. . . when you correct the liturgist. From memory. For at least two denominations.
. . . when you know six composers’ arrangements of a hymn and have a definite preference.
(and you once daydreamed about being invited to join the M.T.C. despite being a gentile and having a sturdy but not spectacular voice)
. . . when the director mentions a composer and over half the choir groans.
. . . when the director announces the name of the piece and you ask, “English, German, or Latin?” because you have all three memorized.
. . . when you can recognize someone’s choral arrangements because of the chord patterns he (or she) favors (Wilburg, Rutter, Lauredesn, Whitaker . . .)
. . . when someone uses the “In Paradisum” from the Faure Requiem as meditation music at a funeral mass and you come in on the proper beat (for once). Except you’re not supposed to sing along.*
. . . your taste in favorite Christmas carols is a bit esoteric to put it mildly.
(fast forward to 30 sec.)
(and these are some of the less unusual ones. I really like the old, old, odd, dance-like carols, or the strange ones such as “Down in Yon Forest.”)
. . . you consider the period from mid-October through Easter to be Choir Season (not unlike football or basketball season, and it can seem as long as the NHL season some days.)
. . . you have sung every major concert mass. By age 35. And never soloed.
. . . you’ve been referred to as “the anchorman” or “a choral linebacker” by a director.
. . . you can blend with almost any other voice. Almost. There’s that one tenor . . . Yeah, that one.
. . . you’ve been caught watching the director once or twice over the past twenty years.
*You can’t prove it was me. There were no recordings. And I have witnesses.
Cat Rotator's Quarterly 