Close, but..

It was a Sally Field moment. They like me, they really really like me. However, I'm not holding any winning ticket or golden statue.

Eighteen hours after I got home Tuesday night, an email showed up in my inbox. I am thanked for braving the weather to audition and then the compliments started showering. Nice vocal style, pitch and tone; good connection with the music and interaction with the band. Oh, and I apparently have great pronunciation abilities. Hee hee. Yes folks, I ckannn pprronounce thingks ckqwite wellll. Ok, sorry- those are all very nice comments, but I just kinda had to snicker at that one. Anyway, the email continued on to be very gracious, almost too much. Even blaming themselves for a couple of my bobbles. I did mention how nice these guys are?

Overall, though, the point was that they like me quite a lot but.. I didn't sing loud enough. Ugh. Maybe your first reaction is 'well, they should just turn up the sound or something'. Apparently that's not quite as easy as it sounds. In a recording studio, where you can sit and mix and tweak everyone individually, that's easy to do, but I guess not so much live. At least maybe not on most independent bands' budgets? Anyway, I think it means my "instrument" needs to match the intensity of all the other instruments, which it did not. Again, they (well, he was- it's not like it was a group email) were super nice and suggested my 'holding back' was probably all just nerves. So because of that, and because I am apparently everything they seem to want otherwise, I am getting a second chance. Tuesday, Jan. 6.

Before Christmas he sent me twelve more songs from their repertoire to listen to and learn. That gave me about three weeks, which is great. These are great songs- fun, kinda obscure, and in my range. I've got lots of time to learn them, including twelve hours in a car, round trip to Amarillo. So yeah, this'll be fine.


Ok. Here's the deal.


The problem here is this is not the first time I've heard that complaint. I sang very briefly with a classic rock band several years ago and they said the same thing. That gig didn't last long at all, which really was okay because my heart wasn't in it and they were what you might call a "rebound" after leaving my first band. But that comment has stuck with me. I didn't have any idea what to do with that information- I was singing Chrissie Hynde as loud as I could. So when I heard it again a few weeks ago, presented wrapped inside the baby-soft blankets of other compliments and tied with a glittering ribbon of second chance, it didn't matter. I don't know how to sing louder. I thought I had given what I could.

So I sat with that for a few days. Started learning the songs immediately, but still tried to understand what was going on. I remembered another time I was told I wasn't singing loud enough, but this time it was on stage, in a musical, and the song was kind of countrified and twangy. Then I realized I do know how to sing louder. I just don't like the answer.

For about as long as I've been alive, I've been singing. In the church choir and then college and then the Symphony Chorus and throughout that whole time in stage musicals too. I've studied voice and have been singing classical music for well over twenty years. I'm a good pronunciationator because I've been trained to articulate well in English, French, Italian, Spanish, Latin, German, Porter and Sondheim. I can fly on a Mozart aria. I can hold my own among forty other altos in Beethoven's 9th. I can sing loud. When it's Haydn or Mahler.

Have you ever heard an opera singer try to sing anything other than opera, like pop standards or Gershwin, perhaps? It's odd. The vowels are too big and open and no matter what they do, to me it still sounds a little grandiose. Words are articulated too well. (Soooomeday I'll weesh upon a starr and wake uP where the clouDz are far BehinD meeee) Even when there's an obvious effort to tone down the training, to match the style of the song, it still sounds like when you were fourteen and your parents tried to talk to you in 'your' language. The words are right, but it's just weird.

And this is where I stand. Now, dear god, it's not like I'm Kathleen Battle trying to sing Alicia Keys. Mother of cheezwhiz, I wouldn't even put myself in the same room as either of those two. Nonetheless, even though I can throw down some Strauss, I think I have a lot of qualities to my voice that allow me to avoid sounding like a Wagnerian horn-hatted, breastplate-wearing battleaxe alto. (thank god, and, probably my dad's genes too) But this is what I'm coming to terms with- that in intimate settings, like a studio or acoustic set, I can sing however I want. To sing against amped keys, guitar, bass and drums, though, I just can't apply the same techniques. And because of that, I'm not at all comfortable with the sound that comes out. It's not acceptable to have that bigger, vibrato-y quality when you're singing U2 or The Police. It doesn't sound cool, it just sounds wrong.

Long ago, I forced part of my voice away on anything that was written in the last 50 years. Now, in time for this audition, I need to find it again. This is going to be a little difficult. Physically, because it will require singing differently, placing my voice in a way that I'm not used to for this kind of music. Sort of like learning a new way to hold your drumsticks just a few days before a gig. Plus I've been out of town and then sick for five days after, so not much time to practice. Mentally, well, see above. I have to find a way to be okay with what I sound like, and if it doesn't fit, then maybe I need to beat a different rhythm. In no small metaphor, I need to be comfortable with my own voice, just as it is, for exactly what it is. And love it. I hope they do too.

Audition day

Ok, it's taken me a long time to follow up on my audition. Get used to it, lady and/or gentleman. It may take some kind of brain-computer mind meld invention before I get up to speed with this blogging thing. I expect Mr. Jobs will have it figured out by the end of the decade. And for those uninterested scrolling down, here's the beginning of the story.

The weather Tuesday morning was relatively awful, by North Texas standards. Which means, not particularly awful at all according to anyone who lives north of Sherman. We are a bunch of chicken littles. And on the roads, we're dipshits. Put those two together when there's a wee bit of ice on a bridge and the news stations start a casualty count. Seriously, we had a small dusting of freezing rain overnight and something they call 'freezing fog' that morning, bridges were a little icy and schools were closing. Yes, it was a miserably cold, ridiculously foggy, all around craptastic day. But bad enough to close a school? Are you kidding? This town needs to grow a pair, and I'm not talking about the kind hanging from the tow hitch on my neighbor's F-150. Well, ok, I sort of am, but those are the kind of 'pair' that cause folks to think black ice doesn't apply to them.

Anyway, there was concern expressed for my safety in getting to my audition for this 50s/ rockabilly/swing/ blues jump & jive band. No need to worry, because that was hours away, and the sand trucks were working overtime on the bridges. Roadways on land were fine. It was 70* two days prior, for pete's sake. But just because I figured traffic would be awful, and I would be venturing into a land unknown, I did try to leave a bit earlier. Fortunately the audition was at 8pm so there was a good amount of time to get gussied up.

my uncle's letter sweater from 1960. Before I noticed the name sewn into the sweater, I thought it was my father's. They both lettered in tennis!

Check out the Laverne shirt!

Traffic and the roads, as I suspected, were just fine. I managed to get myself lost on the way, but I had figured that into my travel time already. Fifteen minutes to spare, and I arrive at a 50s bungalow with an aluminum Christmas tree in the window. Yep, complete with revolving color projector. The band is auditioning someone else in the back and the 'main guy', owner of the house and studio, had asked his girlfriend to come and greet the nervous little chickies. So since they're running behind, I sit for a bit with her and admire the home, which has belonged in his family for over 50 years. Main Dude walks in and he seems supremely excited to see me. I think it was the sweater- everyone really got a kick out of it. (score!)

The band rehearses in his converted garage. Quite packed with people, instruments, amps, a washer/dryer and other bits and pieces. Let's see.. arranged in a thin, pressed oval, we've got a sax player, keys, gee-tar, drums, bass and trumpet. An open, mocking mic stands between the bass and trumpet. This is where I squeezed in, less than a foot away from the opportunity to increase my vibrato with a strategically placed spin cycle.

Introductions. Pleasantries and did you see my sweater? My throat is dry. Let's begin.

Well, I can't say I hit it out of the ballpark, but I don't know that I was too terrible. Definitely forgot lyrics here and there (and there.. and -oops- feedback.. maybe they didn't notice me miss the lyrics there.. and whose bright idea was it for me to bring my tambourine? Note to self: you can not double task during an audition), generally sounded ok (except for that supremely unwise reach for a glory note. apologies to all alley cats), and tried my best to have personality and fun. Either they like me, or they're all impossibly nice. But man alive, these cats are good. Really. good.

