The Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles arrived in Moscow on October 7, 1999 with no preset agenda. As Artistic Director Jon Bailey told the Moscow audience and press, "We've come to sing and we've come to listen." What audiences heard and what choristers learned were
equally potent, as tears flowed on both sides of the footlights.
Being gay was a criminal act in Russia until 1995. Prior to 1991, coming out earned a gay man or lesbian a one-way ticket to a Siberian labor camp. As a result, Russians have learned to keep their public and private lives quite separate. The presence of the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles challenged that hard-earned logic; the G-word in our title said it all. As Moscow's fledgling gay community begins to assemble during these post-Communist years, GMCLA's arrival was a much-anticipated opportunity to gather publicly. To others, we were merely a curiosity meriting further investigation. Since there is no "Gay" word in Russian, our full title was carried in English on the posters around town announcing our arrival, while the cyrillic alphabet advertised the Men's Chorus of Los Angeles. Although some unsuspecting ticket holders might be in for a surprise when learning more about those Americans onstage, by performing in some of Europe's most prestigious halls, our concerts carried a stamp of legitimacy before we ever sang a note.
For our opening concert in Moscow, we were blessed with another kind of legitimacy as well: a guest star-turn by Russia's most celebrated pop vocalist, Alla Pugachova. The first news the choristers learned upon arrival at the Moscow airport was the thrilling statistic that our Moscow concert was not only sold out, but our tickets were actually trading on the black market for ten times the price! Prior to our Moscow concert, Ms. Pugachova met the local press to deliver a message we were glad to support: Diversity is a strength in any society. She encouraged Russians to embrace Tolerance for all, to admonish human rights violations, and to acknowledge Russia's escalating AIDS infection rate, which continues to take lives in a nation that cannot afford appropriate health care. The newspaper Moskovsky Komsomolets devoted a full page to the story, with a large photo of GMCLA and Alla Pugachova. We arrived with a bang.
Showtime. In our tuxedos, we stepped onto the stage of the huge, historic, sold-out Tchaikovsky Hall, knowing our audience was comprised of probably the most diverse assemblage we've ever attracted: gay activists, local politicians, the Moscow Symphony's venerated conductor, animated Pugachova fans, serious music fans, TV celebrities, curiosity-seekers, MTV, and a documentary film crew. Our entrance was met with polite but not thunderous applause. In this hall, the audience expected us to prove our musicianship.
And then we sang. Jon Bailey arranged our program chronologically, with the most serious material performed first, delivering the tunes that choral-music lovers in the audience expected. Concentration onstage was intense, each of us knowing we would experience this magical concert just once in a lifetime. It was the moment we each gave up our individuality to become one harmonious whole, performing a rousing Gloria, followed by a melifluous Cantique in French, Brahms in German, Ave Maria in Latin, and Salvation Is Created, each received with polite applause.
Then we launched into a series of American folk tunes in English: Beautiful Dreamer, Shenandoah, followed by Harambee, an African-American tune that celebrates Kwanzaa, sung mainly in Swahili, incorporating an ensemble of seven singers in front of the full chorus, several percussion instruments, and a rhythm and a posture that defied all that went before. That's when the house came down! Cheering and stomping at the song's conclusion, the audience began that famous rhythmic-clapping, and just wouldn't stop. Beaming gratefully, at that moment we witnessed the audience's trust and their strong emotions, understanding that they expected a performance from us that challenged the standards. By displaying our
comfort with the classics, we had earned the right to break with tradition. Somewhere on another plane, Piotr Tchaikovsky, the gay man for whom this hallowed hall was named, most assuredly smiled on us.
In Russia, to refer to someone as "pale blue" is a profane reference to their gay orientation. For the second act, we intentionally entered wearing goluboi blue shirts with our tuxedos. From the buzz in the audience, the image obviously hit its mark. With the lights up, it was also apparent that many in the audience chose to wear the color too, some with neckties, including one local TV celebrity in an entire jacket of costly pale blue sequins. (Liberace lives!) For those in the know, it was a night of defiance and celebration.
