Fortunately the church was virtually empty during our pick-up rehearsal this morning before the choir Mass.
Bad turn out, literally no members of one section, but I asked to go over one 4-part piece for the other parts.
A versatile male chorister offered to sing the melody, but I suggested that we would probably gain a warm body or two before Mass actually began, so I'd like to just hear the ATB parts, and I'd fill in the top on organ.
Well, the blend, the sound proved fascinating and quite beautiful -- so in his worst frito-bandito accent, Himself sneered, paraphrasing a line from Treasure of the Sierra Madres, "Soprano? we don' need no stinkin' sopranos!"
Maybe I'm a little punchy from this week's marathon, but I'm surprised we didn't shatter the stained glass saints around the nave with our shrieks and whoops of laughter.
It would have been ironic had anyone heard and objected, because today was one of those days when people chose to, literally, shout so that their conversations weren't interrupted or inconvenienced by the mere fact that sacred music was being prayed in the vicinity.
You know, 'cause it's not like it's a church, or anything...
(The priests contribute to the din, so there's really no hope....)