Music

Songs in the South
(Live from the Tabernacle Choir)
by Robb Cundick

A Journal of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s Southern States Tour.

Angel on the facade of Bass Hall.

After I promised Scot and Maurine an article about the Choir’s Southern tour I wondered if I had made a mistake – would there really be enough interesting things to write about? As I review my experiences at the end of Day One I realize that won’t be a problem.

Those who have read my article about tour preparations know this story already has a substantial preface, but there is yet one crowning pre-tour experience to relate. Our final rehearsal took place on June 8^th – a full week before leaving – when we performed the tour concert privately for our families. But on Tuesday the 12th, a different kind of special occasion took place for the choir, orchestra, staff and spouses/guests.

Meeting in the Temple

In recent years we have held a special meeting in the Solemn Assembly Room of the Salt Lake Temple just before each major tour. In that sacred setting we have treasured an opportunity to fully charge our spiritual batteries with prayer, hymn singing and a message from a General Authority. This time we looked forward to the extra special prospect of hearing from the Prophet.

When President Hinckley walked into the room, dressed in white and carrying his now-familiar cane, it seemed as if we were sitting in his home and he was coming into the living room to greet us. The Prophet minced no words in bearing sure testimony of the work in which we are engaged. His voice rose in volume; each fervent expression underscored with gestures of the hand as he spoke his unwavering confidence that Joseph Smith’s vision was a reality and the Gospel has indeed been restored. He emphasized the importance of standing firm in our faith. We caught a glimpse of his more intimate emotions when he talked of feeling embarrassed at having become tearful in front of the Church-wide audience at the Winter Quarters Temple Dedication. On that day he had been particularly moved by what he referred to as the “terrible price” paid by early members so the Church could become what it is today.

Once again it was brought home to me how keenly our Prophet feels the debt we owe to our heritage. He called upon us to remember those sacrifices and to emulate them. The challenges to be faced on a Tabernacle Choir tour seemed much less significant when placed in this context. How we have grown to love this great leader! And yet he never allows himself or the rest of us to get too caught up in our own significance. “Sing, sing, sing!” he called playfully as he and Sister Hinckley made their way out.

Admit it now — do these guys really look like they sing like angels? But they do! I can testify so because they sit right behind me.

Houston Flooded Out

Continuing on with the present, this first day of the tour has been the object of uncertainty all week. Remember the famous line, “Houston, we have a problem?” Well, this week it was Houston itself that had the problem – and it was a problem of Texas-sized proportion. Last weekend, tropical storm Allison wreaked a devastation that was largely ignored in the national news. Torrential rains caused terrible flooding in the downtown area. Several people lost their lives; 25,000 became homeless and there was over a billion dollars in property damage.

Among the casualties was our first performance venue, Jones Hall – home of the Houston Symphony Orchestra in downtown Houston. Its basement was flooded to the ceiling, destroying the symphony’s music library and several priceless musical instruments. Its mechanical plant, which controls air conditioning and electricity, was under water for four days and will have to be entirely disassembled and cleaned. The hall will not reopen for two to six months.

At our meeting in the Temple, President Hinckley asked Choir President Mac Christensen, “Do you have a place to perform in Houston yet?” ‘President Mac’ shook his head dismally. “Do you know what day it is?” the Prophet teased. This was Tuesday and our concert was scheduled for Friday, and thus had this question remained in the forefront of our minds and prayers for the rest of the week. Would a suitable substitute be found?

Wednesday night’s 10 o’clock news showed President Mac saying, “We have not found a hall yet, but I know in my heart that we will.” We learned later that over 40 halls were considered but didn’t work out for one reason or another. Pleas were made to one group, who had a large Church available that would have worked well, but even after several tries from progressively higher government authorities, their leaders could not find it in their hearts to welcome us there. The Methodists and Lutherans offered churches, and Rice University offered a concert hall, but they could have accommodated only a fraction of the 3000 seats that had been sold. Events finally reached the point where announcements were published in Houston papers saying the concert was cancelled.

Last minute preparations were still being made to the hall as we rehearsed in Houston.

But in the end the promptings to our President’s heart came true. Thursday afternoon, with the help of local Stake President and Houston City Manager Albert Haynes, a hall was found – the old “Astro Arena” next to the dilapidated Houston Astrodome. Aged and barn-like, it was hardly an elegant concert hall, but the city of Houston kindly donated it free of charge. Technicians descended, temporary lighting was mounted, our portable sound system installed, risers rented (I was wrong in my first article when I said we were taking them with us), and the matchless members of the Church got the word out and brought in a large, friendly audience. Once again, when fervent prayers are raised to the Almighty, the impossible revealed itself to be mere illusion.

