Why do I love singers so much? The memory hit me yesterday as I drove in to deliver the pre-concert talk for Deborah Voigt’s concert for the Van Cliburn Series.

It goes back to a Miss Virginia pageant in 1967. No, I wasn’t in it (I wish). But I accompanied someone who was – a girl named Rita who sang “On a Clear Day.” She was a glamorous senior, with a good voice. I was a dumpy sophomore, thrilled at the opportunity . . . and the $10 pay.

Musically, it was easy. But in the midst of it, I realized two things: first, playing for a singer put me as close as possible to the production of such lovely sound. Certainly my voice couldn’t do that. Nor would I likely stand before an audience in a sequined dress.

Second, I saw how essential the accompaniment was for the song to work. Mid-song, I had a wacky flash: if I walked off the bench on page three, her presentation was done. The accompanist wasn’t the focus, that was for sure! But the singer, without the accompanist, was a goner!

I didn’t leave the bench. I covered a little stumble, when she came in early, and while she didn’t make it to Miss Virginia, she got some kind of talent recognition.

Soon, I would be playing for singers whose repertoire included the masterful songs of Schumann and Brahms. And to my own surprise, I have gotten to wear a lot of sparkly dresses before audiences, both as a pianist and a speaker. (I’m packing for such an event now.) Life is full of surprises.

But not surprising is a life-long passion for song, which started long ago in a youthful moment of glamour under the footlights of a beauty pageant. The delicate interplay of singer and pianists, each dependent on the skill and creativity of poet and composer, creates electricity. It heightens the senses, fills the mind and heart with emotion, and brings a lifetime of rewards.