A Signature Moment

Not terribly long ago I did a piece (http://uberthoughtsusa.blogspot.com/2017/02/wanting-to-cry-occasionally.html) in regard to the TV show "Long Lost Family", which reunites adoptees with their natural biological family members. I wrote it in the context of my membership in the Barbershop Harmony Society.

My point was that it feels good to tap into deep emotions once in a while, even if you're a guy and even if they make you tear up a bit. That's not, I believed then and do now, a bad thing. It is a healthy check on one's sanity to make sure we have empathy and the capability to be moved.

I made the connection with the emotions generated by watching "Long Lost Family" to barbershop singing, precisely because the stories we sing can generate that kind of response.

As I wrote this originally, the international convention and contests of the Barbershop Harmony Society were being held in Las Vegas, Nevada, and thousands were in attendance to hear the absolute best in an art form where the best are incredible (and the worst are unlistenably atrocious). The best, of course, are on display in Las Vegas this week.

The quartet competition, of course, features the best. On Wednesday, 55 competitors sing two songs, after which the field is narrowed to 20, who did a second round on Thursday. From them, ten are selected for the Finals on Saturday night, and the top five earn medals -- gold, silver and then three bronze medals for 3rd-5th.

Since champions automatically retire as competitors (the one quartet everyone knows, the Buffalo Bills from "The Music Man", were the 1950 champions), there is turnover every year in the medal ranks. And so it was that last night my best girl and I watched the webcast broadcast of the competition at home on our TV screen.

Last year, a Florida quartet called "Signature" moved up strongly from the previous year, earning fourth-place medals and showing a marvelous capacity to deliver songs with immense heart.

Signature, in a more benign and pleasant moment

So we were looking forward to their performance in this contest. They had easily made the second round, we assumed (scores are not published for those who move on, so at that moment we did not know how they are doing in the contest except for having made the final round tomorrow), and we were settled in for their performance.

For their second song, they chose an arrangement (done for them) of the Luther Vandross song "Dance with My Father Again", an incredibly moving piece about (in Signature's presentation) a boy's reminiscence about his dad.

Daniel Cochran (at bottom in the picture) is the lead singer, and he did what you are supposed to do as a lead, even (or especially) when in a contest -- you take us on a journey. Well, he took us on a journey all right. He is, let us say, a pretty big guy, and when a big guy is telling us a moving story, you go with him wherever it leads.

Of course, it led us in the audience, even 2,000 miles away, into emotional wrecks. But I was particularly taken when, toward the end of the song, at its emotional climax, there is to be a brief pause to set up for the final few bars -- the "tag", in barbershop parlance, this one a soft, quiet tag.

The pause, though, was not brief. As his quartet mates turned to him, this very large man who was telling us a story had stopped for the pause. It was quite obvious that the song had gotten to him somewhere in a very important place. Tears were running down his cheeks as he tried to compose himself for the final lines, which started with a solo from the lead. And we waited ... and waited.

Finally, he took a deep breath and was able to sing, clearly, his line, whereupon the other three, looking at him, joined at the appropriate place and they finished their wish -- to "dance with my father again." The audience, of course, went crazy, because this was the perfect delivery of a story. It is why I wrote the previous piece -- we want moments when the performance of the story joins the story itself for a perfect emotional moment.

I was a wreck on the couch watching it, and loved every minute of it, for just that reason. Two thousand miles away, sure, but I got to take a trip. My Dad has been gone six years now, and we never "danced" together, but we had a childhood I got to relive last night for a moment. I can't thank them enough.

Later in the evening, Signature was interviewed about their set. As it turned out, they had planned for the possibility that they -- and Daniel in particular -- might be so moved as to have to adjust on stage for the intensity of their emotions. You can't practice that, of course, but you can plan for it. And they did. Their plan was to "just get together and support each other" if it happened, and that's what they were able to do. And as it turned out, that performance was the highest-scoring song -- in all three categories, by the way -- in the entire contest, and Signature ended up with silver medals after the third and final round.

OK, you can't write a piece like that without letting you in to that performance, so I'll link you in. Here goes:

You'll be teary too. And you will love it.

Copyright 2017 by Robert Sutton