Pitch Perfect: The Quest for Collegiate a Cappella Glory (21 page)

They are a curious group, this Noteworthy. The girls from Brigham Young a cappella have a Web site—noteworthyladies .com. It’s a risqué domain name for an all-female Mormon a cappella group, sounding a bit like a porn site. “That actually never occurred to us,” says the group’s music director, Catherine Papworth. “The only reason it’s
noteworthyladies.com
is because
noteworthy.com
was taken.”

Noteworthy was started in 2004 by Esther Yoder with Dave Brown and Dan Dunn, members of the all-male BYU Vocal Point. Groups at Brigham Young have a history of membership retention struggles. “That’s what happens when people get married,” Catherine says. Noteworthy first competed in the 2004-2005 ICCAs. They sang “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child and a Bulgarian standard designed to demonstrate their range, and while they made it to the semifinals, they were ultimately crushed by Divisi’s all-star team. The memory of that night is burned into Noteworthy’s collective identity.

“We weren’t as creative with our choreography as we should have been,” their music director says. “We hadn’t learned how to play it up, so that it went well with the mics. Some groups just bounce around. But Divisi”—she pauses—“they work together in this uniform effect with the music.” She remembers seeing Divisi a second time at a Stanford event, singing “Fever.” “Their hand movements,” she says. “They were simple, but...” She’s speechless.

When Divisi and Noteworthy first met in competition back in 2005, Catherine admits her girls had been intimidated. “I didn’t feel like we owned the stage,” she says. Part of it was their clothing. Shortly after that show, Noteworthy dropped the green teal striped shirts, black skirts, and dowdy vests that had made up their uniform. When they returned to competition next Noteworthy was sleek, in black shirts and green ties. “Divisi owns red-hot,” Catherine says. “But green is our color.”

Noteworthyladies.com
proclaims the group’s mission: to uplift people and spread joy through the power of music. After the quarterfinals in 2007, Noteworthy’s Kaitlyn Maguire gave an interview to the BYU NewsNet. “I felt like a tool in God’s hands,” she said of the show. “I could see the faces of some of the people in the crowd, smiling and nodding.”

Though Divisi chose their competition set in early September, Noteworthy didn’t finalize their own song choices until January, just before the quarterfinals. They hadn’t even prepared very hard for that first round—despite their big showing. It was a weaker region, and they felt confident they’d be in the top two groups, which was all they’d need to advance to the semifinals. Their tight, four-song set consisted of “Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing,” the spiritual “How Great Thou Art,” a Bulgarian song, “Ergen Deda,” and Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” But since that first round of the ICCAs, Noteworthy had added a costume change to their set—plus a full-on hip-hop dance routine.

Divisi had seen Noteworthy’s quarterfinals set on YouTube. Though it was a solid showing, certainly, they felt the girls had gotten lucky. Going into the semifinals Divisi suspected Brigham Young’s all-male Vocal Point would be their main competition, and with good reason. Vocal Point were the reigning ICCA champions. And people were still talking about their performance at the 2006 finals, which went a little something like this:

The nine men of BYU’s Vocal Point stood onstage at Lincoln Center, huddled close in their signature blue shirts, khakis, and yellow ties. Few had ever performed for a crowd this size, and certainly not in a venue with such a rich history. But if they were intimidated, they hid it well. As the lights came down, Jimmy Dunn stepped up to the microphone, which he put, more or less, in his mouth. What happened next was like a small earthquake, this rumble that came up from the bottom of the floor through your seat. There were no fancy digital effects at work there. It was all Jimmy, or rather what he was doing with his mouth and the microphone. (It’s called a lip buzz.) The khaki-clad boys behind him joined in with a
whooo
building to an angelic
aaaah
. This
whoooooaaahhh
lasted all of seven seconds, but the audience was applauding wildly. Then it dawned on you. You had heard this thing before. They were imitating the THX sound effect, that instantly recognizable roar that plays in front of movies to let you know THIS THEATER IS EQUIPPED WITH THX SPEAKERS.
Whooooooaaaaaaahhhhhhh.
Then something even more magical happened. That
aaaah
chord rang out two octaves above, an echo seemingly floating above Avery Fisher Hall. Musical scholars call this an
overtone
, and while surely there was a scientific explanation for its sudden appearance—something about a sinusoidal wave, acoustics, and angles—maybe it was divine intervention. What’s more impressive is that they were just nine guys—yet their arrangements were complex, meaning each guy might have been singing his own part. (The bigger a group, the more distinct parts one can throw into an arrangement.)

