[Our Music Director, Sarah Fraser, will be contributing “Music Notes” each week to keep you updated on all things ‘mostly musical’ in the SouthWest community.]
Over my head, I hear music in the air
I’ve walked into the church many, many times on my own over the years, from early in the morning to late at night. The remains of the latest activity could always be seen or felt, whether music binders piled on the piano, plates of cookies in the kitchen, chairs around the center table in the basement pushed back in such a way as to suggest their most recent occupants. The continuum of life.
The first time I set foot in the church after the virus had written its edict, I felt the space crowded with sounds. Voices, music, in a blend of distant memory and the kinds of recollections that blur the lines between past and present. It was eery, a little sad, and then very, very poignant.
I think that is why I have put off writing about Steve for so long. His death came as such a shock, and although a day will pass now that I don’t think about him, I always hear his voice as strong as ever as soon as I enter the church, sit down at the piano, look up at the organ or the chairs at the front of the church where the choir sat for rehearsals. I knew Steve through music, that is where we met. And as with all true musicians, music ran through every fibre of his being. He had a performer’s perfectionism and edge; everything he sang had to mean something to him for him to feel he could bring a song to life. And to me, he simply got better and better.
Dennis, Dorothy and Aline came out to my place last Friday – to sit among the hens, chicks, ducks and geese in a summer’s gentle breeze, to eat together and to laugh a little. Wolf the organ builder came by as well to share the humour only he and Dennis can appreciate, Dorothy kicked the ball for Carson the black lab, and I was able to speak with Aline in person for the first time since we last saw each other in early March, when everything that was to ensue was on a horizon beyond imagination. She is strong, our Aline, so for those of you who have worried, she’s going to be alright. She brought me a programme Steve had carefully saved from a concert Roman gave years ago, the programme notes and ticket stub neatly enclosed. So very Steve.
Over my Head… we sang this many, many times with Steve, and oh, did he love it! The choir sings a constant refrain, and the solo voice rises above it. It’s an arrangement of an African American spiritual that we did first with Amy, years ago, for Black History Month. A wonderful piece that fit him like a glove.
Steve thrived on new challenges, and whenever I’d propose a new song, he had a way of shrugging, smiling, shuffling and laughing all at the same time. He always said he’d think about it, listen to a few other versions if he could find them, and let me know the week after. He invariably said yes. I discovered his voice when we started presenting evenings dedicated to the music of the 30s and 40s; Steve always did his best with the bass line in Mozart and Vivaldi, but it was in Gospel and Blues that he came to life. 30s and 40s ushered that in, as well as a whole lot of fun working with Linda and Amy as part of the Showstoppers. He sang music by Thomas Dorsey and Paul Simon, and last year for Remembrance, Where Have All the Flowers Gone. Ah, that was beautiful.
New was good, but when I’d pull out Over My Head with a question mark on my face, I was always met with the smile a musician reserves for a dear old friend - a favourite piece of music.
It starts with the choir singing Over my head very softly, and when Steve would step forward to sing When the storms of life are raging, he took command, and he beamed with life, love, and happiness.
Over my head, I hear music in the air,
Over my head, I hear music in the air,
Over my head, I hear music in the air,
There must be a God somewhere.
I miss him, we all miss him, and when we meet together again, we will join hands in spirit, hear his voice and gentle laughter, and feel so much better for having known him.
Sarah
Steve Scales singing Gospel, with Sarah at the piano.