“So… you’re more of a performer, instead of a singer.” I had just finished my song and my brother Pat was trying to be supportive. My performance at karaoke on Wednesday night left much to be desired and while I can partially blame this on biology, my dedication (or lack thereof) also had a hand in it.
In the spirit of honesty, I must say that I was not a very good student during my week of singing lessons. After my second lesson, there was a three-day break before I saw Celeste again, and the only thing she asked of me was to practice my singing exercises for 20 minutes a day and to sing along to my chosen karaoke song once or twice.
This doesn’t sound like a huge time investment, and it wasn’t, but I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. On Wednesday and Thursday, I was working and visiting a friend in Los Angeles, and on Friday, I was so tired that the only sounds coming from my throat were rodent-like squeaks. My friend would have been more than supportive of my practicing at her apartment, in fact, she probably would have enjoyed it, but I was too embarrassed to sing in front of anyone.
“What song are you singing?”
“’I Take My Chances,’ by Mary Chapin Carpenter.”
“I don’t think I know it, can you sing a little bit of it?”
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to sing the first stanza, but the nerves took hold of my vocal chords and did not allow a single note to escape.
“How about I just play it for you?”
“Um, ok?” She was confused, and rightfully so—how was I going to sing in front of a crowd at karaoke if I couldn’t sing in front of her?
I didn’t feel very good about my impending “performance,” as Celeste kept calling it, but that didn’t stop me from lying to her through a gritted smile when I walked into my lesson on Saturday.
“Oh yea, everything’s going really well.”
“Good. And did you practice your exercises?” Her voice was so sing-songy, I half-expected Disney characters to start twittering from her closet.
“Uh, yea.” That was convincing.
“Ok, good!”
“Well, actually, my throat hurt on Wednesday, but I practiced the other two days.” Shut up; you’re giving too much detail. She’s going to know that you’re lying and then she’s going think you’re a bad student, and then she’s going to think you’re a bad person who will never sing a note worthy of human ears.
Yes, I am really this neurotic sometimes.
The first vocal exercise on Saturday was designed to get into my “head voice”. These are the softer, prettier, kind of whispering notes that fall like petals in the air. According to Celeste, I have an affinity for the more brassy notes from the chest.
“Follow me, and sing all of this in one breath. Ne ne ne ne ne ne, ni ni ni ni ni ni ni, na na na na na na na na.”
All I could do was stare at her—I didn’t know how to say all of that in one breath, let alone sing it in a moderately pleasant “head voice.”
“Ready?” She tapped the piano key and I tried to follow her lead.
“Stay on top of it.” I tried again, this time an octave higher.
“Good, going up.” Again she played, and again I tried to stay on top of the notes. As we moved up and down the scale, I realized I had a tendency to do the vocal equivalent of slouching. I would kind of slide and sink into the notes, singing slightly below where I should instead of using my diaphragm, opening my throat and projecting clearly. When I stood up a little straighter, engaged my abs, and actually acted like I was singing, I sounded pretty good.
We practiced singing, “I Take My Chances,” a few times with the karaoke version of the song, then she made me practice, “Bubbly,” by Colbie Caillet. For some reason she really wanted me to sing this song and kept mentioning it as a possible back up. I, unfortunately, hate this song, so I kept deflecting.
She wouldn’t let it go so the first time through I did the most passive aggressive thing I could think of and sang glaringly off-key. Her eyes kept squinting and the ear closest to me moved erratically toward her shoulder and by the end of the song; the “Bubbly” discussion was put to rest.
My last lesson was more about “the performance.” I really wanted her to stop calling it that, but she insisted. We went through, “I Take My Chances,” a few times, then “I Feel Lucky,” also by Mary Chapin Carpenter, and by the time she shooed me out of her house she felt I was ready.
“You’re better than the average karaoke person, so I think you’ll do just fine. Also, let me know if you want to continue with singing, I think you could be really good at it.” Yea, I’ll bet. At $55/hour, you better keep blowing that sunshine.
There was another two-day gap between my final lesson and karaoke night, and much to my surprise, I actually practiced. There’s a thing that happens to me when I haven’t tried very hard for something. I’ll slack off for the first 80-90% of preparation, and then it comes down to crunch time and for some reason, I all of a sudden kick into high gear. It’s like I don’t care until I realize there’s a chance I won’t be good at something, and then I’ll throw everything I have at whatever it is I’m trying to do.
