doubt. Being in two minds can be seen as simply dithering, as a negative, a difficulty, but it is also a defence mechanism, protecting us from rash decisions and precipitate action, adding to the wisdom of our choices. It can certainly protect us from the ubiquitous scams which invade our in-boxes and phone lines.
Looking around us, reading the papers, watching the news, we can see plenty of arrogance and aggressive certainty in the wider world at the moment. Plenty of refusing to back down, to rethink, to listen to cooler heads. We criticise leaders who take time to react, don’t do the obvious – I’m certainly guilty of this. Maybe we should be a little more patient with leaders who are prepared to think things through.
Singing a fugue involves thought, preparation, and rehearsal so that the final outcome, the performance, runs smoothly. Choir and audience should be thrilled, uplifted, satisfied. It can be hard work, but the final result is worth it. As in music, so in life.
Doubting Thomas the twin didn’t know what should he believe in two minds he needed evidence, reassurance he wasn’t ready to be conned outsmarted, taken for a ride physical evidence was one solution contact with that wounded side around him friends were certain confident in their elation eager to latch on to what they’d heard not needing more the twin was used to two opinions he wasn’t one for clutching straws once he had the reassurance to meet his need then, only then, he’d jump then he would believe
Like very much. ❤️
And the dessert from Adam’s reflection gave me additional interesting food for thought. Thank you. 😊
Thank you for your simile for navigating the weave of life. I was reminded of a mentor of mine who reminded me as a therapist once to get my bum back in my seat. It was a physical move to centre in my body, feel, sense step back and consider all possibilities in a situation. The advice always bore fruit. It goes along with the F Perls aphorism to ‘loose your mind and come to your senses’. I was also reminded of the psychiatric definition of the term ‘fugue state’ based on the etymology of the word from Latin fuga (“flight” or “escape”). I read a definition of the musical sense reflecting the idea of one voice “fleeing” or being “pursued” by another, while the psychiatric sense reflects a kind of flight from one’s own identity in the form of dissociative disorder, typically linked to severe stress or trauma. I am highly critical of psychiatric definitions being far too prescriptive in the medical model but they often come from a place of description of what is a common human condition of being lost and wondering where you are in the moment. The interesting thing for me in your prescription of keeping with your choral colleagues is the multifaceted nature of the approach. Read the notes, count the beat, watch the conductor, sense the support of your fellow choristers….put your bum back in your seat?