Have you always wanted to sing 200-year-old American hymns? I can see you're drooling already.

It's called Sacred Harp Singing, and it's much more wonderful than it sounds. I got involved because I wanted to become a better singer, and I wanted to be able to sing harmony. I'd always had this tendency when attempting to sing with others to leave my part and start singing what my partner was singing. The ability to stay on your own part is sometimes called holding your line, and I couldn't do it. So I'd taken lessons and practiced, and felt like I was going nowhere.

My first exposure to Sacred Harp was at the Chicago group's annual two-day Midwest Convention. I had read about it in the paper, so I dropped by the Irish American Heritage Center to see what it was like. They weren't hard to find. A huge cacophony from the south side of the building led me to a couple hundred people sitting in a large square, singing their hearts out. They all faced in towards an empty space in the middle of the square. The bass section was made up entirely of men. To the right of the bass section was the largest section of mixed men and women singing the melody line. Then there were two more sections of women singing the high harmonies. Each section constituted one side of the square.

The sound was deafening, but also strangely compelling. The more I watched the more amazing it all seemed. Someone's name would be called out. That person would walk quickly to the center of the square and call out a page number. Someone else would cry out what sounded like a short scale. The person-in-the-middle's arm would strike the beat, and suddenly it sounded like the heavens had opened and the Second Coming was at hand. It was almost scary. They had a book they sang from with over 600 songs in it. Pick any song in the book and that crowd could sight-read it on the spot. As soon as one song was finished, a new leader's name would be called out. A new page number would be announced. Up goes the arm; instant four-part harmony. Some of them seemed to know the songs by heart and wouldn't even bother reading from the book.

The sound seemed barbaric at times, almost as if they had snuck a bagpipe in there somewhere. The harmonies were different than I was used to. A lot of the people sitting in the square would wave their arms up and down, keeping time with the leader in the middle. It was a strange, otherworldly experience. If your purpose in life is to look cool, this is not the place to hang.

On my way out I picked up some literature, bought a CD of the music, and talked to the person handling the desk. I asked where the name came from. "A vocal hymnal came out in 1844 entitled The Sacred Harp. It was referring to the human voice. The name stuck. It's been updated many times, but it's the same book we use today." I admitted that I wasn't much into organized religion. He laughed, "You'll find every religion you can think of here and more than a few atheists and agnostics. No one cares what you believe." Among the flyers was a notice of a weekly sing that was starting up down in Hyde Park. What did I have to lose?

The sing in Hyde Park was in someone's home: a small group that tried very hard to be welcoming. I was placed among the basses and handed a loaner hymnal. Instantly I felt like I'd entered the twilight zone. The notes weren't round! There were little triangles and boxes and diamonds for many of the notes. Someone explained that these were hints as to what note of the scale was being sung. The system is called FaSoLa and was meant to make sight-reading easier. I was assured that in time the shapes would help me know what the musical interval was. Before launching into the words, they'd sing the shapes once. Instead of singing the words they'd sing Fa or So or La or Mi. Since the basses were on a different note than the tenors or altos, everyone was singing something different. Very disorienting. But at least I got to hear what the song sounded like before attempting to sing it. Because I sure couldn't sight-read.

I'm still not sure how I got through those first few sessions. I certainly had no idea what I was doing. But people were kind and patient. I'd sit beside a strong singer and try to match what they were singing. I followed along in the book. I started to notice when a note I'd sung a second before (and could still vaguely remember) was coming up again. If I went back to that tone, I could find the right note. Of course, I probably wasn't singing in key. But no one ever bothered to mention that. Sometimes we sounded amazing, sometimes not so amazing. I remember on such an occasion someone smiled and said, "The key did not find us that time." I was struck by the gentleness and unblaming nature of the comment.

Eventually I started noticing that the shape notes did help to tell the intervals. When unable to hear my own voice, I would shut off an ear with a finger so I could hear myself. More and more I found myself singing in tune. After a year of this I could even hold my line on my own. I had become a singer.

I had also discovered a community of kindness. While Sacred Harp Singing is not a religion, it has become my religion. There are no cathedrals and no sermons and no beliefs. But the singing creates a space of reverence and friendship. I should mention that it is Christian in its heritage. At an all-day sing, grace is said before meals. We remember the sick and departed in a memorial lesson. But the touch is light. Whatever message there is rests in the music.

And I have learned to so love the music. It is wonderful, and wild, and thrilling beyond words.

The Sacred Harp people sometimes perform, from symphony hall to folk festivals. Except we don't think of it as performing. We want people to pick up a book and sing along with us. At a folk festival it struck me, we were the one act that was actually about folks singing rather than watching a performer on stage.

I attended the next year's annual sing as someone who belonged. When my name was called, I stood in the center of the square, raised my hand and was overwhelmed with the joy of it all. To stand at the center of that sound, with two hundred voices beating against your chest, is a transcendent experience. I feel so lucky to be part of it.

© Bruce T. Holmes 2000 All Rights Reserved