You can come sit next to me. I have all sorts of issues with gay choruses. I love them because I loved singing so much while growing up and I miss it terribly. But I have to roll my eyes sometimes. Well, a lot.
Mark-the-Ex used to be on the board of the Oakland-EastBay Gay Men's Chorus (known by its snappy abbreviation, EBGMC) and it was every kind of small town, immature, high school organization you could think of. What a horrible experience. I was the Chorus Widow, which was somewhat insulated from the goings on.
[ Apparently during their first Christmas concert of the first season they were together, they stood up in front of the audience on risers at the front of the beautiful church. Someone had forgotten to take his insulin, and just as they were about to start, he vomited all over the three people standing in front of him and on their music. Then he passed out. After they revived him, cleaned up, and were about to start, the same guy passed out again. They called 911. The concert didn't start on time. ]
A couple of years ago I was asked to join the board for a local gay chorus. I showed up at the job interview and met the entire board and they asked me a bunch of questions. Then they asked me if I had any questions. I had read their promotional materials and their website and I'd had lunch with a few of their current board members. So I asked: What is the purpose of this organization?
They couldn't answer. So I tried to elaborate. Are you just a few guys who get together twice a week and like to sing and go on retreats? Or are you the best chorus in the Bay Area known for musical ability? And if that's the case, how many people get cut during a year for not knowing the music or not showing up at rehearsals or not knowing how to read music? Are you a cutesy choir whose only gimmick is a Christmas gig doing a sendup of "I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus"? Or do you focus on sacred music? Or musicals? Or spirituals? Or showtunes? Is the idea of this organization to make money or break even? Do you tour? Do you give any money back to the community? What's your corporate sponsorship plan? How do you measure yourselves?
They all just looked at me. "Well, uh, we like to sing and put on concerts." So I smiled and asked, "So tell me why that's worth charging $20 for a ticket. What are you selling? And what's the growth over the next five years? Because let me tell you, from what I see of the other local choruses, there's a lot of competition for those dollars. So what's the plan?"
The two guys who sponsored me looked pretty unhappy. One gent stood up and gave me a long Julia Sugarbaker speech, complete with wavering voice and tears running down his face, about how he drives 30 miles to come to practice and he feels safe and loved in this community. He went on and on about how I was attacking them.
I just laughed and said, no, I'm not attacking you. I'm asking you what kind of organization you are and I don't think you have an answer. You have a wonderful music director but I'm guessing you all just vote on the songs, right? And tickets get sold through friends and family, right? Then why do you spend thousands of dollars on your member retreats? What gets accomplished other than a vacation? There are community health organizations who need that money: can't you just forego the retreat and hand them the money? At least you'd be doing some good—if that's part of your mission.
And so on. After a while, they thanked me for my time and I left. A couple of days later they offered me the position and asked me if I could join them on their retreat to be held in three weeks. I told them no—not because I don't believe in them, but because I don't have the background to overcome their issues. I'm good at making things run well, but I don't have the skills to do what they need.
Apparently at the next board meeting they got into a heated discussion and the Julia Sugarbaker guy quit the chorus. The retreat was postponed for six months while the board regrouped and tried to decide what it wanted.
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Date: 2010-06-21 04:26 pm (UTC)Mark-the-Ex used to be on the board of the Oakland-EastBay Gay Men's Chorus (known by its snappy abbreviation, EBGMC) and it was every kind of small town, immature, high school organization you could think of. What a horrible experience. I was the Chorus Widow, which was somewhat insulated from the goings on.
[ Apparently during their first Christmas concert of the first season they were together, they stood up in front of the audience on risers at the front of the beautiful church. Someone had forgotten to take his insulin, and just as they were about to start, he vomited all over the three people standing in front of him and on their music. Then he passed out. After they revived him, cleaned up, and were about to start, the same guy passed out again. They called 911. The concert didn't start on time. ]
A couple of years ago I was asked to join the board for a local gay chorus. I showed up at the job interview and met the entire board and they asked me a bunch of questions. Then they asked me if I had any questions. I had read their promotional materials and their website and I'd had lunch with a few of their current board members. So I asked: What is the purpose of this organization?
They couldn't answer. So I tried to elaborate. Are you just a few guys who get together twice a week and like to sing and go on retreats? Or are you the best chorus in the Bay Area known for musical ability? And if that's the case, how many people get cut during a year for not knowing the music or not showing up at rehearsals or not knowing how to read music? Are you a cutesy choir whose only gimmick is a Christmas gig doing a sendup of "I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus"? Or do you focus on sacred music? Or musicals? Or spirituals? Or showtunes? Is the idea of this organization to make money or break even? Do you tour? Do you give any money back to the community? What's your corporate sponsorship plan? How do you measure yourselves?
They all just looked at me. "Well, uh, we like to sing and put on concerts." So I smiled and asked, "So tell me why that's worth charging $20 for a ticket. What are you selling? And what's the growth over the next five years? Because let me tell you, from what I see of the other local choruses, there's a lot of competition for those dollars. So what's the plan?"
The two guys who sponsored me looked pretty unhappy. One gent stood up and gave me a long Julia Sugarbaker speech, complete with wavering voice and tears running down his face, about how he drives 30 miles to come to practice and he feels safe and loved in this community. He went on and on about how I was attacking them.
I just laughed and said, no, I'm not attacking you. I'm asking you what kind of organization you are and I don't think you have an answer. You have a wonderful music director but I'm guessing you all just vote on the songs, right? And tickets get sold through friends and family, right? Then why do you spend thousands of dollars on your member retreats? What gets accomplished other than a vacation? There are community health organizations who need that money: can't you just forego the retreat and hand them the money? At least you'd be doing some good—if that's part of your mission.
And so on. After a while, they thanked me for my time and I left. A couple of days later they offered me the position and asked me if I could join them on their retreat to be held in three weeks. I told them no—not because I don't believe in them, but because I don't have the background to overcome their issues. I'm good at making things run well, but I don't have the skills to do what they need.
Apparently at the next board meeting they got into a heated discussion and the Julia Sugarbaker guy quit the chorus. The retreat was postponed for six months while the board regrouped and tried to decide what it wanted.
I hope it was me.