Vocal Point had earned a berth in the finals twice before, but on both occasions the competition fell on a Sunday. And the BYU boys wouldn’t compete on their Sabbath. They’d long felt they were the best group in the nation, and in 2006—their fifteenth anniversary year—they finally had a chance to prove it. When second place was awarded to the group from Oxford, Out of the Blue, the boys from BYU started to sweat. Had the Rutgers University ShockWave, an all-female group, won? Having formed just eight months earlier, Rutgers was the underdog. A win for them would have been the equivalent of Tatum O’Neal snagging an Oscar at age ten. And who could resist an underdog story? In the end, they needn’t have worried—Vocal Point was awarded the 2006 ICCA title. And the crowd was stomping their feet in approval.

While it’s customary to take the year off after winning the ICCA title, there’s nothing customary about Vocal Point. They’re the rare collegiate a cappella group whose music director is an alum. (James Stevens, who oversaw the 2006 win, is again in charge.) All of their members are over the age of twenty-one and have completed year-long missions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But there was reason to believe they were still hungry for the trophy in 2007. Much like Divisi, they’d weathered extensive turnover. And while they wouldn’t admit it, all the attention being paid to their sister group, Noteworthy, was likely starting to grate on them.

In March of 2007, Vocal Point, Noteworthy, and Divisi—each with something to prove—headed to the West Coast semifinals of the ICCAs. Only one group would leave with an invitation to Lincoln Center.

Marin County is just north of San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge. Most nights it’s a sleepy nook. But as Divisi takes over the Days Inn, it’s anything but. The boys from Oregon State (who placed second in Divisi’s quarterfinal round) are staying here too. The words BEAT THAT BOX K-LOWE are written across the window of OSU’s big white van, which is parked in the motel lot. It is the night before these ICCA regional semifinals and Divisi—most wearing Divisi T-shirts, black with a pair of red lips on the shoulder—gather in Sarah Klein’s room, overtaking the two double beds and any available floor space. Jenna Tooley sits down next to what may be the world’s largest wicker basket—an endless cornucopia of grapes, beef jerky, apples, and more. The basket was a gift to Divisi from Jenna’s parents. (They also donated five hundred dollars.) It’s unclear whether the girl’s parents know how tenuous Jenna’s position in the group has been. And if the couple wasn’t so genuinely sweet, so obviously proud of Divisi’s accomplishments, the fresh produce might have read as a calculated peace offering on their daughter’s behalf.

“Here’s some tea for you!” Jenna says, handing a box of Throat Coat brand tea to Andrea Welsh.

“Thanks,” Andrea said. “How did your parents know this was my favorite?”

Andrea and Rachelle Wofford sit on one of the double beds listening to "Hide and Seek” on an iPod. "We’ve been having a problem singing the word
here
,” Andrea says. The girls correct each other. It should be he-
ere
. Not he-
are
.

The girls run through parts of their set. Megan Schimmer stands on the bed, supervising the choreography. She says something about the importance of forty-five-degree angles. Marissa Neitling goes over the hand movements for “Hide and Seek.” The lyric is, “You don’t care a
bit
, you don’t care a
bit
.” The move calls for small figure-eights over their mouths.

They run the beginning of “Sunday Morning.” It’s the set opener, which may be a problem. The song begins with the altos, alone, singing
doom doom doom—
before the sopranos come in on
bop
. If the sopranos
bop
on the wrong note, the rest of the group will sing in the wrong key. “I’m hella nervous,” Meghan Bell says.

But at ten-thirty the rehearsal ends. “The things we’ve been picking apart,” Emmalee Almroth says, “it’s like,
one word
of
one song
. Where our head hits in the choreography on
one word
. Think about how far we’ve come.”

Sarah Klein steps in. “People have been asking me,” she says, “can we win this? There’s some stiff competition. We need to work hard tomorrow. But we’ve done the work. We’re prepared. We’re focused. We didn’t spend an hour the other night talking about what the songs meant so that we could get up there and forget the dynamics. We need to bring the audience to tears. We need to make them joyful and scared.” The girls are nodding their heads. It’s getting late. “Just remember to
bring it
,” she says.

