The Absolute Truth About the First Choir Rehearsal of the Season

Wednesday, August 19, 2025
written by Dr. Ilona Kubiaczyk-Adler

Picture this: thirty-or-so brave souls stumbling into a room, trying to figure out where their music folders are, where their music is, and where to sit. They're pondering the consequences of missing rehearsals, wondering if they'll fit into the group, and questioning if their voices will do justice. Welcome to the first choir rehearsal of the season, where dreams of angelic harmonies meet the harsh reality of human vocal cords and sectional warfare!

The conductor, bless her caffeinated heart, strides in wearing a dramatic scarf, black top, pink flashy pants, and wielding a baton like she’s about to summon the spirits of Tchaikovsky, Penderecki, and Rachmaninoff themselves. “Vell, vell, vell,” she announces in an accent thick enough to spread on toast, “tonight ve vill make beautiful music, TAK? Or at least music that does not make the neighbors call police!”

“Let’s start with some warm-ups!” she announces, before launching into the torture of the singers’ bodies with physical exercises that would make a professional athlete hurt, followed by the trills and scales that would make a professional opera singer weep.

“Let’s look at our first anthem for Sunday,” she continues. The battle lines are drawn immediately. The women on the left are like a perfectly organized army, their music folders color-coded, hymnals marked with post-its, and pencils sharpened to military precision. The sopranos cluster together like they’re plotting world domination, occasionally shooting judgmental glances at the altos, who are still trying to figure out if they’re supposed to sing the same notes as the melody or something completely different. The sopranos exchange knowing smirks while the altos roll their eyes and mutter something about “diva behavior.” 

Meanwhile, the men huddle on the right in what can only be described as controlled chaos—sheet music scattered everywhere, half of them still looking for the right page. The tenors have formed a support group in the corner, united by their shared confusion about why their part seems to live in a different time zone than everyone else’s. And the basses? They’re just happy to be there, rumbling along like content thunder clouds, occasionally nailing a low note that makes everyone else jealous. 

“Ladies first,” the conductor declares, which triggers an immediate competitive response from the men’s corner. The women launch into their part with surgical precision, hitting every note while shooting triumphant glances at the men, who are frantically trying to figure out which measure and what note they should start on. 

When it’s the men’s turn, they compensate with pure volume and misplaced confidence. The tenors belt out something that’s approximately in the same key, while the basses provide what sounds like supportive growling from a friendly earthquake.

“No, no, NO!” the conductor shouts, waving her hands dramatically (which definitely counts as cardio). “Men, you sing like dying volf! Vomen, you are too perfect—vhere is the passion?”

Despite the sectional cold war and the conductor’s colorful commentary (“In my country, even the chickens sing better!”), and despite the fact that harmony sounds more like a symphonic cluster, something magical happens around minute thirty. For exactly seventeen seconds, the choir actually sounds… like they are making the most beautiful MUSIC. 

That’s when you realize you’re hooked. Because beneath all the missed entrances and endings, forgotten lyrics, unnecessary commentaries from overly chatty and excited singers, that one tenor who keeps singing his own imaginary notes even after repeated corrections, and that one soprano who insists on singing everything an octave higher than written, there’s something wonderfully and profoundly human about making music together.

So come join our lighthearted and glorious battlefield! We start today (August 20), and we meet every Wednesday at 7 pm in the Rehearsal Hall. We promise a great time, loads of good music, and at least three genuine laughs per rehearsal.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and situations described in this blog are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental.