Next to eating, sleeping, and acting, one my greatest loves is singing. Those around me may not feel the same way, but, hey, I can't help it if others are culturally deprived.
Thus, every Thursday night I wind my way to the local chapter of the SPEBSQSA—the Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barber Shop Quartet Singing in America. This particular chapter happens to be in Lethbridge, but it's worth the drive.
I thought I was singing with a bunch of old guys until I discovered their ages. I think I'm the third eldest of the bunch. I can't think of all their names, but a few come to mind: Tom, Dick, and Harry; Moe, Larry, and Curly; plus, Alvin and the Chipmunks.
When I showed up for the first time, the director asked me what part I sang. I misunderstood: I said, “All of me.” He misunderstood too and told me to sing tenor—ten or twelve miles away.
Seriously, folks, I stepped right into the lead position. I didn't mean to, but he was in the way. I wanted to follow, not knowing anything about SPEBSQSA, but they said, “Lead, lead.” So I led.
I have been asked what genre barbershop singing is, but I don't know. I don't even know what the word “genre” means. (Just kidding, Maurice, just kidding.) I think it is “swing.” At least that's what I feel like doing after a few bars of “baby this,” and “honey that.” I have never sung so much romance in my life, excluding my shower croonings before I got married. If I practiced half of what I sang, I'd have twice the marriage.
Barbershop is really old-fashioned and homey music—four-part harmony, if you will-- that seems to have lost much of its lustre in many parts of North America. All kidding aside, I am actually one of the youngest members of the Bridge City chapter, and this is not uncommon. Nor healthy.
I put this declining interest in league with lawn bowling, square dancing and quilting. I'm kind of in the middle years (1954) of what they call Baby Boomers, and it is clear that these and other hobbies appeal to those at the earlier years end and before.
The question is, Why? I could go on my usual rant about television, computers, smartphones, and other cyber toys, and I wouldn't be too far off. But the truth is, I don't know why.
It does lie, I believe, somewhere within the realm of “sources of entertainment.” In other words, are we takers or givers when it comes to entertainment? If our source is from outside ourselves, we will sit there and take whatever comes our way; or, if our source is self-generated, we will create it, or pursue it.
Pushing a button here, watching a screen there, or flicking on a switch somewhere else, can easily be the curse of creativity--the source of squelching all innovative juices within ourselves. The generation that climbed trees, played outside each day after school till dark, enjoyed board games on the weekends—created their own fun, if you will-- is now the same generation that lawn bowls, square dances and quilts—with some exceptions granted.
But the generation of us Baby Boomers changed all that, and the Xers and others that have followed have it even worse. I say “worse” sincerely, as I am convinced that the more fun we can generate for ourselves, the better and happier we are. And that includes the (old) guys I sing with.
Quaint, for sure; wholesome, indeed; but mostly inspirational, to me. I think the guys and gals in my generation, then anyone born in the '60s and later, are missing out on a serious element of fun, fulfillment, and freedom.
So if you wish to join me next time, that would be great. And if you hear the words, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” just remember it's a song, not a proposition. Don't take it personal; just make it personal.
After all, “Everybody Loves a Lover.”
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