I thank all my readers for being patient with me during my time away, and hope now to get back into a more regular pattern of writing on this blog. As always, I welcome and look forward to your comments.

Good will

We wanted to recognize and honor the hard work that the directors and assistant directors put in each week to keep us all singing the barbershop style of music. So our Board decided to offer a certificate, good for two free tickets to our annual show, to every director of a barbershop chapter in our state. This included men’s barbershop chapters, as well as Sweet Adelines and Harmony Incorporated chapters. This tradition is more than “losing money” on a few tickets, it is a way of building good will among the barbershop community in our area.

We obtained the e-mail address of every chapter in Colorado and sent a letter outlining the new tradition. All the director had to do was to respond to the e-mail with their mailing address (information that is not as readily available as an e-mail address) and we would mail the certificate to them. On the day of the show, they just presented the certificate, received two free tickets with our compliments, and went in to enjoy the show.

Recognizing our guests

Do you remember the Ed Sullivan show? (I’m dating myself on this one.) During the show, Ed would point out the celebrities and dignitaries that were in the audience, and have them stand and take a bow. That’s what we did. Not only did we offer the two free tickets, but when a person cashed in a certificate, word got to the MC backstage. Just before the second half began, the tradition was mentioned and the honored guest was asked to stand and take a bow. It was a lot of fun.

While the response to this offer was less than we had hoped, it did start a buzz in the local barbershop community. Those who did take advantage of the offer sincerely appreciated the gesture. As word begins to spread, we’re anticipating more response in the years ahead.

If anyone wants to have a copy of the e-mail letter and the certificate that we sent out, write to me with your request and I will send it to you.

I recently received my copy of The Harmonizer, the Barbershop Society magazine, and started reading. I stopped at the bottom of page 7. There I learned that my teacher, my mentor, my friend – Lloyd Steinkamp – had died in early January. I could read no further.

I grew up in the Phoenix area and sang with The Phoenicians from 1969 – 1976. During that time, Lloyd Steinkamp was a major influence in the music and presentation of that champion chorus. Whenever he could get a break from his duties with the Barbershop Harmony Society, he would come to our rehearsal on Wednesday nights to give his pep talks, keep us laughing, and making us better. “Take No Prisoners!” was his motto for the 1972 contest in Atlanta, and he made buttons for each of us to wear under our costume. The Phoenicians won the International Championship that year.

Assistant director at Scottsdale

When Lloyd became the director of the Scottsdale Copperstatesmen, I decided that I wanted to take a break from the intense preparation that an International Championship chorus, such as The Phoenicians, demanded. I wanted to relax a bit in this hobby, and joining Scottsdale was the right choice for me.

From the beginning, Lloyd welcomed me as did the other members. Lloyd picked me as an assistant director since I was showing a desire to learn to direct. He and Phil Winston worked with me. We spoke many times about music, arranging, interpretation, and technique.

Beat somebody

One huge difference between the Phoenix and Scottsdale chapters was this: With Phoenix, winning International championships was the primary goal, and they worked hard to achieve that plateau three times (I was there for two). With Scottsdale, Lloyd’s philosophy of competition was different. His motto was: “Beat Somebody!”

The hospitality rooms that Scottsdale always hosted after each contest was called the Loser’s Lounge. Here was Lloyd’s philosophy at its finest. He wanted to showcase the competing quartets that didn’t win medals and make them feel as welcome as if they had just won the championship of the world. He equally loved the medalist and the also-ran.

I’ll never forget my first Far Western District competition with Scottsdale. We were all dressed in black-and-white prison outfits. One size (almost) fit all. We all had prison numbers. I wanted mine to be 98.6, but was assigned another number. I was in the front row that year.

The front row was all chained at the ankle with actual heavy metal chains. At either end of the chain were attached two real heavy bowling balls. We had prisoners, guards, and even a Chaplin. Lloyd was the Warden. He taught the front row a soft-shoe dance complete with clanking chains. It was the most fun I had ever had at a competition.

After the curtain closes on each chorus, the competition and judging stopped. That rule didn’t keep Lloyd from having more fun. A prisoner escaped from our ranks and pushed through the closed curtain, off the stage, and down the aisle of the auditorium. He was followed by the Chaplin, guards, and Lloyd shooting off a blank pistol. Members of the chapter started barking like bloodhounds behind the curtain. There was even a siren that blared. Finally, as the audience laughter was dying down, the front row chain gang clunked through the curtain, off the stage, and down the aisle. We got a standing ovation for the antics AFTER the competition was over.

That was the essence of Lloyd Steinkamp.

Some people come into our lives and leave indelible marks. Lloyd Steinkamp was such a person for me. A lot of who I am now as a director I owe to Lloyd.

Although I hadn’t seen Lloyd in many years, I was hoping to see him in Denver this Summer for the International convention. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I will miss you, but I will always carry you with me in deep appreciation for all that you did and meant to me. Peaceful rest, my friend.

Barbershoppers know: Give me a B flat and I can sing most songs. But why are “The Old Songs,” “My Wild Irish Rose,” “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” or any of a hundred other songs not written in the key of C? After all, C is easier with no sharps or flats, and is only two semitones (half steps) higher than B flat.

When listening to a song in the key of C that my chorus recorded, I discovered that after sixteen measures, we had flatted one semitone to the key of B. Exactly sixteen measures later they had flatted one more semitone. After that second slip, they stayed on pitch in B flat for the rest of the song.

While flatting is not an acceptable practice, I found it interesting. Maybe they wanted to get back to their comfort zone to a key that feels “right” to them. Maybe we are familiar with what a B flat song sounds like in our heads. This is speculation, but I wonder.

Whatever the reason, scientists are letting us know what we barbershoppers around the world have already figured out: Just give me a B flat and I’m in tune with the universe!

It was eleven years since I was at Harmony College, now Harmony University, in St. Joseph, MO. A lot has changed, while a lot remains the same. Gone are the beanies (thank goodness) for first-time participants, replaced by colored ribbons on their badges.

Gone, too, is the notion that Harmony University is only for male barbershop members. There were women as frontline directors of men’s choruses, members from Sweet Adelines International and from Harmony, Inc. There were music educators who are not affiliated with any barbershop organization at all.

But what remains is the essence of barbershop music education and vocal techniques that make this annual trek a must for all barbershoppers.

Directors College

I attended the Directors College, one of three educational paths, and found the experience quite educational. For example, I learned how to get the maximum effort out of the chorus with minimal effort on my part. I learned how to go back to the basics, like directing beat patterns, instead of directing syncopated rhythms.

But most of all, I learned that my job as director is to wean the chorus from depending on me during a performance. While in rehearsal, chorus members rely on the director to instruct them how to sing each song. The ultimate goal, however, is to give the power to the chorus, to transfer ownership of each song to the singer.

Director vs. Facilitator

During rehearsals, I am the director. It is my job to oversee the learning process and to teach the elements of each song. As the education on each song progresses, I become less of a director and more of a facilitator. At the same time, the chorus member becomes less of a learner and more of an owner of the song. By the time a performance rolls around, I am up there to start them off, to guide them through their song, and to conclude the sound. I’m not up there to direct.

The responsibility of singing the song, of conveying the message, of creating the proper emotional involvement, is up to the chorus members. A wise instructor once said: “A director makes no sound.” It was a shift in my thinking, one of those defining moments when I realized what my role is.

Moments like these are available to all people who love barbershop music. Make it a gift that you give yourself to attend a Harmony University week when it convenes again in 2007. For information, check the Barbershop Harmony website at www.barbershop.org.