Ovations were even greater in the second act, when the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles performed two songs live onstage with Alla Pugachova. She introduced a new tune White Snow, explaining that GMCLA would accompany her on the tune's upcoming CD release. Excited audience members literally stepped onto the stage to hand flowers to Ms. Pugachova and Jon Bailey. (We alarmed Americans had to wonder, "What would Liza, Barbra, or Madonna do at a moment like this?!") The rhythmic-ovation would not cease. Pugachova finally led us through an encore, performing the entire piece again, then promptly reminded the audience of her reason for collaborating with us. She reiterated her comments to the press from a day earlier, expressing her pride at sharing the stage with talented musicians who were also bold enough to demand respect as role models for diversity, speaking plainly of her
homosexual friends. With a sigh of relief, she exclaimed: "the twentieth century is over. Let us live in peace with respect for all people in the new millenium." MTV filmed it on the spot, then rebroadcast the segment regularly for two days during their news breaks in Eastern Europe. Next, Pugachova led us through a tribal spin on an old Russian folk tune, which again brought the crowd to a frenzy, as more flowers and well-wishers arrived onstage, before Diva Pugachova made a grateful and glamourous exit.
The show continued with material indigenous to American culture, songs culled from movies and the American stage: Stephen Sondheim, Rodgers & Hammerstein. Then, through an interpreter, Jon Bailey explained to the audience that 100% of the evening's proceeds would benefit Moscow's AIDS charity. When he explained that GMCLA has buried 146 singers from AIDS, yet another viewer sprang from the audience to hand Jon a dozen blood-red roses. The audience listened with fierce intensity as Jon encouraged them to act sensibly in the age of AIDS, and with compassion for those already stricken by the virus. From their resounding silence, we knew this was the most challenging note the audience had encountered all night. Jon introduced songs of Protest, explaining that as homosexual men, we knew first-hand that no one can be free until all people share the earth as equals. He explained the source of Hope that African-Americans found during civil rights marches by singing We Shall Overcome. Then, reinforcing the AIDS message, the chorus launched into Springsteen's Philadelphia:
Didn't know my own face.
Oh brother, are you gonna leave me wasting away
On the streets of Philadelphia?
Before the audience could react to its conclusion, we turned our backs, singing an original commission, There Comes A Time, finally facing the audience for the last vibrant verse:
We gotta find the piper, and help to change the tune.
There comes a time, and the time is now,
You realize, inside, that you always knew how.
You gotta stand up strong, say I'm proud to be me.
I got my own sense of pride, and my Dignity.
Then without missing a beat, we all took hands, Pugachova strolled back on, and the chorus began the chant of We Shall Overcome, in challenging eight-part harmony.
The moment was white-hot with emotion, as each chorister concentrated hard to maintain the notes while being bombarded by the bigger realities of the moment: "I've actually traveled to the other side of the earth to tell these strangers that they are my kin. That as an oppressed minority which has gained begrudging acceptance at home, I bring this message of hope, so that you too may find the strength to overcome the obstacles within your society. The gay community is a global one. Use my strength, as I stand on the shoulders of those who went before me. On the brink of a new century, a new order is possible, in which fair treatment is a basic right for all people." As we began the second verse, "We'll walk hand-in-hand," the rhythm-clapping began, the audience responding to the emotions clearly visible onstage, as choristers labored to restrain their tears. By the third verse, the audience was on its feet, cheering the powerful finale.
We bowed. We cried. We bowed some more. Pugachova bowed and bowed. Jon and the instrumentalists bowed. Flowers emerged from every aisle. People from the balcony formed a mosh pit in the orchestra. We bowed again. The rhythmic-ovation was relentless.
Then we shocked them. For an encore, accompanists Bill Trusten on piano and Earle Dumler on oboe played the opening bars of a Tchaikovsky classic. For the first time that evening, the Gay Men's Chorus sang in well-rehearsed Russian. It tingled every Russian spine. As we sang the beautiful ballad they all knew by heart, the audience wept. Some sang with us; sharing this moment confirmed in every Moscovite's mind the goodwilled intentions of these bold gay men from California. If there was no meaning to the word "Gay" before we arrived, there most assuredly was a meaning to it now, and a very positive one.
On Monday morning, we were front page news in the Moscow papers and the LA Times.
In the reception that followed the concert, audience members who were fluent in English reached for superlatives, uniformly disclosing that they never expected such high-calibre musicianship. When pressed to select their favorite pieces, responses varied from Ave Maria to Sondheim to Philadelphia. All acknowledged the power of the protest songs, as well as the charge in the air provided by MTV, Alla Pugachova, the journalists, the photographers, and the documentary film crew. One activist summed up the evening most articulately, predicting that our appearance would have longterm repercussions as Russians begin to meld their public lives with their private ones.
"What you've accomplished here tonight is . . . it's Revolutionary!"
We still had four more cities to visit!
october 1999