When I sang in the young adult choir at Bethlehem Baptist Church as a teenager, there was another Vanessa in the alto section, Vanessa Laureia Bradley. She had a clear, strong, confident voice. I thought she was doing quite well with the lead that evening at rehearsal.
I'd only joined the choir because my Mom insisted that my older sister and I find something to do at church besides occupy a pew.
I had no aspirations to sing solos, and was perfectly comfortable standing between Janice Barmore and Sharon Sneed in the soprano section. They were taller than I was, and sang much louder and more confidently than me. I didn't have to do much if I stood anywhere near them, and so began my fulfillment of my mother's wishes-- and my tendency to hide.
There was a nice, slow part at the end of the song that Vanessa didn't want to sing.
The director, as usual, asked for volunteers to sing it, as opposed to just ending it and abandoning the way the song was recorded.
I was never one to volunteer to sing alone.
When no one responded, he started picking singers at random. When he got to me, I was terrified and shook my head, "No". He said that he was going to keep playing the intro until I started singing. I really didn't want to, and was hoping he would just get tired of waiting and call on someone else.
Time was passing, and the whole choir was looking at me. Then choruses of "Just go ahead", and "Come on, you can do it" began.
I had never sung alone in public in my life. (Even at the talent show at Abram Simon Elementary school when I was in 5th grade, there were four other people including my sister on stage with me as we sang "Just My Imagination".)
I could feel my stomach tightening, and wished I could disappear. I hated that I had been put on the spot. There was plenty of encouragement, and plenty of impatience, too. Finally I heard an exasperated, "Now look. We don't have all day". It was clear that the director wasn't going on until I sang something.
I closed my eyes, and thought about the beautiful voice I'd recently heard for the first time. It was stunning and rich. It flowed and was flawless. It wasn't reserved for Sunday record playing like Mahalia's and Sister Rosetta's had been.
I wanted to listen to that voice every day. I wanted to sound just like her.
I heard the intro once more and thought, "Sing like her. Try to sing it like Tramaine."
I opened my mouth and sang:
"Because, I can take the pain, yeah,
And I can take the heartache, the heartache pain brings,
Lord, Lord, the heartache that pain brings.
Because I know there's a comfort,
A comfort in know-e-e-e-e-e-e-ng
One of these old days,
One of these old days, one of these old days,
I'll soon, I'll soon be go-o-o-o-ne
Yeah, and as God, as God gives me grace,
I've got to run, I've got to run,
I've got to run, I'm gonna run on,
I'm gonna run on, I'm gonna run on,
I'm gonna run on, run on to that ra-a-a-a-a-ce
Until I see Jesus, until I see Jesus,
until I see Jesus face, face face ,
face, face to fa-a-a-a-a-a-ce!
I, I-I-I-I-I-I , I-I OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The choir came in with "Goin' up yonder!", and the other Vanessa picked up the adlibs from there. People were patting me on the back and clapping. I wanted to faint, and was so glad it was over.
I was confident that I would never do that again. It was nerve wracking. Other than singing along with records in our basement, I really had never paid attention to the sound of my own voice.
I didn't know the first thing about heartache or pain.
I was terrified of dying, and anything death-related, and wasn't that big on running anywhere. That day, I just wanted to sing like Tramaine.
I think the whole thing began my need to search scriptures for the validity of a song. I didn't just want to sing, I wanted to understand what I was singing. I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling that there was more to Tramaine's singing than just a nice voice.
There was some experience that I was missing.
Life hadn't happened yet.
I didn't know what I was asking for when I desired a voice like that, but then, most of us have no idea what we're requesting when we covet what belongs to someone else.
A lot of crosses accompany the crowns that we see.
We only see the shimmer and shine. The wearers know the story behind it.
At the time, though, I just wanted God to let me sound like her. I thought it was over that night at rehearsal. I didn't know I would have to sing it again the following Sunday morning.
I've been singing ever since. I sing alone a lot, but I’d much rather singing with others. I'm still nervous sometimes. I still adore hearing harmony. I still think that Tramaine Hawkins has one of the greatest voices in the universe.
Many singers' voices fade, change, weaken, or just shut down altogether. Not hers. Her voice is still as vibrant and powerful as it was the first time I put that "Love Alive" vinyl on my turntable. I became a fan or all things Hawkins. I think I may have been just about 15 years old.
Last night I went to the rehearsal for the Joyful Sounds concert being held at the Kennedy Center this coming Saturday night.
All of this week, the KC is opening its prestigious doors to sacred music.
The Washington Performing Arts Society's Men and Women of the Gospel along with the National Symphony Orchestra will be on hand, and Nolan Williams has been charged with spearheading the events and arranging the music for the culminating concert.
When I arrived at Mt. Sinai Baptist Church, I saw conductor Stanley Thurston. He greeted me, and I had one of those, "What in the world am I doing here" moments.
I can't read a piece of music if my life depended upon it!
I was happy as friends Francese Brooks, Dennis Sawyers, Duawne Starling and Larry Hylton arrived, too.
Although I've worked with each of them at one time or another, for one event or another, we'd never sung together as a group before. In addition to hymns and spirituals, Nolan has arranged a lovely medley of gospel music penned by Walter Hawkins. Before the choir arrived, he taught us our parts.
When I saw Francese, I was sure I would be singing my favorite alto, but Nolan informed me I'd be singing soprano. I knew that I would be a part of the medley. I didn't know I'd be singing leads. I almost cried when I found out that on Saturday night, I'll be singing "Goin' Up Yonder". (I'm laughing to myself now, because I suppose our Young Adult Choir sang it so much, back then, that a little kid named Tara Thomas used to call me "that goin' up to yonder girl".)
This time, though, I'll be on stage at the John F. Kennedy Center with my friends, and accompanied by the National Symphony Orchestra.
This time, the song has new meaning and personal points of reference.
This time, it's not about hitting the right notes or matching riffs and runs.
This time, I know a lot about pain, heartache, and the hope that comes as a result or a relationship with Christ. This time I know about faith and victory, and steps ordered by God.
This time there's no intimidation nor fear.
This time, the incomparable Walter Hawkins himself will be there.
No comments:
Post a Comment