{"id":19944,"date":"2025-06-25T10:03:14","date_gmt":"2025-06-25T15:03:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=19944"},"modified":"2025-06-27T12:13:30","modified_gmt":"2025-06-27T17:13:30","slug":"circle-of-fifths","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/06\/25\/circle-of-fifths\/","title":{"rendered":"Circle of Fifths"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>Circle of Fifths<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Richard Bader<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><br>Ronald quit the chorus. He didn\u2019t consider this the end of his singing career \u2014 there were lots of other places he could sing, that could make use of his talents, talents that he perhaps thought were greater than they actually were \u2014 but he had had it with this group.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He decided at the \u201cretreat.\u201d A waste of time, if you asked him, with all the blowing through straws and games with soulfege (\u201cnow leave out the <em>fa<\/em> and <em>la<\/em>\u201d) and whatnot. What put him over the edge was when they were sitting at their armchair desks and were supposed to do something with the Circle of Fifths. His pencil bobbed in the air over the printout with the Circle of Fifths on it. He never was quite sure what he was supposed to do with it, but whatever it was, he wasn\u2019t doing it. He would have stared out the window if he could have, but the closest window was on the other side of the room, and it was stained glass \u2014 some saint, with sheep \u2014 so he couldn\u2019t see out anyway. The church where they rehearsed had stained glass everywhere, most of it in the sanctuary, where the chorus wasn\u2019t allowed. That was for the church\u2019s choir. Well <em>la di da<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">There was no light in the window, so it must have still been cloudy out. Maybe it had started to rain. Now Ronald tapped his pencil\u2019s eraser on his desk, not even bothering to look at the Circle of Fifths. It was the kind of eraser that didn\u2019t erase but just made things worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYou\u2019re not doing your exercise,\u201d the Music Director said. He was hovering over Ronald, behind his shoulder. He might have detected him there had he not been so focused on the eraser. <em>Your exercise<\/em>, the Music Director said, as if it were his and his alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cNo,\u201d Ronald said, looking up with what he hoped was a defiant look, but he may have just looked confused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cHow is this supposed to make us better singers?\u201d he said, nodding his head at the sheet with the Circle of Fifths. He was surprised to hear himself say it. Also, \u201cWe\u2019ll forget this as soon as we leave here.\u201d <em>If we ever learn what we\u2019re supposed to learn in the first place<\/em>, he almost added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Ronald was a rule follower, and questioning authority didn\u2019t come to him easily. But if he had wanted to take a course in music theory, he would have signed up for one. He could read music, after all. That was more than some of them could do. And it wasn\u2019t like he was getting paid for the privilege of singing. In fact, he was paying, shelling out good money, not a lot, but enough, especially when you multiplied it times the number of people in the chorus, the fees helping to cover the Music Director\u2019s salary, if you could call the paltry amount he made a <em>salary<\/em>. When he left here, the Music Director would probably go to some other \u201cretreat,\u201d where he would inflict a different group with the Circle of Goddamn Fifths after they blew through straws. The Music Director looked at him with the kind of look elementary school teachers deployed to keep their students in line. Ronald was no kid. He didn\u2019t deserve to be treated this way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The Circle of Fifths was supposed to have something to do with complementarity, with harmonic progression. The sheet of paper lay on his desk next to the skinny straw he\u2019d used earlier, wet now with his saliva.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He quit. It was pretty simple, really. He just stopped showing up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He sent the Music Director a note to say that he was quitting, though he really didn\u2019t have to. The note was a courtesy. In the note, which he sent by email and in which he said nothing about his frustration with the \u201cretreat,\u201d he simply said he was quitting, claimed he didn\u2019t have enough time. He promised to turn in his music at some point (though he thought his fee entitled him to keep it) and had no expectation of being reimbursed for the remainder of the term. The end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Except it wasn\u2019t. A week or so later he got a letter in the mail from the Music Director. The envelope was a light blue, the color that at one time was the color of airmail envelopes. The stationery matched the blue of the envelope. It had the Music Director\u2019s name and address on it. The ink was red, the letter starting out in all-caps print, but transitioning to an upper case-lower case cursive. Ronald didn\u2019t read it immediately, but instead put the letter back in its envelope and placed it on the desk in his apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\">***<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He read the letter. At first Ronald intended to read just the all-caps part and save the cursive part for later, but once he started he found he couldn\u2019t stop. He read the whole thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">In the all-caps part, the Music Director mostly complained. He complained that the sopranos were getting too full of themselves, that there weren\u2019t enough basses and they weren\u2019t any good anyway, that the altos were nothing but a grab-bag of people who talked too much and were altos because they couldn\u2019t weren\u2019t ambitious enough to sing soprano and they didn\u2019t want to drop down to tenor where all the men were. All of this was true, but none of it was original. All these things applied to every chorus Ronald had ever sung in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The only section the Music Director didn\u2019t criticize was the tenors. Curious, Ronald thought. He was, or had been until he quit, a tenor, and the tenors were no more immune to mistake than anyone else. He was more of a baritone, actually, but the tenor section was where he had sat. He suspected that a lot of men who sang tenor were really baritones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The Music Director went on to complain about the other music groups he was responsible for, how the elementary school chorus was terrible and totally devoid of anyone who might be a prodigy, how the \u201cmature\u201d adult group (all singers were over 50) in the western part of the state wasn\u2019t too bad, but they were full of themselves and it was a long way away and he had to make the drive in the dark in all sorts of weather.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The Music Director went on to complain about his lot in life, how his parents told him he\u2019d never make any money with music, how they had wanted him to invest (their word) his college years in something other than music \u2014 business, maybe \u2014 something that held out the hope of a steady job and the income that went with it. The Music Director complained that his mother never loved him anyway, that his older brother was the favored son, how one summer at camp his brother had made one of those stupid dreamcatcher things, and when he hung it in their living room window his parents started referring to it as their \u201cfavorite sun.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The Music Director went on to make a case for himself, argued (though there was no one to argue with) for why his music degree made great sense (it didn\u2019t) and how he was much happier for having decided on the creative \u201ccareer\u201d he\u2019d decided on (he wasn\u2019t). Anyone with half a brain could see through this. Plus, as he complained to the choristers more than once, he had no vacation and no health plan. A life devoted to art sounded great, but it really wasn\u2019t all it was cracked up to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">All the complaining got tedious. Ronald wondered if the Music Director mentioned his lack of benefits so frequently because he knew Ronald worked in insurance and maybe could help him out. More likely he mentioned it because he knew Ronald would understand, would recognize this as a genuine problem, would sympathize. Still, Ronald thought, maybe the Music Director protested too much. Didn\u2019t Shakespeare say that in one of his plays? Ronald had minored in theater, and even played the Baker\u2019s Father in the college production of <em>Into the Woods<\/em>. It was then that he discovered (or was told by the play\u2019s director, a professor whose name he couldn\u2019t recall) he had virtually no talent for acting, but had a halfway decent singing voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Ronald was still in the part of the letter that was in all caps, though that section, mercifully, was coming to an end. He hoped the red cursive would bring a change in focus along with a change in writing style.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">In the cursive part, the Music Director implored Ronald to come back. He begged. A clumsy master of the non-apology apology, he said he was sorry if he had done anything wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Was it a love letter? Ronald wasn\u2019t sure. Love letters typically included pronouncements of feelings, romantic language, some vulnerability, maybe an appreciation for the other\u2019s body and what you intended to do with it. Love letters had plenty of good features, but subtlety wasn\u2019t one of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">This love letter, if that was in fact what it was, was different. There were no outright expressions of love. What there was, if there was any, lived between the lines. But the strangest thing about this love letter, if that was in fact what it was, was that it had come from a man. Ronald had never been with a man before, and had never thought of himself as the kind of person who would ever be with a man. Was that even possible?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">This love letter, if that was in fact what it was, was in code. What stood for an expression of love was the desire that Ronald return to the choir, that his absence left an empty spot in the tenor section, which stood for a hole in the Music Director\u2019s heart. In place of genuine vulnerability was an apology of sorts for calling out Ronald for his failure to even try to complete his Circle of Fifths assignment. (This may have been triggered by the abundance of wrongly filled out assignments and barely filled out assignments that the Music Director received from other members of the chorus.) Instead of Ronald\u2019s body, the Music Director wrote of his voice, how it had an ethereal quality that had added so much to the whole and would be missed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">This love letter, if in fact that\u2019s what it was, was a metaphor of a love letter. Things stood for other things. Things meant other things. Would Ronald go back, even if it meant coming to the conclusion that he was not who he thought he was? Or was he simply opening a door that had been shut for too long?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\">***<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The Music Director \u2014 the same Music Director this chorus had had for as long as anyone could remember \u2014 was in his place, the members of the chorus in theirs. The Music Director looked over at the tenor section, raised his hands, their cue to begin their part. He looked at the faces. The section had changed with time, the years having seen their share of defections, of reassignments to the bass section (\u201cThey\u2019ll be so much stronger with you!