Barbershop harmony time!

December; George Winston

In the spring of 1982, Mr. T put together vocal ensembles for the Region 3 Vocal and Instrumental Solo/Ensemble Contest. The girl’s quartet that I liked to listen to rehearse sang a barbershop harmony song. Hey, Mr. T., can you put together a male barbershop quartet, too? “Nope. Not enough time. Maybe next year.”

The following year, I saw my name on a list, along with L., C. and T, as a barbershop quartet. All right! Together we would sing “Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby”. Many times. We went to the contest and received a superior rating. The other three guys unwound in the afterglow of the victory … but I wanted more. MORE!!! Hey, Mr. T., can you find us more barbershop music to sing? “Nope. Not enough time. Maybe next year.” Mr. T. was a busy dude.

I found some barbershop music (I don’t remember where) and bought a couple of barbershop albums. My favorite quartet was called the Bluegrass Student Union and I proceeded to, “ahem”, garner – manually obtain? - much of their repertoire. Over the course of that spring, during the summer and into the fall, we rehearsed, a LOT, and came up with a sizable collection of songs – about fifteen, as I recall – and I began to book us on a few gigs here and there. I look upon all of this with much amusement now. Some enterprising teenage musicians have their own rock band. I had my own barbershop quartet. And ... we had hats. Being mostly from Volga, SD, we called ourselves The Volga Note-men. Catchy? You betcha. I remember Mr. T. saying, “I’ve created a monster.”

In the fall of 1983, Uncle D. had let it slip that the Bloomington Sportsmen Barbershop Chorus, the group he sang in, would present their fall concert in October. I wanted to go. It took some doing, but I talked Mom into going. So, on a blustery Friday, Mom, Grandma and I stocked the car with root beer and hit the road for the Cities (Midwest slang for the Twin Cities) to hear Uncle D. and the Sportsmen Chorus. The concert was a hit, all the way around. And we enjoyed the afterglow party at the Holiday Inn even more.

When the time came to head back to Uncle D.’s place, I got put in T.’s car. Who’s T.? “That’s Cousin W.’s fiancé.” Oh. I thought I was riding with Uncle D. “Well, T. doesn’t have heat in his car and Grandma got cold on the way to the concert. So you have to switch.” Oh. Okay.

So, who are we listening to on your tape deck? “That’s George Winston. Have you heard of him?” Nope. But I like him. “He’s kind of a jazz pianist but has a real mellow sound. I guess I would use the word contemplative to describe him. They play him late at night on Minnesota Public Radio.”

I acquired “December” the next day before I allowed Mom and Grandma to leave the city. And by the time Christmas came, I had, “ahem”, gleaned – extracted? – Mr. Winston’s arrangement of “Carol Of The Bells” and began a tradition of setting the mood for the Christmas Eve Candlelight service with this quiet blockbuster. I have never heard Mr. Winston perform live. I wonder if his creations sound the same every time or if they serve as a launching pad to something even more ethereal. In either case, I particularly enjoy the introspective nature of his music

I have observed that, though we call the holiday New Year’s Day, we actually celebrate more the passing of an old year. And in all truthfulness, we celebrate the whole month of December in the same way. Whatever we do during the rest of the year, it pales in comparison to what and how we do anything in December. So, on this last day of December, I don’t celebrate the trackless jungle before us as much as the trail behind us that boasts of good cheer and best wishes.

Happy New Year.

Credits: To L., C. and T., for creating memories of a lifetime and making some darn good barbershop harmony with me.