Stand Up Straight and Sing!

by Jessye Norman

  The first part of the program offered the gorgeous harmonies of the late German Romantic period of musical composition, and it was my belief that, given her age and the now later hour in the evening, she would, understandably, be absent for the second part of the recital with Ravel and Messiaen on the program. But no; we returned to the stage after the intermission and there she still sat, smiling from ear to ear, seemingly eager to hear what would come next.

  After the performance, her parents told me that they had purposefully had her sleep during the day so that she might remain awake for the entire performance.

  She and I shook hands, as I did not feel it appropriate in this culture to embrace a child unknown to me, and to my delight she stated what I can only imagine she had rehearsed hundreds of times: “Welcome to Japan, Miss Norman.”

  AN OBSESSION WITH the culture of youth is simply not in evidence in some parts of the world. In several countries the mature are revered. Take, for instance, the Living National Treasures of Japan: those masters who have achieved a very high degree of skill and recognition in the arts and humanities. The Japanese government recognizes, protects, and celebrates those whose decades of mastery are so crucial to the preservation of the Japanese culture. These individuals are held up as icons and offered amazing reverence and respect.

  It was a great honor in 2004 when it was my pleasure to perform Schoenberg’s Erwartung, in addition to Poulenc’s La voix humaine, in Tokyo, with two such Living National Treasures in the audience.

  My colleagues and I were thrilled to know that they were there to witness these very modern stagings, the kind of theater that was still rare in Japan at the time, especially for productions on the opera stage. In fact, we had been concerned about the reception that our presentations might receive in Japan as a whole. My experience to that date in performing in Japan quieted my mind, as I had seen audiences express themselves in ways that I had been warned not to expect—“Western-style” outbursts of appreciation from those steeped in a culture that considered such behavior inappropriate, or so I was told. The reality was quite different.

  On my very first visit in the mid-1980s, with the great Seiji Ozawa as conductor for a concert of Strauss and Wagner, we were rewarded with a forty-seven-minute standing ovation. There was nothing quiet or reserved in the audience’s reaction to our music. Thus, I knew from this experience alone that our audiences could well surprise us.

  I had often been moved very deeply by the earnestness with which Japanese audience members would express their appreciation of the music. I still have an exquisite, hand-embroidered handkerchief given to me following a recital in Osaka. I was told at the time that this particular piece had been in the giver’s family for more than 150 years. I keep it close.

  After the opera performances that evening in Tokyo, it was a lesson in decorum and utter respect to see how beautifully these two actors, these Living Treasures, were treated by everyone. All whom they passed bowed from the waist and remained with head bowed until the actors had passed them by.

  It was truly exceptional that these Treasures had chosen to come backstage at all, we were advised. When they came with such kindness and genuine pleasure in their expressions of their appreciation of the performances, we were beside ourselves with joy.

  Whereas the physical act of bowing is not at all a part of the culture of our country, would that we could attain such a level of celebration and consideration of experience and wisdom that can come from living: listening, learning, being, and how “living treasures” could inform and help to structure and direct our own lives.

  One must not allow the foolishness of present-day habits and preferences to dictate our understanding of life itself. With every passing day, we can learn a little more about ourselves and our relationship to others. The answer to “Why are we here?” can become clearer with each interaction, with each setting of the sun, with each new day awaiting our curiosity and gratitude.

  Postlude

  I relish the opportunity to speak in public. When I do so, my audiences are often surprised that I do not restrict my remarks to singing. I prefer to speak about all of the arts, and of citizenship, and of the responsibility that we all have to look beyond ourselves. Lending a helping hand should be a natural part of our lives, as natural as a violinist picking up the violin for a day’s rehearsal. Participating in the sociopolitical struggles of our day should not be something that we “get around to one of these days.” We must make certain that we join the ranks of our fellow citizens, now. This I believe to my core. I take these words of Simone de Beauvoir as a succinct expression of a philosophy embracing all of life:

  One’s life has value so long as one attributes value to the life of others, by means of love, friendship, indignation, and compassion.

  Surely, we need to find ways of loving our neighbors better. We need to offer friendship with more ease. We need to find compassion in our hearts and in our spirits for those whose lives reveal the despair that we, perhaps, have been spared, but whose experiences could be our own, there but for the grace of our Creator. We need, too, a sufficient amount of indignation to insist on decent housing, a living wage, and nourishing food for all our brothers and sisters, all our elders, all our children. The words of George Bernard Shaw come to mind:

  I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the community. And as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no brief candle to me; it is a sort of splendid torch, which I have got hold of for a short moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to the future generations.

  I applaud these words, this sentiment, this full awareness of the reason for being. I applaud it, too, as my ancestors had their own way of saying precisely the same thing:

  This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!