I think this will always be a part of my personality. I will always want to do well; I will always want to exceed expectations, I will always want to win. Failure is not an option.
Well, the one thing this challenge taught me is that it is ok not to be good everything. Not that I’m good at everything… but you know what I’m saying.
On Wednesday, the day of the “performance,” I had to drive up to LA again and I must have practiced singing my song for an hour on the way home. I felt like I was starting to sound somewhat acceptable, so I wanted to keep going, I wanted to get even better… but then I went too far. Somewhere around San Onofre my throat started to scratch and my voice was not as clear.
Crap. I immediately stopped making any audible noise, chugged water and prayed.
“Please, please, please don’t let me sound like crap tonight.”
As the drive continued, my throat started to hurt and my expectations began to sink. By the time I walked into Jimmy O’s that night, my nerves were in full force and my prayers became more ardent. It was the bar’s 11th anniversary so there was a long table filled with food, a table with free champagne, and perhaps the most eclectic collection of people ever seen together in Del Mar. Local teenagers inhabited one table, at another were their cousins from East County, their grandfathers were across the room, and their grandfathers’ future wives slithered between them.
I grabbed a glass of shitty champagne, found my friend Julia, and tried to calm the shakes that had taken over my hands. My throat felt scratchy (the champagne wasn’t helping) and I started to feel badly that people were coming to see me. My brother and his fiancé were on their way from PB, our friend Heather was coming from Leucadia, Julia had planned her dinner date around this—what if I really sucked? Would they be disappointed they’d made the effort?
I ordered a beer and tried to take my mind off singing by making fun of the people around us. Luckily, there was a haggard couple at the corner of the bar, flailing to different songs while trying to keep each other upright, so there was much to draw from.
Two beers and an eternity of snarky remarks later, the DJ finally announced the start of karaoke.
“I always start with a ballad. I don’t know why, but I do,” said the first singer as he took the stage. Ok buddy.
His song was a bit depressing and as it progressed, I realized the music and crowd were so loud, I couldn’t hear him unless he was practically screaming into the microphone.
“Crap.”
“What?”
“I think I need to change my song.”
“Why? Are you comfortable doing that?” Kylie, my brother’s fiancé looked very concerned.
“It’s just too loud in here. I sing, ‘I Take My Chances,’ kind of softly; I don’t think you’ll be able to hear me.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
I thought about it for another minute and then by the time a washed-up surfer finished molesting the microphone to “Smoke on the Water,” by Deep Purple, I was out of my seat and beside the DJ booth changing my song to “I Feel Lucky.”
I felt good about my decision. And as Marilyn Manson’s third cousin began to sing a thinly veiled ode to heroine, I felt even better—at least my song would be upbeat. Jesus people, life isn’t that bad.
By the time the DJ finally called my name, everyone at our table was about to slit their wrists. I marched on stage, took hold of the microphone, and struggled through the only country song to ever be sung at Jimmy O’s karaoke. To my surprise, my support from the audience extended beyond my cohorts and I got a few cheers whenever I actually hit a note. I’m not going to say I did well, but I did it, and I walked off the stage a little taller than when I walked on.
After my performance we were entertained by a slight, almost golem-looking singer who had one of the highest voices I’ve ever heard on a male. He sang “Bad Romance,” by Lady Gaga and as the words lurched from his mouth, he folded his body around the microphone like he was auditioning to be one of her monsters. It was disturbing and perfect and definitely the highlight of the night.
I’m glad I saved this challenge for last because it did more than any other to make me comfortable in my skin. In every other endeavor, I was able to stretch my given talent so that I was passable. Even after my five minutes of stand-up comedy, I walked away with the feeling of, “I could do that.” This time, that was not the case. I have included the video below, and my friends will tell you (in front of me) that I did well, but I know that there is no way that a singing career is anywhere in my future.
In closing, I would like to thank everyone who gave me a challenge, who completed a challenge with me, or who supported me through the process. I also want to send love to everyone who reads this blog. I’m in the process of turning this into a book, so stay tuned, and in the meantime, I’m starting a new blog on my new website... http://www.writerlauren.com/. It’s titled “A Funny Thing Happened,” and every day I promise to tell you funny stories, share funny videos, and encourage you to post their own.
