You know what’s sad and funny at the same time? It’s when you discover that something you believed to be true about yourself, beyond a shadow of a doubt, isn’t true at all. It’s especially funny when that thing you believed was flattering, like a special talent you thought you naturally possessed, but, in fact, was non-existent. What’s worse is once you discover the unspeakable truth you can’t help but take inventory, remembering all the times you shared that “talent” publicly. The feedback you were getting? The smiles? That was amazement at your ill-placed self-confidence. The wincing? It wasn’t gas.
Until one tragic day in my twenties, I thought I could sing like Bette Midler and Cher and Barbra Streisand all rolled into one talent machine. I thought that if I felt good when I sang, then I must sound as good as I feel. I felt like a million bucks when I sang, and I wanted to share my joy with the world. I’m generous like that.
I sang with the church choir and the high school choir. In both cases, the choir leader was the school music teacher, Mr. Tucker. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t like me but he sure made it obvious. He liked all of my sisters. Must be he’d heard a rumor about me but I had no idea what I had done to deserve all the dirty looks, especially in church! What bug crawled up his ass? He kept putting me off to the side on the balcony. I found out later, he was putting me on the side of his bad ear, while the rest of the choir, my five sisters, stood on his good side. Eventually, he told me he “didn’t need me.” So I climbed down the balcony stairs and joined my parents in the front pew where I sang gaily — proud and loud.
In college, I joined the St. Rose chamber choir and sang The Messiah loudly, like all the other music and voice majors. During each break, the sopranos in front of me looked all around them suspiciously. Are they trying to locate the source of bad breath? Why are they wincing so? It’s impossible to smell your own bad breath. Between singing, the sopranos kept checking each other out. “Is it you?” “It’s not me!” I didn’t want anyone thinking it was me so I started looking around, acting as if I, too, could smell the bad breath and Oh. My. God. Who ate the garlic fries! I smelled nothing but as long as I acted offended I was not suspect. Note to self: buy breath mints at college bookstore.
About the fourth or fifth break into the first piece, I figured out that the sopranos were not trying to locate the source of bad breath, but of sour notes. Someone was a little pitchy. They singled out Zenna Freese who stood in front of me. But she didn’t want to get blamed so Zenna kept turning around and looking at me. I knew it wasn’t me, so I’d look over my shoulder and glare, once I caught on that this is what we did to ward off the yelling of the irate professor who said we sang like cows in mud and then proceeded to act out a cow plodding through mud.
Someone behind me was “off” obviously and like the others in front of me, I was looking back to see who it was. Maybe they’re blushing after the muddy cow bit. They have to know it’s them. How could they not!? Who’s the idiot? I looked back a couple of times. Instead of making eye contact with the voice majors behind me who were turned to the correct page, I pretended I was just looking up at the clock on the wall to see how much longer we were going to have to sing “All We, Like Shee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-eep.”
How I figured out it was me who was pitchy is because whenever I looked back to glare at the tone-deaf evildoer, no one behind me was looking behind them to seek out the source of the sharps and flats. About halfway toward the date of the Christmas concert, I lip-synched so Zenna wouldn’t catch on that I was a fraud, guessing at what each note should sound like. I couldn’t let on that I didn’t know how to read music. I could while playing the clarinet. If the note is on the second line up I knew which fingers to use. But I didn’t know what that note should sound like without my instrument.
As the concert date approached, I was excited and I accidentally forgot to lip-synch. I sang with gusto. Again, the Zenna glare. I can’t be the only one in this music building who can’t read music, can I? I decided to defend myself. What? I glared back. I have to hear it a few dozen times to memorize the notes! A little slack here for the English major! After that year they closed the loophole that allowed non-music majors to take orchestra or choir as an elective since the rest of the music majors had to audition to get in. Although I have no evidence, I bet Zenna suggested it.