\u201d) that were in fact age-related demotions, of the additions of two women the Music Director pressured into admitting that they were not altos but were something lower, of death. Though some of the faces he saw had been there for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">It was mid-winter. The Christmas songs had all been put away. The songs that had been given out were all for the spring concert. The Music Director liked this time of year. There was so much to look forward to \u2014 the spring concert, the retreat, warmer weather. Truth be told, he hated Christmas, with its all-join-in <em>Messiah<\/em>, its obligatory <em>Silent Night<\/em>. The Music Director was all too glad to put those away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">There had been a hole, an empty seat, where that man had sat. What was his name? Roland? Arnold? Something like that. The Music Director wasn\u2019t sure. It had been so long ago, the chair long since filled. Twice, in fact. The first occupant was forgettable; he couldn\u2019t read music (not that he was alone in that!) and sang off key. Others complained. He got the message and left of his own accord. The Music Director never had to say anything, had never even bothered to learn his name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">But the second! Young Dmitri. Not so young anymore, but still Dmitri, he of the glorious voice, with the shock of black hair that fell across his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it out of the way. Dmitri, who knew music nearly as well as the Music Director himself, who could be counted on, who knew how to sing. Dmitri, with the faint trace of a Russian accent that only came out on certain words, certain syllables, never in his singing. Dmitri who, when he first showed up, had a wispy black growth on his upper lip, but now had a full beard, black, though flecked with gray. Beautiful Dmitri.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">It was gone, now, the Russian accent \u2014 gone long enough that the Music Director had to remind himself that he once heard it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Ronald. That was his name. He sat in the once-empty chair. Even those chairs had been replaced with ones that were supposed to be more ergonomically correct. How could he forget Ronald? (Easily \u2014 Dmitri helped.) He had written Ronald that note. The Music Director barely remembered what it said, but he remembered writing it. He wrote it after he had embarrassed Ronald at that retreat. Silly boy \u2014 he didn\u2019t get the message. Not a boy, really. A grown man. A man with a wife and at least two daughters. Red ink. Where was that pen now? Red ink \u2014 the color of mistake, correction. But whose mistake? Who needed to be corrected? What decision had to be made?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He had asked Ronald to come back, to rejoin the chorus. Was it a chorus or a choir? The Music Director wasn\u2019t sure. He had once had a way that made sense to him \u2014 a choir was what you had in a church; a chorus wasn\u2019t \u2014 but he was no longer sure that was correct. <strong><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He looked at Dmitri. Dmitri looked at him. He still sang beautifully, though he couldn\u2019t hit the high notes as cleanly as he once had. The shock of black hair no longer fell across his forehead. It was lost to a receding hairline. A human rights lawyer, helping people from his home country. Would he leave? Or would he be like Dan, the bass who had been in the chorus when the Music Director came and would be here when he left. Dan, past eighty now, and likely to bore his compatriots in the bass section with stories of his various ailments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Compatriots. He almost said comrades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">What the chorus had just sung was good, but could be better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201c<em>Da capo<\/em>,\u201d the Music Director said. Repeat. From the beginning. Do it again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Also <em>sempre<\/em>. Always.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Richard Bader&#8217;s<\/strong> short fiction has been published by the <em>Piltdown Review, the R.kv.ry Quarterly, the Burningword Literary Journal<\/em>, and <em>National Public Radio<\/em>, among others. His first novel, <em>BOOTED<\/em>, was published in 2020, and the sequel, called <em>BURNED<\/em>, was published a couple of years later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">\ud83e\udca0 <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/06\/27\/letter-from-the-guest-editor-13\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/06\/25\/figs\/\" data-type=\"post\" data-id=\"19956\">Next \ud83e\udca1<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Circle of Fifths Richard Bader __________ Ronald quit the chorus. He didn\u2019t consider this the end of his singing career \u2014 there were lots of other places he could sing, that could make use of his talents, talents that he perhaps thought were greater than they actually were \u2014 but he had had it with&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[231],"tags":[75,146,26],"class_list":["post-19944","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-pride","tag-boudin","tag-fiction-2","tag-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19944","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19944"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19944\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20140,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19944\/revisions\/20140"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19944"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19944"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19944"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}