Minneapolis 2

 July 12, 2024

Full day yesterday of padding around Minneapolis, listening to choirs on the Orchestra Hall stage. The level of excellence is high, but not universally high. Women’s choirs had trouble with blend and intonation. The repertoire is noteworthy in that, down the line, from chorus to chorus, it consists mostly of LGBTQ triumphalist material, which is intended to, and often does, touch a nerve by reminding gay people of the struggle of our elders (perhaps ourselves) and congratulating us on our present level of ascendence. You were an outcast; now you are dancing in the street. In the groups I heard, not one classical piece, few that placed musical values first. Atlanta did a beautiful Mandarin piece involving Tai Chi gestures. Chicago came out glorious as the very first act without singing anything that was actually music, but lustily performed (in cowboy hats) missives of encouragement. The singers would hate the comparison, but these works resemble nothing so much as the Praise music of conservative churches, where the cycle of sin and confession and redemption is repeated ad nauseum, so those who have not lived the experience may feel it, and those that have may get a booster shot.  It’s not that the gay anthems aren’t effective (I caught myself weeping) but after a while they’re a dog whistle, meant to illicit the same reaction every time. Too sweet for propaganda, perhaps. Perhaps not. And– as I know from having sung them– having little to do with art. 

Meeting people in lines and throngs. Had lunch at the Brit Bar beside a young woman who sings with the Atlanta Men’s Chorus. She saw my expression when she said that, and she added that she was in her first few weeks of transition. “Do you feel any different?” I ask. “Not yet,” says she. I went to their concert, and there she was in the front row, singing her heart out among the– can it be true?– baritones.

Drinks with the crew in the hotel bar. I hadn’t had my nap and didn’t go with them to finish out the night at the Normandy, where most of them are staying. 

Morning hike to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, giving me a glimpse of the city. I gave myself an hour to get there, and it took, of course, half an hour, so I sat on a park bench until it opened, the benches around me filled with homeless recovering from sleepless nights, Unexpectedly colossal museum, only part of which I saw, mostly the Asia galleries, which brought peace.