When I heard the announcement at church about the 100 Women Singing Choir looking for participants to celebrate Reverend Eloise Oliver's birthday, I was intrigued for several reasons. Rev E's birthday is April 1st, same as my mom. Jemanya is the choir director and she was the first person I met when I walked into East Bay Church of Religious Science back in February. She reached out to me and I fell into her embrace in tears, knowing I had found my spiritual center and my tribe. Finally, being one of one hundred women singing, I thought, I could participate in an anonymous way.
Some background... living with my deep voice and non-gender specific name has not been easy. My mother warned me at young age, her voice was lower than mine. She told me someday, I would embrace my voice for it's power, resonance and strength. It took years and in time I did embrace my speaking voice. My singing voice has taken much, much longer.
Almost fifteen years ago, I signed up for an evening beginning voice class at the local high school. There were six or seven students and a male instructor. I was nervous and afraid. As I recall, we started with warm up exercises and I immediately felt out of place because even those exercises were completely new to me. As the actual class began, I realized I truly did not belong in the class. One of the students, who was an accomplished and performing singer, decided to take the class to "return to her roots". The instructor was star-struck by this woman and no time for a novice such as me. (To this day, if I hear Summertime on the radio or Pandora, I quickly turn it off.) I hung in there for the entire class and approached the instructor at the end to ask for advice... specifically what could I do at home. This is what he said... "On your portable CD player, play songs you like to sing. Listen to the songs with only one headphone in. Sing along until you can't hear yourself." Maybe this was appropriate advice. At the time, it shamed and embarrassed me. I left the class and never went back.
Since then, I sang in the car and at home when alone for the most part. Occasionally, (read that as when high), I would sing along to favorite tunes with friends in the car. I was never comfortable with my singing voice because I knew what I heard in my own head, playing through my bones was not what was heard coming out of my mouth. That voice, I could not hear and I could not trust.
Back to the story... I showed up at the first practice of the 100 Women Singing Choir anxious and fearful. It was good to be embraced by Jemanya and welcomed by many other women in the church. We were asked to separate in groups based on our individual vocal range. This was the first moment my little girl appeared. My stomach rolled and my mouth got dry. I approached Jemanya, admitted I did not know where I belonged and she directed me to the tenor section. We were sitting in rows of chairs in the sanctuary. Away I went... quivering inside.
She had the sopranos sing several lines from one the songs we would be singing. Jemanya listened intently and made a few suggestions. Then she moved on to the tenors. We sang the lines together and Jemanya listening intently. She tilted her head from side to side as we were singing. With a quizzical look on her face, she asked to sing again. As we finished this time, she remarked, "I'm hearing a "arrr arr arr" sound. She asked to sing again and we did. As we finished, a young soprano directly in front of me turned around, pointed and said, "She's a baritone." All eyes turned to me and my anonymity was gone. My little girl burst into silent tears and wanted so much to run from the room.
I felt a gentle hand on my right shoulder from behind. I continued to cry, the hand remained steady and after a moment, I covered it with my right hand. While this was going on, Jemanya had identified another woman named Denise singing baritone sitting with the tenors. She asked us to sit on chairs along the wall. For a brief moment, I thought she was asking us to leave. This is how deep my discomfort with my voice.
Denise and I sat together while Jemanya finished with the tenors and worked with the altos. She came to us and said we would be singing with the sopranos, just an octave lower. As she walked away, Denise and I looked at each other, smiled and shrugged as we both knew we would simply sing, knowing what an octave lower meant was not within our abilities. God blessed me with Denise. Had I been the only baritone, I would not have been able to stay. In a later conversation, Denise said she only stayed because we were two. I joked, we should have "Baritone Voices Matter" shirts.
This was Monday, March 28th. We also practiced on Wednesday, March 30th. It was on Wednesday, that I spoke with the young woman who outed me as a baritone. In the choir formation, she ended up standing almost directly in front of me, she sings a powerful solo in the second song. During the second practice, I had a chance to talk to her privately. I told her how her voice moved me with its emotion and purity. I spoke with her about the moment she outed me. She started to apologize and I stopped her. It was important to tell her how grateful I was for her knowledge, honesty and openness in stating simply what was true. She told me how nervous she was to be singing alone in the second song and would appreciate my support. My support! God is so good.
We had been instructed to wear white for the performances. I didn't have an appropriate white outfit and I was inspired to look for clothing on the Taylor Jay Collection website. Taylor is a friend and used to have a brick and mortar location in my neighborhood. I was totally taken by the White London Jumpsuit. However, on the website, it was listed as Sold Out. This was Wednesday morning. I called Taylor and most interestingly... she answered her phone and I identified myself but I could tell as we talked she had not connected my voice and me. So I asked, "Do you know who this is?" She did not. When I told her she apologized for not recognizing my voice and mentioned my voice sounds lower on the phone. With my history, I had to ask, "Did you think I was a man?" Taylor, or course said, "Yes." See how this all works together in my world?
So, I asked about the White London Jumpsuit. I was told she didn't keep it in stock generally. I explained why and when I needed it. We decided I needed a size medium and I picked up my custom made jumpsuit on Saturday, April 2nd. God is good.
Which takes me to Sunday, April 3rd. Surrounded by a group of powerful, spirit-filled women who believed in me and my divine place in the choir, I was confident and I looked it!
Oh, the songs... God's Intentional by Travis Greene and Order My Steps by By Glenn Burleigh.
First Service <link>
Second Service <link>
Please notice my sister baritone, Denise who is standing to my right. She wasn't feeling well and stayed for second service for both us. Please notice the young soprano woman in dreads standing just in front of me. Prior to the start of the second song in each service, I touched her shoulder to let her know... I had her back.