I hope someone who attended the concert will read this and back me up when I say that it was a glorious occasion. The challenge of the surroundings and soberness of the previous week’s events made for a greater appreciation that the concert could take place at all, and increased its meaning for both Choir and audience. Perhaps we will one day return when Jones Hall is fully restored, but our Heavenly Father’s Spirit will be felt no stronger on that day than it was in the old Astro Arena.

It is now the morning of Day Three and I am sitting on the bus waiting to leave for the longest leg of our journey – from Fort Worth to New Orleans. Thankfully, Fort Worth was spared the ravages of Storm Allison so the challenges here have been relatively mundane. The five-hour bus ride from Houston left us time to rest at the hotel before walking two blocks to Bass Concert Hall for afternoon rehearsal. As I arrived at the stage entrance I was introduced to Kent Ecker, a security guard at the hall, who greeted me as a fellow member of the Church. He is a convert of five years after having been a devout Lutheran and said with enthusiasm that joining the Church was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had been looking forward to our arrival with great anticipation.

The lobby at Bass Hall.

It is likely that Fort Worth’s immaculate Bass Hall will be the best performance venue of the trip. It is only a few years old. What a pleasure it was to stroll through its lobby and view the elegant features: colorful blue-skied ceiling murals; marbled balconies, walls and steps; angels etched in glass. I was told it cost $67 million and was financed with private donations: The outside facade was adorned with two gigantic angels, each blowing a golden trumpet. [Mr. Bass’s wife is a member of the Church – perhaps she influenced the motif]. It is small wonder, then, that we felt immediately at home.

We have learned to gauge the quality of a hall’s resonance by listening for overtones – higher notes that, by the physics of sound, can be heard above even though they are not actually being sung. Hearing overtones is a skill that took me a while to master – it is like looking at a “magic eye” picture, where a three-dimensional scene emerges from seemingly random patterns. Bass Hall might be one of the best places in the world to learn to hear an overtone. As we warmed up, the twelfth above our unison note sounded as clearly and purely as I have ever heard it. Surrounded on the stage by a beautiful hardwood shell, the sound was so rich it was as though we were singing from within a Stradivarius violin.

The evening concert was completely sold out, with approximately 2000 in attendance. As in Houston, it was thrilling. Both audience and Choir left with a feeling of exultation. I walked to the lobby afterwards to be greeted with smiles, exclamations about the beauty of the performance, and enthusiastic handshakes. But the person I was most interested in seeing was Kent Ecker. When I found him, before words could even form on his lips, his glistening eyes told how deeply he had been moved. Though confined to his security office and witnessing the concert only on his monitor, he was overjoyed at having been present.

There was a glowing review in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram this morning. It said the concert made it clear that our reputation is richly deserved. “Nobody hallelujahs like these folks hallelujah!” I was also pleased when the reviewer pointed out the beauty of the softer pieces, which as I have said before, project the Spirit of our Heavenly Father even more than do the powerful ones. He said, “Over the course of the evening it was not the largeness of the choir’s sound that made the greatest impression. Instead, it was their impeccable smoothness and dynamic control. Their whisper is as awe-inspiring as their thunder…” Wow! Choir Director Craig Jessop later said the Fort Worth concert was one of the greatest musical experiences of his life.

Let me close this entry with a little of this morning’s “Bus Driver Humor.” Outside of Fort Worth we passed a town called “Waxahachie”. The story goes that a Highway Patrolman had pulled over a speeder when a second Patrolman came along and stopped to find the first sitting in his car and scratching his head. “What’s the matter?” asked the second Patrolman. “Do you know how to spell, ‘Waxahachie’?” replied the first. “Oh – don’t worry about it.” said the second. “Just let him go and we’ll pull him over again when he reaches Waco!”

Hastily-prepared sign at the Astro Arena Ticket office. No time to find out how to spell, “Mormon”!

It is now Monday morning – Day Four. I think I have written just about enough for one article, but there is one more thing I want to add. Last night we arrived in New Orleans after a full day bus ride from Fort Worth. We had dinner and then held Sacrament Meeting in the hotel. Some beautiful talks were given, but one stands out for its poignancy. President Mac Christensen recounted some of the details of the struggle to find a concert hall in Houston. He expressed his frustration with the one group, who went so far as to make it clear that the reason they would not let us use their church is because it is “dedicated to Jesus Christ.”

But then dear President Mac put everything in perspective by giving a heart-rending illustration of how and why it is important to forgive. The thoughts he spoke were sacred and personal so I don’t feel it right to share them in detail. But it is public knowledge that his eldest son was one of Mark Hoffman’s bombing victims. Suffice it to say that President Christensen, after much anguish and soul searching, has found it in his heart to forgive Mark Hoffman.

It is hard to think of any more devastating thing than the loss of a child, especially under such cruel and senseless circumstances. It draws immediate likeness to the anguish our Heavenly Father must have felt as his son died on the cross. After pondering that, forgiveness of the group who had turned us away hardly seems to take a second thought.

TO BE CONTINUED

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