MUSINGS version 6.0

2 years ago, I was in the best shape of my life. I had quit smoking,was  eating a healthy diet, running 5K a day, working out 6 days a week. I was still hovering around 200 pounds (on my 5'9" frame) but I had lost my belly (mostly), had toned and sexly arms, and felt fantastic. However, one day, while doing flies, I re-injured my right shoulder. I had torn the rotator cuff a few years previous while conducting Fiddler on the Fucking Roof, and never really had time to let it heal properly. (Still, on occasion, when I do helicopter arm swings, you can hear "clickclickclickclick") So I took a few weeks (months... years...) off of the gym, lost the momentum, and haven't really returned. Nevertheless, I'm in better shape than I was 10 years ago, perhaps a bit rounder in front, but fitter and more toned. 

All this to say that right now, I am in so much damn pain! Yesterday, a bunch of us from the msPS went to a waterfall in Fiji where there was a rope swing. In recent years as I get older, rather than becoming more cautious, I have become fearless. I think it's probably because I feel the need to show the young whippersnappers who are my friends that even this middle-aged portly gentleman (as my bass player called me) can do everything they can. Well, it turns out I can't. It takes me much longer to recover from my shenanigans than it does the average 25 year-old.  I probably swung off that rope about 20 times, and it was awesome. But I paid for it today. I can't straighten my left arm. My bicep is bunched up into a a tiny knot of excruciativeness. (On the plus side, my guns look fantastic!). I can barely get my arms above my head. I couldn't wash my back in the shower this morning, and I decided not to wear socks with my runners not because it was stylish, but because I couldn't get them on my feet. Granted, I really pushed myself, and I have absolutely no regrets (Non! Rien de rien!). But shit, I could barely play the piano today.  Why don't they tell you this in the manual? "After the age of 35, if you are a portly gentleman, you may experience crippling muscle spasms following unusual physical exertion".  

So what now? If I had yesterday to do over again, would I do the same? Yes, absolutely; except for the time where I tried to swing of the high perch and almost crashed head-first into the rocks below. I might have brought the Ben-Gay with me though. Or at least a gay Ben.

SINGING

Singing has always seemed to me the most perfect means of expression. It is so spontaneous... Since I cannot sing, I paint.

-Georgia O'Keefe

ps I can't paint either :(

I don’t think I’m being falsely modest when I say that of the many gifts that I have been lucky to have been granted, a fine singing voice is not amongst them. I have a limited range, no falsetto, a thin middle, a woofy bottom and a wiry top. I can’t hold harmonies, my vibrato is quick, narrow and goat-like (when it’s there at all) and I used to sing consistently sharp (though that problem has been fixed; I now sing flat). Despite these seemingly insurmountable flaws, I have always sung, whether people want me to or not. I grew up singing in choirs, and have been a member of several award-winning groups in Montreal. I even sang with the Montreal Symphony Chorus, with whom I was privileged to perform such masterworks as Beethoven’s Ninth, Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms and Orff’s Carmina Burana (and whether or not that particular work is a masterpiece is up for discussion). I’ve played leads in musicals, including Ché in Evita (note: the role was a bit beyond my abilities, and I wouldn’t have cast me, but I had fun, and an astonishing leading lady) and, in an Oh-My-God-Find-Me-A-Pair-Of-Size-Eleven-Pumps moment, Mrs. Lovett in Sweeney Todd. (note: One of my dearest and oldest friends, Kate was to have played Mrs. Lovett, but fell ill. She gave me the bra off her back, and 20 years later, I still have it. We took our first brave musical steps together, performing “As Time Goes By” at a choir dinner, complete with humorous props when we were 12. 27 years ago. She remains one of my chief inspirations).  But I have worked very hard and managed to fashion a workable polyester purse voice out of cow’s ears vocal cords. What helped more than anything is that my ex, rickyd, is an opera singer, and while playing piano for him, at some points almost daily, I learned about the intricacies of the human voice. And though it hasn’t really rubbed off as much as I would have liked, I sound better now than I ever have. Most recently, I've been performing on cruise ships with a trio.  Yes ladies and gentlemen, I’m being paid to sing. No one is more surprised than I.

To be frank, I would give anything to have a beautiful voice (cue the smoke and the satanic laughter), but my ambition and desires have always outstripped my ability (much like Maria Ewing. I probably sound better than her these days, poor thing). That hasn’t stopped me however. I can’t pass a mirror without grabbing a hairbrush microphone and belting out the final chorus of Being Alive or, more improbably, Old Man River.  I actively seek out karaoke bars, and in fact 20 years ago, used to bartend at one (recently, I was at a college bar in Ste. Anne’s on Karaoke night with some friends and sang Nothing Else Matters. I was an instant hero to a room full of 19 year-old boys. Thumbs up.) Simply said, I have become vocally fearless. I’ll try anything once. (One night on a ship, our band was doing Disco Night while our singer was sick, and I tried Play That Funky Music White Boy. It was going great until the lyric “Gonna take it higher now”, and my poor little voice, parched and already stretched to its’ limits, did not want to take it higher at all.  No amount of note modification or Monty Python falsetto was going to fix what was already a disaster in the making. Oh well, live and learn.). About 10 years ago, I renounced being a tenor, and have warmly embraced my baritonal reality. This has helped a lot. I’ve also discovered in the past few years that I have a gruff growly side to my voice, which allows me to belt out such classics as Mustang Sally, Born to be Wild and I Feel Good (which oddly enough, I can do pretty well).  

