So you want to be a singer...
Think back. Is there something that has given you pleasure throughout all the stages of your life? Perhaps it’s reading – starting with beginner Dr. Seuss books like The Cat in the Hat or Green Eggs and Ham, to your current choice of biographies, fiction, or nonfiction. Or did you play sports? Little League, Pee Wee football or soccer, and the teammates you spent so many days with are still your friends today? How about Scout camping trips that led your lifetime love of the outdoors? Those that loved taking things apart and rebuilding them may have become engineers, inventors, or mechanics.
For me, it was singing. As far back as I can remember, I loved being a member of the choir. I had taken piano lessons and taught myself guitar, so I knew how to read music. But there was something about a group of people opening their mouths and blending sounds. Carrying a tune by yourself was nothing compared to the power of all those voices. We sang around the campfire on Scout trips (and yes, “Kumbya” was one them), belted out songs in grammar school choir. But high school chorus was the best. Doc Simpson managed to corral us all, get us to pay attention, learn our parts, and, just in time for the concerts, it would all come together. You see, anyone could sign up for chorus, so Doc worked with the truly talented, the kids there just to fill a time slot on their schedule and the rest of us were on key, most of the time. (And those bright blue gowns and gold stoles! Even if we didn’t always sound the best, we sure looked the part.) The altos were a mighty bunch (quite often Doc had to tell us to tone it down so he could hear the sopranos), and we helped each other out. At one concert, I had a small solo. I was nervous, so my good friend and fellow alto Deb made sure I had the right starting note by humming softly with me before I was out there on my own. I’ll never forget that.
I was in all the school musicals usually singing alto, but sometimes tenor when we didn’t have enough guys for the show. Show tunes have a way of bringing folks together. Months after the show, someone would sing a line, and before you knew it, everyone had joined in. It was Doc and Mrs. G (drama teacher my senior year) who kindled my love with theater in general and musicals in particular. At the end of my sophomore year Doc came to me and asked if I would sing the part of Mama Rose in Gypsy the next year. It meant I would need to go to voice lessons and he got my parents to agree. (What they weren’t too sure about were the motorcycle rides to my lessons from another musician friend Rick.)
I continued in theater in college – dramas and musicals- and ended up graduating with a theater degree. I sang with a trio in the coffee house on campus for a little while my freshman year, but it really wasn’t meant to be. (I never had enough time to practice since I spent so much time at the theater.) However, my experience of singing dovetailed with my love of music. I so admire the artists that share their talents up on a stage. It almost doesn’t matter what type of music it is- jazz, rock, folk, reggae, oldies, or alternative. Although I will admit to having a hard time with rap and classical - an odd combination I know. Rap is too repetitious (I don’t need to hear your name 83 times) and I just don’t know enough about classical music. And as much as I love singing – it drives me batty when the people next to me insist on singing along (loudly and usually not very well) with the artist. Unless we’re at a Jimmy Buffet concert where audience participation is expected and encouraged, I believe you should respect the person on stage and listen with your ears and heart.
Do I still sing? Nah, not as part of a choir anyway. However, when a favorite song comes on, I will harmonize behind the wheel. My alto has become raspier (asthma and allergies will do that to you.) But my grandchildren don’t seem to mind when I sing to them. In fact, I sing “A Bushel and A Peck” to them before they go to sleep – a song I learned when we did Guys and Dolls in college. They sing along. Who knew?