Till next time; much love.
In the spirit of honesty, I must say that I was not a very good student during my week of singing lessons. After my second lesson, there was a three-day break before I saw Celeste again, and the only thing she asked of me was to practice my singing exercises for 20 minutes a day and to sing along to my chosen karaoke song once or twice.
This doesn’t sound like a huge time investment, and it wasn’t, but I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. On Wednesday and Thursday, I was working and visiting a friend in Los Angeles, and on Friday, I was so tired that the only sounds coming from my throat were rodent-like squeaks. My friend would have been more than supportive of my practicing at her apartment, in fact, she probably would have enjoyed it, but I was too embarrassed to sing in front of anyone.
“What song are you singing?”
“’I Take My Chances,’ by Mary Chapin Carpenter.”
“I don’t think I know it, can you sing a little bit of it?”
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to sing the first stanza, but the nerves took hold of my vocal chords and did not allow a single note to escape.
“How about I just play it for you?”
“Um, ok?” She was confused, and rightfully so—how was I going to sing in front of a crowd at karaoke if I couldn’t sing in front of her?
I didn’t feel very good about my impending “performance,” as Celeste kept calling it, but that didn’t stop me from lying to her through a gritted smile when I walked into my lesson on Saturday.
“Oh yea, everything’s going really well.”
“Good. And did you practice your exercises?” Her voice was so sing-songy, I half-expected Disney characters to start twittering from her closet.
“Uh, yea.” That was convincing.
“Ok, good!”
“Well, actually, my throat hurt on Wednesday, but I practiced the other two days.” Shut up; you’re giving too much detail. She’s going to know that you’re lying and then she’s going think you’re a bad student, and then she’s going to think you’re a bad person who will never sing a note worthy of human ears.
Yes, I am really this neurotic sometimes.
The first vocal exercise on Saturday was designed to get into my “head voice”. These are the softer, prettier, kind of whispering notes that fall like petals in the air. According to Celeste, I have an affinity for the more brassy notes from the chest.
“Follow me, and sing all of this in one breath. Ne ne ne ne ne ne, ni ni ni ni ni ni ni, na na na na na na na na.”
All I could do was stare at her—I didn’t know how to say all of that in one breath, let alone sing it in a moderately pleasant “head voice.”
“Ready?” She tapped the piano key and I tried to follow her lead.
“Stay on top of it.” I tried again, this time an octave higher.
“Good, going up.” Again she played, and again I tried to stay on top of the notes. As we moved up and down the scale, I realized I had a tendency to do the vocal equivalent of slouching. I would kind of slide and sink into the notes, singing slightly below where I should instead of using my diaphragm, opening my throat and projecting clearly. When I stood up a little straighter, engaged my abs, and actually acted like I was singing, I sounded pretty good.
We practiced singing, “I Take My Chances,” a few times with the karaoke version of the song, then she made me practice, “Bubbly,” by Colbie Caillet. For some reason she really wanted me to sing this song and kept mentioning it as a possible back up. I, unfortunately, hate this song, so I kept deflecting.
She wouldn’t let it go so the first time through I did the most passive aggressive thing I could think of and sang glaringly off-key. Her eyes kept squinting and the ear closest to me moved erratically toward her shoulder and by the end of the song; the “Bubbly” discussion was put to rest.
My last lesson was more about “the performance.” I really wanted her to stop calling it that, but she insisted. We went through, “I Take My Chances,” a few times, then “I Feel Lucky,” also by Mary Chapin Carpenter, and by the time she shooed me out of her house she felt I was ready.
“You’re better than the average karaoke person, so I think you’ll do just fine. Also, let me know if you want to continue with singing, I think you could be really good at it.” Yea, I’ll bet. At $55/hour, you better keep blowing that sunshine.
There was another two-day gap between my final lesson and karaoke night, and much to my surprise, I actually practiced. There’s a thing that happens to me when I haven’t tried very hard for something. I’ll slack off for the first 80-90% of preparation, and then it comes down to crunch time and for some reason, I all of a sudden kick into high gear. It’s like I don’t care until I realize there’s a chance I won’t be good at something, and then I’ll throw everything I have at whatever it is I’m trying to do.
