Grace my lovely one, fair beauties, fair beauties! Our sixteenth-century madrigal had made its way into the Civics 101 classroom to celebrate the birthday of the no-nonsense teacher named…. Grace. How had we come this far? A group of choir nerds felt emboldened enough to march into a class in progress to serenade one of the toughest teachers in the high school. And whether she showed it or not, we knew she was flattered.
During my senior year, Wayzata High School’s madrigal choir had earned the reputation of a top-notch ensemble in the school. Throughout junior high and high school, I was always in choir, my happy place. But Madrigals was different. As auditions approached, I felt I had a safe spot since I was one of the soloists in the regular choir. I expected the usual kids to try out, but what a surprise to learn that a few of the “cool kids” were auditioning too—most notably, the homecoming queen. Our group was this beautiful blend of music dorks and popular kids. I was in between.
We felt special, first off, because we had costumes. The girls wore long black sleeveless dresses with long white gloves, much in keeping with tradition, but since it was 1975, the boys wore silky open-collared shirts and black pants, looking like future Saturday Night Fever extras. There was great excitement at the idea of matching concert wear, with much talk about what to order and when the orders would arrive. By the time we all showed up in costume for that first concert, we had already established a strong sense of community.
Our director was Jim Gall, and I could tell he loved directing our choir, a group of talented singers who all got along with each other. And the music itself! Such lovely madrigal music that wouldn’t have been part of the regular curriculum. For most of us, it was our first exposure to the madrigal genre and singing a cappella. We developed good ears for our parts and felt the magic of perfect harmonization.
The highlight of our performance schedule was the madrigal dinner at Christmas time. Perhaps this is what made us slightly famous around school. I’m sure it must have been a fundraiser now that I look back on it with my adult mind, but at the time, I had no idea. To me it was the most exciting performance I’d ever done.
We had booked an event room at a nearby hotel and chose the menu—probably something like roast beef—and invited our parents and school staff to a holiday madrigal dinner. The choir wouldn’t wear its usual garb; we’d take it up a notch for this special event. The boys wore suits, and the girls wore long dresses, madrigal-like if possible. I wore a long dress with a silk-like bodice and velvet skirt, the epitome of elegance.
The room was beautifully decorated for Christmas, with the lights dimmed and candles on the tables. Our parents and other guests arrived dressed for the occasion and took their seats for dinner. This sort of thing is common today, but back then, it wasn’t. Performing outside of school at a hotel dinner for our parents and teachers was surreal. I was especially nervous as we waited “backstage” to begin our concert. Would I forget the lines of my solo? How embarrassing that would be. I remember huddling with the rest of the choir in anticipation of our entrance, everyone excited for this special performance. In the end everything was perfect. The music was breathtakingly beautiful in that setting.
The madrigal dinner was a huge success, and word got out around school about it. We were officially cool now. So cool that we had other concerts coming up and our director wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It was so important that he took time out of the regular choir rehearsal during the school day to rehearse with us. This didn’t go over well with those who had to sit and listen to the elite choir rehearse the last fifteen minutes of class. At first, it was okay because they had time to quietly chat with their friends, but as it repeatedly happened, there were complaints. Hey! The madrigal choir is getting all the attention! What are we? Chopped liver? Whoops.
I guess part of being the cool choir is that some people are going to resent you for being the cool choir, and in that respect, we had truly achieved coolness. And in high school, that’s important. How had we come that far? Costumes, music, performances—yes. But I’d like to think it was the camaraderie of a group of dorks and popular kids, the sense of community we had. We felt like we were invincible. And isn’t that what singing is all about?
Biography
Before settling on a career in teaching ESL to adults, Sue Ann Rawlins fancied herself an amateur singer, an expensive hobby. Voice lessons and accompanist fees led to exquisite soprano recitals and occasional wedding or funeral gigs, with a brief foray into Jazz. As true musicians know, it’s not about the money. It’s the love of music. And for Sue Ann, performing. With the classroom fulfilling her performance needs, Sue Ann stepped away from the vocal stage ten years ago, not knowing if it was merely a sabbatical or the end of a vocation. The answer to this question was close at hand as Sue Ann retired from teaching in 2022. But it wasn’t so easy to get back to it all. Stay tuned for a choral update, the 66-year-old bookend story to the 17-year-old Madrigal Magic story.
Sue Ann lives in Minneapolis with her husband, Steve.