In 2018, I had a profound experience conducting the Northwestern Division of the American Choral Directors Association High School Tenor-Bass Honor Choir in Portland, Oregon. Continuing to reflect on the experience, it became a vivid example to me of just how much young men desire safe outlets for emotional expression.
Sacred space
In our first rehearsal, I shared with the singers a tendency I’d seen in male-dominated environments whereby one singer would share something vulnerable or emotional, and usually another person would crack a joke about it—which then effectively killed the group’s ability to feel safe in expressing anything heartfelt or profound. They nodded their heads in agreement, and I inquired as to whether we could break this stereotype in our time together. Proclaiming our hotel ballroom a sacred space, I challenged them to dive into lesser-explored realms of vulnerability and emotion—that this was where the real risk-taking was and asked them to refrain from making jokes or comments that would stifle that kind of sharing. Permission was granted to be one’s whole self: the sensitive, the scarred, the strong, and the silly. And we sang from each of those realms.
Different pace
We took short breaks every hour. It was a simple adjustment to make, but greatly improved our focus. We indulged silliness, and when something was funny, we laughed and chased a few rabbits. There was more fluidity and improvisation in rehearsal than with a mixed chorus or a treble chorus and I tried to roll with it rather than fight it. In Nathan Howe’s work “Why Not?” we put on silly “elderly” voices for the verse that reads:
“When I am ninety-nine, I will drive a little slower, And my left turn signal will always be on.
And I will tell my stories with ludicrous embellishments, Because nobody alive can prove them wrong.”
Several of the singers took turns telling “ludicrous embellishments.” Whether their stories were hilarious or the humor didn’t quite land, the others were supportive of those who took the risk to share. Audience members at our concert heard groans and sighs and complaining about bunions or being hard of hearing, and all of those playful additions to the work were born from more giggly moments in our rehearsals.
In Ethan Sperry and Sten Kallman’s arrangement of Fey O, the dance party created by the singers during the percussion break became so lively that the floor was shaking enough to worry Marriott hotel staff into installing extra support in the ceiling of the floor below us. We warped two riser steps in the process (I still feel guilty about this) but we had some sizable singers up there! The creative (and physical) energy was boundless. Case in point: two young men, both well over 6 feet tall, came to me on a break and asked in complete sincerity if one could carry the other on his shoulders and run a lap around the risers during Fey O. Declining their request, I cited liability as a concern, but thanked them for their enthusiasm. Nothing boring to see here!
Going deep
Wanting to go deeper, without having enough rehearsal time for lengthy discussions, I opted for some emotional homework. Alonso Brizuela, honor choir coordinator extraordinaire, fetched us some index cards from Target, and thus, an overnight assignment was born:
One of the cards was to help us process the Isabel Zacharias text of my composition “The Roof,” which contains phrases like:
Be the roof covering all this. Be curve of hands. Be the time between waking and sleeping.
Be the seasons with me. Our winters will be mild as the front porch. Our autumns will be easy.
Our springs will always bloom. Our summers will have breezes full of grace.
The singers were asked to share in writing about a time someone had been a “roof” for them, or an instance when they’d been a “roof” for someone else.
Going deep, continued…
Another index card aided us in relating to “Pied Beauty,” a composition by Kurt Knecht with text by Victorian poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. It’s a wonderful poem pointing out all the weird, wonderful, ordinary, and curious patterns, oddities, and beauties in creation. For this card, the prompt was: “Describe something ordinary or small that has held beauty or wonder or made you curious.”
Singers were given the option to let me know on their card if they didn’t want it shared with the group, but were also reassured that I would not share their name if I did read their card.
They turned in the cards the next morning, and I spent my lunch break sifting through them and pulling responses to share for the afternoon rehearsals. While time wouldn’t allow for the reading of all 300 cards, I extracted the most poignant/poetic/humorous/frequently recurring statements. In the afternoon rehearsal when I read how they had been a “roof” or needed a “roof” you could have heard a pin drop. One young man left the room in tears. Several others had eyes brimming. We never know what others are carrying.
The next day the young man who had left the room in tears approached me on our first break and asked, “Can I give you a hug?” I wasn’t ready for what followed when I said “yes,” because he pulled me in tight and held on as if he needed a mother. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was a long hug, yet there was absolutely nothing creepy or awkward about it—just a real human needing real comfort. Afterward, I asked if he was okay, and he assured me he was. Tears brimming in his eyes once more, he scurried off to avoid crying in front of the group. I have no idea what was going on with this singer, but I won’t forget how much he was feeling in that moment and how concerned he seemed that others might see him cry.
