A Feather on the Breath of God: the importance of debriefing
It’s been three days since Caleb, Nina, and I performed A Feather on the Breath of God in the Nun’s Chapel, for the last time.
I have immersed myself in the Grahamstown National Arts Festival, filling my days with plays, music concerts, comedy shows, and arts/business-focused lectures. I’ve seen friends, made numerous Instagram posts, and eaten ALL the food stuffs “illegal” for singers prior to performing: cake, coffee, chocolate, pastries, dairy … I’ve basically had a lot of fun.
But I’ve also been immersed in another reality: post-performance loss. And so, as medicine, I write.
As a first year, A Feather on the Breath of God was planted as a thought, when one of my lecturers casually asked us what we understood / knew about classical female composers.
The idea raised its head in November 2017, when my impresario requested we perform two Hildegard pieces, and my violist suggested we add Rebecca Clarke items, to the first A Feather on the Breath of God show.
And the phoenix began rising, in 2018’s A Feather on the Breath of God, in applying for the Grahamstown National Arts Festival.
But growing this baby fire bird proved far from easy!
First, was the issue of sourcing the music. As a music student, I had access to the department’s library. I soon discovered that, in a library of approximately 10 bookshelves, only one row was dedicated to female composers. But I counted my stars that one even existed!
Women Composers Through The Ages, Volumes 1 – 7 caught my eye. So I (ironically) climbed a ladder, then curled up on the uncomfortable carpeted floor, and opened volume 1. I had a visceral reaction, gasped. The contents page was brimming with female composers I had never heard of before. And as I peeked at the other volumes, the number of names I recognized dwindled to none at all.
I sat in silence for 10 minutes, following this exercise. Then I got up, put all the books back in the shelf, and walked home. Supper was made in a daze, as was the rather-too-frequent pre-sleep ritual of a movie. I hardly spoke.
For days following this initial discovery, after a relatively unfruitful perusal of YouTube, the thought “What have I got myself into!?” got rather loud. I’d catch myself trembling for no apparent reason.
I was extremely anxious. Anxious to source music, which varied in style, content, and the notation for which was decipherable / workable. And anxious to select female composers from around the globe, ensuring racial and/or cultural diversity.
Subsequent to accepting & submitting my signed contract to the National Arts Festival (NAF) Board, the next test unexpectedly came along. My string player withdrew from the production, for personal reasons. Now, for those that don’t know, the NAF are justifiably strict about withdrawing a production timeously. To be specific, if I’d withdrawn our production at so late a stage, I would have been banned from performing on NAF … for 4 years. So my fear was that I wouldn’t be able to find a replacement string player, and that a black mark in my fest record would be the result.
Thankfully, I had a supportive, and well-connected mentor. On his advice, I contacted Nicci Spalding and Kate Davies, who were lovely, understanding humans, and gave me extensions on the submission of tech riders etc. This gave me the time and mental head space I needed to cold call female string players from all over the country. Five string players later, none of these wonderfully talented women were available.
So, it was time to change tack, re-evaluate the cast-picture I’d formed in my head that I assumed was what “should be”. I ran through the list of string players I’d come across in my years at Rhodes University, disregarding gender completely, and the thought-trailer paused for effect, then flashed in neon lights and capital letters CALEB VAUGHN-JONES!
Like a good, technically-informed student, I stalked his website. And to my joy, part of his artistic statement referred to his desire to seek out under-performed music. In this context, female composers. So I emailed him. We chatted on the phone. And I danced with glee, because after a month of cold-calling, I had a definitively final “Yes, I will perform in this production with you”!
Then it was time to organize photo shoots and a poster designer, at speed, and submit all the forms that were outstanding.
Having eventually finalized a repertoire list, given that some of the scores were modal, and that none had a part written for cello, I outsourced a transposer. But in rehearsing together, Caleb and I found that playfulness, improvisation, and score-adaptation was an easier, more refreshing route to take.
Rehearsing with Nina, conversation kept revolving around the mutual epiphany that prompted this performance. In a promo clip, Nina put it so perfectly:
“For the whole time I’ve been a pianist, I’ve had this intimate relationship with
men & music. Now, for the first time in my music life, I’ve had the opportunity to
have an equally intimate relationship with women in music.” – Nina van Schoor, 2018
As you may already have gathered, my involvement in this production was multitudinous: not only was I the singer, but I was director, administrator, problem-solver, secretary, and advertisement manager. When I wasn’t ordering dry ice, I was thinking of memorabilia, collecting Protea wine bottles (for décor), comparing candle brands, buying gas cylinders (to unfreeze the audience & performers), and drinking lots … of rooibos, water, and apple juice.
Finally, D-Day arrived. And with the ting of hand chimes, to a full house, a deeply spiritual performance echoed in the walls of the Nun’s Chapel.
The audience support was overwhelming, with 94 people filling the house for each of the 3 remaining shows. The questionnaires audiences filled in indicated personal recollections, powerful imagery, and a deep investment in spirit. The second and third shows stand out to me as being the best vocal performances, but all four shows went really well, and remained authentic to the core concept of honoring the hitherto under-performed female composers of music history.
We showcased nine composers, spanning 700 years, and printed the names of all composers I’d come across in putting together the programme, in a special memorabilia booklet. Every audience member left the chapel with translations of the repertoire performed, some with Hildegard-inspired biscuits, and all, hungry to discover more female composers.
After a brief appearance on the Standard Bank Art_Is shipping container, it was time to say goodbye to Caleb and Nina, and attempt to step out of performance mode, and dive into what remained of Fest. I attended art industry and AI lectures, watched plays and performance art, and enjoyed classical & jazz music concerts, films, and documentaries. After one SpiritFest appearance, NAF18 ended, and I went to Cape Town for my birthday week.
Now I’m back in Grahamstown, finishing writing this blog post, because Term 3 has already begun, and yet my head is still with A Feather on the Breath of God.
Sometimes, as artists, we don’t have the luxury of quiet time post-performance. Our debriefing has to happen in a phone call, when our grandparents ask us how the shows went, and you are forced to think about your performative connection to your role in the past tense. Sometimes, it happens under duvet covers, when you thank the female composers for entrusting their voices to yours. Other times, it’s on an aeroplane, when you toast the clouds with a Hunters Dry. And today, it is to click Publish blog post, and say Goodbye, dear ones, for now.
