indianapolis 2010

I went to Indianapolis earlier this week to conduct a concert of my pieces at Brownsburg High School and had an extra day to kill so I decided to kick it with Kelly Lusk in downtown Indy for a night. (You might know him better in his role as the brilliant playwright/librettist for my opera, We, The Boys.) Here's a picture I took out my window whilst waiting for him in which a phantom pile of hotel magazines makes its way down the street (via the reflection in the window).















We didn't get into any trouble (besides the usual general mayhem) and I only post this horrendous picture because a) I have a sense of humour about myself and b) he wouldn't want me to. Let us not mention here what time of day (read: morning) it was taken or the amount of gemutlichkeit which clearly may or may not have been involved (id est the superheroic pose we're attempting to strike).

After a night's romp around Indy, Kelly and I headed to the suburb of Brownsburg to get down to opera business and brunch at the local Bob Evans restaurant. I feel like I should say here that the only reason I mention the fact that we went to some grease-y, franchise-y place like this is that I asked to go there. The only time I've ever been to Bob Evans's's's pride-and-joy is when I've been in Brownsburg working with the choirs. So...it's kind of a welcome, high-calorie tradition. That being said, I won't shed any tears if it takes another three years for me to down a couple more of those biscuits.

Later that evening the director at Brownsburg High School, Debi Prather, took me out to dinner at a local joint called Boulder Creek Dining Company. The pinot grigio was good, the mahi-mahi was delicious and the conversation was even better. (I only say something so pedestrian because I want an excuse to show this halfway decent picture I took of my crazy-good entre.)

The students at BHS were working on 4 of my published works as well as a newly-commissioned piece called Spring so there was plenty to do over the course of two days in rehearsal. Here are Ms. Prather and I before Tuesday's concert which she creatively titled An Evening with Joshua Shank. It included some fun lectures on the creative process and a brief Q & A session alongside the performances. (Here I will parenthetically pretend that this didn't really inflate my ego.)















Debi is an absolutely incredible teacher; one of those rare beings that floats among us mere mortals with a massive amount of educational information in her brain combined with the soul of a genuinely caring person. Her balance of heart and mind leads these choirs to sound like very few high school ensembles I've ever heard.

And they had t-shirts printed up.

Now imagine you're an interloper on the BHS lifestyle like myself and you walk in on dozens of teenagers wearing something like this.

It was a bit surreal. You don't see a bunch of people with "Shankfest: You've Been Shanked!" proudly displayed on their chests every day. (This was one of the few times in my life that I've been thankful that my last name is a synonym for stabbing someone in prison.)

I was busy flapping my arms during the concert that night so I gave my camera to a few girls in the Bel Canto choir to watch over. I found some good--and creative--pics when I got it back. My favorites are the blurry, artistic ones. (Thanks, girls!)

These "kids" (and I use that term loosely as it popularly relates to the abilities of a group of high school students) sang the shit out of these pieces. Period.

At every school there is usually some sort of de facto "top ensemble" that is supposed to be the most impressive or the most committed or something like that. Not at BHS, my friends. For some reason it doesn't work like that.

• The mixed choir was one of the best, most well-balanced ensembles I've ever heard at any level.
  
• The women's choir sang the SSA stuff with the same, incredibly nuanced skill.
  
• Their high school men's choir eats 4-part rep for breakfast. FOR BREAKFAST!

It's crazy. We are known for growing a ton of singers here in MN but, damn, I don't think we have a garden like this (pardon the clumsy metaphor).

One of the most meaningful things that occurred to me during the course of my stay in Indianapolis happened when I was really, really tired...like more than just your usual travel nonsense. I was existentially tired; preternaturally exhausted in a pre-zombie state of mind.

That was when one of the tenors in the Madrigal Singers, Jake, was tasked to take me back to my hotel for an hour's nap (as if that were going to do any good). He was genuinely excited to show me his hometown of Brownsburg and, since he wanted to give me a full tour and I was only there for a couple of days, I decided to heed Warren Zevon's words and just go with it. Once I acquiesced he made sure I got strong coffee and a good dose of our mutually-enjoyed ska music with the windows down. Subsequently, we had a crazy-fun time seeing the local racing stuff, the town hall where their "part-time mayor" works and the local park, Arbuckle Acres.

Thanks, Jake! And, tacitly, this should extend to all of the other amazing people I met during my stay there: teachers, poetry readers, first-and-middle-name sharers, stalkers, fellow singer/songwriters, aspiring composers, budding music theorists, parents, sopranos, basses, tenors, altos, principals and oh-my-god-you're-incredible accompanists.

Thank you so much, Brownsburg! You made me feel--undeservedly--like a rock star for a few days. Go Bulldogs!