Not until I wasn’t singing in a choir, and mine was the only audible voice, did I find out I couldn’t sing for beans. A friend of mine left some studio-quality recording equipment at my apartment. I was home alone one night and decided to set up a little stage in my living room, with an Indian rug and the microphone in a stand that I adjusted to mouth height. I put Janis Joplin on the record player, listened to her through the headphones and belted out one of my favorites, Me and Bobby McGee. I sounded just like Janis Joplin. There were times I couldn’t tell if that was her or if it was me. That was until I rewound the recording. I hit play to hear how I sounded unaccompanied by the album. A tornado ripped through my soul, robbed me of all my pride and left me in complete despair. I was stunned. Shocked. Numb. I played the recording for about 40 seconds before running over to the knobs and unplugging everything, putting it all away. The microphone. The record. The rug. All of it. Gone.
The next morning in my car on the way to work the radio was playing a Springsteen song that I’d sung a hundred times before and knew every word. I started to sing along but stopped myself abruptly and turned off the music. It was the equivalent to starting off the day feeling good. Blue sky, no clouds, life is great, and then remembering that I was terminal.
My dad and I went on a cruise together in April. We were talking about all the trips our family took across country when Mom used to pull out her guitar and my five sisters, brother, mom and I sang civil right’s anthems, Pete Seeger tunes, every song on Peter, Paul and Mary’s Ten Years Together album. Some of those songs we sang in church. While I liked the choice in music, I groused about how crabby Mr. Tucker was.
My dad finally told me about the time Mr. Tucker pulled my father aside to tell him that he had had it with my shenanigans in church choir. My father asked what I was doing and Mr. Tucker said I was singing badly on purpose. My dad defended me and explained to Mr. Tucker, “No, she’s not doing it to be funny. Amy wants to sing in the worst way. That’s the only way she can.” Shortly after that my services were no longer needed up on the balcony. It was all handled very subtly. I didn’t suspect a thing. In fact I was relieved to not have to deal with Mr. Tucker giving me all those dirty looks, holding something over me about which I had no clue.
I said, “Dad, why didn’t you or mom tell me I couldn’t sing?”
He said, “We did. We encouraged you to play the clarinet.”
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I love the clarinet punchline! Billy Crystal had a jazz musician character he did on SNL many years ago. One of the joke/stories was how Mussolini’s kid played sax and tried to audition. He was so bad, all the guys could say was, “Man it’s a drag what they did to yo’ father!”
My wife is convinced that the early contestants on American Idol are plants or hired actors. She says they can’t possibly believe they can sing. On the other hand, I have no trouble whatsoever believing that people can delude themselves. I’ve done it. I’ve seen other people do it. Great story that confirms my side of this family argument.
I don’t know if I can sing or not, probably not…but you have hit on one of my biggest fears. Luckily, I have few, if any talents so I am not likely to be caught in this conundrum–I’m risky like that.
Hello from Russia!
Can I quote a post in your blog with the link to you?
Well, you COULD play the clarinet exceptionally though I was always jealous that you didn’t squeak all the time like I did.
So, yah I was in an audio class in college setting up and testing the equipment when the teacher looked at the class and asked if that was a good voice. Unanomously they all agreed I didn’t even have a good voice even for speaking.
Somewhere along the way I stopped hoping for that singing career even after seeing madonnas interview and practicing the voice excersizes she mentioned, but then the oddest thing happened – I started singing lullaby’s – thinking CPA would be called for my poor children because the torture of the songs. There were two they kept requesting allll the time. One night with out my knowing, my daughter taped me. I thought she was asleep, but went in when I heard noise I and realized I could actually sing those two songs. Still can’t talk worth a darn.
They say there is someone for everyone. Well, perhaps there is a song somewhere for everyone.
I played trombone. I had/have trouble reading music.
I used to mark the postitions on the slide. There are 7 positions in the slide trombone. So I played by numbers.
My singing thats another story.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!
Me so too! Although I did the taping myself w/ earphones on at age 9 so I KNEW how hard I sucked from an early age…The burning question then becomes: am I a strong goddess-type or a cruel witch that I continue to sing out with the radio like that’s MY hit song you’re listening to, America! (And keep rockin’ out looking straight ahead so as not to see the meaningful glances shot my way like burning spears from the natives)
We could audition for a reality show as a duet…and be beamed into outer space for eternity when the ET’s come looking for our signal! Yeah, baby!!
I don’t know why I haven’t thought of that already!!