  Indeed, I preach the sermons I have heard all my life:

  The Sermon of Getting On with It. Life is bound to present obstacles that may well have you questioning your own worth, your choices in life, even your faith. But we would do well to adopt the idea that life, truly, is a series of lessons, and we should try as hard as we can to confront our challenges with the same tenacity with which we pursue our pleasures.

  The Sermon of Gratitude. Let us not be too busy to say thank you, to offer congratulations, to give a deeply felt handshake, an embrace. We should offer gratitude for the simple things that are packed with meaning for ourselves, yes, but even more so for others. This includes, too, that quiet, still time when we offer the universe thanks for that performance that somehow “took off” from the moment everyone was in place.

  The Sermon of Respect. Let us decide to abandon the belief that work with our bodies is somehow less important than work with our minds, or that work accomplished through the magic of our minds is somehow more important than that accomplished purely through our hearts.

  The Sermon of Humility. Can we please allow someone else to offer positive commentary on things that have to do with us? Our marvelous family. Our work. That new dress that flatters every part of us. May we come to the understanding that the gifts that we possess are not offered to us out of some magnificent personal accomplishment, but rather are an expression of Divinely ordered coincidence. The operative word here is gifts.

  The Sermon of Self-Awareness. Those of us who live and breathe our days through the arts are placed uniquely to help treat the malaise of our world. The self-awareness that comes from participation in the arts at any level opens the self to one’s own humanity in its fullness. This knowledge of ourselves can lead to wisdom and wisdom to the understanding of others. This understanding, this acknowledgment that every human being has worth, must surely lead to tolerance.

  ART MAKES EACH of us whole by insisting that we use all of our senses, our heads, and our hearts—that we express with our bodies, our voices, our hands, as well as with our minds. In Arthur O’
Shaughnessy’s poem “Ode,” he wrote in praise of artists everywhere:

  We are the music-makers,

  And we are the dreamers of dreams,

  Wandering by lone sea-breakers

  And sitting by desolate streams;

  World-losers and world-forsakers,

  On whom the pale moon gleams:

  Yet we are the movers and shakers

  Of the world for ever, it seems.

  What a thought. Creative spirits, the movers and shakers of the world. Where could this all lead? We might come across the idea that an awakened spirit, this ability to express ourselves through the inspiration of the arts in our lives, could well be the real meaning of life. That the exploration of our own imagination might just be our real life’s work.

  We each express ourselves in our own ways, with our own gifts and talents. Let us not be afraid to stand up and be an example of the change we wish to see in our world by doing something strong and useful in offering to others the teachings of our hearts and minds. The fullness of ourselves.

  And imagine, if you will, the harmony that this could bring to our world.

  Coda

  I sat going through my mail one February day in 2013, not really paying close attention to what I was doing until I came across a stylish-looking envelope with a logo I had known all my life: the NAACP. Thinking it to be an announcement or an invitation to an event in the New York area, I opened the letter, hoping that my schedule would allow me to attend. I was so taken with its contents that I had to read it twice to be absolutely certain I had not misunderstood it. The letter informed me that I had been chosen to receive the highest award given by this oldest, most storied and revered of American civil rights organizations: the Spingarn Medal.

  I thought of those days in the church’s annex and meetings of the Augusta Youth Chapter of the NAACP, and of the determination and strength of those who guided our actions and reactions to the laws and habits of the day. I thought of the mass meetings at Tabernacle Baptist in the 1960s, and of how the work of the NAACP is needed now more than ever.

  There were a few teardrops on the letter by the time I contacted my siblings and a few pals with the news later that day.

  Orlando, Florida, July 17, 2013, is a day that will remain in every detail in my memory. My heroes, Congressman John Lewis and my big brother Silas Jr., presented the Spingarn Medal to me. Both spoke with such depth of feeling that I was not certain I would be able to compose myself in order to offer my own remarks of thanks on acceptance of the award. I was very happy that I had written out beforehand what I wished to say.

  The ballroom of the hotel that had housed the many events of the NAACP convention was filled with everyone in their best suits and dresses, full of the goodness of fellowship. The civil rights icon Julian Bond sat across from me at the dinner table.

  Was I dreaming?

  We took a hundred photographs and I was more grateful than ever for the strong, unyielding shoulders on which it is my greatest honor to stand. The pioneers, the trailblazers, the pathfinders, all those whose names we know as well as our own, along with all those unknown heroes of strength, courage, and faith. My gratitude knows no bounds.

  Then, because life just keeps on giving, I had the thrill just two weeks later of being in Statuary Hall of the United States Capitol Building, for the congressional commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington. My seat faced squarely the newly dedicated statue of Rosa Parks, she for whom I had been given the honor to sing when she was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal by President Bill Clinton some sixteen years earlier. Coincidence? My wonderful aunt Louise, in one of her magnificent hats and looking altogether beautiful, sat next to me.

  The representatives of both houses of Congress offered remarks appropriate to the day’s celebration. All thanks and honor were offered to our living, breathing, “no thought of letting up now” honoree of the day: Congressman Lewis!

