West Bound Cycle

Written for Andy Rush, Founding Artistic Director

It likely would have started anyway.  There had been talk.  It might even have started that same year, that same season. That’s not a story I know, and not the one I am telling.  What I do know, is it started when two cyclists passed, one heading east, one heading west, on the same street.  Maybe they nodded at each other on the way by.  It started when the east bound cyclist stopped, called to the west bound one, and posed a question that began with, “Is this the year…”

It started that evening.  West Bound phoned East Bound, asking “How would you like to sit on the board of a new community choir?” The east bound cyclist did not want to sit on the board of a choir.  They wanted to show up, not a care in the world and sing their little heart out. They wanted the whole thing, no work what-so-ever on their part, presented to them on a silver platter.  So the east bound cyclist said, “Yes”.  “Said, “Who else is on the board?”  “Uhmm,” stalled West Bound,  “So, far, just you.  Do you know anyone else?”  And between them, they did.

It started that evening.  West Bound phoned East Bound, asking   “How would you like to sit on the board of a new community choir?” The east bound cyclist did not want to sit on the board of a choir. They wanted to show up, not a care in the world and sing their little heart out. They wanted the whole thing, no work what-so-ever on their part, presented to them on a silver platter.  So the east bound cyclist said, “Yes”.  “Said, “Who else is on the board?”  “Uhmm,” stalled West Bound, “So, far, just you.  Do you know anyone else?”  And between them, they did.

It started with meetings around kitchen tables. It started with nerves and hopes.  It started with questions: Did we think among us that we could drum up 30 or so singers?  Were we willing to risk our own money as start up funds? It started with someone with (Thank god) some legal knowledge about setting up an organization, someone else willing to learn how to do books.  A quiet, reflective someone that didn’t say much, so we listened when they did. It started with playful ideas, outrageous ideas. Some good ideas. It started with grunt work and posters.  It started with a hotline for expression of interest that had 118 messages in the first  hour. It started with a traffic  jam and an over-flowing meeting hall.  It started with David Francy.  Other guests. Enthusiastic audiences.

But of course, it started long before all that.  It started with music festival choirs, community in song weekends.  It started with a boy loving music, at some point becoming comfortable as a leader.  Or before that, with mentors and role models.  Some sage somewhere suggesting laughter was a potent anti-venom for mistakes.  A Buddha-like figure’s advice to grab Risk by the wrists and dance.   Did it come from Sunday school singing, or pop radio?  Was it nourished in a culture of choral traditions?  Did it start with Mozart or sackbuts or ancient reeds and drums?  Did it come from Africa? Or was it even before that, with the chittering of birds and the thump of an apple in some idyllic garden?   Was it nothing but the weary bones of Rhythm, Song and Harmony looking for a place to roost?

It started.

As to how and when it ended well, because of persistence, vision, growth, fresh ideas, foundations, principles, change, all hands on deck, lessons disguised as disappointments, sleeves rolled up, hard work dressed up as play, just plain hard work, reflection, loss, love, importantly, all of us, all of us becoming an Us, and because of the quite literal passing of the baton, I can’t tell you how or when it ended. It isn’t  finished yet.

Copyright © mls May 2025 all rights reserved

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