What follows would otherwise be a reflective post on my time this semester in this choir whose name I still can't pronounce (can't we just call ourselves "Not Pitch Slapped"?), but there are more pressing matters to discuss.
When I auditioned for Crepusculum last year, my only qualification was that I have the voice of Darth Vader. Every prior experience I had singing only served to remind me why I'm a guitarist. However, Crepusculum, to my surprise, admitted me, and put me into the fabled Bass 2 section. This semester I had the pleasure of working with two other Bass 2s, who I am quite close with, Jon and Eddie.
I could speak volumes about the shenanigans the 3 of us frequently indulged in throughout the semester, the pinnacle of which involved a whoopee cushion and a quiet hallway outside of a room that our directors were having a meeting in.
But there are more pressing matters to discuss, really just one:
Eddie's shoes are blue Vans® shoes, covered in a myriad of white mistletoe patterns, with white laces. They look like what would happen if you put on a blank pair of Vans® shoes, and repeatedly kicked a smurf wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and then ran through a field of Hawaiian shirts, getting the patterns all over your shoes.
I've thought and thought about why one would want shoes with mistletoes all over them, and I think I figured it out: It's Christmas Eve and Eddie has just gotten back from a date with his girlfriend. He's walking her up the stoop to her front door, and is eager for that first kiss. He thinks and thinks, searching for the right line. Nothing comes to him though, and the clock is ticking. He looks at his feet and sees the mistletoes on his shoes - bingo. He removes them, holds them over the head of his girlfriend, who looks up, rolls her eyes, and walks inside.
Eddie's shoes really are remarkable. He tells me that his mother bought him those shoes, but I don't believe him. I think that's just what his shoes want us to believe.
There were many a rehearsal where we'd be practicing a song, and I would suddenly see them out of the corner of my eye, calling out to me.
I sometimes would wonder:
Was Eddie wearing his shoes? Or were his shoes wearing him?
Or perhaps, those shoes were Eddie's horcruxes that he kept fragments of his soul in for safe keeping?
Or maybe they're what give Eddie such a rich, creamy, bass voice?
Perhaps without them, Eddie would be a mere tenor.
I remember one night I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and whispered Eddie's name three times, and his shoes appeared in the mirror. There was another Bass 2 in our section at the beginning of the semester, who we don't talk about. On the first day of rehearsal, he accidentally stepped on Eddie's shoes, and the next morning his body was found in the Charles River. We wanted to go to the police, but were too afraid.
Fun fact: The tag inside the shoe doesn't list the sizes or materials of the shoe. Instead, there's just a picture of Chuck Norris.
Crepusculum, this semester, was intense to say the least. We sang 12 songs, most which were in foreign languages. We learned so many languages that I've started to apply to be a translator for the EU. And they say music majors can't find jobs.
There was a lot of growth this semester in the group. We took on a noticeably challenging repertoire and a rigorous rehearsal schedule, and did it all on top of everything else we had going on in our lives. There were certainly growth pains that came with all of this, but we ultimately pulled through. I learned that it's important to keep in mind what your purpose is in any endeavor on which you embark, if you wish to succeed in it. I know for a lot of us, Crepusculum is our little community within Berklee. It's where we go to sort of get away from the day-to-day grind that is the Berklee College of Spending Money on Stupid Signs. Crepusculum has certainly been a blessing for me, and I look forward to seeing where it goes in the future.