In the same way, as with this blog, I can no longer say, "I do not write". With these performances, I can no longer say, "I do not sing". I have performed one other time (eight women) at church and I am now considered a member of the Women's Choir at East Bay Church of Religious Science.
Some background... living with my deep voice and non-gender specific name has not been easy. My mother warned me at young age, her voice was lower than mine. She told me someday, I would embrace my voice for it's power, resonance and strength. It took years and in time I did embrace my speaking voice. My singing voice has taken much, much longer.
Almost fifteen years ago, I signed up for an evening beginning voice class at the local high school. There were six or seven students and a male instructor. I was nervous and afraid. As I recall, we started with warm up exercises and I immediately felt out of place because even those exercises were completely new to me. As the actual class began, I realized I truly did not belong in the class. One of the students, who was an accomplished and performing singer, decided to take the class to "return to her roots". The instructor was star-struck by this woman and no time for a novice such as me. (To this day, if I hear Summertime on the radio or Pandora, I quickly turn it off.) I hung in there for the entire class and approached the instructor at the end to ask for advice... specifically what could I do at home. This is what he said... "On your portable CD player, play songs you like to sing. Listen to the songs with only one headphone in. Sing along until you can't hear yourself." Maybe this was appropriate advice. At the time, it shamed and embarrassed me. I left the class and never went back.
Since then, I sang in the car and at home when alone for the most part. Occasionally, (read that as when high), I would sing along to favorite tunes with friends in the car. I was never comfortable with my singing voice because I knew what I heard in my own head, playing through my bones was not what was heard coming out of my mouth. That voice, I could not hear and I could not trust.
Back to the story... I showed up at the first practice of the 100 Women Singing Choir anxious and fearful. It was good to be embraced by Jemanya and welcomed by many other women in the church. We were asked to separate in groups based on our individual vocal range. This was the first moment my little girl appeared. My stomach rolled and my mouth got dry. I approached Jemanya, admitted I did not know where I belonged and she directed me to the tenor section. We were sitting in rows of chairs in the sanctuary. Away I went... quivering inside.
She had the sopranos sing several lines from one the songs we would be singing. Jemanya listened intently and made a few suggestions. Then she moved on to the tenors. We sang the lines together and Jemanya listening intently. She tilted her head from side to side as we were singing. With a quizzical look on her face, she asked to sing again. As we finished this time, she remarked, "I'm hearing a "arrr arr arr" sound. She asked to sing again and we did. As we finished, a young soprano directly in front of me turned around, pointed and said, "She's a baritone." All eyes turned to me and my anonymity was gone. My little girl burst into silent tears and wanted so much to run from the room.
I felt a gentle hand on my right shoulder from behind. I continued to cry, the hand remained steady and after a moment, I covered it with my right hand. While this was going on, Jemanya had identified another woman named Denise singing baritone sitting with the tenors. She asked us to sit on chairs along the wall. For a brief moment, I thought she was asking us to leave. This is how deep my discomfort with my voice.
Denise and I sat together while Jemanya finished with the tenors and worked with the altos. She came to us and said we would be singing with the sopranos, just an octave lower. As she walked away, Denise and I looked at each other, smiled and shrugged as we both knew we would simply sing, knowing what an octave lower meant was not within our abilities. God blessed me with Denise. Had I been the only baritone, I would not have been able to stay. In a later conversation, Denise said she only stayed because we were two. I joked, we should have "Baritone Voices Matter" shirts.
This was Monday, March 28th. We also practiced on Wednesday, March 30th. It was on Wednesday, that I spoke with the young woman who outed me as a baritone. In the choir formation, she ended up standing almost directly in front of me, she sings a powerful solo in the second song. During the second practice, I had a chance to talk to her privately. I told her how her voice moved me with its emotion and purity. I spoke with her about the moment she outed me. She started to apologize and I stopped her. It was important to tell her how grateful I was for her knowledge, honesty and openness in stating simply what was true. She told me how nervous she was to be singing alone in the second song and would appreciate my support. My support! God is so good.
We had been instructed to wear white for the performances. I didn't have an appropriate white outfit and I was inspired to look for clothing on the Taylor Jay Collection website. Taylor is a friend and used to have a brick and mortar location in my neighborhood. I was totally taken by the White London Jumpsuit. However, on the website, it was listed as Sold Out. This was Wednesday morning. I called Taylor and most interestingly... she answered her phone and I identified myself but I could tell as we talked she had not connected my voice and me. So I asked, "Do you know who this is?" She did not. When I told her she apologized for not recognizing my voice and mentioned my voice sounds lower on the phone. With my history, I had to ask, "Did you think I was a man?" Taylor, or course said, "Yes." See how this all works together in my world?
So, I asked about the White London Jumpsuit. I was told she didn't keep it in stock generally. I explained why and when I needed it. We decided I needed a size medium and I picked up my custom made jumpsuit on Saturday, April 2nd. God is good.
Which takes me to Sunday, April 3rd. Surrounded by a group of powerful, spirit-filled women who believed in me and my divine place in the choir, I was confident and I looked it!
Oh, the songs... God's Intentional by Travis Greene and Order My Steps by By Glenn Burleigh.
First Service <link>
Second Service <link>
Please notice my sister baritone, Denise who is standing to my right. She wasn't feeling well and stayed for second service for both us. Please notice the young soprano woman in dreads standing just in front of me. Prior to the start of the second song in each service, I touched her shoulder to let her know... I had her back.
In the same way, as with this blog, I can no longer say, "I do not write". With these performances, I can no longer say, "I do not sing". I have performed one other time (eight women) at church and I am now considered a member of the Women's Choir at East Bay Church of Religious Science.
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