“I rabu him, I rabu him, I rabu him, and weah he goes I forrow, I forrow, I forrow…”

Before I came to Japan, I figured that I would encounter some study of calligraphy. Maybe a little tea ceremony. I might even learn a traditional instrument or become a ninja.

I did not think I would join a gospel choir.

Gospel music seems to be gaining popularity in Japan, although I use the term “gospel” quite loosely. In the case of my choir it is defined as: “Any song performed in Sister Act I or II, or perhaps another movie with nuns (Sound of Music).” Or by Ken Hirai. (The most soulful singer in the country. And by soulful I mean soul crushingly bland). In two years we exhausted the Sister Act Catalogue, and so were forced to look elsewhere. I remember struggling with the question, “Which is more gospel, ‘Climb Every Mountain,’ or ‘My Way?’” I had trouble linking Frank Sinatra in any way to gospel music, so I went with the nuns.

Even if it hadn’t been for the soundtrack, I would have felt like I was living the Japanese version of the movie, featuring half tone deaf rhythm-less housewives rather than church ladies. Complete with the batty soprano who seems to sing three octaves above anyone else and the alto who loudly steamrollers over the music. Instead of Whoopi, we have a showboat of a too tight pants wearing choir leader who believes that we are only there to be her backup singers, so she gives herself solos on nearly every song, and lets us carry on with our business without the mildest suggestion.

Last weekend’s concert was the culmination of months of practice, and I was not disappointed. It was two hours of pure comedy. It’s difficult to describe the humor of a group of people so thoroughly missing the mark of gospel music, but I nearly peed myself laughing during some portions.

The high point was probably the featured high school soloist for “Oh Happy Day.” You remember the movie. The kid starts out dejected and meek and pathetic. She nailed this. But then, with Whoopi by his side, movie kid throws off his robe and goes all crazy good running up and down the scales. Instead, high school girl instantly awed us with her horrible-ness. Standing behind her with the choir, I had the best seat in the house, since I was able to witness the various levels of masked horror in the audience. “Do you think she’s terminally ill, and they’ve been forced to let her sing?” one man (probably) asked.

Then there was the “hip hop” dance routine featuring some other high schoolers set to a pitiful rendition of “Oh Champs Elysees,” which I can’t even get into. Two more ill-fitting elements I have never seen.

All that being said, I have thoroughly enjoyed spending time with these delightful people, and as I watch crazy soprano’s joyful face as she sings, I know they are fulfilled by this strange brand of gospel music they have created. For which I have nothing but admiration.

The only time we ever all clapped at the same time, and it was caught on film! Hallelujah.

(The only photos I have are the blurry prints from when the newpaper came to interview us, hence these artsy shots including my fingers.)

Crazy Soprano is second from the right in the front row. Can't you just feel her explosive happiness?