A Chorus Line (or two)

Once a week, our fifth-grade class lined up at the door (in alphabetical order of course), and quietly made our way through the halls of the elementary school (peaking into each room as we passed, ready to make a face if we caught the eye of any of our classmates), down the stairs, and to the music room.  Resplendent in musical instruments, including percussion (!), and filled with those adult desks, (the kind where the chair and desk were attached, the desktop coming off of the right hand side, which was convenient for we righties as it allowed us to rest our elbows), music class was generally considered something special.

During one class, the teacher made an announcement, telling us that there was going to be a singing group made up entirely of students from schools in our town, and that the four "best" singers in our class were going to get to participate. 

Essentially there was a class sing-off, with all of us bellowing simultaneously. (I forget what we sang, but it was probably something like Row Your Boat.  Although I do distinctly remember, as a class we learned the song I'd Like to Teach the World To Sing.  Try as she might, however, the music teacher couldn't stop us from adding the "Coke Is" bit from the current ad campaign that used that tune.)  

Coke really IS.

As we all sang, the music teacher went around and listened to each of us, trying to determine the four "best."  As we were an elementary school, and thus had no sports teams, etc., competing to get into the All-Wayne Chorus was pretty fierce.  Well, as fierce as a singing competition between eleven-year olds could get.

Preakness Elementary School, where my singing career peaked.  

                                                                            

With three students chosen, including one of my good friends, I knew that, as the teacher approached to listen to me, I had to pull out any and all of the stops I had.  Red-faced as I gave it my all, she listened, paused, walked away to listen to some one else, came back, listened again, walked away again, came back one last time, listened, watched the intensity in which I bellowed each syllable, and (I'm sure more because of my earnestness rather than any talent)… selected ME!

Being a full-fledged member of the All-Wayne Chorus, one of four students representing our elementary school, brought a lot of responsibility.  Well, mostly it required the four of us to give up a smattering of afternoons to practice with the other "winners."  To be fair, it was kinda okay.  Our mothers took turns chauffeuring us back and forth to the auditorium where we practiced (I don't recall where exactly), and it helped that two of us were from the same neighborhood.  (Indeed, her team beat us in that year's Whiffle Ball World Series--a corker if there ever was one.)

What Linus said.

While many of the particulars have vacated my memory (including where the actual concert was held), I do remember many of the songs we sang.  And, more importantly, I remember many of the arrangements; many of which have haunted me ever since. 

Inchworm, a song I'd already known because it was featured in the Danny Kaye film Hans Christian Andersen (which aired every year around Easter time) was sung in counterpoint, which was kinda neat, unless you got stuck, as I did, having to sing the basic math part: "Two and two are four; four and four are eight; eight and eight are sixteen; sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two…" repeat.  (Admittedly, the math has stayed with me.  So there's that.) 

Since the movie Oliver! hadn't made it to TV yet, I was not familiar with Food, Glorious Food.  A decent tune, with the highlight coming near the end where we sang "food, glorious "fooooooood" as if we were on some kind of musical roller coaster.   That cascading "foooooooood" has popped into my consciousness many a time since the days of the AWC, particularly whenever I hear  someone say the word "food," which, fortunately is a word rarely uttered.  Not.  The best I can say about "foooooooood" is that it's just one word, albeit, the way it's sung, a pretty long one.  But it's fairly easy to resist singing it aloud, and, while it makes an appearance with a certain regularity as an ear worm, it rarely lingers for long.

An actual photograph of the All-Wayne Chorus.  That's me, second from the right.  (Handsome, no?)

Not so with the other song that not only continues to haunt, but is also perfect fodder for Sir Earworm.  Earworms, plural, is more precise, because this song is not only as long and insidious as the dreadful Twelve Days of Christmas, but it too, has twelve stanzas; after all, there are twelve signs of the zodiac.  And all of them have, at one point or another, been an ear worm for me.  Horror-scopes from the lot.

Before fifth grade, I had never heard the Zodiac song before.  And since the AWC, I haven't heard it since.  Oh, but in my mind's ear, I've heard it.  But plenty.

As I'm hearing it right now.  Even with Mick Jones exclaiming that "you didn't stand by me" from my stereo's speakers (helping to mitigate the tinnitus), I still hear that confounded Zodiac song.  Most specifically, and for reasons I can't explain, I'm "listening to" the Zodiac sign that visits me with a disturbing regularity:  "Cap-ri-corn the Bull.  Cap-ri-corn the Bull.  Cap-ri-corn the Bull."  Bull is right….

Having said that (a phrase I'm beginning to abhor), I suppose being frequented by the Zodiac-ical earworm is a small price to pay after having had the opportunity to shine as a prodigious member of the All-Wayne Chorus.  Fame has its costs.

Since I’m not sure even what the name of that Zodiac song was, or whether or not it has ever been recorded, you, my oh-so-fortunate reader will be spared this particular ear worm.

But you are not getting off the hook that easy.  Here’s the other ear worm that haunts me from my days of the illustrious All-Wayne Chorus: