Harmonizing Grace: A Reflection
warning: rambly, poorly structured, flow of consciousness thought ///
I’ve always existed in this mindset where I want to believe that I’m knowledgeable, informed, and, well, good at music as a whole, but deep down inside, I know that I probably don’t have anything more insightful to say than anyone else, and that for me, music is nothing more than a hobby that I love to engage in, but am never truly good enough to claim that I’m a “musician”, or that I can play “music”. I used to be really insecure about this— I considered musicality to be a key part of my identity. After all, I had committed deeply to my high school’s theater and choir programs, I was a part of symphony orchestras, I felt like I could keep a discussion of music with those that actually took music theory as a subject, and, perhaps most of all, I had strong musical opinions which, I felt, set me apart from the rest. I can’t say that I’m fully at peace with where I’m at in regards to my musical ability, but I can say that I’ve learned to embrace my current relationship with music, and my experience with Harmonizing Grace taught me what exactly music, God, and singing really meant to me.
My first exposure to music as a child was probably through the classical CDs that I’d toy around with— my mother is a wonderful pianist, and firmly believed that her children should also have a strong musical background growing up. I can’t thank her enough for instilling that in me. Mom, I can’t say that I’m really a musician, nor that I can play a single instrument to a degree which I can make you proud of, but know that I’m incredibly grateful for having you teach me how to appreciate music, especially classical music.
I tried playing the piano, learning under my mother, but Mom, truly, I could not stand your teaching. From my memory, I couldn’t handle the strictness or the high standards she set for me while I was still plunking out the beginner arpeggios. In reality, it was probably me not paying enough attention, or not staying focused, or something in the middle. Instead, my first instrument would be the violin, which I started learning while I was still living in Denver. I had the privilege of learning under a certain Mrs. Jablonski (or at least, that’s how I remember her name). She was a loving, gentle, encouraging teacher, and I had a lot of fun learning the violin— though I’m sure the experience was a lot less fun for my poor parents, who had to deal with the squeakiness (which probably lasted longer than it should’ve). I still remember learning the classics, with In the Hall of the Mountain King being a piece that sticks with me until today. I rose pretty quickly through the ranks of that little string section back in the States, and I had no reason to believe that things would change when I moved back to Korea.
Reality, however, would be much more different, and would quickly prove that I simply did not have the musical skill to compete in the big leagues. I went from a somewhat suburban American public school system to a very high class private school in South Korea, and the change in scenery couldn’t be more drastic. I kept going to lessons in a nearby studio, but by the time I got to middle school and joined the orchestra there, it became very, very apparent that I simply wasn’t in the top 50, or even 70 percent of violinists in the orchestra. I was quickly demoted from the middle of the Violin I section to the back row of chairs, and eventually settled somewhere in the middle row of the second violin section— and to be clear, I was never spiteful, hateful, or even self-pitying at this fact. To this day, I mostly live in the present, and I just kinda accept what’s happening in the moment so that I can make the most of it. I think the conductor always appreciated me being around though, because my strengths weren’t in my tone, or rhythm, or… anything near my playing ability, but it was the fact that I learned my music, I practiced at home, and I had a semblance of leadership to at least try and corral the rest of my section into playing together. Grit, determination, and hard work were my only real qualities, but those were not enough to even get me in contention with some of the other kids, who were just simply better.
Entering high school, I had to make a decision: I’d either continue playing violin, the instrument I’d played for a little over half a decade, or I’d join choir, where I had zero formal experience, teaching, or training in. Why choir? Well, it was something everyone took during middle school, and I actually really enjoyed being in it. I split my time between the two throughout freshman year, and I ultimately chose choir for a couple of reasons. First, I have to thank Mr. Ford, the choir director I had for the entirety of my middle school and high school years. He made choir class something I’d look forward to every week, and gave me a lot of responsibility to lead, learn, and feel like I was a vital part of the group. He’s been an incredible mentor for me throughout those growing years, and any words I write here can’t express my gratitude towards him— I’ll do that another time. The second reason why I continued to do choir was a practical decision: there was practically zero chance, at least in my head, that I’d be able to do KIMEA (a national, audition-based Korean international school event), APAC (regional), or even AMIS (international) as a violin player. But as a male tenor singer… things became much more promising. As a sophomore, I had to be pragmatic about what I would invest my time into, and think about the return on my investment— we’re talking college applications, what I would be able to experience, and who I’d spend my time with.
So I did choir for the rest of my time in high school, and with great success (well, at least if we look at the accolades). 3x AMIS, 2x APAC, 4x KIMEA, and being the de facto leader of the high school choir program really solidified my love for the art— but in the back of my head, I knew that it wasn’t an objectively impressive feat. I enjoyed it, I valued it, and I’ll cherish those times forever, don’t get me wrong. But at the end of the day, was I truly a good singer?
Relative to the competition I had in high school, being international (often Korean) male students willing to sing tenor (not exactly an esteemed pool), I was pretty solid. Relative to the rest of the music world, absolutely not. And even within the choir, I felt that I was never really a leader because of my singing skills, ability, or talent— hell, thinking back on the people I sang with, I don’t rank in the top 50th percentile. There were plenty of one- or two-year singers who joined the choir for a music credit that objectively were better singers, and my redeeming qualities were that I was on top of logistics, I learned my music, and that I was able to motivate the (often unmotivated) males into learning their parts and caring about choir as a whole. A valuable skill? Absolutely— but not one that makes for a good musician in the technical sense. I was able to more or less ignore that fact while I was in high school, and I graduated having earned the annual choral award given at my school: there’s a plaque somewhere with my name on it in the music department, still. But going into college, especially to a prestigious place like Brown, I already kinda knew that things wouldn’t be the same.
And it wasn’t the same. The first couple weeks, I auditioned for several a capella groups, the school choir, and several other musical groups around, and wasn’t admitted to a single one. I thought at least some group might take a flier on me, but when the audition process consists of nothing more than your singing ability, I already kinda knew that I was in a bad spot. Did it bruise my ego? Absolutely, it did. At this point, when it came to the arts as a whole, I’d already retreated very, very far back into the background. After starring in my middle school play, I slowly found myself going towards the production and technical aspects of theater, and stopped acting, singing, and dancing altogether— something I really enjoyed, loved doing, but realized that I was not good enough to be doing, even at a low level. That already hurt me a lot inside, but now choir, and singing had also been taken away from me. I was ready to call it quits as a performer. I had a good run.
And then I decided to go out on a limb and visit a rehearsal for Harmonizing Grace, a gospel choir group that had put out an announcement through Today@Brown (a daily newsletter with events and announcements that the University sends). I don’t know what exactly compelled me to go, in all honesty. I’d never done gospel music in earnest, I couldn’t really give you a piece or two that I knew in its entirety, and, most importantly, I had already resigned myself to the fact that I simply wasn’t a good musician. I didn’t know shit about music, I couldn’t sing for shit, and I certainly couldn’t play anything. But I still dragged my ass out to the second floor of Manning Hall on a Sunday afternoon to join the choir, and immediately I realized that this was different.
Up until now, pretty much every musical experience I’d had was similar: you’d be given a part, you’d learn from the sheet music, rehearsals would consist of learning the sheet music (alongside some lessons in technical skills), and you’d perform it at the biannual concerts (and maybe some other places, if you were lucky). Harmonizing Grace, on the other hand, was something different. Half of the people in the choir weren’t even undergraduates to start with, so I was singing with people that were over half a decade older than me, but the way we went about rehearsal was very different. I’d never before learned music by ear— I’d always had sheet music to guide me through. The music we sang was modern, diverse, and in the gospel genre— and though I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the ol’ African spiritual or two, I had zero clue how to sing something in this style.
But probably the most defining feature of Harmonizing Grace, and the reason I stayed, was the welcoming attitude everyone had. I was one of only two Asians there, but it certainly never felt like I was some different entity. I realized then that this was the only real time I had joined a choir where everyone wanted to be there out of nothing other than a desire to… just sing, and be there. It was freeing. My singing ability was a non-factor, and I think I needed to realize that my ability, talent, skill wasn’t a measure of whether or not I had the right to perform— if I wanted to, and I did want to, there would be spaces, groups, and places where I could. Just because I didn’t do it at the highest level didn’t mean that I wasn’t deserving of a chance to sing. It’s a basic concept, but I think the expectations I set for myself, the culture where I grew up in, and the idea that “if you’re not the best, why bother”, really permeated my thoughts, clouding the way I decided what was and wasn’t worth my time. I joined Harmonizing Grace in earnest in my first semester, and it was a wonderful time. We went to churches around Providence, sang at Lessons and Carols, and I thought I had finally found a space where I could just sing, without having to worry. Not about anything in particular, just without having to stress about all the other stressors that were attached to music in the past— no future auditions, no worries about making certain choirs, just a place where I could enjoy singing. Because I did enjoy it. Singing for the sake of it, and trying my absolute hardest for the group, purely for the passion of it.
And then, in March 2020, the pandemic happened, and everything shut down. In fact, just hours before we were set to perform at Congdon Street Baptist Church, we got word from the University and from the state that we wouldn’t be able to sing that evening— which really crushed me and the entire group that day. I remember getting a ride from Jermaine, our Protestant Chaplain at the time (also our club advisor, an amazing vocalist, and someone I admire greatly), talking about what the future would look like— not just for Harmonizing Grace, but in general. I remember him telling me that everything would work out, and that God would be there for all of us. Whenever I’m feeling low, I still think about that conversation, and it gets me thinking about how incredible God is, because he did find a way for me, and for the group after I went back to South Korea.