I walk back out through the house and the band takes a break as well. The next audition hasn't arrived yet, so the girlfriend offers me snacks and something to drink. She and I chat for a bit more, and at one point I glance around and see that Main Dude is standing in the kitchen, looking at us with a big grin of approval on his face. Oh dear. He goes back outside and she tells me that despite the fact he has been very successful in his other musical ventures, this particular band, with this particular music, is his Dream. I thanked her for not telling me that before the audition. Because, you know, no pressure.

Time to go home, though. The next girl arrives with her husband? boyfriend? and they both go back to the studio. As they walk by, the air gets heavy and thick with the unmistakable scent of.. sweater envy. "Sing your heart out, chica," I think, "you might win the talent portion, but I've got eveningwear slammed." Can't imagine where her friend is going to be- maybe he'll sit on the washer? Either way, I don't want to hear any of it and it's just time to go. My 'check engine' light blessed me with its presence on the way down, and just in case I blow up, I'd like to do it as close to home and as far away from midnight as possible.

Gather my things, final goodbyes, get in car, call home. I set off for a long drive, feeling nothing but tired.

Neck sticking-outing time

T-minus 23 hours and I will be far away (for a Tuesday night!) in Arlington on an audition for a band. It's been a long time since I've done this. Life, as it will, has gotten in the way since the last band I was in. Granted, my experience turned out to be less than stellar so I guess I can admit that I allowed life to get in the way for a while. But the time has finally rolled around to where I am tired of not singing. Yeah, I was in a few musicals here and there, appeared with a local chorus during their Christmas show a few times.. all good, very good experiences. Especially this latest show with the chorus.

At any rate, I decided I wanted to sing in a band again. Not just decided I wanted to- I'd been feeling that way for quite some time- but decided I was going to do something about it. For reals. And that's the part that gets scary, right? Wanting to do something is safe, but actually doing something is the risky, you could fail and make a fool of yourself part. So I had to get through a lot of self-sabotage first:

I'm too old. I'm too overweight. I don't have enough experience. I don't know how to communicate to other musicians.

I expressed all these doubts to Gin at lunch a few weeks back, and she promptly stood up, grabbed her La Madeleine tray, and hacked at my neck with the thin bit. One of her mottos is 'you don't know if you don't try', and she did a fantastic job of reminding me of this, as well as adding a lot of wind to my sails. (not to mention a lot of blood to my neck and shoulder areas.) I left that lunch feeling pretty good, and immediately started looking for bands. 'She's right', I thought, 'I am who I am and screw it.'

Crap.

And now I've done it. Crap! I've found a few bands and I've responded to their ads. Crap!

There have been three ads so far that look good. The first one I responded to looked, I thought, to be pretty close to what felt.. I dunno, risky with an element of difficulty but definitely inside my musical comfort zone. It's a duo who want a woman to sing jazz and standards. Good enough; I'm a big fan of jazz, and who doesn't like a girl from Ipanema every once in a while? (I hear they're lovely.) Another plus- they've been pro on their own (individually and together) for thirty years. They've responded back to me and want to meet, do an audition. And this is great, but something keeps nagging at me. I finally figure it out- they seem schlocky. A guitar, a saxophone, and vocals. All the rest- keyboards, drums, etc- is filled in by looping midi. That's it- I'm just a little ooged out by singing Jobim while being backed up by the unflinching rhythm of the Yamaha "Samba #4". 'Listen to your gut,' says Gin, who is emailing me from the safety of her own home, far away from me and any buffet-related weaponry.

Second ad. Moving right inside my comfort zone, here we have someone looking for a partner to do acoustic covers like Norah Jones, Sarah McLachlan and that sort of thing. Definitely a direction I'd like to investigate. I'm gonna let that one rumble around in my head for a few days because OHMYGOD I'm responding to this next one:

50s- 60s era full band: sax, trumpet, bass/ stand-up bass, drums, keyboard, male vocalist/guitarist. Old-school jump blues, swing, rockabilly. Lookin' fer a ladysinger.
Oh. hell. yes.

So now I'm trying my hardest to memorize four - yes, just four- songs for this audition tomorrow night. They sent all auditioners (auditionees? auditties?) a list of six songs from their repertoire, and we were to prepare three or four. I didn't get the music until Thursday, I think. Left me with the whole weekend and Monday to learn them, and how is that not enough time? I dunno. Ask my brain, which is being less than cooperative.