  His speech will be a part of the history books. The blessing of singing for him and to him—a man who, with so many others, dedicates himself to helping us all find the “better angels of our nature”—will abide in my spirit forever.

  Zueignung • RICHARD STRAUSS • Devotion

  ***

  Ja, du weisst es, teure Seele, Yes, you know, my most precious of souls

  Dass ich fern von dir mich quäle, Away from you causes my heart’s pain

  Liebe macht die Herzen krank, It is our love that brings such exquisite passion.

  Habe Dank. For this, I thank you!

  Einst heilt ich, der Freiheit Zecher, Once, I thought of a life as a free spirit

  Hoch den Amethysten-Becher, I held high the cup of boundless pleasure

  Und du segnetest den Trank, You came into my life and blessed that cup.

  Habe Dank. For this, I thank you!

  Und beschworst darin die Bösen, All sadness and grief were swept away

  Bis ich, was ich nie gewesen And I became more than I ever believed I could be

  Heilig, heilig an’s Herz dir sank, With Divine gratitude, I became yours.

  Habe Dank. For this, I thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  ALL TEACHERS in the public schools of Augusta who it was my privilege to have as guides, at C. T. Walker Elementary School, A. R. Johnson Junior High School, and Lucy C. Laney High School.

  Those generous parts of the community there that supported the young lives of all of us.

  Howard University, for giving me a place to grow into adulthood with my heritage, and responsibility to that heritage, in sharp, vivid relief.

  Denene Millner, for her assistance in combining related material for this book into understandable portions that speak to similar thoughts, expressions, and experiences.

  Carol Friedman, for the most flattering of photographs always, including the one on the jacket cover of this book.

  James Levine, for providing the introduction to these recollections, thoughts, hopes, and dreams; this book.

  The many: my musical colleagues, icons, and other inspiring persons who encourage dedication and devotion toward one’s chosen profession and active participation in the larger community, the world in which we live.

  And after this, as I have stated often, to everyone, everywhere who has ever said, and those who continue to say: “Let’s ask Jessye to sing.”

  Oh, I’m going to sing,

  Going to sing,

  Going to sing all along the way,

  We’ll shout o’er all our sorrows

  And sing forever more,

  With Christ and all His army

  On that celestial shore!

  Index

  Aaron, Hank, [>]

  acting

  concert and opera performances, [>]–[>]

  desire to perform Racine’s Phèdre, [>]

  when singing, physical limits, [>]–[>]

  and singing effectively, [>]

  adults

  sense of responsibility toward, [>], [>]–[>]

  supportive, importance of, [>]–[>], [>], [>]

  Aeneid (Virgil), character of Dido in, [>]

  African American community, Augusta, GA

  barbershops, [>]

  high expectations for children, [>]–[>], [>], [>]–[>]

  model of service to others, [>]–[>], [>]

  music as a constant in, [>]–[>], [>]–[>], [>], [>]

  nurturing of artistic skills, [>]–[>], [>]–[>]

  schools and teachers, [>], [>]

  segregation, discrimination experienced by, [>], [>]–[>]

  as source of spiritual strength, [>]–[>]

  value of, for a child, [>], [>], [>]–[>], [>]–[>], [>], [>]

  See also church; parents; spirituality

  African American heritage

  Honor! A Celebration of the African American Cultural Legacy, [>]–[>], [>]–[>], [>]–[>]

  musical gifts associated with, [>], [>], [>]

  pride in, [>]–[>], [>]–[>], [>]
<
br />   African American Music: An Introduction (Burnim and Maultsby), [>]–[>]

  after-church musical performances, [>]–[>]

  afterlife, beliefs about, [>]–[>], [>]–[>]. See also spirituality

  agility, vocal, [>], [>]

  Aida (Verdi), [>], [>]

  Aix-en-Provence, France, performance of Hippolyte et Aricie (Rameau), [>], [>]–[>]

  Alaïa, Azzedine, [>]–[>]

  Alceste (Gluck), [>]

  “Allmächt’ge Jungfrau” (“O Holiest of Virgins”), Tannhäuser (Wagner), [>]–[>], [>]

  “The Almighty” (“Die Allmacht”) (Schubert), [>]–[>]

  “Alto Rhapsody” (Brahms), [>]

  “Amazing Grace” (Newton)

  in Great Day in the Morning, [>]–[>]

  lining of a church hymn by the deacons, [>]

  in the Oh, Freedom medley, [>]

  origins of melody, [>]

  singing for President Carter, [>]

  singing for the Dalai Lama, [>]

  singing for Sidney Poitier, [>]

  “America, the Beautiful,” [>], [>]

  American Boychoir, Princeton, NJ, [>]–[>]

  American Symphony Orchestra, debut at Carnegie Hall with, [>]

  Amerika Häuser concerts, [>