By Kari Ginsburg, WSC Avant Bard Company Member & Marketing Associate
Mariano Vales, our musical director and composer, is running late—as in, “might not be coming” late. So naturally we, the 10-member chorus of WSC Avant Bard’s upcoming production of Euripides’ “The Bacchae,” take this as an invitation to do what we do best: misbehave.
You see, it’s Friday (day five of a 6-day rehearsal week), and we’ve been singing, dancing and rolling on the floor (read: acting) since March. We’re tired. We’re a little frustrated. We’re nervous about going into previews in a week. We talk of going for cocktails and cupcakes (a chorus favorite). We’re starting to communicate in 90s song lyrics and pop-culture references.
Enter Director Steven Mazzola, replete with carafe of tea and jaunty scarf. “How are we doing?”
“I’m tired.”
“Is it true that we move into Artisphere next week?”
“Do we get to leave since Mariano’s not here?”
The ever-calm Steven takes in the cacophony and says, “Dudes…”. That’s how he refers to us. We’ve decided it’s a term of affection. “Dudes, he’ll be here. In the meantime, Jon Jon will guide you through the new Ode.”
We all look over at Jon Jon Johnson. Our fellow chorus member is ridiculously talented and, like chorine Anna Brungardt, seems capable of teaching himself any instrument he wants. We secretly hate him for this superpower, but love that he’s on our team. Steven leaves the rehearsal room, we circle our chairs around the piano and begin to look at the eight-part harmony of Mariano’s latest inspiration. (NOTE: Jon Jon is seeing the music for the first time, too). We laugh about how difficult the new Ode is. We’re punchy.
Then, it happens: J.R. Russ plops down at the piano beside Jon Jon to plunk out several vocal parts while Jon Jon plays the rest. We struggle through a couple of pages, layering one part over the next.
“Think of that interval like, “Mary had a little lamb.”
“More Sweeney—like ‘Johanna’…”
“Where can I place that vowel in my mouth?”
Jase “Perfect Pitch” Parker folds into himself as he sight-reads the pages. James Finley recognizes the base line as the same from Ode 5 (there are 7 Odes), so he’s all set. Anna and Heather Haney work through the soprano parts while Mundy Spears, drummer Christin Green and I fret over who will sing the mezzo or the alto part. Behzad Habibzai readies his classical guitar offering tempo suggestions. All of a sudden, we have an Ode. It’s rough, but it’s there.
This is what we do. We help each other. We learn from one another. We trust our instincts, and that someone is going to “be there.” If one person fails, we all fail big. Oh, and we tease each other mercilessly. We’re a community; a pack of misfits who don’t work without the whole. Because there’s no “I” in chorus; but there’s an “us.”

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