All this being said, I remain tremendously insecure about singing, and occasionally, fate kicks me in the nuts and I spiral into days of self-doubt and flagellation. I managed to get decent reviews when I played Ché lo these many many years ago. But a certain gentleman-reviewer who shall remain nameless (who nonetheless remains reviled in Montreal, years after his critic career ended) wrote that he couldn’t stay past the first 20 minutes of the show because my singing was so atrocious. At least he didn’t mention me by name. I was devastated (and I still occasionally get teeny butterflies when I think of it) but I’m a big boy, and I went on the following night and sang my ass off (probably a little sharp…). Another incident happened the other night. It was Rock and Roll night on the ms PS, so instead of our regular diet of cha-chas and waltzes, the mighty little trio was doing some Everly Brothers and Elvis. A sour old English gentleman came up to me between songs and asked us to play a waltz. I said fine. A modern waltz. I said of course. A waltz without singing. I said no problem. Because, he said, and I quote: “You really have a horrid little voice.” Well, that would have been fine if that had been that, but he went to the front office and complained for 20 minutes about how awful I was. He even came to our sets the next night to MAKE SURE I DIDN’T SING. I didn’t open my mouth for 3 days. That was 2 months ago, and I’ve gotten over it. Mostly. They say practice makes perfect. In my case, practice makes OK. 

I had a great night tonight. 2 sets in a full-ish lounge, with an enthusiastic crowd, shouting out requests, and responding with hardy applause. We ran the gamut from George Gershwin to Billy Joel. How fortuitous that I happened to record it ;)

I never felt I could ever do this song justice. I'm getting there. I hope...

I had another video, but it took forever to upload, so it'll have to wait until I get home. It was Joy to the World. Not the Xmas hymn.

ONE OF MY MANY FAULTS...

I don’t like it when people like bank cashiers and store clerks call me by my first name without ever having met me. I would never presume to do that to them. It creates a false atmosphere of informality and an ersatz familiarity. However, when I taught high school. I never would have stood for someone calling me Mr. Higgins. Even my dad isn’t Mr. Higgins (he’s Bob). On ships, the service personnel call all officers ‘sir’, an appellation at which I bristle. My room steward on my current ship called me sir for a month, even after I threatened to rub my dirty socks in his face (jokingly, of course. Don’t go callin’ the ACLU on me). And yet, when I speak with someone of a higher rank, I will always call them sir or ma’am, unless otherwise instructed.  I think this is because I have a problem with accepting responsibility and power.  I hate having to be in charge, even though I have been put into positions that have required me to don the mantle of authority from a fairly young age (I music directed my first ‘really big shew’ at the age of 19).  I also don’t like to be told what to do, which is why I generally like to work alone. I would like to think that I am a good and fair boss (one of the musicians on the ship recently said to me “Oh no. You’re in charge. You’re just not a dick about it), and I take pride in the fact that I look after the people working under me. But like Hamlet (yeah, right, I’m like Hamlet…), I am often frozen by inaction and introspection. I don’t always strike while the iron is hot, and have trouble making difficult decisions, especially in stressful circumstances. This is because I will over-think possible solutions and try to make things fair for everyone, when in the end, there often isn’t a fair solution. I also have this tremendous need for everyone to like me. I think my public persona is one of a jovial, social and warm guy, and I am, generally (Let’s face it, I’m a big softie). So when put into a position where I have to be a meanie (which happens), I am often incapable of it. I remember conducting a show where an orchestra member, who had worked with me before, was drinking too much, and his performance was erratic. I should have a) warned him as soon as his behaviour affected his performance and b) if he didn’t improve, fire him.  But I let it drag on because I didn’t want him to hate me. It’s as simple as that. In the end, I had to fire him, but I had let it go on for too long, and instead of having only one musician angry with me, I had an orchestra and a cast angry with me. You’d think I’d learn! I think I have gotten better at dealing with adversity since then. On one of my last ships, some of the band had an issue with a musician that I didn’t really feel was justified. I stood my ground, and there was dissention in the band for a while.  My choice didn’t make me popular, but I feel to this day that it was the correct choice. I wouldn’t have done that 4 years ago.  Occasionally, my temper and my heightened sense of righteous indignation get the better of me, and I can fire off a tirade worthy of Julia Sugarbaker (I remember yelling at a guest entertainer who had insulted the whole band and musicians in general, where in reality, the band was fantastic, musicians are awesome (!) and he was a prick with a Napoleon complex and illegible charts. I got in trouble with head office for that. It was worth it.)

I was in therapy for several months doing Assertiveness Training, where you are supposed to be taught to air your grievances calmly and without aggression, but firmly and assertively, hence the name.  In the role-playing the doctor and I would do, I would express my complaints calmly, and he would respond calmly, the way you wished people would talk in real life. But aha! That wasn’t real life! So when you bring this training out into the real world, people will respond sarcastically, or passive-aggressively, or violently. They don’t tell you that in Assertiveness Training.  I won’t say it was a waste of time and of a 15 bucks-a-week co-pay, but I think what I learned from that particular course of therapy was that you just gotta deal with shit. It was also when I was diagnosed with ADD, so I got to take Happy Pills for a while.

I’m not sure what prompted this entry, or what I intended by it.  I’m not even sure if it makes sense.  Maybe I’m starting to be comfortable with the fact that I’m a bit of a wuss. That would be fine with me. Well, if it’s ok with you.