The sounds and creative content in the first half of the concert made me less and less conscious of listening to a male choir. It was just great music. The creations of Tormis in the second half I internalized in a different, personal way because I know the composer (a very distant relative) and, lost in the music, I momentarily forgot that I'd also been a member of a male choir for 50 years. Then something shook me out of that reverie.
The choir left quickly after the first encore but suddenly they were back. Quite naked. Sorry, I meant without their binders. In their black open-neck shirts, looking almost beyond the audience, they really let loose with a piece called “Meeste laul” (In Praise of Men) and suddenly we were in roaring male gender musical territory. In other words, my musical world.
A lady next to me raised her eyebrows and looked at me. I just whispered: “This is it!” I didn't have time to tell her that this male song was written by a woman (Miina Härma). But suddenly all the members of the National Male Choir were my brothers.
This brings us to a rather lightweight topic. Why are so many men's choirs called “male”. The Toronto Estonian Male Choir has a similar appellation. After some minor research a few years ago, I discovered that the word male in choral music is more inclusive (same as in “female”). A male choir can include boys' and youths' voices to give it a broader scale. Perhaps even the sounds of geezers who remain male even though they may no longer perform as well. Thus I am led to believe that a “men's choir” and a “women's choir” are somewhat more restrictive and not always favoured in European translations. Go figure!
So the “Meeste laul” that I heard in Peterborough confirmed not only that the choir but the song itself had what? The word is – gender!
Andres Raudsepp
