Voice   "_______ Voice Training, used by some of the world's top performers... when you master the basic movements of healthy vocal function, you unlock endless possibilities for Artistry and opportunities for Performance Magic"  So here's the weird thing: with the new director we were asked to go around the room and say what it was we liked about choral singing and when they got to me I said Harmony, even if I have the joy of being a soloist I would miss Harmony. The problem is that the first piece we're doing, straight out of the gate, begins with SATB unisons, which is characterized by our fearless leader as the most wonderful sound that the human voice produces because it's bringing us all together instead of separating us. It's unified. Get it? Unison. And I kind of agree, but at the same time there is such a thing as a Symphonion Sublime Harmony double comb music box (a real thing) which has the typical operating system whereby little teeth pluck a comb which produces sounds. Except there are two combs in opposition to each other and each is very carefully tuned so that they are, in the words of a music box restorer, a couple of cents off from each other. This is done deliberately so that they will mimic the very slight differences in human voices, thus producing a richer sound. So no, it does not appear as though unison, so exquisitely tuned as to sound like one voice, is the sine qua non; it's just one version of what we've been doing with our voice boxes for thousands of years. Perfect is the enemy of Reality. This last week we ran through the program, first to last, plus encore. We're getting short—and we also need to rehearse in final standing order. Somebody (I won't say who, but she's good at spreadsheets) put me in center, 2nd row, behind my regular left-seat buddy. Turns out when she stands up…I can't see the conductor. Of course everybody can't get what they want all the time, but seeing is pretty far up there on the list of priorities, so a few switches are slapped onto that ol' Excel. To be fair, because we've all been wearing masks I don't recognize half the newbies.  At Dress last night come to find that my tall-ish buddy is now up here on the 2nd row on my right but a masked stranger is on my left. It has not been apparent until now how much I've appreciated the gift of subtle volume shifts—now it's: I'm wear-in' sec-ond hats ! Turns out to be a very long evening. Oh Lord in heaven it's my 7th grade nightmare Revisited. I still feel it in my body. The specific dread that entered my pores. That blithe ignorance of refinement and persistent under-pitch. She was standing on my left (we were probably sopranos which just makes it statistically worse). Should I put myself in the position of that choir teacher for just a second…magically switch places with her so she's standing up next to Miss Thing and I'm down on the floor gazing up at all of these young students, around 12 years old or so. Been trained! I know how to do this—play some scales, warm them up. I definitely warm them up. I wave my arms at them, but the sound coming out? I pretty much have to take anybody who walks through the door, have them sing Happy Birthday and put 'em in a section. I've got ideas of what the repertoire will probably be. Simple stuff, four part, but they're looking at me like deer in the headlights when I lift my hands for the downbeat. You know what? As unified as we probably will sound a generous step up from 7th grade—flourishing, competent, caring adults—this Friday, I'm going to put a teeny wad of cotton in my left ear. I don't need to hear stereo for this concert. I don't wanna.