The Barbershop Style of Singing

I’m working in Washington, DC in a military unit that had every branch of service represented.  As an Air Force officer, I know that belonging to the superior service you sometimes have to humor the other branches when they vie for your time and attention.

My co-worker, a Naval officer, comes into my office one day asking if I want to come see his singing group in a few months. For the chance to see the rare combination of right brain activity in a military member and because I really had no idea what I’d be doing in a few months, I humor the squid and buy tickets for the show.

It’s the night of the concert and as I get out of my car I realize, this is not some  small-town bowling alley conference room … I’m at a university’s indoor stadium. 

I walk into the lobby and am overpowered by an unseen force.  

A warm, electric buzz envelopes me and pockets of song rise up from small pods of men (the pods are small, not the men).

There’s no rhyme or reason to the pod locations and no one pod is singing the same song.

The one consistent factor is the color of the sounds coming from each group.

Every note resonates an emotional investment of heart and soul and a relational investment into each pod mate.

I am magnetically attracted from one pod to another. 

I want more of these friendly hugs of harmony.

I figure, if this is the welcome, then I am even more intrigued about the actual event.

I find my seat in the auditorium. The lights dim. I hear dozens of hushed steps on the stage and an unusual creaking sound coming from what sounds like some sort of metal scaffolding. 

The anticipation is contagious.

And finally.

BAM!

Stage lights ruin my night vision.

And the Barbershop Harmony Society’s Alexandria Harmonizers ruin my musical mentality.

100 or more Harmonizers are dressed in tuxedos with shiny gold cummerbunds and vests. The men are merely vehicles for this magical power of the barbershop style of singing.

Their wall of sound grabs me by the collar, shaking out every preconceived notion of singing.

The synergy of their voices takes my breath away, held one beat shy of starving my brain of necessary oxygen; released just long enough for me to gasp for air before the next assault of ringing chords.

This is my gateway concert to barbershop.

And I want more.

From that moment on, I fan-girl hard over all things Alexandria Harmonizers. More concerts, their Christmas show, their competition prep, anything they post on Facebook.

And at these shows, I stare at my work colleague doing choreographed moves from the front line of his group. His face emotes pure joy, enthralled by a “hobby” that consumes his talents. 

The Navy officer I know at work is a completely different person when he dons the Alexandria Harmonizer uniform. So much so, that I can’t seem to reconcile that they are one and the same.

Finally after show number … who knows how many, I stand in line with the other stalkers fans and find my friend.

“How’d you like tonight’s performance?”

“I loved this one just as much as the others.”

Now, I knew this wasn’t the right venue, but as a self-diagnosed Fear Of Missing Out queen, I reveal my deepest darkest FOMO secret to him.

“I love watching you all. I can’t get enough. But, if I‘m being honest, I really wish I could do this. Like if there was a chorus of all women doing the same thing you all do. THAT’s what I want.”

There, I had said it. It was a note that, judging by his face, was severely off key. 

“Mo,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “you are such a dumbass. Women do sing barbershop. They're called Sweet Adelines.”

He enlightened me that barbershop is more than just men singing awesome harmonies.

And this was my gateway revelation to Sweet Adelines.

That thing I wanted more of, I could get more of.

What started out as an act just to humor a squid was leading me to a pastime that will end up changing my life for the better.

Immediately after I learn that women also sing barbershop, I find out that the Vienna-Falls Chorus rehearses nearby. I do some pre-vetting via social media, find the “come watch us rehearse” button and a few keystrokes later, I have sent an e-mail letting them know I would be visiting their next rehearsal. 

I arrive before rehearsal start time, but there are already like a dozen women there — laughing, lively and loudly.

I make eye contact with a woman across the room whose facial expression goes from joyous to “Oh my gosh, we haven’t seen each other in ages!” 

Led by her contagiously large smile, she makes a bee line to me.

And when I tell you her look says, “we haven’t seen each other in ages,” I am referring to whatever age I am right at that moment, because I have NEVER met this woman.

That doesn’t stop her.

She grabs me in a warm bear hug that feels exactly how I imagined those pre-concert hugs of harmony.

She pulls me out of our embrace, her hands still on my shoulders.

“I’m Gail, the membership recruitment coordinator. You must be Mo!  I was excited to get your e-mail. We’re so glad you’ve joined us.”

Warm welcome. Check.

“Well let’s get you settled in.”

Yes. Let’s. 

Gail guides me into a back room, away from all the women who I thought were the chorus.

She introduces me to Carrie, the “lead section leader” which seems like a redundant duty title, but I’m the guest here, no need to point out the nomenclature flaws of my host. 

I need to spend my energies trying to figure out why I’m back here with a chorus of one when the chorus I came to watch was in the other room.

Carrie gets right to business.

“Ok, sing Happy Birthday.”

“Uhm, ok.  Happy birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Is it your birthday?”

“No.” 

I look around the room.

“Happy birthday … Gail?”

Gail shakes her head no.

“Ok, well, it’s not my birthday either, who are we singing to?”

“Just sing Happy Birthday…”

I’m dumbfounded. Had I not clicked the “come watch us rehearse” button?

I’m being asked to sing? How is that watching?

Carrie stares at me impatiently, so I start wishing someone, or no-one, happy birthday.

Fortunately she cuts me off before I get to the “dear naaaaaaame” part.

“OK, I’m going to sing ‘You Are My Sunshine.’ You harmonize to it.”

What in the fresh hell is happening here?

And since when did ‘You Are My Sunshine’ have a harmony part?

Confused thoughts swirl in my brain. Then they are interrupted by singing.  My singing. I’m singing You Are My Sunshine.  But not the main melody.  Just some notes that make sense to me.

Before “ you never know dear,” Carrie stops singing.  

My voice is stranded, singing some note that makes no sense without the melody. I hope she realizes that. Because otherwise, I sound like a crazy person off the street singing some asinine note that doesn’t belong alone.

Matter of factly, Carries say, “Yup.” And then in a accusatory tone, she says, “Baritone.”  

She turns me back over to Gail whose smile is reflected in a red 3-ring binder that has a “Vienna-Falls Guest Book” label slipped into the plastic sleeve on the front.

Gail escorts me from the interrogation room back to the main room.  

There on the bleachers are dozens of women, just like my friend had told me existed.  

They were singing warm ups.  Even the warm up numbers had beautiful harmonies. I couldn’t wait to listen and watch them.

Apparently this is a standing-room-only rehearsal because there’s no place for me to sit.

And standing is precisely what I end up doing, because these people don’t let anyone “just watch.”  

Nope.

Gail escorts me to the bleacher, almost to the top row. She takes her position on the very top row and turns my body to face the chorus director, Claire.

I loudly whisper over my shoulder to Gail, “I just wanna watch.”

Gail leans in and whispers back, “You can watch from here.”

Could I?  I mean, I could. 

But if I did stand here, could I just watch?

Wasn’t this the thing I wanted more of? To be enveloped by these luscious combinations of notes?

Yes.  

But I wanted more.

I didn’t want to just watch. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to contribute to it.

So, I could step down and leave the rehearsal I wasn’t allowed to watch from any other place but on the risers.

I could stay and be a spectator from my spot right in the middle of the action.

Or, I could open that binder, find the song they were singing and join.

Spoiler alert: I open the binder and sing.

And through that binder, that chorus, those ladies and those melodies, I start a hobby that, to this day, remains the most supportive and positive organization I’ve ever had the pleasure of belonging to.

The singers, the music, the arrangements and the lifestyle have all profoundly enriched my life. 

And I am so very grateful (and still a little bit of a dumbass).