I think this will always be a part of my personality. I will always want to do well; I will always want to exceed expectations, I will always want to win. Failure is not an option.
Well, the one thing this challenge taught me is that it is ok not to be good everything. Not that I’m good at everything… but you know what I’m saying.
On Wednesday, the day of the “performance,” I had to drive up to LA again and I must have practiced singing my song for an hour on the way home. I felt like I was starting to sound somewhat acceptable, so I wanted to keep going, I wanted to get even better… but then I went too far. Somewhere around San Onofre my throat started to scratch and my voice was not as clear.
Crap. I immediately stopped making any audible noise, chugged water and prayed.
“Please, please, please don’t let me sound like crap tonight.”
As the drive continued, my throat started to hurt and my expectations began to sink. By the time I walked into Jimmy O’s that night, my nerves were in full force and my prayers became more ardent. It was the bar’s 11th anniversary so there was a long table filled with food, a table with free champagne, and perhaps the most eclectic collection of people ever seen together in Del Mar. Local teenagers inhabited one table, at another were their cousins from East County, their grandfathers were across the room, and their grandfathers’ future wives slithered between them.
I grabbed a glass of shitty champagne, found my friend Julia, and tried to calm the shakes that had taken over my hands. My throat felt scratchy (the champagne wasn’t helping) and I started to feel badly that people were coming to see me. My brother and his fiancé were on their way from PB, our friend Heather was coming from Leucadia, Julia had planned her dinner date around this—what if I really sucked? Would they be disappointed they’d made the effort?
I ordered a beer and tried to take my mind off singing by making fun of the people around us. Luckily, there was a haggard couple at the corner of the bar, flailing to different songs while trying to keep each other upright, so there was much to draw from.
Two beers and an eternity of snarky remarks later, the DJ finally announced the start of karaoke.
“I always start with a ballad. I don’t know why, but I do,” said the first singer as he took the stage. Ok buddy.
His song was a bit depressing and as it progressed, I realized the music and crowd were so loud, I couldn’t hear him unless he was practically screaming into the microphone.
“Crap.”
“What?”
“I think I need to change my song.”
“Why? Are you comfortable doing that?” Kylie, my brother’s fiancé looked very concerned.
“It’s just too loud in here. I sing, ‘I Take My Chances,’ kind of softly; I don’t think you’ll be able to hear me.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
I thought about it for another minute and then by the time a washed-up surfer finished molesting the microphone to “Smoke on the Water,” by Deep Purple, I was out of my seat and beside the DJ booth changing my song to “I Feel Lucky.”
I felt good about my decision. And as Marilyn Manson’s third cousin began to sing a thinly veiled ode to heroine, I felt even better—at least my song would be upbeat. Jesus people, life isn’t that bad.
By the time the DJ finally called my name, everyone at our table was about to slit their wrists. I marched on stage, took hold of the microphone, and struggled through the only country song to ever be sung at Jimmy O’s karaoke. To my surprise, my support from the audience extended beyond my cohorts and I got a few cheers whenever I actually hit a note. I’m not going to say I did well, but I did it, and I walked off the stage a little taller than when I walked on.
After my performance we were entertained by a slight, almost golem-looking singer who had one of the highest voices I’ve ever heard on a male. He sang “Bad Romance,” by Lady Gaga and as the words lurched from his mouth, he folded his body around the microphone like he was auditioning to be one of her monsters. It was disturbing and perfect and definitely the highlight of the night.
I’m glad I saved this challenge for last because it did more than any other to make me comfortable in my skin. In every other endeavor, I was able to stretch my given talent so that I was passable. Even after my five minutes of stand-up comedy, I walked away with the feeling of, “I could do that.” This time, that was not the case. I have included the video below, and my friends will tell you (in front of me) that I did well, but I know that there is no way that a singing career is anywhere in my future.
In closing, I would like to thank everyone who gave me a challenge, who completed a challenge with me, or who supported me through the process. I also want to send love to everyone who reads this blog. I’m in the process of turning this into a book, so stay tuned, and in the meantime, I’m starting a new blog on my new website... http://www.writerlauren.com/. It’s titled “A Funny Thing Happened,” and every day I promise to tell you funny stories, share funny videos, and encourage you to post their own.
Till next time; much love.
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