Journaled thoughts
At the concert, pianist Kevin Padworski and I were gifted journals containing parting comments from the singers. It was a thoughtful gesture, which Kevin and I treasured. Reading through the journal, it struck me as a form of qualitative data, once again pushing further the week’s theme of hunger for a safe emotional outlet. A few comments from the singers:
“Thank you for pushing, not only our personal limits to be our best, but pushing limits of a men’s choir and breaking stereotypes. Thank you.”
“Driving young men to find their inner emotion and driving purpose is a gift very few capably manage to execute. Thank you.”
“Originally ‘The Roof’ was my least favorite in the set just because it wasn’t clicking for me, but when you read everyone’s stories to the room, I finally got it. I loved all the unique and beautiful answers we had for ‘The Roof’ and ‘Pied Beauty.’ This week you helped me rediscover the beauty in humanity. Thank you so much for that.”
“You had a difficult job keeping over 100 guys in a productive mood and yet you accomplished it…Thanks for creating such a vulnerable and safe atmosphere for us all.”
“You have opened my eyes to a new level of music and made me feel that men’s choirs can make soft, sweet music (too).”
“Dr. Ramsey, I have never been to a choral festival where there has been a female conductor… You have channeled the emotional power within these men that is seldom shown and for that, I sincerely thank you.”
“I have really gotten out of my shell…”
“When I first got here, you said this week was going to be life changing. I have never felt closer to music.”
“You wanted to get to know us and create bonds. I will never forget this experience”
Culmination
Never have I conducted a harder-working choir, nor have I experienced a choir so wholly committed to the intent and affect of every single song in a concert. The performance was electric. At the conclusion, there was a beautiful time of hugs and farewells and gratitude. Yet even in this celebration, one singer waited until all the others had left before approaching me with tears in his eyes. He gestured toward his body and said, “My father wanted a football player, and instead he got this.” I fumbled for the right words, giving him a hug, and trying to encourage him to be true to his gifts, to keep singing, and that anyone should be so proud to have him as their son. I went back to my hotel room feeling all of the feelings, trying to reflect on what exactly this experience was, but wholly overwhelmed. It was as if every nerve ending in my body was at capacity, but in a mostly good way. I stretched out on the hotel bed trying to process it all.
Even now as I write about it, I know I do the experience a disservice. It can’t be accurately captured in words, but isn’t that so often the case with art? It is impossible to neatly quantify. The best things in life usually are.
What I hope is that by sharing this, I may encourage another conductor or teacher to go deep—to cultivate connections and community in their ensemble, or to take the time to find more meaning in a work, even when it requires courage and time is limited. Maybe one music educator reads this blog and has their perceptions challenged on how deeply men can feel and how much they need opportunities to be allowed to feel and express.
In his book, Real Boys: Rescuing Our Sons from the Myths of Boyhood, clinical psychologist William Pollack references a “mask of masculinity” that boys wear to reinforce the “boy code.” He describes this as a code of conduct which equates being emotionally stoic, physically tough, invulnerable, and independent with being a man. While research shows that from infancy through age 4 or 5, boys are more emotive than girls, things have shifted considerably by the time they reach adolescence.
According to Niobe Way, NYU professor and author of Deep Secrets: Boys’ Friendships and the Crisis of Connection, early and middle adolescent boys have meaningful and profound friendships rivaling the emotional honesty and intimacy of girls the same age. However, by age 15 or 16, she offers that we have socialized this vulnerability out of many of them and “they begin to sound like gender stereotypes…using phrases such as ‘no homo’ …even though their desire for these relationships remains.”
In their best-selling book, Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Lives of Boys, authors Kindlon and Thompson write: “The majority of boys …[have] been shortchanged on the basic skills of emotional literacy: empathy, conscience, the vocabulary for meaningful emotional expression, and the idea that emotional interdependence is an asset—not a liability.”
A close colleague shared with me this month that she believed this idea of “emotional illiteracy” in young men to be a national crisis. I do not believe her comment to be overreaching. While we all likely can agree on the societal benefits of men having safe outlets for emotional expression, I’d like to suggest the choral arts as one present and powerful possibility.
“Great music, better people” is the mantra of one of my dear friends who teaches middle school choir. His short phrase encapsulates so much of what we can do with our beautiful art. Let’s make great music, but let’s also improve humanity in the process. We all carry unseen burdens. We put on our faces, yet, at our core we have that ever-present need of our species: we want to be affirmed, to know we matter, and to be loved.
Let’s be purposeful in our intent and cultivate emotionally honest rehearsal spaces for our singers that allow them to feel, express emotions, think critically, and explore creatively.
What a tremendous gift and responsibility we have.