This is where I mention our director, Donnell. He’s an accomplished solo artist in his own right, and stops by to direct our little ragtag group on Sundays in between touring dates across the country— how he continues to make time and put in the hours to drive to Providence every Sunday, I’ll never know. Once I had the very fun experience of finishing the semester remotely in a +12 hour timezone, it became very, very salient that Harmonizing Grace… wouldn’t be a thing over the Zoom era of club activities. But at this point, I wasn’t anywhere near a leadership position, so I coasted through most of that Sophomore Year without thinking about whether or not HG would continue to exist afterwards— I just kinda assumed it would. I actually do remember recording something and sending it to Donnell because we planned on doing a little something special for Jermaine when he got ordained, but that fell apart due to a lack of engagement. Maybe that should’ve been the first warning sign.
Coming back to campus in Junior Year, a full year (and some change) since any in-person choir interaction, I found my way back into Manning Hall, and was greeted with the fact that we simply did not have the numbers anymore. Lucy, who was a year above me and the President at the time, was an absolute rock for our choir, and I don’t think the group survives if not for her efforts that entire school year. We tried our best to get new membership during the Activities Fair, but when all was said and done, only a couple stayed on. Giles, Norman, Tosun, Faith, Elijah, Tasha, and Martin stepped up and kept the choir alive during the 2021-22 year, and I’ll forever be grateful that they got us through Lessons & Carols and the MLK Lecture Series performance. We ultimately didn’t have enough steam to get all the way to Baccalaureate, but we survived— and that was enough motivation to give me (and Donnell, more importantly) the strength to make one final push.
At the beginning of the 2022-23 school year, my Senior Year, Harmonizing Grace was effectively down to one remaining student member. The Activities Fair was an all-or-nothing affair— without getting a brand new group of committed singers, Donnell and I were ready to call it quits. Though we lost Jermaine the year before, Del stepped in as the Protestant Chaplain, and I have to thank him immensely for his energy and contribution for getting new members involved.
Planning our Activities Fair booth was a little chaotic. I didn’t tell Donnell or Jermaine that I actually had booked a table (they were under the impression that we’d have to be on the waitlist), and they didn’t really tell me what they planned to do (I was under the impression it’d just be my sandwich board and some candies). Instead, Donnell brought two instrumentalists, a whole ass setup, and moved our table (from its original position) to the front of the fair (the legality of which is dubious), and began to advertise in between on-stage performances while singing, amp, instrumentalists, and all. Del, for his part, stopped almost any person walking nearby to have them check out our booth— the courage to do so was something I simply didn’t have. Without these two men acting as the pillars for that day, when I was (frankly) incredibly tired, I’m not sure we would’ve gotten the 80-or-so emails we garnered that day.
It was an incredible feat, and after the first couple rehearsals and mass emails, we got a steady, committed core group of singers. In the back of my head, there was a small, lingering doubt that we’d actually be able to pull it off— but we had, and after Lessons & Carols, where we had twelve total singers perform and ball out in front of 200ish people, I had to take a small moment to collect myself. There were 13 people during Lessons & Carols in my Freshman Year, around six in Junior Year, and we started with zero at the beginning of this year. Some reading this may believe I overdramatized this whole experience, but I promise you, in the moment, I had plenty of moments where I didn’t believe that this small little haven of free singing would continue to exist. I rarely have creative outlets— I’m very much a structures, processes, rules, and logistics kinda guy, and that’s probably where my career is headed as well.
I’ve had my entire life to realize that I didn’t have the skill to do anything really significant with music, and only a couple years to come to grips with the fact that it’s completely okay for that to be the case. And now, I’ve had the last four years to understand that if I’m to continue singing, to ensure that music will continue to be a part of my life, I have to fight for it. Harmonizing Grace has taught me that anything worth something doesn’t come free— and that the Lord will find a way for you, somehow, as long as you’re willing to put in the work. I didn’t do this alone, not even close. But I like to think that if Harmonizing Grace is still out there in a couple of years, I have a small part in its legacy— and that if I’m still singing somewhere in a couple of years, it wouldn’t have happened if not for how much I valued my time in Harmonizing Grace.
I’m going into my last semester as a student here at Brown, and as a member of Harmonizing Grace. We probably have only two-or-so performances left, and I’m gonna make them count. Where my (slightly flat and not-so-great tonally) musical journey goes from here, who knows. I’ve made a habit of self-teaching myself the guitar, so maybe I’ll stick to that for my creative outlet— or maybe I’ll find another Harmonizing Grace in my next chapter. Regardless of what happens, though, I’ll have Harmonizing Grace to thank for allowing me to sing, without any strings attached.