This made me laugh so much! I was in the choir when I was 9 because we got to sit on the stage during assembly at school. I only squeaked in because the choir teacher was sick the day I was supposed to audition. I’m good at breathing though, and thats a start. I love your blog
Can I say I’m jealous you had all those blissful years of thinking you could sing? I found out in 4th grade when I had to be stage manager in all of our school productions. Which was less about managing anything and more about just standing backstage, holding a script, without singing or dancing.
Even now I wish I’d had the gumption to tell them where they could stuff their “very important job”.
Your post made me laugh.
We had a girl in our choir. She was very bad, sang very loud, and when people looked at her, she’d point to the soprano on either side as if it wasn’t her singing.
None of us were fooled.
I gave up the community choir a year ago. Story on my blog somewhere, but I just wasn’t getting what I needed there.
Wanna start a choir?
Totally!!! You think we could find a tone deaf audience who would be moved (in a good way) by our singing??
You know, the best part was that you were convinced you COULD sing and you had spunk to keep doing it. That takes balls, and even bigger balls to accept we are imperfect and people still love you for it! Like I do…on my blog! Come get some bloggy love.
Oh boy that made me so sad! I sing and sing and sing and I would never want one who loved it so much to be robbed of it! I hope you still sing – even if its in the shower or just in the car! I know there are probably still things I think I an do that I cannot!
Bobby McGee is my favorite song. I sang it, by request so God I think / hope I did not suck, at a neighbor’s 40th b-day party. It was a ton of fun! They had a stage set up and everyone had to do something. So I sang.
Ha ha ha ha oh my Goodness, thank you for writing about this… In my high school I was kicked out of the choir and they blamed it on my hyper behavior (which was controlled by the way). All my life my siblings hve complained about my singing but I still believe I sound like Celine Dion, the only thing I’ve agreed on is that I can’t dance to save my own life.
Oh, God! You HAD to bring up dancing, didn’t you. My husband tells me I dance like Elaine, on Seinfeld. Sadly, he is right but I exaggerate to pretend that I’m just pretending to dance like her.
When my dad was in h s. He was so bad the teacher just told to mouth the words instead
So you’re the one on my Masterworks Chorale Christmas CD?????? Hey, I can’t sing worth a damn either, but I do it whether anyone likes it or not. My cat thinks I’m great, so that’s all that matters!
No! Not me! That was Zenna!! She was off. (As if I could tell!)
Hearty chuckle.
….weren’t we???
We were awesome!!
wow…i still don’t believe it. I remember us all walking up Western Avenue, drunk, singing Journey in harmony..and we were GREAT!!! lol
Isn’t it great to know that you are loved…even if you can’t sing? hahaha! I took singing lessons to try to help my voice, but my instructor told me I was wasting my money. Ah well, tick that off the list for this lifetime. I was surprised to learn how important breathing is to having a stellar singing voice. Fascinating, really. We all have a special talent. Singing is definitely NOT mine. Makes me appreciate people who can sing even more.
ummmmmmmm. yeah. the clarinet was the way to go.
Ummmmmmmm. Thanks??
I always say that what I lack in talent I make up for in volume. If you can’t sing well, sing loud. That’s my motto.
…..BTW, what’s all this about reading music? In choir? Never did it, didn’t know I should have, still can’t. Even after the Drum & Bugle corps. (Imagine that!)
Hey wasn’t Steve in the H.S. Chorus too? So it was only you that Tucker didn’t like? But then, the rest of the Fam. are all brilliant also, but lack your incredible social skills right? So it all balances out!
(I’m probably preaching to the choir)
Finally, someone understands!!
I always thought that noise was the choir stand about to collapse! WHO KNEW?! ;~D
Maybe you should join me on Singsnap.com. You have LOT’S of brethren there! It’s a great place to keep your voice in shape too Tawnya!
Oh my. Let me say that I was in choir for 5 years and could not read music worth a lick! I could tell you the name of the note, if they were there, but as for figuring out what it should sound like without hearing the note, nope. Although we did have to ‘audition’ to see if we were Alto, Soprano, Tenor or Bass,as it turned out if you played the note on the piano I could match it. No problem. I spent most of my time as an Alto/Tenor depending on if they needed more or either. LOL. Now because I have not kept my voice in shape, I sound horrible now!!