I was a tenor substitute at Grace Cathedral for their Sunday service yesterday. I was definitely not in top form, due to a sore throat that is threatening to stay the week. Having been to precious few church services (and the majority of those being Unitarian), it was baptism by fire (pun intended) on Episcopalian church ritual. Just for future reference, I am jotting down a few impressions.

The celebrant was decidedly not celebratory. When chanting portions of the Bible he sounded distinctly unenthused. I concluded this must be because he had to hold his arms out at 90 degrees, forearms vertical, and that this must have become rather painful after a while. The gesture baffled me — what could it mean?

• “Look, I’ve got nothing up my sleeves.”
• “What am I saying? Beats the heck out of me.”
• “Don’t shoot me, O Lord of Hosts.”
• “Vogue! Let your body move to the music!”
• Having washed his hands, the ecclesiastical surgeon waits for the attending nurses to put on his rubber gloves and hand him the body of Christ so he can break it.

I realize that this little commentary may be offensive to some — I don’t mean any offense. I was brought up Hindu, and we have more than enough bizarre rituals (I recall a rather painful one involving being stooped over and holding out a begging bowl). But as a uninformed attendee viewing the entire ritual from the back, I couldn’t help but have these thoughts flitting through my head.

Another interesting aspect of the experience were the vestments. A tight fitting purple robe with a huge billowing white cassock over it. The sleeves resembled those from a kimono — one could hide a sword in them I felt, although the church is a place of peace. I had to borrow a robe from an absent chorister — the service was only the Men of Grace Cathedral, which meant 11 singers in total.

As far as the music went, my favorite piece was the little Duruflé motet Notre Pére. It was hushed, gentle, and also in French, my worst language. The other French piece was by Lili Boulanger (the famous composition teacher Nadia Boulanger’s sister). In the choral lounge, one of the other singers joked that we should sing all of the French pieces like Edith Piaf, with ridiculous rolled r’s. The director of music, when playing the organ during the service a half hour later, did an impromptu improvisation on “Ma Vie En Rose” which nearly induced audible giggling.

All in all I learned quite a bit, although I was rather unprepared. Walking while singing some Anglican psalm/chant that you’ve never seen before is a little tricky. I think I managed to get the hang of singing the words in the right places, but then the word stress sort of went to pieces. Perhaps next time, if there is a next time.

We finished recording A Boy Was Born last night. This time we didn’t have any planes flying above or rose-window death-rays, so it was easier to work. Unfortunately, we didn’t get quite enough time to lay down Three Kings as well as we would have liked.

On an unrelated note, the Jehovah’s Witnesses came by today to tell me about how Isiah forsaw a world in which nobody was hungry and people all had their own homes. I don’t have the heart to shut the door it seems. I let them say their piece and took a copy of The Watchtower. And into the recyling bin it goes.

I have an audition coming up next week for the San Francisco Symphony Chorus. It’s pretty nerve-racking, really. I think there are only 5 or so slots open for tenors and the chorus is huge. The consolation prize is that I might still be able to sing the Mahler even if I’m not accepted into the regular chorus. The concerts I’m hoping to sing in are:

• Stravinsky — The Nightingale and Oedipus Rex
• Ives — New England Holidays
• Shostakovich — Symphony No. 13 “Baba Yar”
• Mahler — Symphony No. 8

My audition is on the 25th — which is also when we’re going to try to finish recording the Britten.