HIGH NOTES
Thank you for the music
RAHI GAIKWAD
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As the Stop-Gaps Choral Ensemble heads towards an international choir competition in Germany, a look at what makes them tick.
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Reaching Out: The choir is a melting pot of culture cutting across human divides.
I was not even singing; I was sneezing.” Alfred’s glowering orbs hesitantly soften at the wisecrack of a choir member. He has just been denied the opportunity to chide one of his choristers for a perceived error in pitching. He seems to decide: this is not the time to go ballistic and edgy, qualities that Alfred J D’Souza, conductor and founder of The Stop-Gaps Choral Ensemble, puts down as contributing towards “the cause of perfection!”
It makes a world of a difference if you sing ‘ov’ instead of ‘of’ and ‘instrumant’ instead of ‘instrumint’. It makes a world of a difference if you sing from your head instead of your throat and think up and think down as per the pitch.
Best shot
This push towards perfection is likely to be this choir’s best shot at an international choir competition at Miltenberg, Germany, this July. And what better way to get at it than the proverbial practice.
For six months now, the vocal chords of the choir’s singers have forgotten what rest means. Here, soprano Tina Sutaria wakes up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. She cooks a square meal for her family and finishes all the chores before heading to a rigorous eight-hour session of standing with clenched palms, erect back, and stomach pulled in to pitch that high note. There, a tenor has a harried time getting the costumes ready to “stun and stagger” the audience. The younger members cannot wait to fly and experience their first trip abroad.
Two-hour practice sessions on weekdays, eight hours on Sundays, 35 songs, a plethora of genres ranging from classical to folk makes the Stop-Gaps “package”, ready to be opened on foreign shores among choirs from all over the world. Cuba, South Africa, Denmark, Slovenia and Italy will vie with this Indian contingent in an all-acapella act and a display of vocal prowess.
The Stop-Gaps, in its inimitable style, has picked up the gauntlet. Selected to be among the six choirs, from 42 international entries, this group of untrained voices has been pitched against professional choirs that belong to conservatories. The visas have been stamped and practices have reached a feverish pitch.
“Stop it! I will kill the lot of you!” In the small practice room at a city convent, Alfred’s voice dashes against the tiled walls. He charges towards the bevy of altos, but breaks into a graceful pose while demonstrating the moves for an Indian number. The four voices blend, a row of hands opens out to make waves in the air and aligned shoulders sway rhythmically to Victor Paranjoti’s composition — The Geet Mala.
It is this performance “package” — of costumes (a serious engagement with the creative side), the set and the choreography, crafted to suit the young and the aged alike, but also making some members cringe — that the choir’s maverick conductor believes makes it stand apart from the others. It has, over the years, brought many a house down at the National Centre for Performing Arts, Mumbai. This loaded package was one of the reasons that drew Maxim Wen to the choir a year ago. Now, like a true-blue Stop-Gapper, he says, “Nothing holds us back.”
All the songs are sung from memory. Nothing irks Alfred more than the sight of music files seesawing in the palms. The sooner they are disposed of, the more time there is to dance, act and generally showcase more than just your singing talent.
Pursuit of variety
A continual pursuit of variety, even bending some rigid choral conventions along the way, has earned this motley ensemble a place on the world map. Making a failed attempt at modesty, Alfred gushes, saying: “We are the only choir from Asia to be selected for this competition.” His was a last-minute entry.
Those who have spent enough time in the choir will learn that the last minute is when the action begins. While one wishes for a method to the madness, Alfred guarantees divine intervention. He recalls how during one of the concerts, the costumes had arrived just as the singers were coming on stage! Veterans wonder how despite all the resolution to be better organised, the backstage is still a frenzied riot of activity and ego clashes.
They tell you that some things will never change. But also add that some do. Singing with technique has trained the voice of many a singer here. Says Tina, “I had a sweet voice, but now it has become rich. My mum says she can hear my voice (during performance).”
Jennifer D’Souza, one of the oldest members, still feels the rush of adrenalin before a concert. Although having travelled with the choir for many international concerts in the past, she feels challenged by the forthcoming acapella competition. She, however, feels nostalgic about some of the older faces who have left the choir and feels a sense of disquiet about the widening age gap as new singers come in.
Younger voices
The Stop-Gaps gets younger by the day with new voices, the youngest member Shayne Gomes being 17. He joined the choir at 15 when his mother took him to Alfred. Although he has a passion for singing, this teen is not enamoured of the band culture. Plus, the choir is like a family to him. That is what practically every member will iterate.
There have been rough patches too. Members have had furious rows with some even storming out of practice. However, one way or the other they have returned.
Cultural ties are also forged. The choir itself is a melting pot of culture cutting across human divides and reaching out to the audience. A Hindu sings Halleluiah, a Catholic the Dravidian dithyramb, an Indian-born Chinese croons to the popular Hindi number “Chura Liya” and a Welsh masters a Konkani composition.
“Reaching out to the people”, is an art the Stop-Gaps has aced. The secret could be in its genetic history. The choir’s ontological roots are steeped in the human condition that formed the basis for its formation all the way down south to Madras. Alfred, whose heart belongs to Madras, remembers the floods of 1972 in the Adyar. The misery urged him to mobilise funds through singing. The caring gesture grew into a habit. He would repeat it many times over during Christmas singing going round the streets of Madras between nine in the night to five in the morning. “(Later), we started intimating people and they would keep their lights on and wait for us,” he recalls fondly.
This habit, which he brought to Mumbai in the 1980s, has stayed long enough to become a passion for life, for him and for the singers alike. If there is any reason for the singers to assemble for practice, come rain or shine, it is the music.
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