Carnegie Hall
by Robert BrainardTwenty-four, that’s how many were chosen. To think I was one of the twelve men to make it into the choir; the other twelve were women. I was going to sing at Carnegie Hall in New York City. Not only were we going to sing at Carnegie Hall, but we were chosen to be the featured choir, chosen over two-hundred-fifty other high schools and fifty colleges. All the hard work and long hours I put into this performance was about to pay off. The late rehearsals and individual singing checks had all led to this point.
As I waited backstage, with anticipation, I looked at the other twenty-three and hoped to find comfort in their eyes, but it never came. All that helped was feeling my breath as it fully inflated and deflated my lungs. My legs were numb and felt like they were about to fall off at the hip, probably due to the shaking. I could hear the prelude choir singing through the speaker, but it was muted by the sound of my pounding heart. Then the muted sound vanished, followed by the feeling of a hundred butterflies breaking out of their cocoons in my stomach. It was time to go on; darkness came over my eyes and deafness flowed into my ears as my heavy feet made their way towards the stage.
As I walked through the door I felt my senses quickly come back to me. I stood in my spot paralyzed by the thousands of eyes that watched me. I looked at the four balconies and the beautiful off-white walls with gold painted trim that surrounded the maroon chairs, which were entirely filled by audience members. Each breath felt like it could be my last, but I had to stay focused. It felt like an eternity for my director to walk on stage, when in reality it was only a minute and thirty-four seconds of, what to me felt like, awkwardness between the audience and us. Our director raised her arms and the entire hall became silent, as if their voices slipped away from them. Slowly her arms began to lower, followed by the sound of twenty-four skillfully blended voices. The first piece had begun, and all signs of nervousness had faded.
My focus level was full. Each note that came out of my mouth had floated through the air and met with another to make an extraordinary blend of sound, which would be delivered to the audience. The next song was full of pure emotion. Its tight harmonies and amazing melodic flow was something that took practice to accomplish; if done correctly, soft tears would flow from the eyes of the audience. As the song came to an end I felt a stillness overpower the room, followed by a pause. Suddenly an eruption of applause and cheer filled the room. Chills took over my body as I prepared for the next piece, which was full of intensity. As we started, my emotion grew from serene to uninviting. The song was full of powerful Latin words, and in the middle there was something that sounded like a blast from a cannon. This was created by the stomping of our feet onto the risers below. The audience jumped, and my heart filled with laughter and sorrow. (I knew this would be the last time I would get to sing this song with the group.) When the song ended there was an immediate explosion of cheer. We only had one song left, which caused the sorrow in my heart to deepen even further. I knew this wonderful experience was about to end. I had to make this my best performance and give it my all. At the end of the song the audience shot to their feet. Applause erupted, and I knew this experience was over. We bowed, and I moved smoothly toward the door.
The walk backstage was solemn; not a single word was said. I basked in the unreality of what I had just done. Eventually I realized I was one of few to perform at Carnegie Hall--a place where people like Miles Davis had performed. In the holding room, people cried and hugged as the reality of performing in this awesome place embraced us. This lasted a half hour. We held hands and spoke with one another, and I made sure I thanked everyone for sharing the experience with me, especially my choir director, Mrs. Greave.
What happened next was probably the most meaningful part of the entire trip. We locked arms and started to sing a piece from our performance: “The leaves are falling…falling as if from far off…distant gardens had withered…they fall with gestures that say ‘No!’” These words had meaning in the sense that the group would eventually be separated, as represented by the falling leaves and withering gardens. The unwillingness to do so was symbolized by the phrase: “they fall with gestures that say ‘No!’”
When the thoughts and emotions cleared I followed the group back into the hall, where I had the opportunity to watch others experience what I did. Hopefully, it will change their lives as positively as it changed mine. I will never forget my fifteen minutes on stage at Carnegie Hall.