The following afternoon, at the Marin Center, the groups gather in the hulking auditorium to draw straws to determine the show order. Well, everyone except Noteworthy. While one wants to give the Noteworthy ladies the benefit of the doubt, they pull a second stunt—showing up thirty minutes late. The seven other groups sit waiting. There is minimal interaction. For these students from different schools, it’s not about getting to know each other. It’s not uncommon for two students, mindlessly beatboxing to themselves, to pass each other in the hallway and barely acknowledge each other. And Jen Levitz, the ICCA West Coast producer, inadvertently makes an already tense situation worse. When the women from BYU finally do arrive, filing into the auditorium Jen announces, “There they are! With the
highest point totals in the country
, Noteworthy!”

Divisi draws—they’ll perform fourth. Noteworthy, meanwhile, will close the show. This is not a good sign. When it seems like it can’t get any worse, on the way out, Marissa Neitling finally comes face-to-face with her ex-boyfriend’s sisters, Catherine Papworth and her sister, Kristin, both of Noteworthy. Marissa has been dreading this confrontation, and she hopes her face doesn’t betray her. It’s awkward at first. Marissa smiles at them. She asks about their family. And then, without warning, the girls hug Marissa. “They told me they loved me,” Marissa later tells Andrea Welsh. Still, Marissa would be lying if she said she didn’t want to bury Noteworthy.

The boys from Vocal Point likely feel the same way. Outside the building they stand under a tree, several of them holding long ropes. Vocal Point had been assured the auditorium would be equipped with wireless microphones. (It isn’t.) And so they work their set, tweaking the choreography, the ropes standing in for microphone wires.

Backstage, in the too-hot, too-small dressing room they’ve been assigned, Divisi once again comes back to the circle. There will be no revelations of drug abuse today. They are all business. They touch up their makeup. They refine their choreography. They sing the
Full House
theme song to calm their nerves. Six months of preperation come down to this moment.

The Marin County Veterans’ Memorial Auditorium is a massive space, and the back rows feel miles from the stage. Attendance is spotty—there were likely more fans at the quarterfinal round in Eugene, Oregon. But there are clumps of fans scattered throughout and the OSU contingency is easy to spot, what with their faces painted orange. Then there are the women in DIVISI MOM T-shirts.

The competition opens with Raagapella, a South Asian-focus a cappella group from Stanford. (Yes, Raagapella is a pun—a take-off on the famed a cappella group from the Folgers commercial, Rockapella.) The group’s debut album was called, fittingly,
Raags to Riches.
Though they’re proud of their South Asian heritage, they have a sense of humor about the culture. Their spring show featured the skit “Pimp My Bride” (a takeoff on MTV’s
Pimp My Ride
). How exactly the judges will compare Raagapella’s set— which includes "O Humdum Suniyo Re”—to the other groups’ isn’t clear. Not that it matters. The competition is very clearly a Brigham Young versus Oregon showdown.

For all the talk of Vocal Point’s polish, the Brigham Young set feels sloppy. The men step out in their French-blue dress shirts, khakis, and yellow ties. They sing Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” which has been in their repertoire for years—though it’s easy to understand why they’ve gone back to that hell. They stole the gloved one’s choreography, and it’s tough to argue with nine men pretending to be werewolves. The hour spent working with the ropes has paid off. Unfortunately, the music just isn’t there. The song sounds hollow in parts and the soloist’s voice cracks, Peter Brady-style. “I think they sacrificed the music for the choreography, ” says Julia Hoffman, one of the night’s judges and the administrator of the Contemporary A Cappella Recording Awards. “More than anything, this is a
music
competition.” However, they recover nicely with the spiritual “Nearer My God to Thee.”

Vocal Point’s biggest asset is their feel-great attitude: They are undeniably entertaining and loose. They’re clearly having fun up there. And they score the night’s only genuine laughs with “No, Not Much,” a barbershop tune from the fifties originally recorded by the Four Lads. Tonight, four lads from Vocal Point step out, put their hands in their pockets, and sway back and forth innocently as they sing,
“I don’t want my arms around you”—
then, wagging their fingers at the crowd and mugging wildly—
“no, not much.”
They are crowd favorites, clearly, but they’ve made the mistake of performing as if this were just another gig. They may win. But they’ve left the door open for a spoiler.