Today I performed at the Forest Grove Barbershop Quartet competition, which was an interesting place to get to since I had never been remotely close to Forest Grove before. Getting both there and back was an adventure. After work today I took the Green Line to the Blue Line to the 57 and then walked the last mile or so to Forest Grove High School, where the barbershop competition was held. It was an interesting trip, made more so by having met some reasonably friendly people, including a large group of Asians.

Anyway, the competition itself went fairly well, even though our group did not place in the top eight of the groups (which is probably a good thing, given how tightly I have scheduled my weekend). For those who are not aware, Forest Grove is a pretty prestigious lyrical barbershop quartet competition for the Northwestern United States, and being a very inexperienced barbershop singer, it was a pleasure just to compete. It was clear in looking at the show that there were some acts that were much more polished and theatrical than ours, even if we performed well.

For those who are not aware of how a barbershop quartet works, each barbershop quartet is made of four parts of vocal harmony: lead, tenor, baritone, and bass. I sing the tenor, which happens to be the highest voice of the four—and the quartet can be made up of men or women, though most quartets seem to be made up of men in these competitions (about ¾ of the entrants this year were, for example). I got a few complements for being a good tenor, and I was pleased that my voice blended well in the a capella four-part harmonies.

I suppose, given the conflict-ridden course of my life, that it is somewhat ironic that I am drawn to harmony. Certainly it can be provided as evidence that I have a longing for unity and harmony in my life that has often been lacking, if such evidence is necessary in my defense. In a barbershop quartet, everyone sings their own part and there is no accompaniment for cover. If a part is off, the unity of the whole suffers, no matter how good everyone else is. Everyone must pull their weight in a barbershop quartet for the performance to be successful, and everyone must keep in balance as well, since a part that is off balance in sound can cause the chord to sound wrong even if all the notes are right.

There are a lot of lessons that one can learn from singing in a barbershop quartet. One of them is that hitting the right note is a distant second to hitting notes in harmony with others. Another important lesson is that there is nowhere to hide in a barbershop quartet—every part is essential in creating the greater whole. I suppose another lesson, insofar as it relates to me personally, is that even someone like myself can be at least moderately proficient at harmony when it comes to music, and that perhaps someday the lessons learned with regards to music can be used to build harmony in relationships, even if people are vastly more complex than songs.