The Voice

It’s difficult to describe the effect of a cacophony of discordance. I think that prolonged exposure to inharmony is damaging on levels we don’t know how to measure, and I’m relatively certain that there will be casualties as a result of that exposure.

I’m talking about the current American experience with Mr. Trump. Even as a Canadian, the clamor emanating from South of the border is inescapable.

Truth appears to be the most obvious of the casualties, but civility, decorum and common sense are also wounded badly enough to be on the critical condition list.

I’ve decided to look to choirs for reassurance that there’s a seed of sentience within humanity. A seed that is currently being overwhelmed by the voices of malevolence.

I’m not entirely sure how I ended up listening to choirs. I think I was surfing through music video options and accidentally landed on Penatronix singing Little Drummer Boy. From that starting point I ended at the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, with stops in between to hear the London Children’s choir and an assortment of other examples of harmony.

I was struck by how male and female voices are wonderful in their own right. But when combined, those voices sound like they belong together. They are undeniably different, but when united create a sound that somehow captures our essence and our potential. After listening to the blended voices I was left with a sense of unanimity. Of one voice, with different but equal qualities. Of the sum being greater than its parts.

I was not left with a sense that there was a battle between the genders.

I was struck by how the choirs represented the entire human race. Black, white and every hue in between. One voice of stunning beauty.

I was not left with a sense that there was any discord among the ethnicities.

I was struck by the miscellany of body height, weight and shape. I perceived that every feature and imperfection in the human form were on display, and made no difference to the perfection of their harmony.

I was not left with the sense that there was any shame to be felt or dispensed, for what nature or genetics had provided to the choir.

My succor was short lived however. Because a thought was troubling me even as I listened to Amazing Grace. I was bothered because what I was seeing was potential and not reality. I was seeing an example of our capability when we agree on the words and the chords. We can be moving and magnificent when we acknowledge a common theme.

And so I pondered why we so rarely are harmonious, and then I remembered Rufus Wainwright.

Rufus gathered roughly a thousand people together in an old warehouse. He sent invitations and so only interested people arrived, but those people were of every make and model the planet has to offer. They were gathered to sing Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. There was a guitar and an amp, but minimal direction other than the words and some suggestions for when to sing those words. The result was impressive.

Because Rufus was the one voice that everyone else attuned themselves toward.

So, if the one voice is good and pure, then the choir will flatter humanity. If the one voice is hateful and discordant then the choir will echo that hatefulness.

I hope that America can find that one voice, because the tone of that voice at this moment in time is disgraceful and an insult to the choir.