The rain of time — 2014/07/27

Time does not stop. It is empty at the moment and full at the same time. Empty because it does not seem to indicate the direction of my life, full because, obviously, without my making an effort, without me being able, in any case, to fight against this fact, time is running out between my fingers.


The sisters' cemetery — 2013/04/15

The place is peaceful, ideal for resting. It is the Manoir d'Youville in Châteauguay, an old summer or resting residence for the Grey Nuns, and now a hotel for gatherings, meetings, retreats, choral weekends as Ganymede does every year.


The impressive Shostakovich — 2012/11/25

I have to catch up on my learning delay. The concert in which Ganymede will perform with the McGill Symphony Choir takes place next week. We will sing Shostakovich's 13th symphony, called Babi Yar, for male choir and baritone.


The ocean where we sing — 2012/09/26

It was a difficult rehearsal last night at Ganymède. We are embarking on a marathon of learning a pivotal work from the male choral repertoire, Shostakovich's Symphony No. 13.


Unlearning choral singing — 2012/08/25

Second singing lesson yesterday. I was certainly going with a lot of enthusiasm, even if some fears were coming up. A first experience often comes close to the epiphany, a revelation that ignites a fire that is often asleep for a long time. But when it comes time to continue the first effort, the pitfalls, the problems may call you to order. If it is easy to launch the first primary sounds, it must then be possible to be able to go beyond them.


The elusive knowledge — 2012/02/27

I met W. at the grocery store. He's the same age, a few days apart, like my father. W. was a member of the Ensemble vocal Ganymède for a few years. He left last year. I saw him tired and, to be honest, on the decline.


The doctor who played the piano — 2012/02/03

He sits next to me at the choir rehearsal. He's a big guy from Central America, or from the South, I don't know anymore. He smiles at me; I ask him how he is. He takes the time to open his music bag, sighs, says to me in a sad voice as he shakes his head: "I lost a great friend this weekend."


Dark is not morbid — 2012/01/31

Last week in Ganymede, we started learning Shadows of the Moon, composed in 1976 by Kirke Mechem. It is a slow piece, at first glance dark; the text is by the composer's father.


The voice — 2012/01/19

I closed my eyes, swelled my stomach to store the air firmly, and sang. We were still only at the so-called global warming stage. The director is at the piano and leads us, from half a step to half step, to sing higher and higher. As I was still struggling with the last jolts of my cold, my voice clung to the cluttered walls of my larynx.


Singing the light — 2012/01/11

The day, covered with its morning greyness, appeared with more beautiful colors, early. The sky turned blue like spring. In the evening, the rehearsals of Ganymede were resumed, with Claude Debussy's Beau Soir and Paul Pierné's Les Pins, sweet melodies, marked by these delicately encoded vapors, which in no way foreshadowed the horrors of the wars to come.


The Elf of Saint-Esprit — 2011/12/21

She welcomes you with a beautiful kindness at the church door and climbs sharply in front of you to the organ perched very high, at the second rood chamber. She sits in front of the Casavant, rummages through his many papers, makes jokes, adjusts his flowery scarf.


Quiet homophobia — 2011/11/25

Fundamentalists, whether they come from frightening countries or from our parishes that are dying, remain fundamentalists, people who, if they do not want to compose and understand the world, divert it.