July
1, 2019
Greetings from
b flat,
Nature has
ways of protecting us from ourselves. We
can’t smell our own bad breath, or (usually) or own body odor, we can’t see how
we look from behind in our new shorts, we can’t kiss our own elbows. And, we can’t really hear how we sound when
we sing.
I sing a lot. I
am that guy in the car next to you howling to ‘Born to Run’ (with dance moves) and
the loony in the elevator still absently murdering the lyrics to ‘Southern
Cross’ as I drip my post-run sweat on the floor. In that moment I don’t know how bad I sound OR
how bad I smell. Thanks nature.
I will sing
while I run, sing while I putter, sing while I listen to music (sometimes a
different song) and sing/hum while I am getting dressed. It is really surprising how often it goes on,
considering how awful I am.
I sing in the
shower. I like to go over my favorite
parts of songs (the words I think I know) where my manly bass/mezzo soprano/nasal
rasp voice booms the most in the shower.
So, if you were outside the door (which would be weird) you might guess
I had suffered some kind of stroke. “…and
I still haven’t found, what I’m looking for….and I STILL haven’t found what …still
HAVEN’T found what.. I…looking for..mmmm… for…”
Some years ago,
I was singing karaoke at a church event and there was something exactly wrong
about the acoustics. It was one of those
moments when there was no ambient noise or supportive friends or alcohol to
mask the awfulness. I won’t tell you the
song I chose but I will say later I got a cease and desist letter from Bob
Dylan. If you sing a Bob Dylan song
worse than Bob Dylan, that’s not a good sign.
I’ve sung ‘God
Bless America’ a few million times, led groups of people singing it in fact, so
I know the song. But I still get to ‘To
the oceans, white with foam’ and have no idea how I am going to sing that high.
So, then there is this moment where I either go for it and risk setting off
smoke alarms, or suddenly switch octaves and pull a song muscle. Actually it’s fun to watch the reaction of people
around me no matter which way I go. You
know, that look of ghastly embarrassment people get when they see an escaped
lunatic splashing naked through a park fountain and everyone is thinking ‘Someone
should do something! This is awful!’ All
the while singing along in another key and trying not to make eye contact.
I sing in church,
but I have learned to mostly lip synch that since I don’t want to throw off
everyone around me, and possibly be excommunicated or risk purgatory, if that
is still a thing. I hope God understands,
since he created me and my voice, and not the rules in church.
It takes a certain
courage to sing and not be self-conscious about it, particularly when you are nearly
fatally awful at it. Like with other
things, my bravery in this area waxes and wanes, sometime shaped by the
strength of my inner five year old, who does not care who hears him sing.
In the summer
mornings I am awakened by the sound of birds singing. Sometimes just a mourning dove, sometimes a
small choir of those higher range performers, welcoming the morning. They sing to acknowledge each other, to
attract a mate, to call to their parents, to fill their lungs with air. They sing because they can and they should.
I like the way
they sing together, even though they sing in a different language, from me and
from each other. Somehow it sounds
natural and lovely, as they are created to be.
This week I
had the beautiful opportunity to sing with them. It was a song I hadn’t thought of in a long
time and it’s hard to say why it came to me when it did. But for a minute it felt as though my voice
and the vibration of creation was in harmony.
I could feel it in my chest, on my cheek, as if someone were singing with
me, helping me remember the words, and what the music was like.
The birds did
not seem to mind. Well, maybe a couple
sang louder to perhaps cover my warbling, but it was in that good-natured way
that birds have. By the way, I don’t think
birds can smell their own worm breath.
It’s interesting
to me that at either end of six decades I am less concerned with how my singing
sounds to others. When I was five, I sang
blissfully unaware of any lack of talent, and now, I am aware but not
concerned. I will be considerate around other
humans, and if invited to sing along at a birthday party I’ll try not to spoil
the celebration. But in every other
moment, I am going to sing when the song comes to me.
Hope
this finds you full of song,
David
Copyright
© 2019 David Smith
No comments:
Post a Comment