The Long Day Closes October 11, 2021

I was heavy into binge-watching on Wednesday night when Julie called me with the startling news that the music director of the Marin Oratorio had died of a heart attack that evening, just as he was preparing for rehearsal. We knew that Boyd had a few health issues, but we weren’t prepared for this. Boyd Jarrell was a man of energy and enthusiasm, generosity and kindness. We were all enriched by knowing him. 

In Chamber Singers, with Boyd at the music stand, I had learned The Long Day Closes by Arthur Sullivan. It is a beautiful and haunting elegy that I cannot sing without the sting of tears. And though we sing it for others, we are made aware of the finiteness of our own lives and how our own day will close soon enough. 

And so it is those words and that beautiful tune that have been consuming me this past week, as I reflect on Boyd and his legacy – the Oratorio and the deep friendships made because of it. 

No star is o'er the lake 

Its pale watch keeping 

The moon is half awake 

Through gray mist creeping 

The last red leaves fall round 

The porch of roses 

The clock hath ceased to sound 

The long day closes 

Sit by the silent hearth 

In calm endeavour 

To count the sounds of mirth 

Now dumb forever 

Heed not how hope believes 

And fate disposes: 

Shadow is round the eaves 

The long day closes 

The lighted windows dim 

Are fading slowly 

The fire that was so trim 

Now quivers lowly 

Go to the dreamless bed 

Where grief reposes; 

Thy book of toil is read 

The long day closes

Finding One's Formant August 14, 2021

One of the few reliable pleasures of my pandemic experience is the semi-weekly vocal workout offered by San Francisco voice teacher Julia Nielsen. On Mondays and Wednesdays at 6 pm, I and other home-bound singers join Julia for a thirty-minute journey through imaginative exercises designed to improve our range, control, flexibility, and consonant production. 

Last week Julia introduced “vocal formants,” a concept that was new to me. The idea is that parts of our vocal tract – the mouth, the pharynx – resonate at certain frequencies depending on the vowel we are trying to form, because the formation of the vowel itself determines the size and shape of the cavities. When the chambers’ resonant frequency matches the pitch being produced by the vocal folds, we generate a richer and more focused sound. 

It occurred to me that the formant could serve as a metaphor for success in many of life’s endeavors. It is as though we are each producing our own pitch, but in order to really be successful, we need to find a formant that supports and amplifies our effort. Perhaps the formant lies in a parent or a partner, who is a receptive to our needs and ambitions and who supports our growth. Perhaps it rests in our education, where a certain teacher or class inspires and challenges us, or in a job that matches our abilities and propels us to a new level of expertise. 

In many aspects of life, our success is supported by another type of formant – as the old saw says, “being at the right place at the right time.” Knowing this encourages us to raise our antennae, to be aware of what is working for us, to look elsewhere if it isn’t, and to seize wholeheartedly on the gift that occasionally comes our way. 

A young person strides through school and college, meeting an enormous number of people along the way. Job opportunities are myriad for the youth, energy is high, the world lies like a smorgasbord of opportunity for the younger person. 

But in my experience, as we get older, formants are inherently harder to find. There is no NSF program for “old” scientists, no “way-past-emerging” artists program at the art school. And so I’m struggling to find my formant, especially during COVID. Like all of you, I’m dipping my toe in many waters, looking for that vessel that will support my needs, resonate with my values, and nurture my abilities. Oh formant, where art thou?