2/11/2011 - shama lama ding dong. . .

On Monday, three short days from now, I will be auditioning for a local a cappella group.  Should I get in, I think I will finally feel like my mothership has found me.  I do believe that it will complete a circle I have been drawing for the last 12 years of my life.

The first dot, the "pen to paper" moment, happened weeks before I moved from Union City to Davis for my first year of college.  My ex-girlfriend (that explanation will have to wait) dragged me kicking and screaming to a free performance of the UC Berkeley's Men's Octet.  Eight guys with nothing more than their eight voices singing outside of Sather Gate at lunch--I could not be less interested.  I imagined striped suits and little hats and a lot of do-wop do-wop shama lama ding dong stuff and at the time, I was not into any shama lama ding dong.  

But when I actually got there, sat down on the hard concrete in the middle of a bustling plaza, it only took a few songs to convert me. 

They did perform some expected numbers, like "Blue Moon" and "Mr. Sandman."  But there was something so cool about the way their voices completely made up for the lack of any instruments.  I bought their CD afterwards and listened to nothing else for months.

That year marked my first annual pilgrimage to the West Coast A Cappella Showcase, an invitational concert hosted by the Men's Octet.  A particularly memorable performance, one by which I have judged all others since, was of Guster's "Demons," a song about the need to be mean in the world, sung by the California Golden Overtones, Berkeley's all-women group.

The lead singer shaded the lyrics ("I find the need to be a demon./ A demon can not be hurt.") with real longing and loss.  She was backed by a chorus of women who sang as one entity, one universal voice that spoke to the difficulties of forming human bonds in this world.  It was the account of every person who ever tried to reach out to another, who ever was afraid of others reaching out to them.

The song took me to a different place, away from Wheeler Hall, the university, the audience with whom I sat.  The best word I have is transportive, because at its best, these a cappella performances make me feel like I am not where I am sitting while at these concerts, but somewhere else entirely.  "Demons" in particular took me to all the people I had ever loved in my life, all I missed, and all I had made miss me.

In the years to come, I heard renditions of songs that moved me to tears, train wrecks that made me cringe, and performances that inspired me.  I've skipped out of classes, gathered my dormmates so we could all drive an hour from Davis to Berkeley to watch the Men's Octet's free lunch time shows.  Just a couple of years ago, I dragged Sam on a 500-plus mile drive to the University of Oregon in Eugene to watch On the Rocks in their spring show, and it was so worth it.  And at the end of every one of these shows, I would always wish that I could be one of those people up there.

I tried singing in karaoke bars, piano bars, showers and car rides, but it all brought me back to the beginning, to that first concert I went to and how I felt like I was hearing music for the first time.  I took part in a musical theater production last year, and as much as I enjoyed the experience, I knew that what I really wanted to do was sing.  Not act, certainly not dance, but stand there and sing a song that I believe in.  Ultimately, it just reminded me that I want to be in an a cappella group, the kind I've idolized since I was 18.

So maybe after next Monday, after all these years, I can be.