The last concert of the year.

Youngest son's, and wife's godson's, final high school concert.

Fine Art's Night. A final presentation of the students' accomplishments in art and music.

Three still lifes in the walls of art displays that were quite impressive, for any age, not just the teen years. And, lo and behold, we knew both artists.

Then the concert. Starting with the choirs, including the godson. Glorious as usual. Traditional, thrilling Christian pieces. As though angels had settled in the auditorium.

And then most the students left the stage, and the choir instructor introduced the next performance, a "different" (His emphasis, not mine. He said it apologetically, with little enthusiasm.) type of work by the jazz vocalists. One the students had selected and put together by themselves.

The auditorium was completely darkened, and still. And then the song began.

Bohemian Rhapsody!

They were singing a song by Queen!

And as the voices rose, so did the glow on their faces, lit only by their flashlights.

The faces flashed on and off with the voices of each group in the choir. With occassional choreography.

It was great. It was as tingly and thrilling as the religious hymns.

And it was theirs.

Next on the program was the jazz band, their seats and stands rising from below the floor for the last time, for us at least. And they were just as informal as ever, joking amongst themselves as their gig started. Their instructor insisted on playing his horn along with the band, one last time with the graduating seniors, rather than conducting.

A teaching style so greatly at odds with that seen with the choirs. Which is why we've never seen the jazz band and the jazz choir perform together.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, at the insistence of a few of these seniors, including our son, the sounds of jazz instruments and voices echoed through these halls together.

It done the body good...