You’ve probably been invited to a holiday sing-along before.  Maybe it’s while everyone is still gathered after a big meal, belting out family favorites.  It might involve bundling up and roaming the streets, caroling for the neighbors.  But I was invited to a Messiah sing.  Yes, you heard that right—performing parts of Handel’s choral masterpiece in someone’s living room.

The party was in Speedway, an area of Indianapolis unfamiliar to me.  I kept having navigational difficulties that necessitated much turning around and backtracking.  I was getting frustrated and considered giving up and going home.  But I frequently avoid events that I consider to have a high level of hassle.  I didn’t want to keep repeating that pattern as it often means I miss out on something unique.

Additionally, I went to this party knowing only the hosts, and one friend who would be arriving later.  It was a bit awkward at first so I lurked near the cheese and crackers.  I was disappointed that there weren’t any dogs for me to play with until I got my bearings with the humans.  (I later found out there were some visiting rabbits so at one point I snuck out to have a moment with the buns.)

After a period of eating and socializing, the hostess announced it was time for the singers to gather in the piano room.  Many of those participating had some form of vocal training; it was obvious by how they knew how to read music and the fact that they intuited when to join in without someone directing them.  A pianist and a flutist were the accompanists.  

Here’s the scene: a bunch of people crammed together in this area while people are conversing in the next room.  Kids were running up and down the stairs.  A few of the singers were goofing around, making faces at each other.  Someone was sipping wine.  Another person stepped out and came back with a reloaded plate of food.  It wasn’t perfect, or even a true performance.

Yet it became something more than just a singing party.  There is something powerful about the human voice raised in a chorus.  It is magic to witness the unity of different ranges of vocalists all working together, complementing and contrasting one another.  After all, humans have been crooning as long as they have been speaking—voice is the oldest instrument.

The best known movement of Handel’s Messiah is the “Hallelujah Chorus.”  Everyone knows this story that when it was first performed for King George II (the father of “Mad” King George III of American Revolutionary War fame), he was so moved that he stood up.  Of course everyone had to follow the king’s lead.  To this day, it is still customary to stand up when this piece is played.

Here I am at this party when this legendary work of genius is performed.  As space was limited in the room, I squeezed myself into a corner by the piano.  This meant I was facing the singers, almost as if I was the only one in the audience.  I had a front row seat, but of course I was standing.  One obvious reason was lack of space for seating.  

But the main impetus for standing is—King George story aside—who could possibly sit during music like this?  That’s when I realized that sometimes the best seat in the house isn’t a seat.  I provided the performers with an appreciative audience, and so I was included in the process of creating art.  I was happy to have the opportunity to take a stand for good music.