Cami: Why I Sing
I sang before I spoke. Or so goes the family legend, undoubtedly embellished over the years by my parents. My mother still asserts that I could hum the melody that played on my musical mobile long before I could say “mama.” Myth or not, it only makes sense that song would be my native tongue because I was born into a home with a soundtrack. My parents had a record and cassette collection so vast that my dad undertook to create a card catalog system with an elaborate “checking out” procedure. My dad borrowed so much music from the local library, they began to consult him before ordering anything new. Despite any physical privations we might face, we always had the latest in technology for sound systems and speakers generally only reserved for dance clubs. My siblings and I had all selected a favorite classical album before the age of 4, and even fought pitched battles over which work was better and why. Many families have a tradition of Christmas caroling — my family held weeks of rehearsals in November and caroled in 4 or sometimes 5 part harmony.
Singing was so much a part of who I was, I never gave much thought to it as a talent to develop but just a tool for expression. My parents provided us all access to instrumental lessons and soon the piano became a second voice. Through elementary school, high school, and college I sang with choirs and performed piano works in concerts and competitions.
After college, I married, started a family, and moved to Arizona where my singing opportunities became less frequent, but still regular enough to sustain my need for true expression. After 8 years of sunshine, we moved our family to the Salt Lake valley where a friend mentioned a choir she was part of called the Utah Chamber Artists led by Barlow Bradford. I was familiar with many Bradford arrangements and was instantly impressed. She suggested I audition. Eventually I worked up the courage and found myself dusting off my Italian. In a generous moment, Barlow saw enough potential in my raw and rusty talent to invite me to sing with UCA. My first rehearsals were like a return to a version of myself I had forgotten. It was sublime.
My music-loving parents were thrilled for my opportunity and determined to get to as many concerts as possible. In my first season, 500 miles and my dad’s busy law practice provided some barriers, but finally they were able to come to our spring concert in May, 2013. As I sang that night, I could literally feel my dad smiling in the audience although I couldn’t see him. He vowed that he would never miss another concert.
Six weeks later, my dad was in a horrific bicycle accident. For 10 days, helpless to do anything else, I sat in a hospital room where he lay in a coma and sang everything from Brahms to the Beatles. On July 5th, a different sort of choir convened as my siblings, my mom, and our spouses gathered to sing all the family classics — even some of our silly Christmas carols — while our patriarch bass took his last breaths.
After a summer spent picking up pieces with my widowed mother, I returned to rehearsals to discover both balm and bitterness in the music. As we prepared for Collage concerts, I kept thinking how much my dad would love the music we were preparing; it hurt to think he would never hear it. The night of our first concert, as we sang behind the screen, I had the same sensation I’d felt the preceding spring. I could feel my dad smiling even though I couldn’t see him. So many eloquent feelings about the reasons we sing have been expressed in this forum. I would only like to add that I sing to connect to the people I love, whether they are near or far. Singing is a link to memory, experience, emotion, and especially to people. I sing to keep a quarterly date with my dad. I like to think he has kept his promise to never miss another concert.
